Chapter 1 : Threads and Hearts

Dracaena Malfoy knew that a letter would come from Hogwarts eventually, so it was no surprise at all when her family's servant, Dobby, crept into her room one morning carrying an envelope with the official school crest.

"Young mistress," Dobby groaned in a high-pitched whine, "a letter has arrived for you today. Dobby believes it's-"

"I already KNOW what it is, Dobby!" Dracaena interrupted, snatching the letter from his hands. "That will be all Dobby!"

"Of course, young mistress," Dobby bowed.

She could have sworn she saw a smile on the house elf's ugly little face, and thought about asking if he found something amusing, but she decided to ignore it. She hurriedly tore open the envelope and read the letter within:

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Ms. Malfoy,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await you owl by no later than 31 January.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Dracaena could not help but giggle as she clutched her letter to her chest. She would finally be going to the school she had been dreaming of since she could first ride a broom. Hogwarts produced the finest witches and wizards in all the world, and she would be one of them. She scanned through the list of equipment, picturing all the wonderful new things she'd be bringing with her: uniform robes, books, cauldron, wand. Her eyes read and reread the last note of the list:

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.

Not allowed my own broomstick!? She thought bitterly. How am I possibly supposed to practice for Quidditch then!? We'll just see about that!

"Father! Mother!" She called happily as she left her room.

Malfoy manor was built long ago by her ancestors, who spared no expense. The halls were grand, lined with tapestries and paintings. The floors were tile polished to a mirror shine. The dining hall had an antique chandelier hanging over the table, casting dim light.

Dracaena found her mother and father sitting at either end of the dining table. Her father was reading a copy of the Daily Prophet and sipping a cup of tea.

"Good morning, Father!" Dracaena greeted. "Good morning, mother!"

"Good morning, darling," her mother greeted back.

Her father simply nodded without taking his eyes from the newspaper.

"I got my letter from Hogwarts today!" Dracaena exclaimed holding out the letter.

"Naturally darling," Lucius said without looking at her. "Did you ever have any doubts that the heir of Malfoy would be accepted."

The heir of Malfoy, she thought with a smile. She felt herself stand a little straighter and her chest swell.

"What house do you think I'll be sorted into?"

For the first time her father lowered the newspaper and gave her a stern look.

"You will be a Slytherin," he drawled. "Like your father, and mother, and many generations of Malfoy before. Could you only imagine the ridicule our family would face if our progeny were sorted into Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff."

His final statement was more muttered to himself as he went back to reading the Daily Prophet. Dracaena felt a pit in her stomach, wondering what would happen if she were chosen for a different house.

"It looks like we shall have to make a few purchases," her mother said, looking over the list. "After all, our little girl deserves only the newest and best."

"Indeed," her father said, "though I'm afraid it shan't be today. I have a meeting with several members of the ministry to discuss some new bylaws being debated."

"But Father," Dracaena whined, "I want to go now!"

"Enough!" Lucius snapped, thumping his cane on the floor

Dracaena felt herself stiffen. Her hands folded neatly in front of her.

"We shall find a time when we may all go together," her mother said gently. "Right, Lucius?"

"Of course," he smiled at her. "But for now I must be off. Narcissa, I leave the response to Hogwarts to you."

"Yes dear."

With that, her father apparated out of their dining hall.

"I shall head to the study then," her mother said. "You have fun darling."

Her mother left the room, her footsteps echoing on the cold tiles the whole way. Dracaena was left alone in the great, empty dining hall.

"Dobby!" She shouted.

The servants' door slowly opened and Dobby peaked his bat-like face around.

"Yes, young mistress?"

"I am hungry!" She stated it like a command.

"Of course, young mistress. What would you like?"

"Toast with butter and strawberry jam."

"Right away," Dobby bowed, heading for the kitchen.

Diagon Alley was a bustle with witches and wizards going shopping for all manner of goods. Everywhere they went, the crowds parted as they saw the sneer on her father's face. The Malfoy family was powerful, and no one wanted to cross them even on something as minor as blocking their way down the street.

