Draco ( book four )
I hear my father leave our large, frankly impressive, tent after the world cup. He had introduced me to Viktor Krum barely 15 minutes previously.
Yet, here I lay, listening to his footsteps echo around our tent as he prepares to leave.
Just as he is about to leave he turns to me with his dark grey, and stern, eyes. "Do not leave this tent, Draco."
"Yes, father."
I stood up, and circled the tent. I had an urge to call for Dobby, our old elf, but Potter decided to play the hero and trick his father into freeing him.
How dare he? the hotheaded son of a beluga thinks he's better than everyone. But not me. I know I'm superior. Just because I'm not famous, doesn't mean I could crush him easily.
And there are his friends. That muggle-loving blood-traitor Weasel, and Granger.
Granger, the muggle born. I feel my emotion build up inside of me. That know-it-all muggle born.
But I still hadn't completely forgiven myself for slipping Mudblood to her. It comes out in fits of rage, and even jealousy. Yes, I'm jealous of famous Harry Potter.
But only insofar as the fame. I deserve it more than him.