MEMORY VIAL 1: CHARMING FIRST IMPRESSIONS (YEAR 1)

We are all familiar with the famous story about The Boy Who Lived, and his circumstances growing up with his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. But there are some important details that were unfortunately left out—details that shed new light on the story that has already been told.

As celebrated as Harry Potter was and still is, he did not face the Dark Lord without the help of many friends, mentors, and allies—one of whom was an especially close and secret friend working for the famous boy's cause from behind enemy lines. Whether it was due to caprice or the intolerance of some traditionalists—or perhaps simply because some of the encounters Harry experienced are not appropriate for young readers—these details were omitted for whatever reason, and so cast a peculiar shade around certain characters, as well as an unwanted halo-effect in Harry Potter's case.

Perhaps these details were left out simply because the focus of the story was not about the secret romance unfolding in front of everyone's eyes. No, the story involving our hero with the lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead was always about his struggle against the Dark Lord. And if no one ever suspected a secret romance between him and the mean-hearted bully he attended school with, it is only because even they had intended it to remain a secret until now.

The two boys never got along during their first few years at Hogwarts. But even before they'd met—long before Harry knew he was a wizard—they both had already experienced the first inklings of differentness that would later develop into the mutual affection with which they would both be marked.

Harry suffered under the blistering traditionalism of the Dursleys, whereas the mean-hearted bully was besieged by great expectations by his family, for he had a powerful dynasty to inherit and was his father's only son.

Even though Harry still thought that girls were pretty, he could not deny that boys happened to catch his eye in the same way. It was Harry's good luck that his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon did not suspect a thing about him in that regard while he was growing up. Otherwise, if it had been noticed, it would have been yet another "freakish and abnormal" thing for them to try and beat out of him, if they thought that it was possible.

Rubeus Hagrid had been instrumental in announcing to Harry what he was—a wizard!

But unfortunately, Harry had no one to tell him what it meant to be born with a certain predisposition, or what to do when he ultimately found himself in love with the worst person he could have ever developed feelings for.

As a consequence, Harry was forced to navigate the corridors of Love's Labyrinth all by himself, with nothing more than the siren-call of his beloved to draw him deeper toward the heart of the enchanted maze. Without someone to guide him, he suffered greater damage to himself, but occasionally found help in unexpected places. Magic itself seemed to be leading the two young men closer through the years, so that it could only be said that a force greater than themselves is exactly what brought them together one sunny afternoon in Madam Malkin's shop on the 31st of July, 1991.

Harry was nervous about being left to acquire his Hogwarts uniform all by himself. Hagrid had left for the Leaky Cauldron to nurse his motion sickness after navigating the underground vaults of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. But anything was better than being steered to-and-fro by the Dursleys, and so he sucked in a breath and proceeded toward Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions.

He had hardly stepped foot inside the shop and confirmed his school when Madam Malkin swept him towards the back of the clothing shop in a cheerful fuss. "I've got the lot back here, my dear," she said, and then helped him onto a stool beside another pale-faced Hogwarts boy.

Harry felt nervous about meeting another young wizard, since he still didn't quite feel like he belonged. Unlike himself, the cloak seemed to suit the other boy, even though it hadn't been trimmed to size yet, and he was perfectly groomed, didn't have a single blond hair out of place. Even the way he stood seemed to exude an air of confidence about who and what he was, whereas Harry felt like nothing but an imposter.

The two boys stood side-by-side while Madam Malkin and a second witch pinned up their first-year cloaks to the appropriate length. Harry kept his head down but stole a few glances at the other boy through the filigreed mirror on the wall in front of them. He couldn't decide if he wanted to be noticed or ignored… But he was startled when the blond managed to meet his gaze through the mirror when Harry happened to look up.

The other boy was struck by how bright and green Harry's eyes were even in that murky reflection. He assumed this other first-year was from a well-established line of respectable wizards, since only that could explain how he possessed a pair of will-o'-the-wisp eyes like that.

"Hello. My name's Malfoy," he said by way of introduction. "Draco Malfoy, since I'm sure you know all about my family. First year for me at Hogwarts, although I know plenty about magic thanks to my father teaching me quite a bit up until now. My father says I've got a knack and that I'm destined for greatness." His tone had lapsed into a bored drawl that grated on Harry. "He told me to make them proud, but not to get mixed up with the low-class wizards at school. Don't think I'll even have opportunity for that, since I'll likely be in Slytherin like the rest of my family were. All the muddier wizards tend to get sorted into the other Houses. Can't say I would tolerate being in another House—especially Hufflepuff—but I imagine you might get sorted into my House, too. Or do you know what House you'll be in?"

Harry had no idea what he was talking about. He was staring blankly at the other boy, but then decided to shake his head and then look down at what Madam Malkin was doing.

The blond gazed curiously at the unusually quiet boy, not through the mirror this time, but he angled his eyes leftward to give the other boy a solid once-over.

His green eyes seemed even greener, so that Malfoy wondered if they were bewitched. Perhaps it was an attribute of his family line. Clearly, his family was very powerful, and he was determined to make alliances at once.

"You will likely get sorted into Slytherin," he repeated with a drawl. "Haven't heard of anyone getting mis-sorted for as long as Hogwarts has been around."

Harry nodded once, sensing that a response was somehow expected of him, but he didn't have the daftest idea of what to respond with. Eventually, he settled on, "Nice to meet you, Malfoy… I suppose that would be nice."

Malfoy wrinkled his nose. "Draco."

"Sorry?" Harry lifted his arms when Madam Malkin gently swatted them upwards with a wooden rod.

"Call me Draco," he drawled boredly, while smiling at the way the other boy looked. "All my friends do… Wouldn't mind if you used my first name, since it's more familiar."

