A brief Draco monologue. The title is very important; please take note of it, especially at the end.
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I wish you could see your face when you're surrounded by all your little friends, Potter. It's disgusting. You just drink up the adoration, their simpering voices and empty flattery. You really are attention-starved.
It would be so easy to say that you do everything for attention, to say that you put your name in the Goblet of Fire to get attention, to say that you joined the Quidditch team for attention, to say that you started the DA for attention, or any other number of things. I could say you became The Boy Who Lived because it would get you attention. It would be simple, and I know quite a few people who would readily agree with me.
I'm not stupid like that. I know that's not why those things happened, or why you made the choices you did. But I also know that you're practically crying out to be loved. I can see it in the sheer joy you seem to experience from the feeble company of a Mudblood or some other lower being, the way you gather them around you, the way it tears you apart to be separated from them. I can see it in the way your face shines when you win at something, and in how you drink up the applause and cheers.
You just want something to affirm that you really are someone, that you count and you matter and that your life means something. You can't be self-contained; you can't support the weight of your own soul. No title or name is enough; you need constant assurance that you have value.
Pathetic.
You're glass, Potter. I can see right through you.
But glass has more than one use.
Fin.