Draco was annoyed with the two boys his father had picked out as friends for him – Crabbe and Goyle – because they had been so slow choosing their food from the trolley that Draco hadn't got the chance to go and find Harry Potter. Sure, his father said he should stay away from this mysterious boy, but Draco for once in his short life, didn't care. When they were in the boats he spent the whole time craning his neck for the boy but he wasn't sure who he was – then Crabbe almost capsized their boat with his formidable weight.

"You great oaf," Draco chastised harshly, "You couldn't just sit still and shut up could you? Oh no, you had to try and knock this whole thing over. Sit still or... my father will hear about this."

When they arrived at school Draco was led, with the other shivering first years until they reached the Entrance Hall and were completely abandoned. Now he climbed onto the staircase a little so he could try and finally spot the boy he was so desperate to see. Then he overheard a conversation.

"So, you know how to speak and you have spoken before? And your voice works fine and everything? I just don't get why you would chose not to speak," a redheaded boy was saying in confusion.

"Honestly, do you not read at all? Selective mutes are just that – someone who chooses not to speak at all. They have full speech abilities but a psychological defect makes them unwilling to, especially in situations which make them uncomfortable," the girl with large bushy brown hair was saying back.

In the middle stood a boy with black hair, like Draco's cat at home, and the most piercing green eyes that Draco had ever seen. For a moment Draco forgot all about the boy he was seeking – Harry Potter – so he could just stare in awe at this kid. As he watched however the boy's face turned towards him and their eyes met – Draco felt suddenly very awkward. Looking away he continued to scan the crowd for someone who looked like they could have killed what he had been told was the most powerful wizard of all time.

Then he heard something else coming from the mouth of the ginger boy – probably a Weasley, his father had told him all about them already – a name. "Harry..."

Suddenly he could see the boy standing there properly and he knew without needing to ask that this was indeed the famous Harry Potter. The boy went red as the other two bickered lightly and Draco finally leapt down from the gold staircase and hurried over to where he was standing. Draco held out his hand, which Harry just stared at puzzled, and then said in his clearest and best voice that he saved only for special people and when he wanted to impress father, "I am Draco Malfoy, what's your name?"

"Honestly, he can't speak, Malfoy," the redhead said, "He's a spellective newt, right Hermione?" The boy spoke to Draco as if he was below him, although he was a Weasley, and Draco at once formed an intense disliking for him. The girl seemed to be just as annoying as him as she answered with a sigh.

"It's called a selective mute, Ronald," Hermione replied, "I'm Hermione Granger by the way and he is Harry Potter."

It felt like everyone had abandoned their conversations where they lay at this point and just hurriedly gathered round to hear what was going on between the four of them. People were jostling around to try and get a good look at the-boy-who-lived, despite him just being a boy like them. Draco suddenly felt rather stupid standing there with his hand out and made to put it away when suddenly Harry's own pale and scarred hand shot out and grasped it. Gasps came from the crowd; wizarding children knew which sides of the war their parents had been on.

Although Harry didn't actually say anything to Draco as they shook hands he did give him the widest smile, revealing rows of clearly still milk teeth. He shook the hand seven times before releasing it with a quick squeeze, leaving Draco tingling from the touch. Then came the low steady drawl from behind that Draco had suffered through many times before at various places.

"I'm sorry, am I missing something? Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter shake hands? Are we all really going to just forget that their parents were on the opposite sides of the war?" Theodore Nott said strutting forwards with a smirk on his face.

"Be quiet, Theo. I am not my father and neither is Harry," Draco snarled angry that someone would try and take away Harry from him. Already he felt jealous of everyone who was looking at the boy which he had no right to be.

"No, Harry is certainly not his father," Theo said quietly, making everyone lean in to be sure they could hear what he was saying, "Harry is not his father – his father is dead. Dead at the hands of someone your father worked for."

Draco was about to argue back when Harry cleared his throat very loudly and silence fell on the hall. Now there wasn't a single soul who remained uninterested in this display and everyone pressed closer to see what was about to happen. Harry walked towards Theo, who almost looked a little nervous of him, and stopped less than half a metre from him. Rolling up his sleeves, making Theo flinch with fear, Harry looked almost a little scary and the whole crowd moved back subconsciously. With a grand flourish he... held up his middle finger?

And suddenly Draco was laughing, loud raucous laughter, and when Professor McGonagall came to collect them he was still laughing away. Even as he walked next to Harry, Crabbe and Goyle in front, Hermione and Ron behind, down the aisle he couldn't stifle his giggles. And he most certainly laughed with joy when he sat down at the Gryffindor Table, saving a seat for his new best friend...

Fin.