First Year
Chapter 3—Hogwarts Express
Draco Malfoy was excited. Terribly, terribly excited. And an excited Malfoy was not a good one. Draco was all but bouncing off the walls in his excitement. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy looked at their hyperactive son, twin expressions of exasperation on their faces. But inwardly, they were beaming with pride and joy. Their son was going to attend Hogwarts.
Draco, whilst his parents were watching him bounce uncontrollably, was thinking about many things at once. First on his agenda was to find the green-eyed boy who captured his attention one month ago and befriend him. Second was to find Harry Potter and befriend him too. They could be great together, Draco mused, getting more excited at the very prospect. Then they would all be in Slytherin and usher in a new era of greatness for the Snake House. While Draco was daydreaming and making fantasies in his mind, his parents were thinking of either pushing Draco into the train or asking him to get on at a louder volume. Goodness, at this rate Draco wouldn't even make it to school! Lucius thought amusedly.
Finally managing to get Draco's attention, his parents said their farewells ("Remember your promise to write young man.") before sending him off.
Boarding the Hogwarts Express, Draco was quickly intercepted by a buzzing Pansy and lead to a compartment where all his friends from the introductory gathering resided. In there were Millicent Bulstrode, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini and of course Crabbe and Goyle. Draco briefly wondered where Daphne Greengrass was; after all, he was betrothed to her sister (the Greengrass family had been trying to make connections with the Malfoy family for years), before brushing off the thought. She was probably in another compartment; this one would have been cramped if another person joined them.
"Oh darling! Just sit down and relax." Parkinson suggested, after seeing how tensely Draco held himself. But Draco didn't agree with her sentiment. He wanted to find a certain green-eyed boy as well as to find his soon to be best friend.
Suddenly, they heard a voice squeal excitedly from outside their compartment door, followed by, "Harry Potter's on the train! He's in compartment 13B! Oh my gosh! Do you think he'll give me his autograph? Or—"
Draco did not bother hearing the rest, instead grabbing on to Crabbe and Goyle and dragged them to the aforementioned compartment, his pulse racing. He was finally going to meet him, befriend him, goodness it would be like returning to your oldest best friend! And once that was over he could find the boy from Madam Malkin's. They would make a perfect trio, Draco was sure.
Then, they arrived at their destination. 13B. Salazar, Draco had no problem making friends before, why did he feel so anxious? He has never been superstitious (even though the Malfoy line might have a bit of Seer blood in it) either but the bronze-plated number 13 was looking quite intimidating now. The young Malfoy heir had a strong feeling that this meeting would turn out badly. He reached out hesitantly to slide the compartment door open.
Draco sneered.
What am I doing, feeling so anxious? I'm a Malfoy for crying out loud. People should be anxious to meet me, not the other way around.
Finally composing himself, Draco slid the door open to reveal— the boy from Madam Malkin's?! Sitting opposite him was a gangly ginger boy, his face splayed with freckles and a table piled with sweet treats was between them. They looked to be in an engrossing conversation about Quidditch. Draco's face adopted a sour expression. So he's able to hold a decent conversation with this redhead but not with me?
He quickly willed the sour expression away (that was not the best face to make friends with) and said, "Is it true? They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in these compartment." He looked directly into Harry's eyes. "So it's you then?"
"Yes," said Harry and darted his eyes quickly from Crabbe to Goyle and back again. Draco wished that Harry would pay attention to him. After all, he was more important.
"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," Draco introduced carelessly, gesturing from one to the other. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."
Draco then heard a slight cough from the ginger and he just knew he was trying to hide a snigger. Indignantly, he turned to properly face him. He recognized him almost immediately as the child he tried to befriend at the age of 7 before his father enlightened him about their inferior status. Nice to know his father was correct; the redhead was obviously not worth his time.
Weasley. The name resounded in his brain, eliciting a slight shudder of disgust from the blond.
"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford."
There now Harry's enlightened too and can make an informed decision. Goodness, Harry almost made a huge mistake if he befriended that Weasley!
Draco turned back to the dark-haired boy.
"You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than other's Potter," quickly reverting into the formal speech all pureblood children were taught. He almost slipped up and called him Harry. First names were only reserved for people who knew each other well and even though Draco thought he knew Harry from his imagination, he clearly did not know the real one.
"You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."
Draco held out his hand to shake Harry's. And now he'll take my hand and we'll be on our to becoming great friends.
But Harry didn't take it.
"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," Harry said in an icy tone.
No. No. No. This was not the way this was supposed to go. No. No. No.
The mantra continued in Draco's mind, over and over again and Draco felt blood rush up to his face. He couldn't comprehend it, he just couldn't. All his life, all his life he got everything he wanted that were within reason. This—having Harry for a friend was completely reasonable. But he didn't accept it.
Draco felt as if his world was crashing down as rejection crashed down on him and brought him back to reality.
"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," he said slowly. Rejection stung, it stung so badly, especially from the person that had been his best friend (even though it was in his mind) for years. He wanted to make Harry as hurt as he was currently feeling.
"Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riff-raff like the Weasleys and Hagrid and it'll rub off on you."
There. I hope that stung.
Both H—Potter (he hurt you, he doesn't deserve it) and Weasley stood up. Weasley turned such as unsightly red that you could not even see where his hair ended and his face.
"Say that again," Weasley said menacingly.
Draco didn't feel threatened though; he bet he was stronger than the Weasley even though he might have been an inch or two shorter, plus he had Crabbe and Goyle.
His signature sneer was on his face in a second, "Oh you're going to fight us, are you?"
"Unless you get out now," said H—Damn it! Potter bravely, though his nervous expression said otherwise.
Draco knew it would be wise to leave, he still stupidly wanted Harry for a friend and he knew that staying would make the chasm between them wider. But the rejection still twanged at his heart and his instinct told him to hurt.
"But we don't feel like leaving, do we, boys? We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some." Of course that was a lie since he had been too excited about the prospect of finally meeting Harry to buy anything in the first place but there was no way he was going to tell him that.
Goyle reached out for the Chocolate Frogs next to the Weasel – Weasley leapt forward, probably wants to play Harry's Hero, but before Weasley even touched him, he suddenly let out a horrible yelp.
A disgusting large rat with matted fur was hanging off Gregory's finger and he kept swinging it around, trying to get it off. Draco didn't mind animals too much but he drew the line with that filthy creature so he backed out off the door, Vincent on his tail.
And as Gregory ran out too— his fingers throbbing terribly— and slammed the door, Draco couldn't help but think that it was a metaphor for a future no longer accessible to him.
A future without Harry Potter in his life.
