Draya Lucia Malfoy was not much over one years of age when the Potters place got blown up, taking with it her father's career.

She was too young to understand why her father was running around the Manor tearing his hair out as he barked frantic orders at the servants. Too young to feel any compassion towards her mother who often stared fretfully out of the window, biting her nails, as though she were awaiting trouble to turn up.

No. All Draya cared about was her teether. And she was most displeased when, after she'd tossed it angrily to the ground upon discovering her scrambled egg was on the slight side of cold, that no one was rushing to her aid to return it immediately to her!

Imbeciles, the lot of them.

*****

"Draya, darling! Time to get up!"

I woke with a start. My mother knocked softly on the door again.

"Darling?" She repeated gently. "There's bacon on for your special birthday breakfast. Make sure to come downstairs as soon as you've dressed."

My eyes popped wide open, excitement filling my insides. Today I was eleven. Stretching out on my super king, I wriggled pleasantly beneath the silk sheets, wondering how many birthday presents I would receive this year.

Once I was dressed in my finest green robes, I made my way down to the dining room, where, at the table lay a decadent spread of pancakes topped with bacon and maple syrup. But best of all was the large pile of smartly wrapped presents placed on a side table next to my chair.

A quick glance over at them told me I definitely had more than the year before.

I skipped across the room, not even my father's scowling presence at the head of the table could ruin this special day for me.

"Happy birthday, my darling," my mother gushed, jumping out of her seat to hurry around the table and hold my chair out for me. "Would you like some pumpkin juice?"

I wrinkled my nose. "I think I'll have a coffee now that I'm eleven."

"Coffee is an adult drink," my father said, his drawling tones containing not an ounce of warmth, "and you, Draya, are still a child."

I looked at him and he looked at me. Not being able to bear his icy stare any longer, I glanced away. "Fine," I mumbled hotly, "I'll have a juice."

Silently, I pulled each present before me, unwrapping them in the way I knew my father would approve: with an air of contempt.

I had a good haul. Mostly new clothes, which my mother assured me were the latest fashions. I also unwrapped a new satchel, my very first make-up kit, books mainly about Quidditch, a pot of hair cream, and a rare peacock quill set.

"And the last present," my father announced with a touch of rare pride to his voice, "is the most important."

I glanced up to see him holding up a roll of parchment tied up with black ribbon. "I pulled a few strings with Igor."

My mother gasped and not in a good way. My own heart sank a little, but I refused to let my father see. He did not like weakness, and I already had my work cut out for me proving that girls were just as tough as boys.

Reaching across the table, I took it from him, grateful that my hand did not tremble as I untied the ribbon and rolled it open.

DURMSTRANG INSTITUTE

Dear Miss Malfoy,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Durmstrang Institute. Please find a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your response by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Igor Kakaroff
Headmaster

"I thought we agreed-" Mother said at once.

"We agreed we'd send Draya to the best place-"

"Not overseas!" Mother cried, clutching a hand to her chest. "And what do you mean 'you pulled a few strings'? What's wrong with Hogwarts?"

My father's lip curled. "Dumbledore is what is wrong. He's a bumbling old fool and I won't have any child of mine be influenced by his crackpot beliefs. Draya needs toughening up, not softening down!"

"I'm sorry," Mother implored, vigorously shaking her head, "but I don't agree with Igor's methods. He is an egoistical man who is rumoured to encourage a culture of fear and intimidation amongst the students."

"And you think that's a bad thing?" Father scoffed, picking up his coffee to take a delicate sip.

"Yes!"

"Narcissa, you know Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line about the Dark Arts than Hogwarts does. The students actually learn them, unlike with Dumbledore and his defence rubbish. He allows Mudbloods to attend the school for Merlin's sake. If we ever face another war again, we want Draya to be prepared do we not? And who do you think will be targeted? The Mudblood lovers, that's whom."

Mother closed her eyes, and I could see she was fighting a battle inside her head. "I'm sorry," she said slowly and carefully, "but I just cannot agree to let Draya go so far away. She is still a child - my child."

