He was ten when I first met him.
I yawned, bored. The woman could have really hurried up- the pins she had pinned all over my robe were making it stiff. I had really expected better service and comfort than this, especially seeing as my father could kill this Madam Malkin in one flick of his wand, if he really wanted to. And he would, wouldn't he? Anything to please his only son. He loved our name more than he loved me. The Malfoys always deserved the best there was, he kept telling me. And he definitely would not let someone like Madam Malkin ruin our reputation- not for the wide world.
I looked around, confused. Where was this woman? When my father would hear about this...
The door opened with a slight ring, throwing a gust of wind into the room.
And then, he came in. The boy with the black, curly hair.
"Hullo," I said, dully. "Hogwarts too?"
"Yes," the boy said, in an equally monotone voice.
I kept the conversation going for a little while. The boy wasn't a very social person- he barely answered my questions, and when he did, he'd give one worded answers, or he'd even just say "mhm". He wasn't even interested when I mentioned Quidditch!
"I say, look at that man!"
"That's Hagrid," the boy said. I was surprised at how low his voice was. I thought of my voice, it's highness and the way it drawled out, and I will admit I felt something like insecurity- but not really, of course. The Malfoys are never insecure about anything. My father made me repeat that sentence too many times for me to forget it.
"Yes, exactly." I said. "I heard he's a sort of savage- lives in a hut in the school grounds and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic and ends up setting fire to his bed."
"I think he's brilliant."
The boy's deep voice sounded ice-cold. His gaze flicked up. For a moment, I stared into green- a beautiful, sage green, rimmed with long and thick dark eyelashes. I had never seen that shade of green before, i thought to my astonishment.
"Do you?" I quickly said, tearing myself away from the green and forcing myself to sneer. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"
"They're dead."
I kept trying to ask more questions, to keep the conversation going, but the boy was not cooperating. He sounded colder by the minute, whilst I urged on and on. Perhaps it was insensitive of me. I did not know. I probably was not allowed to care. And, to be completely honest, the boy scared me. His eyes scared me. Everything about him scared me, and would later make me question everything.
He left the shop a few minutes later, followed by the tinkle of a bell.
As I watched his lean body casually walk away into the winding streets of Diagon alley, only one thought occupied my brain.
I wanted to see the green again.