They came to Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions and stopped.

"Narcissa, darling," her father spoke. "Why don't you head along to Ollivander's and have him begin prepare a selection of wands for Dracaena. We shall make better headway if he does not take all day searching his disheveled shelves."

"Must we buy her robes from Madame Malkin?" Her mother asked. "You know she caters to mu…" she paused and looked around, "Muggleborns and those sort."

"My dear," her father responded, "it would be nigh impossible to find any in this alley who do not serve the wrong sort. I'm afraid the wizarding world is simply in a downward spiral. In spite of that Madame Malkin is still the best for school robes and so we shall provide Dracaena with the best."

"Very well," her mother said with a huff. "Now darling you be good, and I'll see you in a few minutes."

Her mother began walking down the street. Her father motioned her inside where a squat, smiling witch was waiting.

"Well now if it isn't Lucius Malfoy," Madame Malkin said, her tone overly sweet. "And could it be? Why little Dracaena, growing so fast."

"Indeed," her father responded. "We are here to get her school robes tailored."

"Bless my broomstick," Madame Malkin gasped. "Are you off to Hogwarts already dearie? Why it feels like only yesterday I was measuring you for a dress for your fifth birthday."

Dracaena felt her cheeks redden slightly, but even still her chest swelled with pride. She remembered that dress well, everyone at her party had commented on how adorable she was in it, and what a proper young lady she was.

They were right of course, she thought to herself, I am adorable.

"Well then," said Madame Malkin, "let's get started."

"Very good," her father said, "I shall be next door at Flourish and Blott's picking up your books. Do behave yourself for the Madame, will you?"

"Of course, Father," she replied.

Madame Malkin's assistant, a plain faced, almost forgettable witch, step forward and went to work. With a flick of her wand, the measuring tap extended out and she began recording the measurements.

The bell rang at the door as another customer stepped in.

"Hogwarts, dear?" Madame Malkin asked the newcomer. "Got the lot here- why there's a young lady being fitted just now, in fact."

Dracaena turned to look at the new customer. It was a boy about her age. He was small, dressed in a shirt much too large for him. He had messy brown hair and behind his tapped together classes were a pair of startling green eyes.

Madame Malkin's assistant began pinning her robes as the boy stepped up on a stool next to her and Madame Malkin began slipping a black robe over him as well.

"Hullo," she said, "Hogwarts too?"

"Yes," the boy said flatly.

Dracaena waited a moment to see if he would say anymore, but he did not.

Perhaps he's overwhelmed in the presence of the heir of Malfoy, she thought with some satisfaction.

"My father's next door buying my books and Mother's up the street looking at wands," she added. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have brooms of their own. I think I can guilt Father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

She could see it in her mind. She'd tell father how she needed the broom to practice for Quidditch, then she'd bat her eyes at him and if he told her no she'd start to tear up till she got what she wanted.

The boy stared at her, an odd look, almost like distaste on his face.

"Have you got your own broom?" She asked, trying to get him to speak.

"No," he said, in the same flat tone.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," he responded again, this time his eyebrow raised.

"I do," she continued, seeing she would not get much conversation out of this boy. "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," this time she could at least hear the confusion in his voice.

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

She tried to imagine herself as a Hufflepuff, the yellow and black would not suit her nearly so well as the green and silver. Not to mention the shame of being the only Malfoy to not enter into House Slytherin.

"Mmmm," the boy mumbled.

Does this boy have ANYTHING of interest to say? She wondered.

Suddenly, Dracaena saw a hairy mountain of a man outside the front window, holding two ice-cream cones and smiling in at them.

"I say, look at the man!" She said suddenly, nodding towards the window.

He looks like he could swallow both those ice-creams whole in a single gulp, she thought. He might be able to swallow one of US whole.

"That's Hagrid," the boy smiled as he spoke. "He works at Hogwarts."

Dracaena thought back on her mother and father discussing staffing at Hogwarts and remembered them talking about a 'Rubeus Hagrid'. Now she had a large, hairy face to put to the name.

