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"Hogwarts, too?" asked a voice from further inside. At first, Harry could only see the swirling rolls of cloth, dancing to the tune of a seamstress.
Madame Malkin pushed her further inside, until she could see the girl on the dais being measured more clearly. The first thing Harry noticed was her blonde hair, so very golden like finely spun thread. Her face was very clearly bored, however, and she had that way of looking at things that reminded Harry of his Aunt Petunia. Around her, fabric and needles and measuring tape was dancing around her on the tailoring stand.
"If you'll just stand still for a mo', we'll be quick as houses, dearie," Madame Malkin said. "Another one for Hogwarts!" she added, louder, and so Harry didn't even have to answer the question, a good deal all around, since the girl looked rather opinionated.
“My father’s next door buying my books and Mother’s up the street looking at wands.” The girl told her. She apparently didn't need Harry's input in the dialogue at all, which reminded her of Dudley. “Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully Father into getting me one, and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.” She shifted on the stand to avoid a particularly acrid orange band that was trying to wrap around her head and was reprimanded by the seamstress.
Harry watched in awe as an entire robe materialised out of fabric with the wave of a wand. She had spent countless hours under Petunia’s watchful stare stitching together Dudley’s shabby leftovers into resemblance of dresses, and was utterly fascinated by watching Madam Malkin magic up an entire wardrobe out of fabric reels. “Huh?” she asked, because that sentence was as clear as the sky, and since this was London, it wasn’t very.
It netted her a pat on the head from the seamstress, and the blonde girl next to her huffed, and pouted. She looked pretty doing it, unlike Dudley who only managed petulant at the best of times, but it didn't help her to endear herself to Harry
“You probably don’t even ride a broom. Girls don't, usually,” the girl continued, and threw her hands up in the air theatrically. Maybe she was a bit more evolved than Dudley, Harry thought, but she still had that same ability to make a mountain out of a molehill. The same fragile ego that Dudley had displayed just earlier this day, when he'd been scolded by Uncle Vernon for the first time, and had, deservedly, gotten his pig's tail. In any other circumstance, the thought would have made her smile.
“Careful, dearie,” Madam Malkin called out.
Harry, who had never in her life been allowed to ride Dudley’s broken bicycle, let alone a broomstick—and did that mean witches could really fly on brooms? Awesome— but had done so anyway to get away from his stupid gang, had never in her life felt so insulted. “I so could,” she said with great conviction.
Thankfully, the girl didn’t call her bluff. “I suppose," she said, and looked like she very much doubted Harry had anything of value to give. "The Holyhead Harpies do play rather good Quidditch, even though all of them are girls. Say, do you play Quidditch?"
"No," Harry answered, and felt even more stupid.
The girl just nodded, however, as if that answer was only to be expected. "My mother says only girls with no manners run around in the mud and play with brooms, so that's why I'm not allowed to try out for the Quidditch team, but I'm going to bully her into allowing me to take my broom to Hogwarts anyway. And once I'm on the team she can't really make me step down, can she?"
Harry, who had definitely experience in things Petunia could forbid her after she'd already been signed up for them, like the library or swimming lessons, was doubtful. If this girl was enough like Dudley, maybe she could throw a tantrum to get her way. She wondered if all of the girls in Hogwarts would be as obnoxious as this one next to her, and saw her future running down the drain. Hogwarts wouldn't be exactly like primary school with Dudley, would it?
"I'm Draco, by the way, Draco Malfoy." the girl said and held her hand out.
"Harry," Harry said, and wondered if she should also emulate James Bond quite that boldly. She shook his hand, and cleverly stepped around the question of her last name.
"What house do you think you'll be in? I'm going to aim for Slytherin, I'm practically destined for it--my whole family went there, and there's nothing quite like keeping that prestige. Do you know where you'll be sorted?"
"No," Harry said, since this was the first thing she had heard about sorting. Was Slytherin for the advanced classes? Then she'd definitely not be going there. She didn't know any magic, and the Dursleys had impacted the rest of her classes too.
"Well, it's not like I know for certain, either-- but if I'd be sorted to Hufflepuff, I'd simply have to leave. Can you imagine the horror of being a puffer? I'd die."
Harry grew more and more certain that she was destined for this Hufflepuff and wondered if it came with extra duties that this spoiled girl thought she would "die" getting sorted there.
Luckily, at this point Hagrid appeared at the shop window, waving two ice cones.
"Say, who is that savage!" the girl next to her exclaimed.
Harry, feeling knowledgable for the first time in this entire conversation, brightened and said, "That's Hagrid. He's Hogwarts' Keeper of the Keys."
"Oh, yes. I think my father mentioned him. He's some kind of servant, right?"
"The Groundskeeper, actually," Harry said, who felt more and more like this girl was some kind of posh tottie, and probably worse than Dudley. Petunia had trained her to be polite to everyone, though, so when Madame Malkin let her escape from the tailoring stand, she told Draco, "See you at Hogwarts!" before she left to enjoy a lovely ice cream with Hagrid.