"Draco," Harry repeated for the other boy's sake. He was sweating under the black robe that had been put over him. "Nice meeting you, and hearing you explain all that. I… I'm sorry that I haven't much to say—"

"I guess it's reasonable to be starstruck." Malfoy sniffed. He watched the witch who was working on his cloak finish pinning the hem of his right sleeve. "My father is very influential, and it's only natural I'm to follow in his footsteps. People tend to trip over themselves when they hear my name."

"I see," answered Harry dully, frowning when Madam Malkin kindly swatted his arms back down. "That must be very hard for you to deal with," he said, concealing mockery with a friendly tone.

"What must be?"

"Being so fawned after… For your father's sake, I mean, and because of your potential, as you say…"

"You get used to it," Malfoy said with a tinge of fake humility. "Father says I should put my name to good use whenever I can. It's a weapon in my arsenal, he says, so I ought to use it to my advantage—but I like to think I'm a bit more modest than he is. Perhaps that'll change, one day. Maybe I'll get so used to using it, and every wizard in the world will fear my name and loath to speak it… Or, perhaps, I should rather hope that it would be reverenced.

"What is your name, anyways? You must come from a powerful family. I can feel it, there is something about you."

"There isn't anything special about me at all," Harry murmured, feeling even more flattened by Malfoy's cocksure attitude than five minutes ago.

"Modesty." Malfoy smirked good-naturedly at him, feeling truly amused. "It runs in all the great families. Don't be afraid to own your greatness, so go ahead and tell me. What's your surname, at least? Three boxes of Fizzing Wizzbees says I can figure your name out from there. As long as you're not a half-blood of some sort, which I seriously doubt. Father says Hogwarts has really gone downhill since it continued accepting students who weren't purebloods, and no thanks to Dumbledore. But that's not the only reason my father hates him."

Malfoy drew himself up importantly as he fussed at his left sleeve for the fitting witch to fix her handiwork. And then he started rambling on about racing brooms and Quidditch, to which Harry could offer no reply.

Even though he was feeling nauseous at the thought of continuing the conversation, Harry couldn't help but feel curious enough to say, "Hey, Draco…"

"Yes?" They met each other's eyes through the mirror once again.

"When you were talking about your father and Dumbledore… I was just wondering… why else does your father hate him?" He remembered Hagrid having plenty good to say about the headmaster of Hogwarts, boasting that he was the greatest wizard alive.

Malfoy cast him an exaggerated look that seemed to indicate it was for a very scandalous reason. "Well. My father says," Malfoy began, lowering his voice to a whisper, "that Dumbledore is bent…"

Harry pushed his eyebrows together. "He's what?"

"Bent! Don't tell me you don't know what that means. But I suppose it is rather shameful—too shameful for most of us to have to hear about it. Might be better if you don't have that on your mind at Hogwarts, since it might spoil the brew for you, if you catch my drift. I know it did for me. I would tell you outright what I'm getting at, but we've got ladies present, and Father always told me I should be a gentleman—"

"You're all done, dear," Madam Malkin said, with an encouraging pat of Harry's shoulder. "We'll go to the front of the store now and tally up what you owe. Your order will be sent promptly via owl when it's all finished."

Harry opened his mouth to object, but then gaped frantically at Malfoy.

"It's alright," Malfoy said with a shrug. "I got too picky with the sleeves, but we can talk about it sometime else. I know you won't forget my name," he said even as Harry was being instructed to climb down from the stool. "And, hey—you didn't tell me yours!"

Harry did not have the mental capacity to blurt out his name, however. Madam Malkin held him by the hand and was whisking him away to the bargaining counter, while Draco narrowed his gray eyes after him.

Harry glanced back at the boy with the slick blond hair one last time, feeling a thud in his heart even as he did so.

"See you at Hogwarts!" Draco called, almost looking disappointed.

As Harry followed Madam Malkin around the corner and out of sight, he thought to himself, Harry Potter. My name is Harry Potter. Did I really just forget my own name when he asked? His heart was beating faster than was normal, and his ears felt warm, but he didn't attribute it to anything other than the excitement of meeting another wizard his own age.

Guess it's just as well, Harry thought sadly to himself. He wasn't sure if he wanted the unpleasant boy to know who he was. He was already getting enough attention—and he hoped that it wouldn't give him a personality like Malfoy's over time.

Harry found that his mind kept wandering back into the dressing room, while Madam Malkin tallied up what he owed. Draco was quite nice-looking, the kind of nice that tended to make Harry stare without realizing it. His personality was another matter, unfortunately. It did not seem to fit the niceness of his looks as much as Harry would have liked. He really did wish that the blond had been more agreeable, because then he definitely would have made up an excuse to hang back in the dressing room for a bit longer. Something like: "I think you messed up my sleeve as well… Can we have another look at it?"

As it was, Harry was juggling a maelstrom of opinions about Draco, many of which he couldn't make heads or tails of.

Meanwhile, Draco frowned at his own reflection when his nameless friend had disappeared. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so fussy about how perfect the fitting was; he might've been done by now and could be waiting at the bargaining counter beside the green-eyed boy, chatting away as if they were best mates.

He wondered why Green Eyes had failed to blurt out his name, but then supposed that it didn't matter. Draco was smiling properly now, feeling right as rain, if not also a bit strange…

An unfamiliar warmth seemed to be glowing at the base of his neck. Or perhaps the warmth was coming from somewhere near his chest, but he wasn't sure.

It was an unaccountably pleasant sensation, and so he wondered if the nameless boy already knew a handful of spells, and had maybe practiced one of them on him while they had been standing on their stools.

What sort of Charm could it have been? He couldn't recall his father mentioning a spell that made someone feel as happy and light as he was feeling.

It didn't seem to be practical magic at any rate. Maybe it was a party trick, and that was why his father never bothered mentioning it.