I glanced nervously at Father whose nostrils were flaring angrily. I wondered how far he would go to put his foot down. I secretly hoped that Mother would win this argument for I was desperate to go to the same school as Pansy.

Pansy and I had been friends for as long as I could remember. She was my only friend, if truth be told. It was a lonely life being an only child growing up in a vast manor. The days went by slowly and my only happiness came from the rare visits by my mother's best friend, Jemima Parkinson. She always brought along her daughter, Pansy, and we would often wander off together and play while the mothers gossiped away the afternoon.

But I knew it was no use putting in my opinion. It wouldn't count. My father doesn't believe that children should have a voice. Seen and not heard, was his motto. Although sometimes I think he'd prefer not to see me either.

So, it was to my great relief when later that day, Mother came up to me smiling and said that Father had agreed I could go to Hogwarts after all.

I hugged her very hard, wanting to tell her how much I loved her. But I did not.

Malfoys did not declare their feelings. They pushed them down and held their heads up high. And they certainly did not cry.

******

"Why can't I get a broomstick?"

"Because first years are not allowed."

"That's a stupid rule."

"I know. And this is precisely why I felt you were better off going to Durmstrang."

I sealed my mouth shut after that. I did not want to give my father any reason to change his mind.

Father then disappeared down somewhere called Knockturn Alley. It looked exciting but Mother forbade me to go with him, so I was forced into having to scavenge for my reading books just like a lowly commoner.

"Robes!" My mother gasped as we stood in the long queue at Flourish and Blotts. "I'd almost clean forgotten that I'd made an appointment in Madam Malkin's for you to be fitted up."

"That's alright," I said lazily, feeling a flutter of hope that I could escape from this riff-raff. "I can go on my own."

She reluctantly agreed, so long as I went straight there and straight back without talking to anyone but Madam Malkin herself.

Of course I broke that rule the second a boy came into the shop and hopped up onto the empty stool next to me.

"Hullo," I said, eyeing the bespectacled raven haired boy with curiosity, "Hogwarts too?"

"Yes," he answered in a small voice. I deduced he must be a first year as well, and so I was keen to make friends.

"My mother's next door buying my books and Father's up some place called Knockturn Alley," I said in my best drawl. "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."

I couldn't seem to stop talking. Even when the boy looked at me with obvious contempt, I felt the need to bluster on in an attempt to impress him. What was wrong with me?

"Have you got your own broom?" I went on, desperate to engage him in conversation.

"No."

Silence.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No."

Merlin. This boy was giving me nothing. So, I tried again.

"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."

I felt utterly frustrated. I thought making friends was supposed to be easy, but somehow, by the non-reaction of this boy, I wasn't doing a very good job. However, I refused to give up.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they," I continued, "but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been - imagine being in Hufflepuff, I'd think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmm."

I was tempted to bash my forehead against the mirror before me. Instead, I looked around for inspiration. And then I saw a great big giant-like man at the shop window. His appearance startled me at first, but when I saw he was holding two ice-creams and trying to garner the attention of the monosyllabic boy, I finally felt saved.

"I say, look at that man!" I said enthusiastically, thinking surely this boy would at least have something to say about that. He didn't disappoint.

"That's Hagrid," he said, suddenly sounding pleased with himself. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh, I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

The boy's face fell. Clearly I had said the wrong thing.

"He's the gamekeeper."

"Yes, exactly." I said quickly, feeling a rush of relief. "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."

I was hoping this little anecdote would make him laugh like it had done me when Father told me about it. But instead, the boy gave me a cold look, his green eyes narrowing.

"I think he's brilliant."

"Do you?" I couldn't help but feel irritated by this boy's unfriendliness towards me. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead."

"Oh, sorry," I said, wondering how one responds to such an answer. When he did not expand on this, I searched my head for something to say. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

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

Ah, so he was like me. Perhaps that's why he was being so cold - maybe he thought I was a Mudblood? I decided to reassure him.

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you?" I rushed out. "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?"

But before he could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my dear," and the boy hopped down from the footstool without even a second glance.

"Well," I called after him as he began to walk away, "I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose."

He threw me a strange look over his shoulder and then left without saying goodbye.

******