Hogwarts from Draco Malfoy's Point of View
The first month of the Second Year
By
Michael S. Kahan
It is the Opening Feast for my second year at Hogwarts. I saw that annoying fool, Potter, come in with Professor Snape. I hope he's expelled. It's just like him to come in late, trying to make a show-offy entrance, telling all the first years about his scar, how he defeated a possessed Professor Quirrel. Humph, he's so full of it. Everyone thinks he's so great, so amazing. When he's playing Quiddich, all the girls swoon and sigh at his "amazing performances." To me, he is nothing by a stuck-up scarred show-off. I have even overheard a seventh-year Hufflepuff girl debating whether to ask him on a date. Honestly, she can do much better than stupid, stuck-up Potter. I mean, seriously, who does Potter think he is?
Well, now the opening feast has ended. I think I'll go up to bed. I hope that tomorrow, I'll see Potter packing his bags. After all, he should be expelled for arriving so late. Not to mention, there's a rumor going around that he came in a flying car, which he stole from that peasant of a pureblood, Ron Weasley's father, and that some Muggles saw it. If that is true, he will be expelled. And if it's not, maybe he'll be expelled anyway.
The Next Day: This morning, when I went down to the Great Hall, who should I see standing there, but Potter, looking like he hadn't had a great night's sleep, but nonetheless, there. I walk over to him. "Hey, Potter, let me come and see you off." "Sorry, Draco, I'm not leaving." "Really, word around the school is, you did some pretty terrible things last nigh. Any normal student would be expelled, but not Dumbledore's little pet." Suddenly, that Mudblood Granger walks up to us and says to those two buffoons, "I'm glad you're all right. I'd heard there was a possibility you'd be expelled." "I wish," says I. "Go boss some of your cronies around, it'll make you feel better." I stomp away in a huff, and jinx some first year to make myself feel better. I see him little later at lunch, his fingers back to normal. He runs away from me, scared, and I laugh. I like that kind of power.
Crabbe and Goyle, two of my loyal supporters, walk up to me. "Hey Draco," says Crabbe, picking his nose. "Yeah, hey," says Goyle, scratching himself like the baboon that he is. "You two, stop doing those disgusting things. We have to find a way to get Potter." "Get Potter what? Is it his birthday?" muttered Goyle. "No, you idiot, I'm going to play a prank on him. Something nasty. Ahh, I know. I'll have Professor Snape write a note letting us use the quiddich field while the Gryffindor team is practicing. That'll tick him off. Especially after I show him my new Nimbus 2001. Maybe his annoying friends will be there. I'd like to see the looks of disbelief on their faces, especially that stupid, slimy, cheating Mudblood Granger."
The Next Day: As our noble quiddich team walks toward the quiddich field, I hear Potter trying to get some kid away from him. I'll have to encourage that kid -- having Potter annoyed, even if not by me, is fun to watch. "Hey Wood," says Marcus Flint, our team captain, to the Gryffindor captain. "We need some room on the field too." Wood throws a hissy fit, something about his having booked the field already. We show him Professor Snape's note. He turns bright read with anger and embarrassment. He doesn't like it, but that is part of the reason we're here. And he also knows that there's nothing he can do about it.
After quiddich practice, we go to our new Defense Against the Dark Arts class, where we have a new teacher, Gilderoy Lockhart. I wonder whether this one will last more than a year. As we go into class, he seems to be more of a spokesman or a beauty model than a professor. All he does is talk about his amazing exploits. Hah! I bet he just wrote the books and didn't do any of them. Took credit for someone else's work. I may be shrewd and sneaky, but I do my own work ... most of the time. He starts off with a quiz. What's his favorite color, what's his this, what's his that. Why do we need to know so much about him? He's our teacher, not our soulmate. Nobody in our class gets more than 23 of the questions right. He scolds us, then gives us all extra homework, writing an essay on why you shouldn't give him some type of animal or another.
Next, we have that snooty, preachy professor McGonagall. She sets us to work, trying to make some subtle changes, from a mouse to a rat or the pattern on a tea kettle. The pattern on my tea kettle is fine, but the color is the same. I get a barely passing mark. Humph, what does she know? She then transfigures her hat into a songbook which sings itself. Some of the girls are impressed, but I've seen much more interesting magic than that.
We finally have a break. I see Potter and his friends walking by the lake. I cast a spell to move a few small rocks into Weasley's way. He trips and falls flat on his face. Crabbe, Goyle and I laugh. Potter glances at us but says nothing, for once. Maybe he got that stupid homework of Lockheart's too. I'll bet that toadying tangle-haired Granger got them all right and earned some points for her house in the process. She'll get hers someday, hopefully someday soon.
A Few Days Later: Finally, we have potions, one of the classes in which I excel. We are supposed to make the beautifying potion. It makes you look better in the eyes of everyone else for a few hours. Crabbe and Goyle could use a couple of gallons. During class, I give Potter a couple of jibes about his dead parents, how pathetic he is, the usual. It's only the beginning of the year, and I've already settled into taunting Potter regularly, like it's the middle of the year. I'm ahead of schedule.
Weasely, fortunately, makes his potion incorrectly. After he drinks it, his hair turns green. Professor Snape gives him an antidote. I wonder why. Thank goodness that there is one teacher in the school Potter hasn't corrupted. Professor Snape isn't afraid to give him detention or take away points from Gryffindor for fear of what "the great Potter" might do.
