Disclaimer: Wrote this on the bus. Does JK Rowling still need to take the bus? NO. I am not JK Rowling. I do not own her characters or story.
Malfoy?
I'm not Going to ask how the Slytherin Prince is. Without even looking across the great hall I can tell Pansy is drooling all over your pants. You are sick. You sit there on your throne of prejudice, old blood, and birth rights, and watch the movement of society seemingly bored. But I know different Malfoy.
I am observant. A junior in the study of human psychology, I like to think. I can tell without looking across the great hall that although your features are contorted in that sneer your subjects know so well, I know exactly what's going on in your head. I can read you like one of my goddamn books Malfoy!
The white-gray swirls that enter you silvery orbs when Crabbe lands a particularly hard punch on a first year, or the way you slouch when you think no one's watching, letting the weight of the fucked up world your old blood left you fall on your shoulders. After all you have done, all you have been through to get to this point, you want out. Yes it took six years, yes you accepted your grand role with gusto at the start, but now the great Draco Malfoy wants out. I should spit in your face Draco. But contrary to Harry and Ron, I am quite the opportunist.
What's this? Only a faze you say? Only a flicker of remorse you say?
I saw it Draco, it's a blazing fire.
I can offer help. I AM offering help. We can save you Draco, and you would be a great asset to our side.
Ask yourself Draco, whose blood do you want staining your platinum blonde hair?
-Grange