Diagon Alley
The bustle of Diagon Alley was always cultivating for y/n, the crowds of wizards mingling with friends and family, the children staring faced pressed against the shop’s windows at the new magical toys and brooms, and the quaint smell of fresh foods that practically spill out of the Leaky Caldron’s creaky front doors, were a nostalgic sight. But this year is particularly unique.
“What's next on the list?” y/n shouts over the noise of the crowd toward her mother, who looks down at a tea-stained paper which describes all new materials to purchase for an incoming first year. A cherry sweet voice, smooth as honey, responds with a simple, “All you have left is your black robes.”
The only clothing store in Diagon Alley, Twilfitt and Tattings, was cluttered with young wizards and incoming Hogwart students. “Hello,” y/n tentatively utters, a successful attempt to catch the attention of the shop’s clerk.
“‘Ello, there young witch, plain black robes I assume?”
“Yep! It's my first year at Hogwarts!” y/n joyously explained, though it was quite obvious. At age 11, all young wizards have a sort of golden glow, energy created from the dawn of a new era. The excitement from them is almost permeable. She lifts out her arms in order to accept the coal-black robes, which the shopkeeper readily supplies in a dusty brown bag– far too little to hold the clothing.
Lugging her purchases along the pavement, with eyes blocked by a particularly large bird cage now housing a brilliant golden owl, y/n overhears the voice of a boy her age trying to talk to her. “I think it's a travesty they don't allow first years a broom.” The boy says in a matter-of-fact tone. y/n peers around her owls cage, and her e/c eyes meet a silver-gray pair. The boy, who’s icy pale hair was slicked perfectly back, extended his arm to shake her hand. His eyes squinted intently as he introduced himself.
“Malfoy... I’m Draco Malfoy.” The boy, now known as Draco Malfoy, waited somewhat impatiently for a response.
“I'm y/n l/n. I see you're in your first year, too,” she says awkwardly, shaking his hand, staring at the contents of the boy's purchases. The shiniest cauldrons, the most decorated books, a divinely speckled owl, and a simple yet refined wand all matched the boy standing in front her. “Well, of course,” snarkily responds Draco, dropping his hand down at his side.
“y/n, the Hogwarts Express leaves soon. You should join me in my compartment,”
“Sure, Draco. But how will I know which one you're in?”she responds tilting her head.
“I don't know!” He joked, “Just search until you find my friends and I. They’re two boys and a girl–Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson. We’ll be sitting towards the front, really. Won't be too hard to find. Alright then, I have to go.”
Draco then turned to walk in the direction of a man who looked just like him, only older, who had beckoned him to his side with a black and silver snake fang walking stick. y/n took note of the names and general location Draco would be in and made her way back to her mother.