Harry Butter and the Pureblood Teenager

AN: So I just read "My Immortal" and it inspired me. So now I'm writing this rancid piece of crap. Enjoy.

"Mudbloods, filth, blood traitor… butter…" Draco Malfoy muttered in his sleep, from across the room, Crabbe and Goyle ogled at him.

This was becoming a regular occurrence in the Slytherin dormitory, one that Crabbe and Goyle were starting to find rather embarrassing. But it got worse.

Draco arose, his robe hanging open, exposing his pallid skin to the green tinted dormitory. Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other with raised eyebrows: this was gonna be bad.

Slowly, Draco made his way across the room, sleepwalking, still muttering about mudbloods, filth, blood traitors and butter.

"Do you think he's been eating butter before bed?" Crabbe asked, eyeing Goyle with a dumbstruck look on his fat little face. Goyle just mouthed wordlessly, watching Draco carefully.

It was in less then a minute that Draco rose a shaky hand to the dormitory door knob, and flung himself out of the dormitory and into the common room. Goyle just shrugged and went back to sleep, Crabbe followed suit a few seconds later.

Draco grumbled and wandered through the common room, continuing to mutter, and then made his way to the great hall, and eventually to the kitchens. He was eyed wearily by the house elves, but mostly they just ignored him as he made his way to an overly sized refrigerator.

"POTTER!" Draco shrieked suddenly, his bloodshot eyes bursting open with vigor. His beautiful steel gray eyes were met by the cold and unmoving glance of a butter stick. But this was no ordinary butter stick. Oh, no. This was a butter stick that had been charmed to resemble Potter's hideous little face.

House elves stared at Draco, suppressing their shudders, but eventually Dobby had motioned them all to ignore the delirious teenager peering into the fridge.

"You couldn't just shake my hand, Potter?" Draco drawled lazily, leering into the carved eyes of Potter. "No, no, you had to associate with a mudblood and a blood traitor- it's your fault Potter." Draco looked around himself cautiously, causing a few house elves to scamper farther away and stare at the ground. "It's your fault I'm a death eater." he whispered, lowering his head further into the refrigerator.

Dobby's ear twitched in the background, and he suppressed a giggle at the amount of crap that was coming out of Draco's mouth.

"How is it your fault? You ask? Potter?" Draco drawled, leaning his elbows on the racks of the fridge, "Your parents had you addicted to butter, Potter, when you were a baby. And when the Dark Lords spell back fired, a part of you was implanted into him, and he retained that addiction to butter!" Draco hissed, "And, coincidentally, the Malfoy's are the descendents of the creator of butter, Potter!"

Draco shuddered violently, thinking about the hell he'd gone through at Gringotts. The goblins thought it was funny. They thought it was fucking funny. Butter King, they dared to call him, but he'd soon after sicked his father on them, and, let's just say they didn't call him the butter king anymore.

"Malfoy!" A voice suddenly broke through the silence, cold and menacing. Severus Snape's. "Again?" he seethed, "Back to your dormitory, now! Ten points from Slytherin!"

Draco glared into the fridge, narrowing his eyes at Potter's unmoving butter face, and then slammed the fridge door shut abruptly. "Sorry, Professor." He said, before slithering out of the room, swiftly as a snake.

The next day, Potter would feel his wrath.