ClearBlueSkyy here, and this is my first fanfiction, so be gentle when you read it, it may need room for improvement. Rates/Reviews! Thanks!
Disclaimer : I am not, nor will I ever be J.K. Rowling. I therefore do not own any and all characters from her Harry Potter series. I only own Emery Connolly. And I don't have a lawyer so...
"How was your summer Draco?" A dull voice came from across the table.
Draco Malfoy looked up from his plate of turkey and stuffing that he was lazily poking and prodding with little interest in the predictable assortment of food the Sorting Dinner provided. He had sat through this same ceremony for 5 years now. Every year the same. He hoped secretly that someone would just choke on their food just for a little excitement beside watching one new student after another receive their fate from underneath the Sorting Hat.
He found his fellow house mates (not exactly what he would label as his "friends") Crabbe and Goyle staring at him for an answer. Rolling his eyes, Draco set his fork down and met their gazes with a sneer.
"Better than yours, I'd imagine, Crabbe," he replied with an agitated tone, his eyes drifting from one table to another. Same faces. Same groups of friends. Same bullshit. Same fucking Harry Potter.
A hand moving up his thigh signaled that Pansy Parkinson had found him, and the strong smell of the musky perfume she wore only confirmed his senses she was there. He thought he had lost her on the carriage ride to the castle, but she had this way of coming back, like a reoccurring nightmare. One last tight squeeze, with an added bonus of finger nails digging into his leg, she removed her hand and began to pile her dish with various foods.
"Evening, Draco." She purred, with a little too much effort. Same Pansy. The desperate need of attention in return for the large amounts she gave to him. But Draco wasn't, nor did he give two shits, about giving attention to anyone; though, he allowed it to pour in from Pansy as it fueled his growing self-awareness that he was, in fact, the Prince of Slytherin. He could have ruled not only the rest of his house, but the other houses as well, if it wasn't for Potter, and the rest of his blood-traitor Gryffindors.
His eyes fell upon the Golden Trio, they sat close together, their heads down in deep discussion over Merlin only knew what. Draco, with as much hate for Harry, felt indifferent about another year of trying to beat Potter's ego down. It was all too familiar. He needed something else to do this year. Draco wanted, no, needed to rip apart something from the inside out. He needed to destroy. He needed chaos at its finest. He needed that feeling he got as he watched something beautiful fall apart and die. As much as he wanted, he couldn't deny that trying to kill off the Golden Trio was damn-near impossible, even for him. The suffering would just have to come from someone else.
Draco Malfoy was not the spineless arrogant son-of-a-bitch that every other student at Hogwarts made him out to be. Of course, his third year was not the best supportive evidence to that argument, what with the Hippogriff incident, and Mudblood catching a right-hook to his nose. Granted, his home life was not exactly what you would call okay, but it wasn't an excuse to the level he let himself sink to.
He wasn't one to be obvious when it came to things like this. He liked to do his dirty work behind the scenes, almost like a puppet master. Manipulative might as well have been his middle name, it wasn't hard to get anyone to fall at his every word. If he says jump, they better damn well jump, or he'll push them off the edge himself. The whole Slytherin house was to him at the snap of a finger. Draco found amusement in the suffering of others, and it gave him a sick sort of pride in knowing it was all because of him.
He scanned down the rest of the Gryffindor table, his mind running at full tilt as he picked through every soul sitting there, ideas filling his mind to its limit. He stopped when he seen two identical red heads with their backs to the Slytherin table. Something clicked in his head for a moment, but he paused.
Fred and George Weasley. They were not one without the other. Trying to tear apart two brothers, twins for that matter, of one of the closest families in the Wizarding World would be a triumph that would go down in Malfoy history. But no matter how Draco turned over countless ideas in his head, he just couldn't figure out how to even infiltrate them by himself. Another impossible situation.
It seemed hopeless, and his heart had been set on a Gryffindor. His icy gaze watched as one of the red heads, George, turned away from his brother to a petite blonde to his left. The gears in his mind stopped idling, and began to turn slowly as he watched George press his forehead to the blonde's. Her name was Emery Connolly, a tiny 5th year who was just as wild as the Weasley Twins, but most Hogwarts students would agree, she had the biggest heart and cared deeply and truly about those close to her. If you earned your place in Emery's heart, you were set for life. Her blond hair was identical to Draco's in color, and cut in a wild fashion, falling to her chin. Her bright green eyes gave Ireland a run for it's money. And , most of all, she was George Weasley's girlfriend ever since her 3rd year, and his 5th.
George's nose bumped her own very softly in a subtle hint of affection, and the blond smiled as he planted a kiss on her lips, throwing her into a small fit of giggles.
Draco knew they were the "it" couple of Gryffindor. 2 years of being together under their belts, and it was obvious the other part of George that didn't belong to his brother Fred, belonged to her.
A trademark smirk crept across his face. He finally found something to destroy.