It was a quiet breakfast when he received his letter. All he heard in that empty house was the chewing noises from his father's mouth, the scraping of his fork against his plate, and then the flapping of wings when the post arrived.

'Mother would have brought me a cake for breakfast,' he thought gloomily as he avoided looking at her chair.

There was a subdued rustling of papers. Draco didn't need to look up to see that his father already was looking through the letters, nor that he was looking specifically for one from the Ministry of Magic.

His father's chair scraped loudly against the floor as he scooted backwards suddenly. He tossed a letter towards Draco when he passed saying, "Come. It's that time of year finally, and you need to start preparing for your time in Hogwarts."

Draco turned flabbergasted towers Lucius Malfoy, exclaiming, "But father! I still have 2 mon—"

A sharp slap across his face cut him off.

"Do as I say," he seethed, his face curled up in a cruel manner. The young Malfoy silently obeyed, leaving his food completely uneaten as he trudged behind his father. Lucius grabbed a handful of powder and loudly stated "Knockturn Alley" once he was in the giant fireplace. Draco stared in disappointment to where his father had been, slightly unnerved that he had to use that dreaded floo powder.

'Mother wouldn't make me go this way,' he thought to himself. He may have looked quite angry for a fresh 11 year old, but the sweat that started to cover his face as he stepped towards the chimney's entrance gave away how terrified he was.

Draco's mind flashed to the time his mother said she would go right after him a few years prior when they were going to their winter villa for Christmas. That would have been the beginning of an awful trip had his mother not heard how he mispronounced the name of their smaller estate they were on their way to visit. But she heard, and immediately she followed and grabbed him, and took him back where they needed to go before anything bad could happen.

Unfortunately for Draco, he still got reprimanded, but mostly because he threw up.

His mother defended him fiercely, and thankfully didn't let it slip that he had originally gone to the wrong location. It was the back to back spinning and vertigo that had made his stomach weak after all. But his mother had been there to help him then and every time since.

'Except for now...'

With strong trepidation, he threw the floo powder down and repeated his father's words weakly.

"Knockturn Alley."

"What took you so long?!" Lucius snapped once Draco finally arrived.

Draco reached behind for a hand that wasn't there, but with large doe eyes quietly replied, "I don't know what you mean, Father. I came right after you."

Draco wrapped his small hand around air, pretending his mother's soft one was there squeezing his just as tightly as she once used to. His small frame and expressive eyes showed the sincerity he needed, so his father let it slide.

"Fine... Follow faster next time," he shot back, turning and walking without even checking to see if Draco followed or not. The store they were in was dingy at best, and filled with a number of odd objects. A tall man with a limp came out from the back, and asked what he could help them with, but Lucius just responded that he would talk to him later as he quickly made his way forward. Draco quickly followed behind as he was scared his father would purposely leave him here with this stranger if he could.

Once outside of the dingy store, Lucius Malfoy curtly called out, "Dobby." A loud crack filled the air, and then the small house-elf that inhabited their home appeared before them.

"Has master called Dobby, sir?" the small creature asked with a meek bow. Some of those in the immediate area looked curiously at the house-elf. Others looked at him in contempt, even disgust. Draco wasn't fond of looking at Dobby himself either, but he didn't understand why, if they didn't seem to like him, they were making a point of staring at him in hatred as they passed.
Lucius took out a paper from his coat and tossed it to Dobby, telling him that he needed to take Draco to all the places on the list and to get the things required for a first year. He then took out two pouches, one small and one large. With a quick flick of his wand, the larger one became thinner, and the empty smaller bag filled up. "That's exactly how much he needs," Lucius hissed out. After handing the small house-elf the pouch, he turned on his heel to leave. Draco turned to his father and with slight hesitation asked, "Aren't you coming with me?"

Lucius Malfoy didn't answer his son. He just looked at him, and rolled his eyes in annoyance before continuing to walk away. Draco stared after his father, apprehension tightening over his chest, and nerves making his stomach do flip-flops.

"Dobby is sure Master just has business to attend to," he offered as he stepped towards the young blond. It hurt Malfoy, but he honestly didn't expect any better. His father always had a hard time showing positive feelings; even his mother did at times. Still, she would try. But now she was no longer here to sooth the pain like before, so he decided to take it out on the weak creature before him.

"What do you know?" he asked angrily, shoving the poor creature out of his way. As Dobby picked himself and the paper off the floor, Draco turned and yelled, "Well, what are you waiting for? Get a move on already and take me where I need to go you ugly bat!" For good measure, he tripped the barely clad house-elf and walked over him as he exited the gloom of Knockturn Alley, and made his way into the open aired Diagon Alley. He scoffed as he looked down at the pitiful creature who was now punching himself in the head mumbling something about not being a nuisance to his master. They made their way to all the different places, though Draco told Dobby to be sure no one saw them together unless he specifically called him close.

It was as Draco went in to get his robes for school that something interesting finally happened. At least, as interesting as things could be. A black-haired boy with crooked glasses and clothes much too big for him was getting fitted at the same time as him. Since he was bored, he decided to make conversation. Once the goof left, he started laughing manically.

