In any normal situation where I suddenly received the ability to bend the world to my will, I would have started with minor telekinesis, due to simple safety reasons. You could either make something lift off the ground, or you couldn't, and no matter how much you overcharged your spell when targeting a feather, it was still in the end, a feather, hardly something dangerous.

But as fate made it, I was Draco Malfoy. Draco, as in the Latin word for dragon. I refused to abandon my sense of humour for something as trifling as safety reasons. It would, after all, be quite funny if a child named dragon exhibited his first form of magic as a breath of fire.

I was ambitious, I was bold, I was willing to learn. The only thing I had failed to take in calculation were my parents. Who apparently had wards set in my room in the children's wing. And yes, we were so rich we had a children's wing. I was still an only child by the way.

The wards were simple but effective. It would alert my parents if anything dangerous were to find itself present in my room. Like, for example, a fire. I was brought down from the success high from managing to create a small spark in front of my mouth by my mother barging in not a second later, looking around frantically.

She seemed in a panic. I hadn't been a normal baby, and therefore hadn't attempted to kill myself yet, so this was likely the first time she'd ever had reason to fear for me in any capacity. Holding me calmed her down. As did my saying, "I'm fine, nothing happened mother." I slept with my parents that day.

Ok, the first piece of magic I'd apparently have to learn was how to detect wards and other enchantments. Then fire breathing. I was still determined to make it my first public display of magic, though. Couldn't let my parents think I was a squib, could I?

So I set myself on the task on how to feel magic, which, I gladly admitted, stumped me quite handily. How was one supposed to learn the skill? Did it even exist? I remembered Dumbledore having it, but comparing myself to the man would be a bit ambitious of me.

"Dobby!" I yelled out, infusing a minimal amount of magic into my voice. The elf appeared before me with a crack, as ugly as the books had described him. I sure as hell hoped his species wasn't the only type of elf in existence.

...I wanted my thousand-year-old forest lolis.

"Yes, young master?" the elf asked in his squeaky voice while fretting and bunching up his pillowcase toga in his hands.

I hadn't had the chance to interact with the elf much yet, due to him serving in the kitchen. So he probably thought I would treat him like shit just like my father.

"How does one train the capacity to sense magic?" I asked the servant, who went cross-eyed at the question.

"Dobby... doesn't know?" he answered, flinching into himself.

"Damn. Well, wait. Can you do it, and only don't know the method to train it?" I asked further. The elf nodded his head.

"Dobby can feal magic, but born with it, no locomotive," he squeaked out.

Well, that was rather unfortunate. Although I doubted one could only gain the skill by being born with it. Now I imagined that there were different ways to sense magic, so trying to emulate Dobby's would probably not be my best bet on learning the skill. I was quite sure going to my grandfather and getting access to the library would be more conducive, but I was set on my path. Nobody would learn of my magical ability until I puked up a firestorm in front of my family.

"How does it feel to sense magic?" I asked the nervous elf.

"Smellings the air, different stuff, different smell," the elf managed to wring out, after which I dismissed him politely. He had given me much to think about.

Dobby smelling the air to sense magic implied that it wasn't necessarily a second sense, but could be integrated into the already-existing senses. I had many magical toys and objects in my room. Most of my things were enchanted, but the object I naturally spent the most time with was my blanket that could regulate its temperature.

I picked it up and hesitantly smelled it. It smelled mostly neutral, with a dash of citrus. I smelled harder. I knew that the citrus smell wasn't the magic. Firstly, I was fairly sure a magical smell would be something I didn't know the name of, and secondly, all my clothes smelled like citrus too. It was just the wash my family used.

Smelling didn't seem to do much for me so I stopped, happy that I didn't have to keep making a fool out of myself. Then I sighed, realizing what I would have to do next. I ran the thing along my skin, hoping to delay the next experiment by trying out the sense of touch. After a few minutes of touching the thing, rustling it next to my ear, I sighed and stuck the thing in my mouth.

I chewed on it, letting my tongue touch all its creases. Its consistency was woolly. It tasted of nothing really, expect maybe disappointment. I didn't let the discomfort stop me from keeping up with the attempt for a bit more. Nobody ever said magic was easy, after all. No change.

I spat out my blanket mournfully, and tried out the last sense, concentrating really hard I tried to see beyond reality and into the magic of the blanket.

Nothing.

All I had to show for my tries was a chewed up blanket with a saliva coating and a newfound sense of shame. "Goddamnit," I muttered and went over to the chests holding all my toys, toys that I seldom used, really. I mostly spent my time with the fairly advanced story books I was able to get my hands on. Only one picture per chapter!

I pulled out a magical snake plush. It tried to wriggle out of my grasp, its artificial animal instincts sensing the danger. "If it's any consolation, this will hurt me more than it will hurt you," I said to the thing, at which it started wiggling harder.

Then I stuck it in my mouth.

The things I do for my parents.