Author's note: First of all, I don't own anything, obviously. Also, I'm pretty new at this, so be nice to me please :) I know the title is awful, but I couldn't think of anything better, feel free to give me some suggestions on that or anything else. Maybe I'll add to this if it seems like it's an okay story.
First year
Draco stood on platform 9 3/4 with his mother and father, shaking with nervous energy. He was 11 years old and going to Hogwarts for the first time. He stared at the shining, scarlet train surrounded by smoke with awe, imagining the adventures he would have at school. The train let out a resounding whistle, warning students to board before they were left behind, and it made Draco jump. Narcissa shushed him gently and spun him around to face her. Holding his face in her hands, she fought back tears as she marveled at the fact that her only child was already so grown up. It seemed like yesterday that he had just been learning to walk.
"Goodbye, my son," she said softly, "Do write, when you can. And we will see you at Christmas." She wrapped her arms around him and placed a kiss on his head. When she was done, he turned to his father, who laid a hand on his shoulder.
"I trust that you will not tarnish the Malfoy name while at school," Lucius said sternly, "We do have a reputation to uphold, you know."
"You can count on me," Draco replied, puffing out his chest. Lucius smiled at the proud boy and patted his shoulder.
"Run along, you don't want to miss the train." Draco nodded, hugged his mother one last time, and sped off to where he had spotted his two childhood friends, Vincent and Greg. They were glad to see him, and the three boarded the train excitedly, chattering of, in true eleven-year-old boy fashion, the bets they had made regarding who would be the most popular, who would make the quidditch team first, who would be sorted into Slytherin house the quickest, and who would get a girlfriend first.
Vincent and Greg hurried down the aisle, looking for an empty compartment, but Draco trailed behind them, his mind still on their bets. He didn't doubt that he would at least win the quidditch portion of the bet, as neither Vincent nor Greg seemed to know the end of a broom from the handle, but he dwelled on the other three bets. Winning them was, in his mind, the first step to upholding the Malfoy reputation, as his father had said. Popularity would come easily, as he was already friends with many of his father's friends' sons, and there wasn't really much he could do to influence how quickly the Sorting hat declared "Slytherin!"
But, the bet that troubled him most was the girlfriend one. He did not know any girls, not really. Well, there was Mr. Bulstrode's daughter, but she was mean and not the least bit attractive. Besides, whenever he was at the Bulstrodes' house, Millicent had a habit of trying to slip bits of expired potions ingredients into Draco's tea. There had been a particularly unfortunate incident involving some lacewing flies from before he was born... Draco shuddered at the thought. Yes, he needed to start looking for a suitable girlfriend as soon as possible.
He glanced into a compartment at random, and saw a girl with bushy brown hair sitting by herself, reading a book. She looked nice enough. I like reading, Draco thought, maybe we could go to the library together. He opened the compartment door and let himself in, but she was so entranced by whatever she was reading that she did not even hear him come in. It looked as if another person's belongings were strewn about the compartment as well as hers, but they were nowhere to be found. Draco cleared his throat.
"Hello," he said, causing the girl to look up.
"Hello," she responded, her thick eyebrows knitting together as she tried to figure out what he was doing in her compartment.
"May I sit here for a moment?" he asked, gesturing to the empty seat.
"I suppose," she answered, "Somebody was here, but I don't think he'll be back for awhile. He's on a mission of sorts." She sighed.
"Oh. Okay," Draco said, sitting. "My name is Draco. Draco Malfoy." He extended his hand.
"Pleased to meet you Draco," said the girl, shaking his hand, "I'm Hermione Granger."
"Granger?" Draco repeated, "I don't think I've heard of a Granger family before. Are you from Britain?"
"Yes, but you can't possibly know every family in Britain," Hermione told him logically.
"Most of them," Draco said brightly, "I had to study family trees in lessons. And there aren't really that many."
"On the contrary, I would say there are probably quite a lot of families in the entire nation," Hermione said, used to knowing more about most things than most people.
"Well, I know about all of them," Draco said importantly.
"You must be like a walking, talking telephone book then," Hermione laughed.
"A what book?"
"Telephone of course. Because everyone's families are listed in the telephone book, and if you know all of the families in Britain..." she trailed off when she saw his eyes widen.
"A telephone...no. No, no. I meant I know all of the wizarding families. You...you do come from a wizarding family, don't you?" Draco asked, his heart pounding. Who was he talking to?
"Nope," Hermione answered matter-of-factly, "my parents are muggles." Draco thought he was going to hyperventilate. He had been talking to a mudblood this whole time? He was disgusted. Luckily, he was saved from having to figure out a way to excuse himself by a pink-faced boy dashing into the compartment.
"I can't find him anywhere!" the boy cried.
"Oh, Neville," Hermione said kindly, directing her attention away from Draco, "Let me help." She followed him out of the compartment. Draco waited a moment and then left to go find Vincent and Greg. He felt sick. How could he have talked to a mudblood and not even noticed how stupid and ugly she was? He would have to be more careful, he decided. Speaking to mudbloods as if they were on his level was not a good way to uphold the Malfoy reputation.
Draco stood huddled next to Greg, Vincent, and a few other boys he knew because of his father, waiting for the sorting to begin. Everyone chattered nervously about this house or that, but Draco was calm; he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he would be sorted into Slytherin.
"The ceiling is enchanted to look like the night sky," said an oddly familiar voice behind him, "I read all about it in Hogwarts, a History." Draco turned to investigate the voice and found himself face-to-face with the mudblood girl from the train. He flinched back instinctively, but it was too late, she had spotted him.
"Oh, hello again, Draco!" Hermione exclaimed, "Are you excited for the sorting?"
"Um...I suppose…" Draco answered uncomfortably.
"I wonder what house I'll be in," she continued, oblivious to Draco's discomfort, "Some people on the train were saying that Ravenclaw is the smartest house; I do hope they'll think I'm clever enough to get in! What house would you like to be in?"
"Oh, I'll be in Slytherin," Draco said, puffing out his chest, "Just like my whole family."
"Well you can't know for sure," Hermione pointed out.
"Maybe you can't," Draco said, somewhat rudely, "Seeing as you don't have anyone to base it off of, not having magical blood and all. I, however, know for sure. I'm going to be in Slytherin." Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but a tall woman with stern-looking eyes and a tight gray bun entered the room, introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, and instructed the first years to follow her into the great hall.
Moments later, Draco was watching as the little mudblood girl was sorted into Gryffindor (maybe she wasn't clever enough for Ravenclaw, after all, he scoffed), along with several others, most notably the son of his father's least favorite family and the famous Harry Potter himself. As he had predicted, as soon as the sorting hat brushed his head, Draco was sorted into Slytherin.
As first year went on, friend groups and cliques formed just as they do with every group of young people. Draco was rarely seen without Greg and Vincent on either side of him, and Harry Potter, the Weasley kid, and the mudblood girl had formed a sort of trio of their own. Draco sneered at the thought. What a bunch of losers.
Hermione still tried to talk to him frequently, and no matter how rude he was, she just couldn't seem to take the hint. This was greatly frustrating to Draco, who always received questioning looks from the other Slytherins when she tried to talk to him. Finally, Draco decided to make enemies with Potter, who was surly her boyfriend (for she was always with him and Weasley, and not even a mudblood would find a Weasley attractive), so that she would leave him alone. Draco was relentless in his animosity towards the loser trio, as he called him in his head, and it wasn't even that difficult; Potter was easy to fight with, and bullying Weasley was a given. By the end of the year, Hermione had stopped trying to talk to him, although he did occasionally catch her looking at him with an expression of confusion and sadness.