Then we have that droning, boring, ghost teacher, Professor Binns. I think Dumbledore should bin him. But no, nice, soft-hearted Dumbledore couldn't fire a fly. He couldn't fire anybody -- it might hurt them, it might hurt their self-esteem. if it were up to me, about half the teachers in this school would be gone by next week. At least I get some input; my father is Head of the Board of Directors, after all.
During that class, I catch up on some much-needed sleep. Professor Binns assigns a creative writing essay at the end of class. We are supposed to write about one of the goblin rebellions, from the goblin's point of view.
The Next Morning: I haven't even started my essay. I have been working on my Potions essay about what kind of potion I would like to use, on whom I would like to use it and how it's made. This is easy, because I've been thinking about it ever since Professor Snape first mentioned the potion. I would like to use Draught of the Living Dead on either Harry Potter or Hermione Granger. It would cause them to sleep for 200 years, and thus, I wouldn't have to bother with them any more. Without his idols, Weasley wouldn't really be a problem. I still have to go find out how to brew it.
I glance at my schedule. Oh no, I have herbology with those irritating Gryffindors next. But I hear that we are going to start using more dangerous plants this year; that will be fun. As we go into greenhouse three, Professor Sprout hands us all earmuffs and tells us that we will be working with mandrakes. I'd love to slip Potter's earmuffs off -- he'd be in a dead faint for the next couple of classes. But, alas, I get in trouble, so I don't. Working with mandrakes is intriguing. We have to pull them up, which they hate and then replant them. All in all, it is a great class. Watching those tiny, deformed plant babies scream, gives me a real thrill. I pull off some of their leaves while I am at it, just to annoy them.
After Herbology, nothing much happens. I write home to mother and that's it.
The Next Day: At breakfast, I receive an owl package from home, filled with my favorite sweets. Mother spoils me so; that's the way I like it. I show it off to my fellow Slytherins, most of whom beg for a piece or two. To some of my friends, I give a polite "no." To the rest, I shout, "bug off, you little moochers, there's no such thing as a free lunch any more." Some gives me looks of dislike and annoyance, the usual. When all is said and done, I am the happiest kid that day.
Potter looks like he has something on his mind that day. As does Weasley, if he has a mind. I send over one of my lackeys to try to overhear what is going on; I know they'll stop talking if they see me. Turns out, that Weasley's little sister got in trouble. I smile. She's only a first year. I then ask one of the Slytherin first years to round up her posse and try to disturb the little Weasley as much as possible. They agree, after I give them each a chocolate frog from my package.
At the end of they day they report that they had her nearly in tears. I glance at the Gryffindor table. Potter and Weasley are muttering to each other, hopefully about this, and they both look very worried. Granger is nowhere in sight.
The Next Day: Today is Sunday. I have decided that I will use today to annoy, insult and generally harass people. Yesterday all I did was sleep, read and eat. The books I read were "how to" books -- How to Harass People, How to Gain Lackeys, How to Annoy People Younger than You and How to Gain Control. All written by a marvelous writer. I found them all in the attic of our mansion, but I can't imagine why father would keep them up there. They are so interesting. That Grimwald is a genius. He was a dark wizard back in the days of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, defeated by Dumbledore, that nosy do-gooder.
One of the suggestions in How to Harass People is that you first tell your targets things that are untrue yet that will scare them. Next you inform them that the only way they can get out of it is if they do you a favor. I think that some sucker of a first year is going to write my essay on Goblin revolutions. I'll probably just tell one of them that upperclassmen can practice jinxes on first-years but that I will protect him if he writes the essay for me. That should be believable and I'm sure it will work.
I've heard that there is a ghost who haunts the toilets in the girls' second floor bathroom. I think that I will pump up my ego a bit by beating her down. I'll make a game where I throw things at her and, depending on where I hit, the more points I get. That should tick her off.
That evening: Ahh, it's been a satisfying day. That girl-ghost, that moaning ghost, eventually flew down the toilet with a sob of despair after my little game. I'm pretty sure I crushed her spirit -- that's an amazing pun. I've got a first-year Hufflepuff working on my goblin essay and I think he's doing a passable job.
I've heard that the Gryffindor ghost is having his deathday party. I wonder what motivates ghosts to do that. They can't eat. They can't dance because they would go right through each other. They are morbid and seem to have no friends, they seem to goad each other as much as possible. What is the point? What sane reason could they have for having these deathday parties? Does it give them more powers? If so, I wonder what powers they gain. They don't seem to have many, other than floating through walls. I wonder whether they can possess people? If so, I can't wait to become a ghost; possess a few wizards, scare a few Muggles. I'll have the time of my afterlife.
Late That Night
I just realized something I'm secretly jealous of Potter. What a revolting development this is. I guess the reason for this is because he has most of the faculty under his thumb so he can do anything he wants he gets good grades because the slimy mudblood can give him all the answers to his tests and he is popular because he is friends with weasly so people think he is friends with the common wizard. Not to mention he is rich and famous he can make people feel sorry for him because his parents died and he has to live with muggles. Humph this just makes me hate him even more. What a conflict I hate him and yet I am jealous of him how can this be. I'll sleep on it.