EDIT (12/24/15): Due to popular demand, this universe has now been expanded in my new fic, "Actions Speak Louder." I recommend just going to my profile, because this site doesn't like URLs.

The bell rang from its spot above the door, notifying Madam Malkin of a new customer. Draco perked up from where he was perched on a rickety wooden stool, interested in who the newcomer might be. Draco knew that he had only been waiting there for half an hour at the most while Madam Malkin and a few of her assistants prepared his new clothes—he was having a set of dress robes tailored along with his basic uniform, so it was taking longer than usual—but in his mind, he had been in the small shop for forever. Suffice to say, he was bored out of his mind.

He was relieved to note that the person who had just walked in was a boy around his age. A gaggle of older Hufflepuff girls—fourth or fifth years if Draco had to guess—had left the shop a few minutes prior, and they were annoying! Anyway, Malfoys would not be seen associating with Hufflepuffs unless they were of high rank or stature, which these girls obviously were not. It was just the way things were.

Initial delight over a new confidant faded, and Draco gave the newcomer a quick once-over. He was wearing muggle clothes, and not even good quality clothes at that. That was already a point against him, but that point was reluctantly regained when Draco looked up and saw his eyes. An almost etheral shade of emerald, something about them made Draco think of untapped potential. If only they weren't hidden behind those awful glasses... With a slight shiver, he returned to his appraisal of the boy.

To put it simply, the other boy wouldn't meet the standards enacted in regards to the people he would be seen associating with, especially in a public place like this one where someone could walk in at any time. Nevertheless, desperate times called for desperate measures, and it was with that thought that Draco opened his mouth. Besides, the other boy had already sat down gingerly on the stool next to his, and it would be rude to tell him to leave and find a new place to sit.

"Hello," he said. "I'm Draco Malfoy."

The other boy gave a small wave and an even smaller smile, but then he turned back to the examination of his trainers. Draco waited for the other boy to give him his name, but decided to go on and ask his next question anyways after what felt like years of awkward silence.

"So, is this going to be your first time at Hogwarts, too?" Draco asked, desperate to break the awkward silence. But he supposed it was a fixable kind of awkward if there ever was one. He could fill in that silence, after all, even if it required him to make idle conversation with a shy boy who wouldn't even meet Draco's eyes.

Or maybe not: When he mentioned Hogwarts, the boy's head jerked up and he nodded enthusiastically. Apparently he could meet Draco's eyes after all. From there, their conversation—well, if you could call it a conversation; it was extremely one-sided—was all well and good until Draco ran out of questions. He had already covered Hogwarts, Houses, and Quidditch, and, well, what else was there to talk about?

So instead, he thought that he would give the other boy an opportunity to talk. "Well?" Draco asked. "Don't you have anything to say?"

Although he gave no outward signs of it, Draco privately thought that the whole thing was kind of ridiculous. He'd been carrying on the entire conversation, for Merlin's sake! He couldn't recall a time when the other boy had uttered even a single word!

The scrawny boy met his eyes, but he still didn't reply. Instead, he pulled out what looked to be a Muggle spiral-bound notebook, and started to scribble furiously with a pencil he had pulled from behind his ear.

By that point, Draco's irritation was much, much closer to the surface. He had made the first step to initiate conversation since the boy was obviously shy—just as his father had told him to do in his etiquette lessons, you know—and yet the boy had the nerve to ignore him and write in that stupid journal of his instead! And to make the insult to his pride sting even harsher, the other boy had written with muggle utensils!

If Draco was being honest with himself, though, he would realize that most of his irritation stemmed from the fact that he had made a fool out of himself, and the other boy had done nothing to discourage him from doing so. There he was, prattling on like a... like a dunderhead, but the other boy apparently wouldn't stoop down to the level of telling him to stop talking. No. Instead, the other boy just ignored him.

Draco didn't like to be ignored.

The green-eyed boy finished writing whatever it was that he was writing, and he ripped the sheet of notebook paper out in a smooth, practiced motion. He handed it to Draco just as the assistant finished tailoring his new robes. The other boy hopped off the stool and went to pay, but Draco didn't notice the exchange of Galleons as he read what the other boy had written—written to him.

There were other words both before and after, but Draco's mind refused to move past two words near the top of the page: I'm mute.