Draco's First Year

Harry Potter rewritten from the perspective of Draco Malfoy.


2. Diagon Alley

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter – all the JK Rowling. Some lines are copied from the book – this is speech, to fit what would be happening. All rights to her therefore on that part J I hope you like our first Harry encounter



We used floo powder to get to Diagon Alley – last time my parents tried to side-apparate I discovered my father was not impressed to have my breakfast spluttered onto his cloak. Consequently, if I ever travelled, it would be through the floo network. I rarely left the manor though so I still found the travel a bit strange. The shimmering grains sifted through my fingers as I spoke the words and in a snap I found myself popped up by the street. This was no ordinary street though – it was full of colours and noise and people. Escorted by my parents I walked up the alley. As we passed people hurried out our way and I smiled at how regal I felt.

“So many mudbloods in one place. All the muggle parents, it disgusts me.” Father commented in a repulsed tone and mother gave a mutual nod. I began to notice how some parents seemed a bit lost and agreed with my father – they didn’t belong here. This is a place for wizards, not for muggles and their… children. However this soon lacked interest for there was so much else to see. There were ingredients and cauldrons, bubbles, brooms and barn owls, everything glowing with the excitement of something new. It was so nice to see something new – everything at home was antique and ornate. In front of me now was a rainbow of items and I wanted it all.

I was directed to a shop entitled ‘Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occassions’. My mother held my cheek in her palm and softly told me to go in and get my robe fitted while she and father got some of the things I needed. I was slightly nervous to enter on my own but obliged, hoping to seem grown up to her. She smiled but once I began to turn this smile slipped into a serious expression she wore in front of strangers and I remembered the reputation of my parents. With this I stepped into the shop my head held high, hoping the shopkeeper would recognise my heritage. Instead a bumbling lady hurried up to me.

“You Hogwarts, love?” she asked and I nodded, taking in my surroundings with a clear of my throat. She took me over to a stool and told me to climb up. I stood awkwardly and tried to look for the Hogwarts robes. As the assistant returned to me I heard the bell ring with another customer entering. He was a small boy with ruffled black hair slipping down to his battered glasses.  I dipped forward as a robe was pushed over my head and when I looked he was stood on a stool next to me. I scrunched my nose deciding what to say.

“Hullo. Hogwarts too?” I asked eyeing the black robes being carried to him.

“Yes,” he replied, looking warmly at me. For a moment there was silence. Clearly this boy had no idea how to converse. I sighed before carrying on to tell him about myself (seeing as he lacked any interest.) He just stood there vacantly, with an awkward smile spurring me to talk.

“My father’s next door buying books and mother’s up the street looking at wands. Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first-years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully father into getting me one and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.” Whilst talking I had remembered the broom I had spotted walking up the street earlier and hoped I could persuade my parents to let me have one. I’m sure my parents would approve – they like to buy the best for me, and the new racing broom was certainly the best. “Have you got your own broom?”

“No.” he replied.

“Play Quidditch at all?”

“No.” His monosyllabic responses gave me the opportunity to tell him about my broom. I was sure he’d be interested to know about it.

“I do – Father says it’s a crime if I’m not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you’ll be in yet.” He repeated the same “No” he had already responded with two times previous. I frowned – how could he not know what house he’s in. My parents always talk about how it is predetermined, how the members of a family all belong in a certain house. I was sure this boy must be in shock or was having a temporary memory blank – every wizard family took pride in their background after all and I was surprised he wasn’t telling me all about himself.

“Well, no one really knows before they get there, do they, but I know I’ll be in Slytherin, all our family have been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you.” My father had quite straightly told me his opinions about the other houses. Slytherin was reserved for the intelligent and superior – the others were insignificant in comparison. Although worst was Hufflepuff – they’re focussed on team work, trust, kindness and loyalty. I know better than anyone else that if you want to get something done then you need to do it yourself. No point in relying on others – everyone is just focussed on themselves anyway. May as well work alone, save the hastle with dealing with potentially hopeless people like the boy beside me. Suddenly I noticed a shadow peering through the windows with a clumsy grin. “I say, look at that man!”

“That’s Hagrid,” explained the boy. “He works at Hogwarts.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of him. He’s a sort of servant, isn’t he?” I recognised the name from one of the books I had been reading about Hogwarts. He was a half-giant and I was sure I had read he was at school with Voldemort. There had been stories about the animals he kept, and something (though I couldn’t remember what) had caused him to lose his wand. I’m sure it had to be related to all those dirty animals.

