Chapter - 21 : Robes and Revelations

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"Hogwarts?" the boy asked. He had a drawling kind of voice.

"Yeah," Harry said. I just nodded, observing my reflection. The robes would definitely take some getting used to, but I actually quite liked the breezy way they fell around my wrists and ankles. And besides, anything was better than the ill-fitting second-hand stuff Aunt Petunia usually gave me.

"Me too," the boy said. "My father's next door getting my textbooks and my mother's looking at wands. Then I think I'll drag them off to look at racing brooms. I think it's so unfair that first years aren't allowed to have them. I think I'll bully father into buying me one and smuggle it in anyway."

I glanced sideways and saw Harry staring at the pale boy, nonplussed. I caught his eye and puffed out my cheeks, screwing up my face into a pout and holding out my hands to illustrate fatness. It was a passable interpretation of Dudley. Harry bit his lip to keep from snorting and nodded in agreement.

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy asked.

"No," Harry replied, and I echoed him.

"Do you play Quidditch at all?"

We exchanged completely lost glances before shaking we heads. The boy didn't seem to require an answer, because he went on to say, "I do. Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for the house team, and I must say I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," Harry said, and by now I was feeling like I was listing to the pale boy speak French. Although, judging by the snooty way he talked, he might very well know some French too. The wizarding world apparently had its own terms that I was completely ignorant of. Like Quidditch. It sounded like a sport, I gathered it was played on brooms, but personally I thought it sounded more like an uncomfortable sort of rash.

"Well no one really knows until they get there, obviously," the boy said, although there was nothing obvious about it. "But I'm sure I'll be in Slytherin, all my family have been. Imagine being in Hufflepuff!" he scoffed. "I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmm," Harry said noncommittally. I amused myself with imagining what 'Slytherin' and 'Hufflepuff' sounded like they could be. I'd just settled on Slytherin as a mouthwash and Hufflepuff as a children's toy company when the boy suddenly announced, "I say, look at that man!"

I turned to see Hagrid smiling at us through the window, waving and pointing at three ice creams held in his hands to show why he didn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," Harry said, smiling back at the gamekeeper. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh, I've heard of him," the boy sneered, turning up his nose. "He's like a servant, isn't he?"

"He's the Keeper of Keys and Grounds," I corrected, speaking out loud for the first time.

"Yes, exactly," the boy nodded. "I heard he's sort of savage – lives in a hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest and every now and then he gets drunk and sets fire to his bed."

"He's great," I said sharply, narrowing my eyes at the boy. He turned to look at me and narrowed his eyes condescendingly.

"Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," Harry said shortly.

"Oh, sorry," the boy said dispassionately. "But they were our kind, right?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean," I snapped, getting increasingly annoyed. I wondered if there was a spell that would set the boy's robes on fire. Or maybe not on fire, maybe just make them smoke a little. Or if I could just levitate a pin from the cushion on Madam Malkin's wrist and make it stab him right in the rear…

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in. They're just not the same, they haven't been brought up to understand our ways. Some haven't even heard of Hogwarts until they get their letters, I imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway? Are you two related?"

Harry opened his mouth. I opened mine, too, intent on giving the boy a verbal thrashing. I may not have understood half of what he was saying, but I understood condescension very well, having been on the receiving end for a lot of my life.

"That's you done, dear," Madam Malkin said to Harry, and the blonde witch working on my robes patted my leg and told me I could get down too. I obliged, saving the boy from diatribe that likely wouldn't have been very polite.

"See you at Hogwarts," the boy said as we moved off.

Madam Malkin made the necessary adjustments to our robes and wrapped up a few spares as well before passing them over. We paid for our purchases and headed for the door. Harry quickly exited, claiming his ice cream from Hagrid and frowning to himself. I had no doubt he was deep in thought about what the boy had said.

He seemed like the smug sort that had been raised to think that because he could trace his family back a couple of centuries people should bow at his feet. But I also had an ace up my sleeve. I was a Potter. My father and mother were James and Lily Potter, who from what Hagrid had said were both very impressive. My bother defeated the big bad You-Know-Who, and even I'd faced him down and lived to tell about it.

"Hey, you," I called back to the boy as he hopped off the footstool. He looked a little nonplussed at being called 'you,' but he straightened up and asked, "What?"

"To answer your question," I began. "We're siblings. Twins, actually. And our surname? It's Potter."

I took a moment to delight in his gob smacked face before sweeping from Madam Malkin's, feeling rather smug.

We took shelter in the outside patio of a small café. Hagrid distributed our ice creams. I took mine happily, looking around the café with interest. There was a sign advertising a butterbeer latte and firewhiskey chocolates sold inside.

Harry bit into his chocolate and raspberry ice cream with nuts, giving out a loud crunch. Hagrid had already polished off his triple scoop of chocolate and I was quite happily lapping at my own cookie dough ice cream.

"Hagrid?" Harry asked suddenly. "What's Quidditch?"

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