Chapter Four: Draco Meets Potter
+ Extra: The First Friend (Harry's Perspective)
The Malfoys stepped out of the towering white marble building of Gringotts into sunlight that blazed brighter than before. Goblin guards in scarlet‑and‑gold uniforms bowed low, dismissing one of the bank's most distinguished clients.
Diagon Alley was swelling with people. Wizards and witches streamed through the narrow cobbled street, their voices rising in a chorus of chatter. With term approaching, nearly every young witch and wizard in Britain had come to purchase school supplies. The crowd pressed so thickly that walking without colliding became nearly impossible.
The Malfoys did not relish such chaos. They paused on the steps, reluctant to plunge into the noisy tide.
"These people make Diagon Alley feel like a pigsty," Lucius muttered, eyes narrowed in distaste.
"Divide and conquer," Narcissa decided briskly.
"I'll fetch the books from Flourish and Blotts," Lucius said, idly twirling his serpent‑headed cane.
"Isn't it ladies first? Do I have no choice at all?" Narcissa's blue eyes flashed with playful defiance.
"A gentleman would never burden his wife with heavy tomes," Lucius replied smoothly. "Why not visit Ollivander's for Draco's wand? Or perhaps look at new robes?" His tone carried arrogance, but his gaze softened with a trace of affection.
"Lucius, today is for Draco," Narcissa chided, squeezing his arm. "I'll see to the wand. Draco, go to Madam Malkin's for your robes, then meet me afterward."
"I don't mind," Draco said casually.
Inwardly, he marveled. How had he missed these small gestures before—the subtle touches, the quiet warmth between his parents? In his former life, he had been blind, wrapped in his own arrogance. Now, watching closely, he saw the affection they tried to hide.
Soon he was standing on a stool in Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, a young witch pinning fabric around him. His attention, however, was fixed on the window. Through the glass he glimpsed a massive figure striding closer—Hagrid, the gamekeeper. Impossible to mistake: the hulking frame, the beetle‑black eyes, the rough face. And beside him, a boy. Potter.
Before they entered, Draco leaned toward Madam Malkin. "Madam, do you sell invisibility cloaks?"
She blinked at him. "Child, why would you ask such a thing? That's not a question for a boy your age."
Draco smiled innocently. "It's for my mother. She's busy buying other things."
The woman studied him, suspicious, then relented. "Very well. I'll give you a catalogue. With your mother's signature, you may order through owl post."
By the time Potter stepped inside, the catalogue was tucked safely into Draco's enchanted dragon‑hide pouch. Invisibility cloaks were rare, costly, and invaluable. He remembered losing fifty points for Slytherin after a midnight escapade. Potter, of course, had owned one. Draco was certain he had used it often.
Madam Malkin guided Potter to the stool beside him. Draco forced himself to appear friendly. He could not afford to ruin this chance.
"Going to Hogwarts too?" Draco asked lightly.
"Yes," Potter replied, awkward and uncertain.
Draco studied him. The boy's clothes were shabby, his shoes worn. His Muggle relatives had not treated him well. For a moment, Draco felt an unexpected pang of sympathy.
He searched for a topic. Parents? Potter's were dead. Wealth? Potter's inheritance had not reached him. Bloodlines? Too dangerous. Quidditch? Perhaps—but had Potter ever touched a broom?
At last Draco settled on the simplest question. "Do you know which house you'll be in?"
"I don't know," Potter admitted, looking even more uneasy.
Draco sighed inwardly. So unprepared. So ignorant. What had his guardians told him? Nothing, it seemed. He looked like a lamb led to slaughter.
Softening his tone, Draco offered, "Don't worry. If you'd like, I can explain."
Potter nodded, curious.
"There are four houses: Slytherin, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. Each values different traits. Slytherin favors ambition. Gryffindor prizes courage. Ravenclaw seeks wisdom. Hufflepuff cherishes loyalty."
Potter listened intently, as though hearing secrets. Draco almost pitied him. These were common facts, yet Potter absorbed them hungrily.
"Most people want Gryffindor," Draco added. "Dumbledore himself was a Gryffindor."
"You want Gryffindor too?" Potter asked.
"No," Draco said firmly. "I'll be in Slytherin. My parents were both Slytherins."
He continued, "Some say Slytherin breeds dark wizards—because Voldemort was one. But Hogwarts has existed for a thousand years. One man does not define an entire house. To judge all Slytherins by his sins is unfair."
Potter nodded slowly, thoughtful.
Draco smiled faintly. "It's foolish to label people before you know them. Take Hagrid, for example." He gestured toward the window, where the giant held two ice creams. "Most see a brute. But I'd wager a Chocolate Frog he's loyal to his friends."
Potter brightened. "He is. He works at Hogwarts."
"Gamekeeper, isn't he?" Draco said. "He knows magical creatures. Perhaps we'll learn from him." He suppressed a grimace, remembering Buckbeak and Blast‑Ended Skrewts.
Potter, oblivious to the irony, said warmly, "He's kind. He came with me today."
"You'll make more friends at Hogwarts," Draco said. He wisely avoided asking why Potter's parents were absent.
Potter hesitated, then asked shyly, "What's a Chocolate Frog?"
Draco nearly groaned. "A wizard sweet. Chocolate shaped like a frog. Each comes with a collectible card."
He explained patiently, remembering the train ride when his attempt at friendship had failed. Potter had rejected him coldly, saying, I can tell who's worth my time. The words had stung.
This time, Draco kept his composure.
"Robes are ready," Madam Malkin announced.
Draco hopped down lightly. "See you at Hogwarts. I'm Draco Malfoy. And you are…?" He extended his hand, face calm but heart racing.
"I'm Harry. Harry Potter." Potter grasped his hand.
"Pleasure, Harry Potter." Draco's pale face curved into a faint smile as he stepped out. Progress, at last.
---
Extra: The First Friend (Harry's Perspective)
For eleven years in the Muggle world, Harry had been mocked for his oversized clothes and taped glasses. Children avoided him, cowed by Dudley's bullying. Teachers overlooked him. Neighbors whispered that he was strange, poisoned by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's lies.
Draco Malfoy was the first to say, "You can't judge someone by appearances."
The words warmed Harry's heart.
Draco was different. His clothes, his voice, his manner—all carried elegance and confidence. He seemed untouched by hardship, a boy from another world. Harry felt shabby beside him.
Yet Draco had offered kindness. He had explained Hogwarts houses without impatience. He had shaken Harry's hand without flinching at his name. No disgust, no awe—just calm acceptance.
It was a kind of equality Harry had never known.
Hagrid was his first friend in the wizarding world. But Draco Malfoy, perhaps, was his first friend his own age.
Even if he wanted Slytherin, he was not Voldemort. He was something else. Something Harry could not yet define.