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

"He's the gamekeeper," the boy's smile dropped to a frown.

"Yes, exactly," she said hurriedly. "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."

Dracaena did her best to hold back a giggle. She could clearly see it in her mind: the huge man swaying drunkenly, a bottle in one hand, wand in the other as he sings spells to himself. His wand shooting sparks and embers every which way. She might actually pay to watch such a display.

"I think he's brilliant," the boy snapped coldly.

"Do you?" She asked.

She could feel her face scrunching up from something between confusion and distaste.

Is this boy alright in the head?

"Why is he with you?" She asked. "Where are you parents?"

"They're dead," he answered shortly.

"Oh, sorry," Dracaena was unsure of what else to say.

After a moment's silence, she spoke up again.

"But they were our kind, weren't they?"

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

That's good at least, she thought with relief. Father would never approve of me interacting with a Muggleborn, let alone befriending one.

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you?" She rambled, just trying to fill the silence between them. "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."

A sudden thought crossed Dracaena's mind.

Who is this boy, anyway? I've been prattling on and I don't even know what family he comes from.

"What's your surname, anyway?"

The boy looked as though he was about to answer when Madame Malkin interrupted.

"That's you done, my dear."

With that, the boy hurriedly stepped down and gathered up his robes, before heading towards the door.

"Well," Dracaena called after him, "I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose."

What an odd boy, she thought. Still, he's a good pureblood. I may have just made my first friend at Hogwarts

Dracaena did her best to stifle a small, happy giggle

Harry could not help but think of the girl at the robe shop as he ate his ice-cream. Nothing she said made any sense to him: Quidditch, houses, 'other sort', none of it. All he knew was that she rubbed him just the wrong way.

In his mind he could see her faking tears to get whatever she wanted, just the way Dudley would to get something out of Aunt Petunia.

She does have one advantage over Dudley though, he thought, his cheeks feeling slightly warm. Dudley was NEVER that cute.

Dracaena and her father rejoined Mother inside the wand shop belonging to Garrick Ollivander, perhaps the greatest wandmaker in Britain.

"As you can see Misses Malfoy," Mister Ollivander was saying as they entered. "I have prepared a fine selection of wands, all dragon's heartstring, just as requested."

"Excellent," Father said, placing the bag of books on the counter. "Choose whichever you like darling."

"Just a moment, Mister Malfoy," Mister Ollivander interrupted with a wink. "Perhaps you have forgotten: the wand chooses, not the other way around."

Dracaena looked over the wands set out on the counter in front of her. Each was a marvelous piece of woodwork in its own right, any one of them could be worthy of her. She picked up a lightly colored wand, which bent back and forth almost like a slithering snake's tail.

"Hornbeam wood. Fourteen and a half inches," Mister Ollivander nodded. "Fine work indeed."

She waved the wand to test it and the wand seemed to leap from her hand like it was a live frog, bouncing along the floor.

"The first one is never correct," Mister Ollivander laughed.

Dracaena picked up her second choice: a handle of red and gold, the main body about the colour of a dark cherry.

"Redwood. Fourteen-inches, exactly," Ollivander said proudly.

She tried this wand too, but it released a foul-smelling green smoke that made her eyes water.

"I suppose not," Mister Ollivander commented happily.

Two more wands she tried and they did not choose her. A ten-inch vine wood wand sent her books tumbling to the ground with a thud. And a twelve-inch sent up a gust of wind that tossed all their hair into a mess.

"This is ridiculous," Father said with a sneer. "Have you completely lost your touch for wandlore, old man?"

"Perhaps," Mister Ollivander said, a sly gleam in his eye, "we are going about this the wrong way."

"What do you mean?" Dracaena asked. "Am I not good enough for your wands?"

"No, Miss Malfoy. I mean to say we have been seeking in only one direction so far. It might be time to consider seeking a different core."

"Preposterous," Father snapped. "Dragon heart-"

"Lucius," Mother said calmly, "we should at least let him try."

