The First Casualty
Draco hated a lot of things. Country music, unsalted French fries, clothing with exposed zippers. But most of all, he hated being wrong. Unfortunately for him, he truly believed that he didn’t like Harry Potter. He was wrong.
Draco stepped onto the train at Platform 9 and 3/4s, leaving his mother and father looking on disapprovingly. He had opted to wear dark grey socks with his outfit and his father believed that was a punishable wrongdoing.
“A Malfoy must always look presentable. Unmatched fabric is for poor wizards, blood-traitors, and mudbloods. You are not poor. Black socks go with black shoes and black pants. Never make that mistake again,” his father sneered.
For the record, Draco’s pants were dark grey, so his socks were perfectly acceptable. He was not wrong. He was, however, burdened with trifling matters like sock color. Draco took his seat in the train car and was quickly joined by Crabbe, Goyle, Blaise, and Pansy. Unfortunately, the Slytherin car never passed the Bechdel test. Pansy really needed to make more friends.
Or maybe I should be the one making friends, Draco thought. It didn’t matter, he could only be friends with purebloods anyway.
“Draco you look more depressed than usual. I didn’t know that was possible,” Pansy said, leaning towards him.
Draco leaned in like he was going to say something sensitive. Very softly he whispered, “You’re gay.”
They both burst into laughter. Draco and Pansy had been very close since they were children. While their parents would talk about wine or investing or murder, they would share secrets and learn new spells. Draco was relieved when he got sorted into Slytherin, not just because his parents wouldn’t disown him, but because he got to be with Pansy.
“So, I don’t know what just happened between you two but how are we splitting the sweets?” Blaise interjected. “I am not sitting on this train hungry.”
“Blaise you literally eat them all yourself, why in the world would I pay for your snack?” Pansy laughed.
“Not cool mate, you know Crabbe and Goyle pitch in,” Blaise scoffed.
“I don’t think Crabbe and Goyle are on the same plane of existence that we are right now,” Draco said nodding his head to where the two sat zoned out.
“My mum heard that their family took a trip to some muggle vacation spot by accident and now they’re kind of distant. Some muggle technology or something,” Pansy said.
“Maybe they’re brainwashed,” Blaise suggested.
“More than they already were? No way,” Pansy said.
“I think you’re referring to drugs. They found drugs. You know muggles aren’t the only ones who use drugs, right?” Draco asked, a little concerned that Pansy and Blaise in fact didn’t know that.
“No really?” Pansy said sarcastically. “I’m just trying to spice things up a little bit.”
“I know what will spice things up,” Blaise said, a little bit too eagerly. “Spying on the Gryffindors.” He stood up and did jazz hands.
“Yes, yes, yes! I’ve been practicing my cloaking spells!” Pansy said almost jumping out of her seat.
“Blaise we all know you just want to see Hermione, be real with yourself.”
“You know Draco, sometimes its okay to let other people be happy,” Pansy said putting on her therapist voice. “And what will make me happy, you ask? Well-”
“No actually I didn’t ask.”
“Oh I’m sorry,” Pansy snapped back into her regular voice, “I forgot you were really here. The fictional Draco in my head is a lot less combative.”
“Pansy I am not combative, I’m talking because this is a conversation.”
“Blah blah blah, goes real Draco. Yes Pansy I love you and worship the ground you walk on, goes fictional Draco.”
“I’m sorry is fictional Draco delusional?”
“Fictional Draco has his priorities sorted out, real Draco has a longstanding homoerotic rivalry. Yet real Draco thinks fictional Draco is the crazy one.”
“It’s not a rivalry! We’re just not friends.”
“So you admit it! It is homoerotic!”
“Wait what? I never said that!”
“But you also never denied it! Draco Malfoy the almighty is in a homoerotic rivalry!” Pansy almost screamed victoriously.
“Get over here you bitch! Someone will hear you!”
“Someone will hear the truth!” Pansy rushed past an increasingly irritated Draco to pull the compartment door open. “Draco Malfoy is in a homoerotic rivalry!” she yelled out into the corridor.
All the way down the car, heads poked out of compartments in confusion. Cho Chang snapped out of it the fastest.