“He’s the gamekeeper.” Answered the boy. This confirmed my animal theories.

“Yes, exactly. I heard he’s a sort of savage – lives in a hut in the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic and ends up setting fire to his bed.” My story made me laugh, and I imagined this large man getting into all sorts of trouble. He was like a character out a book.

“I think he’s brilliant”. I turned to the boy who was now staring coldly at me. I pursed my lips at this statement – brilliant is hardly the adjective I’d use to describe the giant.

“Do you? Why is he with you? Where are your parents?”

“They’re dead.”

“Oh, sorry,” I muttered. My parents controlled my life so much – I couldn’t imagine what I’d be without them. They were my guide of how to behave and what to do or wear or say. Thinking about them triggered me to remember the muggles in the street, and I thought I ought to check who this boy was. My father would greatly disapprove of me talking to a mudblood after all, and the idea hardly appealed to me either. If this boy was a mudblood then father was right. They were boring and unimpressive, and were nothing compared to a wizard. This boy evidently lacked the graces of someone from a pureblood family so I questioned. “But they were our kind, weren’t they?”

“They were a witch and wizard, if that’s what you mean.” I frowned – this boy didn’t have muggle parents though he was definitely how my father had described mudbloods. A discovery to me – not all purebloods are that great I guess.

“I really don’t think they should let the other sort in, do you? They’re just not the same; they’ve never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What’s your surname, anyway?” However before he could respond his shop assistant took him down from the stool as he was finished his fitting. Without so much as a goodbye the boy walked away from me. “Well, I’ll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose.” I drawled, offended by his rude departure. When my parents arrived I told them about him, though without any surname to discuss the conversation promptly ended.

Soon we entered the wand shop – ‘Ollivanders’ – and a smooth brown wand was placed in front of me. I reached for the grey handle but my mother pushed my hand down allowing the man behind the counter to talk. The shop was dimly lit and I hadn’t noticed he was there until now.

“Malfoy.” He stated with a smirk, glancing to my parents before looking back to me. He drew out a tape measure can gave a satisfied tut before pushing the wand forward to me. “As your mother thought… This should be about right. Give it a try.” Accepting this opportunity I scooped it from the counter and held it up to my eyes. There was a comfortable feeling, and the man clearly recognised this and smiled at his choice. “First time,” he chuckled to himself, “I haven’t lost it yet.” As he wrapped the wand for me he told me it’s properties – 10 inch, hawthorn, unicorn hair. I propped my shoulders up and grasped the package once he was done, proud of my long-awaited wand. My father swiped it from me and placed it into the bag he was carrying. I was angry – after all this time hoping for it, all I wanted was to use my wand. I was about to complain when I spotted the broom again.

“Please.” I begged my father but my mother firmly responded for him.

“You already have a broom Draco, and a new one at that. I’m sure you can manage…”

“But everyone will laugh. It’s not a racing broom mother – I need a racing broom, that’s what everyone else is getting.” I had no idea if that’s what everyone was getting but I hoped it would help persuade my parents – our family image meant a lot to them, and they wouldn’t want someone else looking better than us.

“First years aren’t allowed brooms Draco.” My father muttered. His boredom annoyed me more, but I soon realised my parents weren’t budging on the issue. So much for bullying them into letting me have one.

“You don’t care about me.” I grumbled whilst kicking the ground as we walked. My father grunted and we continued the walk to the fireplace without another word spoken.

Back at home I stamped upstairs my room and slammed my bedroom door, hoping to make a point. I doubt they’d heard me in this large manor but I was still pleased as I viewed it as a fair expression of my anger. Night-time arrived and I hadn’t left my room yet, eating at my desk to avoid my parents. I lay on my bed with a book across my chest and gazed lazily to the window. A stream of moonlight slithered into my room. I moved into its path and gazed at the crescent in the sky, wondering how many days would pass before it would be full again. Through my sight I travelled across the landscape in front of me. Through the handsome gardens, over sharp hedgerows and deep trees and into the distance. Again I thought about the number of days left; the number of days before Hogwarts begins. In a whisper each evening I counted down: “3, 2, 1…”

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