s.t.b. says: A series of Drarry drabbles in first person. I'm thinking there won't be more than four altogether, so that's two from each. Inconclusive and basically short nothings. So, for now, here's the first.

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#1

The first thing I ever really noticed about him was his arrogance.

It's hard not to miss, the way he saunters about the school, flaunting it in everyone's faces. He's proud of his name and he loves to have everyone hate him for it. I remember thinking, God, what a git, and walking back the dormitory.

The second thing I noticed was his selfishness.

Everything he owned was not to be touched unless you wore black and green and had his express permission to even be near it. He always reached for the best cakes at meal time. During Potions, the lucky cauldron was always his, no matter what anyone said. His family name, he said, equipped with and encouraged him to want the best and only the best. And the best was all he would settle for.

The third thing I noticed was his total and unreserved disdain.

Anytime anyone with freckles or red hair even got within a few feet of him, he'd turn up that pointy nose and just scoff, ever so, before initiating a long rant on how completely improbable it was that he or she belonged to a family of Pureblood. And nine times out of ten, he'd have his cronies surrounding him, egging him on and encouraging him in his disdain by sharing their own.

The fourth thing I noticed was his conceit.

Like the rest of his family, he had hair so blond that it was almost white, and he had skin pale enough to match. His eyes were a brilliant, sparkling blue. Pointed features accented his pale skin and bright eyes; in fact, the only thing soft about him was his mouth, full and pink and almost girlish. And he relished in his natural good looks. He looked into every reflective surface he passed, was constantly combing his fingers through his hair so that it would hang over his eye just – so, and picking lint from his overly clean robes like the right ponce he was.

The fifth thing I noticed was what a snarky wanker he was.

Whenever anyone with bushy brown hair and bookish features raised their hand in class, the first thing out of his mouth would be Well, well, if this isn't an unexpected pleasure. Said bookworm would always lift her nose and simply continue to wait for the rather equally snarky professor to finally succumb and call on her. It happened every single day, with little alteration and no exceptions.

The sixth thing I noticed was how absolutely presumptuous he was.

I would walk down the hall, minding my own business, and suddenly there would be a voice behind me: Looking for me, Potter? And I would turn and there he would stand in all his Slytherinesque glory. I would narrow my eyes, and shoot back with something nasty along the lines of Sod off, you great prat. He would grin or smirk or sneer, depending on his mood, and reply with something equally witty before batting his eyes and meandering off while I stood behind, trying to work out why I was so charmed.

The seventh thing I noticed was how completely and irrevocably in love with him I was.

I would walk down the hall and suddenly there wouldn't be a voice behind me. I'd turn around, just in case, and see nothing but an absent hallway. I would run and run and run, searching, wondering – I would wander across the castle grounds to the Lake, and he would be standing there, just sort of smirking at me with that familiar know-it-all expression on his face. And then he would look at me and say What the bloody hell took you so long, you bloody tosser? And then he would smile instead, softly this time, and everything would be perfect.

END