"You don't want to go hanging about with the wrong sort." Said Malfoy, glancing pointedly at Ron. The small, scruffy ginger fairly oozed low class blood-traitor filth. Although, Draco supposed, the boy who lived was a blood-traitor in his own right.
"I can help you there."
"I think I can manage on my own thanks." Potter said coldly. Draco snorted in disgust. As though a first year come straight from living with muggles could manage anything on their own. It certainly would help to be some sort of world class hero. Draco turned to leave the compartment.
"Move it you fat stumps." He said in annoyance, swatting at the combined bulk of Crabbe and Goyle.
Draco couldn't get Potter's stupid condescending face out of his head. I think I can manage on my own, thanks. What garbage. He chewed his steak and kidney pie robotically, mind churning with possibilities. The other Slytherins were clearly idiots. The piggish girl called Parkinson kept giggling shrilly, like some manic cat being tred on. Crabbe and Goyle, who he knew already as their father's were associated with his own father, were both too thick to manage a full sentence. Zabini was going on and on about some expensive diamond plate broom compass that his father had bought for him in Switzerland. Undoubtedly the troll couldn't even ride a broom. There was only one person of interest in the entire hellish institution, and it was a bratty little boy with a scar.