"What's wrong?" Mother asked me as I met her after my trip to Madam Malkins. "And don't drag your feet like that, you know how much your father disapproves of that."
My shoulders slumped heavily, I shrugged, not wanting to tell her about my failed attempt at making a new friend.
"Nothing." I lied.
How could I tell her that I was lonely? That more than that I was desperately afraid I wouldn't make any friends? Father was keen for me to choose the right kind of friends, constantly barking names at me of people on the 'approved' list.
"And whatever you do," he warned, his voice dangerous and low, "stay away from the Weasleys. They are nothing but filthy blood traitors."
"The Weasleys?" I asked, having never heard of the name in my life.
My father's lip curled. "You can't miss them. Red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford."
Damn, alright. Stay away from the Weasleys. Check.
"Oh, and if you can, try to get friendly with the Potter boy."
My eyes widened in surprise. "Harry Potter? But... why?"
"Because," Father snapped, "as someone who, amongst our kind, is regarded as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear, it would be in our best interest to have him onside."
I waited for him to elaborate, but he did not. I was confused. Weren't we in favour of everything Voldemort had stood for? It was no secret, after all, that Father had once worked for him.
But you didn't argue with Lucius Malfoy, and so therefore, on that first day of Hogwarts, I was determined to make him proud.
Pansy squealed when she spotted me on the platform, pushing her way through the tightly packed crowds. I heard my father give a derisive groan as my mother hugged me harder, not wanting to let me go to my new life.
"Dray!" Pansy gushed as she ran up to us, dragging her trunk behind her. "Isn't this so exciting?! Oooo, I love what you've done to your hair!" Her cheeks glowing, she turned to face my parents. "Hello, Mr and Mrs Malfoy!"
A look of disdain flitted over my father's face and he stiffly looked away as though she hadn't said anything.
My mother, however, slowly let go of me, her smile tight as she regarded my friend. "Hello, Pansy. Are you looking forward to starting school?"
"Oh, immensely," Pansy beamed, her cheeks flushed as she enthusiastically nodded her head, "and don't you worry, I'll look after Dray. I've already lined up some friends for her to meet. They're saving a compartment for us on the train right now."
"Friends?" My father demanded, stunning us all by speaking. "Which friends?"
Pansy looked not in the least bit perturbed by being addressed in such a way by my father. "Oh, well- let's see... there's Daphne, Blaise, Theo-"
"Surnames," my father interrupted with an air of impatience.
This time, Pansy flushed. My mother, sensing her discomfort, quickly stepped in and answered for her. "Daphne will be the Greengrass's eldest daughter, and then there's Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott."
"Also, Crabbe and Goyle," Pansy added, pulling herself together, "but I'm afraid I've only just met them and no other names were offered."
"Ah," my father said, visibly relaxing. "A true Slytherin crowd if I've ever heard one."
I hurried Pansy along after that, waving goodbye to my parents.
"Jeez, your father's a bit intense, isn't he?" Pansy whispered in my ear as we made our way down the train's corridor with our luggage.
"You're telling me," I muttered, resisting the urge to go into a tirade of why I hate my father. "Try living with him."
"He's quite the opposite to your Mother. She always seems so lovely and warm." Pansy continued. "Remember when she fixed my leg that time I fell out of your treehouse and she insisted on making me feel better with a hot chocolate and a big slab gingerbread?"
In other words, I though wryly, my father is a cold hearted prick.
"Anyway," Pansy went on. "Is that gel you're using in your hair?"
"Cream," I corrected her.
In an attempt to look older than my eleven years, I decided to slick my white-blond hair back into a tight bun. I possibly went a little overboard with the cream as I ended up using three quarters of a pot in one application.
Luckily, I had an entire suitcase full of hair cream to see me through the year.
I drew myself up tall as we arrived outside the compartment which Pansy had promised had been saved for us.
"Hey, everyone," she said cheerily, thrusting me inside. "This is Dray."
I looked around. Five pairs of eyes blinked up at me.
"Dray?" The boy next to the window spoke. He was a skinny looking boy, with features that reminded me of a rather exhausted rabbit.
"It's short for Draya," I said, raising an eyebrow. "Draya Malfoy. And you are?"
He smirked, sitting up a little straighter. "Theo. Short for Theodore Nott."
Smart arse.
"Good to meet you, Dray," the boy opposite him spoke smoothly. Dark skin and slanted black eyes, even at the age of eleven I could see he was handsome. "The name's Blaise."