Mister Ollivander nodded gratefully and went searching along his shelves.

"Where, oh, where did I put that one," he muttered to himself. "There it is!"

He pulled a dark box from among the many others on a cluttered shelf. In his excitement at having found what he was seeking, another box slipped out and fell to the ground, apparently unnoticed.

"Here we are," Mister Ollivander said with a grin. "Eleven inches of holly wood with a phoenix tail feather as the core."

Ollivander handed Dracaena the wand and stepped back. His eyes seemed to shift nervously from her to her father then down to the wand.

The wand felt strangely warm in her hand, like holding one's hand close to a dim candle. Dracaena waved the wand and the heat became almost unbearable as burst of flame shot from the end of the wand, sailing down the row before dissipating.

"No…?" Mister Ollivander said, with puzzlement. "I really would have thought… Bah! No matter."

"I believe I have seen enough," Father said. "Clearly, the work of Ollivander's has gone down, just as the rest of the wizarding world has. Come, Dracaena, we will take our business to Gregorovich instead."

"What about that one?" Dracaena asked, pointing at the box that had fallen from the shelf.

"Hmmm?" Mister Ollivander asked, turning to look down. "Now when did that…?"

He walked back down the row, placing the one she had just tested back atop the stack before picking the box up from the floor. He studied the labels on the box for a moment, before drawing the wand out and handing it to Dracaena.

Something about it felt right in her hand. She gave it a swish and it left a trail of silver sparkles in its wake. The sparkles seemed to dance around her, tickling where they touched her.

Mister Ollivander stood staring at her, his mouth hung agape. He gave her a small smile, a gentle warmth behind his eyes.

"Hawthorn. Ten inches," he said. "With a core of unicorn hair. Take good care of it, and it will take care of you."

Dracaena felt her chest swelling with pride.

"But," Mister Ollivander continued gravely, "a word of caution Miss Malfoy. The unicorn is a pure and noble beast; it chooses a good heart as its master. Stay true to your heart…"

Mister Ollivander gave her father a heavy look.

"...Lest you break its heart," he finished.

Mister Ollivander looked back at her, smiling.

Dracaena could no longer contain it: she began laughing.

"You speak as though this wand holds sway over me, instead of the other way around," Dracaena said between laughter. "I am the heir of the Malfoy family, and this wand shall be a tool on the way to greatness!"

"Well said," Father said approvingly. "Narcissa, pay the man if you please, then let's be off."

Her mother handed the man seven gold galleons.

The Malfoy family stepped back out into the daylight. Dracaena still held out her wand, imagining herself as top of her class.

The greatest witch Hogwarts has ever known, she thought, Dracaena Malfoy!

"Is there anything else you want to look at darling?" Mother asked, drawing her from her daydreams.

"Racing brooms!" She answered excitedly. "I simply must have the latest one!"

"Whatever for?" Father asked bluntly. "First years are strictly forbidden from bringing their own broomsticks."

And it's ridiculous!

"Oh please, Father?" Dracaena pulled out her best pouty eyes. "How else can I practice to join the Quidditch team?"

"We may browse the broomsticks today, but I will not waste my money on something that shall be outdated by the time you get any use of it."

"But Father…" she whined, prepared to break out the tears.

Her father turned a cold, hard gaze on her. She froze where she stood and swallowed a lump in her throat.

"Are you speaking back to me," the question felt more like a threat, "young lady?"

Dracaena could not help but remember when Dobby had 'spoken back' to her father. He had returned from the ministry in a foul mood and demanded dinner immediately. Dobby had apologized and said dinner still needed more time to be ready. He asked Dobby the same question in the same tone. Father had ordered him to stick a hot coal on his tongue as punishment.

"No, Father," she said, avoiding his gaze.

"Good."

Father took a moment to compose himself before speaking again.

"Now then," he said, "let us see these new racing brooms you are so interested in."

Dracaena sighed in relief, then happily followed her parents through Diagon Alley.