You push open the door to Madam Malkin’s, and the little silver bell above the frame jingles like wind chimes. The shop is quiet, warm, and filled with robes floating gently on enchanted hangers.

Madam Malkin greets you kindly and gestures to the fitting platform. You step up and stretch your arms out as instructed. A second later, two other children are directed to platforms on either side of you.

To your left, a boy with messy dark hair and bright green eyes. He glances at you with a nervous sort of smile. You nod politely.

To your right, a pale boy with a sharp chin and sleek blond hair. He’s already talking — loudly — about Quidditch, about how he hopes to be in Slytherin, and how “some people” probably don’t even know what broom to buy.

You listen quietly at first — until the blond boy suddenly turns to you and asks:

“You know your house yet? Or were you raised by Muggles too?”

There’s no malice in his tone yet — just curiosity. But the tension is starting to simmer between him and the dark-haired boy.

You glance at both of them, and for a brief moment, you are the tie between them.

“No house yet,” you say calmly. “And I wasn’t raised by anyone magical. I’m learning everything now, same as him.”

The green-eyed boy looks relieved. The blond boy raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push it. Not today.

Before they leave, you catch both of their names — Harry and Draco.

You quietly commit them to memory. You don’t know how yet, but you have a feeling this isn’t the last time you’ll cross paths.