Smiling warmly, he lifted a hand and I immediately stepped forward to shake it, rather liking the formality of this introduction. I couldn't help but notice his skin was soft and cool to touch, and I found my hand feeling quite empty when his fingers slipped out from mine.
I politely introduced myself to the rest - Daphne, a pretty blonde girl who giggled nervously as our eyes met, and next were Crabbe and Goyle: two generously built boys who seemed to had forgotten their first names or even how to speak.
It was a group I quite liked. Especially Blaise, who made Goyle scoot along the seat so that I could sit next to him.
"So, a Malfoy, huh?" he said, his voice kind as his eyes twinkled in mine. "That's got to be something, growing up in that big old Manor."
I gave an indifferent shrug. "It's alright, I suppose. The servants can be a pain, though. I walked in one cleaning my bathroom at the exact same time I needed a soak. And just yesterday, Father was talking about sacking one of the house-elves because he started demanding tea breaks."
An amused chuckle emitted from Blaise's parted lips, and it occurred to me that he thought I was joking.
A couple of hours and many conversations into the journey, my stomach began to grumble.
"Anyone want to come and find out where the snack trolley is at?" I enquired, looking around the compartment at my new companions.
Only Crabbe and Goyle looked up eagerly at the mention of food. Pansy was deep in conversation with Daphne. Theo was asleep. I glanced hopefully at Blaise.
"Nah, you're alright," Blaise drawled, folding his arms across his chest and leaning his head back against the seat. "Mum's new boyfriend is a chef and has packed me a gourmet lunch. Grilled Hippogriff on a bed of pumpkin leaves, would you believe?"
So, as it was, I found myself wandering down the train with Crabbe and Goyle, both of whom seemed to fall into step either side of me like my own personal bodyguards.
They literally said nothing. But I found I quite liked them walking with me. It made me feel safe and powerful, especially when students - some even older than us - jumped nervously out of the way to let us pass.
"Did you hear?" I overheard a Hufflepuff say excitedly to a Ravenclaw. "Harry Potter is in that compartment over there!" He pointed to the door we were just passing.
I froze, remembering my promise to my father.
"Come on boys," I said, beckoning towards the door. "I think we need to take a little detour."
I half expected them to tell me to piss off and head straight for the trolley without me. But, to my surprise, they did as they were told and followed me inside.
I tried not to show my disgust at the absolute mess I had just walked in on. Amongst the hundreds of sweet wrappers sat two boys, my eyes going straight to the raven haired boy I had seen in Madam Malkins. I could see it now: the scar.
"Is it true?" I said. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"
"Yes," the boy I now knew as Harry said. He swallowed, looking nervously at my two large companions.
"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," I drawled in a careless tone. "And my name's Malfoy, Draya Malfoy."
The second boy sniggered. I looked at him, my lip instantly curling up into a sneer. "Think my name's funny do you? No need to ask yours. Red hair and a hand-me-down robe? You must be a Weasley."
I turned back to Harry, knowing it was now or never. "You'll soon find some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."
I held out my hand, à la Blaise.
"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," Harry replied coolly, leaving me very much hanging.
I felt my face instantly flame. How dare he humiliate me like this. Jumped up little prick.
"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," I said slowly, making sure to lower my voice in the way that Father does when he wants to sound threatening. "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 that Hagrid and it'll rub off on you."
The Weasley boy stood up, his face competing with his hair in the red stakes. "Say that again," he said, his eyes sparking with fury as his hands balled into fists.
"Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?" I sneered mockingly.
"Unless you get out now," Harry warned, the nervous flick of his eyes towards my towering companions exposing his fear.
"But we don't feel like leaving, do we, boys?" I scoffed, folding my arms over my chest. "We came out for food and it seems you have lots to share."
Crabbe - or Goyle - I can't remember which, reached towards the Chocolate Frogs next to the Weasley. The Weasley leapt forward, but before he'd so much as touched Crabbe or Goyle, Crabbe or Goyle let out a horrible yell.
A rat was hanging off his finger, sharp little teeth sunk deep into his knuckle. I shrank back, full of horror.
Crabbe or Goyle began howling as he swung the rat round and round before it finally flew off and hit the window.
We scarpered quick sharp after that.
"Bloody Potter," I kept muttering for the rest of the journey.
I wouldn't admit it out loud, but every time I thought about the humiliating way he had turned down my offer of friendship, I felt hurt.
*****
The Sorting Hat had barely touched my head when it made its announcement.
"SLYTHERIN!"
Well... duh.
*****