It is my tenth birthday and I'm eating breakfast when an owl flies through the window.
I ignore it as many owls have flown through the window before but this one drops something next to me with my name on it. Curious, I open it and inside it tells me that I've gained a place at Hogwarts.
I call my mother excitedly, and she nods, rereads the letter and picks out a piece of paper detailing all I will need.
"We'll need to go to Diagon Alley. Draco, did your father ever tell you; you have a vault in Gringotts?" I nod; knowing almost to the Knut how much is inside. "I've never been, do you mean for me to come with you?" I ask quietly.
"Yes, Draco, of course," she replies nonchalantly. "You'll need a wand. How on earth could I get you your wand without you? The wand chooses the wizard, Draco."
I nod quietly. "Apparently I need some books, Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1; A History of Magic; Magical Theory; A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration; One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi; Magical Drafts and Potions; Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them; The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. I have a few of those-" I was stopped by a wave of my mother's arm.
"No, no, no. We will buy you a new set of everything. And an extra set of what you don't already have for revision and study at home. It won't cost too much. Anything else?" She waved her hand to continue.
I clear my throat. "A bit of uniform, three sets of black work robes; one plain black pointed hat; protective gloves, of dragon hide of something similar; and a cloak, black with silver fastenings. And then a cauldron, pewter, standard size two; one set of glass or crystal phials; one telescope and one set of brass scales. I'd assume I need some basic potion ingredients too. And an owl or a cat or a toad."
She nods and says, "Good. I'd say all this will come to around 100 Galleons. I'll get my purse." As I think, stirring my spoon in my tea absentmindedly, she returns, dressed in Muggle clothes.
My mother tells me, "Draco, go change into jeans and a t-shirt," I try not to stare; I have never seen my mother in Muggle clothing. I do as she says, tucking my hands into my pockets like Muggles of my age.
I hate that habit of theirs. Anyway, I tuck my hands into the pockets, wincing as the pockets are far too small for my hands. I slouch and my mother nods approvingly. "Excellent, you'll pass as a Muggle child. You're far better than I ever was. Let's go," she adds, "Your father's already there."
We bundle into the car, which my mother knows how to use better than some Muggles.
Inside Diagon Alley; and dear lord there's an awful amount of things here, so many I can't focus on all of them. My mother speaks to me; telling me that she's going to compare wandmakers for my wand, the wandmaker she got her wand from having relocated to America and then dying of old age a month ago. She harries me into Madame Malkins; and the woman there inquires as to whether I'm at Hogwarts or I need formal robes.
My mother tells all and then I am on a stool, and long black robes have been slipped over my head. They're very comfortable, despite their supposed heaviness and then I feel her rolling up the sleeves and pinning them to the correct length. As she begins on the robe bottoms, a messily haired boy with glasses enters.
I know I'm not supposed to be friendly to other boys but I don't want to be a loner in Hogwarts so I try my hardest. "Hullo there. Hogwarts too?" I ask, in what I hope is a friendly tone.
"Yes." He replies quietly.
I then say, "My father's next door buying my books and my mother's up the street looking at wands."I am not very good at conversing and I think I'm boring the boy.
"Then I'm going to drag them off to look at brooms," I say, and suddenly a snobbish statement spills out, "I don't see why first-years can't have their own brooms. I think I'll bully father into buying me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."
I realise that sounded very rude and mean, and I hope I haven't made an awful impression. So I change the subject to Quidditch.
"Do you have a broom?" I ask him, hoping the answer's a yes. "No," came the reply.
"Play Quidditch at all?" I ask somewhat desperately. "No," the answer was repeated.
I assume he knows about Quidditch, so I say, "I do, Father reckons it's a crime if I don't get picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be?"
His third answer was the same as his first two. I carry on regardless. "Well, no-one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been – imagine if you were in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"
The boy replied, "Mmm." Suddenly I spot a massive man standing outside the window waving at the boy and trying to get his attention. "I say, look at that man!" I say, nodding towards the window, surprised.
"That's Hagrid. He works at Hogwarts." the boy said somewhat smugly.
"Oh," I falter. "I've heard of him. He's a sort of a servant, isn't he?" I attempt to regain comfortable conversation, not that we had it anyway.
"He's the gamekeeper." The boy said, staring at me coldly. "Yes, exactly. I've heard he's a sort of savage – lives in a hut in the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic and sets fire to his bed."
The boy states simply, "I think he's brilliant."
I say, somewhat sarcastically, "Do you? Why is he with you? Where are your parents?" I ask, trying to be politely interested.
"They're dead." The boy replies quietly. "Oh, sorry." I say, and cold rushes down my arms at the thought.
"But they were our kind, weren't they?" I ask, tentatively.
"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean." The boy replied sharply. I then go on with another of my father's beliefs, believing this pure-blood will be interested.
"I just don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same; they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts before getting their letter, imagine. I think they should keep it to the old wizarding families. What's your surname?"
Before the boy answers, the woman tells him he's done and he steps down and then quickly exits the shop.
