Draco stepped confidently forward and tossed some floo powder into the fire. The flames crackled and popped, soaring higher and higher, a bright green.

"Off you go." His mother said. Draco stepped obediently into the fire place. The flames were warm around him, and almost immediately he began to spin: the grand living room of Malfoy Manor whirled out of sight and he could only see flashes of various fireplaces and rooms, and then -

He fell forward out of the fire but caught himself just in time. Before he could even look around there was a short man with a greasy apron standing in front of him, helping him out. Draco pulled his arm away, looking with recognition but unfriendliness at the man in front of him. "Mr Borgin." He said. His voice had become more smooth and low as he had got older - now he was eleven, and his grey eyes and blonde hair were beginning to look more and more like his fathers'. And now that he was eleven, tomorrow - just tomorrow, he would be going to Hogwarts!

"How nice to see you, Master Malfoy," Mr Borgin said, in a voice as greasy as his hair and clothes. He stepped back and Draco stepped onto the dusty red carpet.

He was in the shop he had been many times before, with his father on trading matters - Borgin and Burkes. As usual there were the many dark objects on display - even a human skeleton standing in the corner. Draco, however, was not interested as he usually was in the objects in the store; he was preoccupied with other matters. His heart beat rather fast he walked to the window and peered out. There were no wizarding children, soon to be Hogwarts students, to be seen yet - after all, this was Knockturn alley.

Shortly after his parents arrived through Floo powder too, and the three of them left the shop. Draco tried to mimic the stride of his father, and look cool and unconcerned. He caught sight of some wizarding children and their parents, both looking hopelessly lost, and pointed them out to his father. Lucious looked at them and then said softly, but coldly, "Mudbloods." And walked on.

Draco looked at the lost family with new respite and hurried after his father.

In truth, he had never been exactly sure why his family despised the muggleborns so much. He knew that it meant the families didn't have all magical people in them. He also knew that muggles were unworthy of wizards and shouldn't be in the pureblood families - but he still didn't really understand why. But he had been taught to hate them. And if his parents thought this was necessary, then he would obey them.

They wound through the dark alleys of Knockturn alley until they turned a corner and the brighter streets of Diagon Alley could be seen a short way away, and they headed forward towards it.

"We'll have to get you your books, wand, and robes first." Narcissa said, scanning his Hogwarts list. "Lucius, you get his books and I'll see to his robes and wand."

"Very well." Lucius departed, his long cloak swishing behind him as he walked through the crowd. There was something about him that made him stand out. Maybe it was a certain haughtiness.

"Come along, Draco dear." Narcissa took his hand. Draco would have liked to have kept it there, but, he thought, I'm not a baby anymore, and he didn't think other wizarding children did things like that. He pulled it away.

They soon found their way to Madam Malkin's. Draco had many things to look at as they passed - he had been to Diagon Alley before, of course, but it was extra busy today, and he spotted three bickering goblins, a wizard with a beard that came down to his feet, and, just outside Madam Malkin's itself, a huge giant man with a long brown coat, a bushy beard, and beetle black eyes.

Madam Malkin's was as busy as anywhere else, but Narcissa had a way of calmly getting things how she wanted them, and soon Draco was led to a velvet footstool. He climbed on and a magical measuring roll began zooming around him.

A few minutes after this rather rollicking procedure started, Draco felt a slight swoop in his stomach as another boy climbed up onto a stool next to him. He was quite thin, and had thick black hair and bright green eyes behind round glasses.

Why are you being so stupid?, Draco thought, addressing the swoop in his stomach. it's just another kid. Probably a little mudblood. This was reassuring, because it made Draco feel more important.

He arranged what he thought was a calm, casual expression on his face (it came out as more of a smirk) and said, "Hullo. Hogwarts too?"

"Yes." Replied the boy quietly.

Draco felt more confident at the boy's simple answer. "My father's next door buying my books and my mother's up the street looking at wands." He paused. What else should he say? Something - impressive? After all, I am a Malfoy. So he went on, "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 smuggle it in somehow." Draco wasn't sure if this was the right thing to say, but he felt rather proud as he said it. It was a brave thing to say. And his father had always said he would be a good quidditch player. "Have you got your own broom?" He added, a little hesitantly. If this boy did -

"No." Said the boy.

Draco smiled a little. "Play quidditch at all?"

"No."

Draco smiled a little more. "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?"

"No." Said the boy again. Draco didn't mind this rather repetitive answer - it made him feel like he could talk more, without - well, worrying. He said, "Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been." Then, quickly thinking of the house his family had always disliked, he added - "Imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" And waited for the boy's answer. To his satisfaction, it was a vague 'Mmm'.

He was thinking of what to say next when he noticed the giant man again. He was still outside the window, but he was waving at - at, Draco realised, the boy he himsef was talking to. "I say, look at that man!" He said, pretending he had just noticed, as he was eager to hear the boy's opinion on this giant and whether he knew him or not.

"That's Hagrid." Said the boy, and now it was he that sounded more confident. "He works at Hogwarts."

The name sparked a memory in Draco's mind - a memory of his father, talking about that man, Dumbledore, like he often did, and - what had he said? - he'd said - he'd said - yes, he'd said about Dumbledore having giants as servants, and how it was shocking the ministry would let anyone like that Hagrid work at the school. So he said: "Oh. I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the game-keeper." Replied the boy, and his face seemed to be getting less and less friendly. Draco felt defensive - the Malfoy's were always right, weren't they? Yes - and this boy wasn't going to change his opinion of that. If father didn't like this giant man, Hagrid, then neither would he. So he replied, with a purposeful sneer this time, "Yes, exactly. I've 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."

The boy frowned. "I think he's brilliant." He said coldly.

Draco was going to shrug, but he changed his mind, curious, and said, "Do you? Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead." The boy said shortly.

Draco, somehow, didn't feel very sorry. He knew he should have been - but this boy didn't seem to be very nice. He probably is a muggleborn, Draco thought. "Oh, sorry." He said. Then he asked - "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."

This was a blow - this boy was not a muggleborn, but Draco was able to keep cool. "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." This was a good speech. It was one his father liked to say. To finish, he said, "What's your surname, anyway?"

But the boy had no time to answer. His robes were finished. He hopped down from the stool. As he began to walk away, Draco said quickly, "Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts I suppose."

And then the boy was gone, without answering. As soon as he had vanished, Draco felt the old loneliness sweep over him. Had that gone well?

You're a Malfoy, Draco told himself. It doesn't matter.