Authors Note: This is the first book is my series. Really, I know it says humor/romance/drama, (and frankly I'm still confused about how you can actually accomplish that), but don't worry, it will all work out. I'm still hazy on how many books I will actually write and submit. I am thinking two, but maybe I will need to tie up some loose ends, when it is all said and done. Anyway, enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry potter, or any of the merchandise, characters, catch phrases, and or ideas affiliated and associated with J. K. Rowling's work. And as much as I would like to own Pigwideon, Luna Lovegood, and Cauldron Cakes, I don't.
Chapter One: Where Girls Swoon, Hermione Reads, and Ron Stuffs His Face; The Great Hall
Draco Malfoy, (aka FerretBoy) has always prided himself on being a bully. And not you're run of the mill elementary kind. He is the mobster, the terrorist, the one who walks the halls, while people glance fear-fully and respectively, (or disgustingly, if you are one of the Golden Trio), and who all the girls, when he was older and no longer pointy and scrawny, sigh and moon and pine and waste away their lives over.
Yes, yes, Draco Malfoy thinks he's bad. Oh yes, he is bad. Very, very bad. The brussel-sprout and peanut butter, plus squash soup kind of bad. The author thinks so too. But he is about to get a wake up call. And this shall be fun.
The students sat at their respective tables; slimy Slytherins at the Slytherin table, reasonable Ravenclaws at the Ravenclaw table, golden Gryffindors at the Gryffindor table, and the humored Hufflepuffs at their according table, and so on and so forth, down to the very last first years, and their big-nosed Potions teacher.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat at their table, in their usual seats. Ron stuffed his face, while he and Harry talked of the latest Quiditch games. "As usual," muttered Hermione, and she promptly took out a hidden book from inside her robes, and started to read.
"…then Miktoy dived in and got the snitch…score seventy to three-hundred….Evens didn't even blink!..." droned Ron.
"Bolbly in yet?...heard Smarta was good….and then he caught it?...World Cup tickets yet….swoosh and dive and feint to the left…bloody nose, dripping all over the place!...heard it in the Prophet…" droned Harry with him.
"So do you think I will be good at being Head Girl?' asked Hermione inquisitively, hoping to distract them from the popular sport.
"Yah, yah, Ermony, go ooh oh shat on, vey dind" said Ron, as he shoved a particularly large piece of pork pie in his mouth. Several crumbs fell out.
"You'll be great, Hermione. Just too bad the Head Boy is…" Harry stopped and turned toward the Hall Doors. A loud noise was buzzing around it, and he finally realized that a large number of girls wearing "We Love Draco!" signs imprinted on the fabric were squealing and buzzing and hopping up and down. And lo and behold, the doors swung slowly open, and there in the doorway, basking in his own pale, (Hermione; sickly) glow, in immaculate white collared shirt, green satin tie, and pleated and ironed gray pants, stood Draco Malfoy. Several girls swooned. Alright, I understated that. 70 of the girls swooned. The other either collapsed on their knees, and rushed over and took his arm. And sure enough, with a smugger than smugger look, Draco Malfoy strutted over to his reserved seat at the Slytherin table, sat down, and began to eat while Pansy "Pug" Parkinson clung to his arm, and every now and then wiped crumbs away from his face/shirt/space of tablecloth.
"…Malfoy." Finished Harry.
"Yeah, Harry… you certainly timed that right." Then she blinked and turned over to Ron. He was shuddering.
"Err, Ron?" Asked Harry.
"Bloody ghost boy….ferret…ugh…" whispered Ron.
"Apparently Ronald has an allergic reaction to seeing Malfoy. Ahh, well, I must really finish this chapter you see, so boys, if you don't mind, I am going to ignore your Quiditch talk, as well as Mister High and Pale-ish and Pointy over there, and read." And Hermione buried her nose in her book, once again.