'Who in the bloody world doesn't know what quidditch is?!' he thought to himself as he held his gut, trying to catch his breath.

"Honestly, Mr. Malfoy, if you don't calm yourself, I'm going to have to Petrify you!" the older seamstress told him in frustration. He rolled his eyes but obliged. Though, his reasons were more so because, as she told him this, he caught a glimpse of the huge Hogwarts gamekeeper handing the mismatched, messy haired young boy who knew nothing of quidditch an ice cream cone.
His eyes narrowed in irritation, envy taking over him as he saw the happy smiles and warm interactions. He wanted that, and he wanted that now.

The moment the seamstress was done, he called Dobby who paid the woman immediately. From there, Dobby quietly told Draco that there was only one stop left and then they'd be done. They walked down the street, heading towards the book store. However, before they reached their destination, Draco stopped in front of the doors of Florean's and refused to budge.

"Young master, the store is right there," Dobby warry called as he pointed to Flourish and Blotts right besides Florean's. Still, Draco didn't move. The image of the giant's huge, proud smile as he handed the ice cream to the messy haired kid refused to leave him.

That kid looked poor. He wasn't wearing robes, so he must've been a muggle born. But besides that, the clothes were too big. He looked too skinny. His hair was too messy, and his glasses were broken. He must've been poorer than poor. He must've been malnourished and uncared for. He must've not had a mother to care for him growing up, nor a father to provide for him.

So why did he get to smile so happily?

Draco wanted that. He wanted to have a glimpse of happiness, especially if that's what his future looked like. He wanted to be like him, and be able to smile. He wanted that warmth. And the only thing he could think of that caused it was the ice cream, so he knew what he needed.

"Give me six sickles," Draco demanded, outstretching his hand without taking his eyes off the door of the parlour.

Dobby started, at a loss for what to say or do. "But sir!" he exclaimed quietly, visibly shaking.

Draco finally tore his eyes off his hope of feeling like he did when his mother was around and with unkempt contempt demanded that the filthy creature give him his money. Tears leaked from the poor house elf as he said, "But Master won't have enough money for his books if Dobby does! Dobby cannot do that to Master! Master's father will be most displeased with Dobby if Dobby doesn't do as he's told."

Dobby rocked back and forth, punching his head as he tried to listen to both of his masters at once, but the young boy before him was just that: a young, highly stubborn child. He wanted what he wanted when he wanted it, and no house elf was going to tell him what he could or couldn't do. Dobby began wailing as Draco insisted he give him the money; people began to give them uncomfortable looks and walked faster to avoid them. The people sitting on the tables outside the parlour began to get up and leave. Some parents even leaned down and told their children not to look at the embarrassing house-elf. But one group of girls stayed, though many shifted uncomfortably in their seats as they looked around and whispered amongst themselves.

Finally, as Draco was about ready to kick the pitiful creature so he'd shut up, the girl furthest from him stood up and briskly walked over to the pair making a scene. She got in the way of Draco's feet, and leaned over the wailing house elf. His cries slowly came down to whimpers as she whispered, and pretty soon he was nodding, quiet words leaving his lips only for the girl to hear. As soon as the house-elf calmed down, the girl stood up and scoffed as she passed the blond prat. He in turn shot her a dirty look, and thought the cruelest thoughts he could about everything from her obnoxious yellow sundress to her frizzy, reddish brown hair. She was older than him, maybe 15, but she didn't look it. She was overweight, and had a baby face. He couldn't stand her. He refused to give her a moment of his time, so he quickly turned his back to the cross armed viper and turned back to Dobby.

"What did she tell you?" Draco seethed as he leaned down and yanked Dobby up by his skinny elbow. Dobby whimpered, clutching his hands tightly as he meekly replied, "House elves should not embarrass their masters like this. Dobby apologizes, sir."

Draco let go, but his eyebrow still rose in surprise. He puffed his chest out and responded, "That's right. Now give me those six sickles, you filthy animal."

Dobby didn't look up at his master as he reached into the money pouch Lucius Malfoy had given him and quickly retrieved the six sickles, just as his young Master had demanded. The moment the money was in Draco's grasps, he all but ran into the ice cream parlour to order his prized chocolate ice cream. Once he got it, he made sure to eat it slowly, savoring every lick, and looking for that bit of happiness he'd been looking for since his mother died, but there was nothing. All he felt was cold and alone...

With a heavy heart, he stepped out and sat on the edge of the sidewalk. He held the remains of his cone limply in his hands, watching as what was left slowly melted and leaked out of the bottom. People walked by, not paying attention to the small child they left in their wake. Did no one notice the scared, lonely boy?

Some time passed as Draco sat there, pondering on how different his life would be if his mother had just not died. "Master?" Dobby called, walking towards the brooding figure. He didn't respond. "Sir, Dobby has gotten you your books. Is sir ready to head home?" he asked cautiously. Apathy completely enveloped Draco, covering him like a second skin. He was lost and alone, and only his room with those precious few pictures of his mother seemed to be have the ability to chase that emptiness away. He put down the remains of his now soggy cone and, in a monotonous tone, stated, "Take me home."