“I called it first,” she said, as she went back to her seat.
“PANSY I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!”
Pansy shrieked and ran around the compartment, Draco chasing behind her. Blaise who had bought his sweets during the chaos, watched them mildly entertained.
I can’t believe I live with these people and I haven’t died yet, he thought to himself.
“Wait, Blaise,” Draco stopped suddenly. “When the fuck did you go blonde?”
“Draco you’re looking in a mirror. You’re blond you idiot.” Pansy punched him on the shoulder. “Maybe you’re the one on drugs.”
“Nah he’s just distracted by his homoerotic rivalry,” Blaise laughed. “Apparently too distracted to remember that I’m black and also how mirrors work.”
Draco felt like he was floating out of his body. Of course, he knew what mirrors were. How could he have gotten that confused? And now everything was blending together. Pansy’s face was just a blur. A blur that was getting more and more out of focus.
“Draco? Draco. Draco!” Pansy yelled but she sounded far away.
----------
Draco woke up on the floor of his compartment. His head was ringing, and blood was rushing in his ears. He blinked his eyes into focus. Pansy was next to him playing wizard chess with herself. Crabbe and Goyle were still out of commission. Blaise was somehow only done half of his snack.
Everyone seemed calm. The only thing out of the ordinary was Draco being on the ground. And his feet were cold. Draco picked his head up slightly to look down at his feet. He wasn’t wearing any socks.
“Oh yeah, your socks were hexed,” Pansy said nonchalantly, not looking up from her game. She raised her hand, “Blaise.”
He tossed her a piece of licorice. “I highly suggest you put on black socks next time.”
That’s just one more thing he can add to the list of things horribly wrong with his family. Wearing the wrong color socks was in fact punishable. He got up and flicked his wand, moving his truck down off the loft. He grabbed a pair of socks, black this time, and put his shoes back on.
“How did you know my socks were hexed?” he asked Pansy.
“They set on fire, it was wicked,” she replied, smiling that he was no longer floor bound.
“Subtle.”
“Spicing things up.”
“Do you still want to spy on Potter and his friends? We have a little bit until we get to Hogwarts,” Blaise asked, but it was less like asking and more of a statement.
“You two go, I need to lament my life for a minute. And grieve my favorite pair of socks,” Draco said sadly.
“Suit yourself,” Pansy said getting up and skipping out into the corridor with Blaise.
And with that, Draco was alone in the compartment. Well, alone enough. The comatose bodies of Crabbe and Goyle weren’t providing much company.
Draco reached back over to his trunk and pulled out The History of Balusters. It was a drop-dead boring book. Unfortunately, balusters have nothing to do with ballistics, and are instead the patterned rods that make up a railing. Boring. Very boring. He opened the book, revealing that the inside was cut out to make room for a smaller leatherbound journal. It had been a present from Pansy right before they stepped on the train for their first year. Now he was using it as a logbook. (Which is definitely not how he convinces himself it’s not a diary)
Dear Logbook,
Fictional Draco probably doesn’t have a father who hexes his socks. But fictional Draco doesn’t have a longstanding homoerotic rivalry, now does he? I am sad, terribly sad, about the fate of my socks. My father would hear about this, but he was the one who murdered my socks. How boring of a life must I have to have used the word socks so many times on one page.
Draco signed off on the page and hid the journal back away. He looked out the window as the trees passed by. All the shades of greens, reds, and oranges looked beautiful in the autumn sun. This is what life is about, he thought. Not socks, not horrible parents. Not even Pansy’s incessant need to matchmake.
He was going to be happy this year. First year was ruined from day 1 with the tragic rejected handshake. Year 2 was a wild identity crisis. What kind of Malfoy was he if he wasn’t the heir of Slytherin? He thought about that a lot over the summer. Maybe he wasn’t a Malfoy at all. There was a rumor going around that he’s the lovechild of Narcissa’s affair with Severus Snape. He probably wouldn’t be blond though. Either way, he wanted to be less of a Malfoy and more of a Draco this year. No more rejected handshakes, no more hexed socks. Just happiness. He refused to be wrong about that.