Disclaimer: No, I do not own any of the characters, they belong to J.K. Rowling.
And no, there isn't any point to this story.
It had taken two hours, but the result was worth it. Draco watched with great satisfaction, his freshly trimmed nails. He had managed to cut them in precise half-moons. They were immaculate, of course, and set in smooth hands that had never known labour. In short, they were nails worthy of a Malfoy. The embodiment of the perfection he had inherited from his mother, Narcissa Malfoy. She was a woman whose physical features made her, without a doubt the most beautiful being on Earth. Her fine qualities were enhanced by a well-constructed mind and the heart of an angel. She extended her grace to all without regard for their blood purity or their race. In fact, she extended it even to those unworthy of it. If she were to meet the mudblood Granger, she would undoubtedly show as much politeness as she would a pureblood. To put rather bluntly, she was a saint!
And of course, Draco had inherited her finest features, that is to say, her physical beauty and superior intelligence. He had not however her admirable kindness which enabled her to treat everyone equally. Draco lifted his hand towards the nearest lamp, in order to examine his work in a new light. Literally. Yes, they were perfect. He had outdone himself. The separation between the pink and the white part of the nail was clearly drawn. He had carefully cut his nails, leaving precisely one millimetre of white, and making sure that the cut was following the same semi-circular pattern as the line of separation. A fine work indeed, a work worthy of a Malfoy heir, raised in the proud and noble pureblood traditions.
A blatant opposite of Harry-sodding-Potter. The boy's wild mop of black hair was only the first indication of his general messiness. The Boy-Who-Had-Failed-To-Die was plagued by a complete lack of manners and an incurable stupidity. On top of that he was a Gryffindor and it was common knowledge that Gryffindors had a tendency to rush into danger. Well Harry-Bloody-Potter was a special case as he also suffered from both a hero-complex and a martyr-complex. This often led him into danger which the Golden Boy took advantage of and made sure the world knew how much he suffered.
And people said that Draco was obsessed! If only there was something he could be obsessed about. But there wasn't, he was an idiot beyond the point where saviour was still possible. Not to mention, he probably didn't take care of his nails. His only redeeming feature was possibly his eyes which were a rare shade of green. And listening to him talking in Parseltongue was simply fascinating. NOT that Draco would ever admit that out loud, God knew he would rather be dead and buried.
Draco lifted his other hand. Was that a dent he could see on the nail of his third finger? He trimmed it, with a concentrated frown, until perfection had once again blessed his nails. The frown disappeared, replaced by a satisfied and rather smug smile. His nails were, indeed, worthy of a Malfoy!
Author's note: Thank you for reading! I would like to mention that this fan fiction was written based on a common idea (well, it was mine really), so you might want to check out the fic written by AriSophAlmah on that same idea.