Chapter 1- The Train Ride

DRACO:

I stepped onto the train and breathed in the familiar uh, Hogwarts-y smell. It wasn't a very good smell, so I broke into a wheezing cough and clutched my chest, staggering around and coughing up specks of phlegm. Hence, making a complete and utter fool of myself.

"Yo, Draco," said Crabbe, coming from around the corner with Goyle, their fat, pimply faces broken into their usual stupid grins. Whew. Small wonder that it smelled so bad in here. These two need to start using deodorant, and they can get their brains refunded on the way.

I ignored the two meatheads and made my way to the compartment where I usually sit. i told father that I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself now, I am seventeen already after all, but father insisted that I keep them close. He must have had a very threatening talk with Crabbe and Goyle's fathers, who, in turn, must have talked to their dim witted sons, because lately, I couldn't shake the two fatasses off.

On my way, I noticed that I got even more suggestive winks and 'hey draco's than the past years. Hmmmm. This year, father brought me to Gringgotts to count the family gold, aka, my massive inheritance. I guess my muscles really benefited from lifting all those solid Wizard Gold bars. Even my eye muscles developed from squinting to protect my pretty eyes from the glare of all the shiny gold. Unfortunately, no amount of squinting could shield the view of all the slutty Hufflepuff girls thet wanted to rape me. Shudder.

When I got to the compartment, another hellish sight infected my eyes. Blaise Zabini was there, tapping his fingers on the windowsill in a bored way. Blaise had invited himself over this summer to Malfoy Manor and since the Zabini's were in the Top Ten Most Powerful and Filthy Rich Wizarding Families list(us Malfoy's being number one, of course), father was only too glad to have him over, saying that it would be 'good for business'. Whatever. I was pretty fed up with Zabini.

"Hey Drake," Gah. I hate that stupid nickname. "congrats on getting Head Boy."

Duh, Zabini. Who else did he expect the badge to go to? Weasel? The idea is laughable. In my Year, no, in the whole of Hogwarts, no one deserves to be Head Boy more that I do. I mean, who else is brave, smart, or handsome enough? No one.

I glared at Zabini icily, but he continued grinning at me like the deranged freak that he is. Of all the people I know, only Zabini doesn't practically shit in his pants whenever I give that look. Well, Granger doesn't either. Neither does Dumbledore. And I guess Voldemort wouldn't. and father. And Potter. And- oh, forget about it.

A couple of minutes after I sat down, I heard a timid knock on the glass door of the compartment. What is the matter with these people? Am I so popular that they can't help flocking to me like sheep? A tiny Third Year boy slid the door open, looking like a bug that was about to be squashed. Well, not really.

"D-Draco Ma-Malfoy?" he stuttered. I raised my eyebrow expectantly. "P-Professor McGonagall told me to give this t-to you." He practically threw a small scroll of parchment at me in his haste to get away from the intimidating greatness of my glory and good looks.

Mr. Malfoy, (I read)

You are required to attend a Head's Meeting which will be held at the Head's compartment. It is located at the left side directly behind the driver. The meeting will be at 11:30. Do not be late.

Sincerely,

Professor Minerva M. McGonagall

"so Draco, how was your summer?" Stupid Zabini. Didn't he realize that because he had forced himself upon me the entire summer, he would know practically everything about it? Sheesh. People these days.

"Okay, I guess," I said, examining my perfect fingernails. "except for the fact that I had to spend it with a total moron."

"Oooh, tough luck buddy," I am not his 'buddy'. "Who was he?"

"Starts with 'B' and rhymes with 'laise'.

I could hear the rusty, barely used gears in his head creaking, wondering what on earth started with 'B' and rhymed with 'laise'. Hmm. Bouillabaisse? He has seriously got to get those thing oiled. Or replaced. Whichever of the two.

"Hey!" he finally said, after some minutes of deep and soulful thinking. "I am not a total moron!"

"Whatever, Zabini."

He turned away from me and sniffled I think I hut his feelings. Oh well, he'll get over it. What did he want me to do? Hold him in my arms and say 'Awwww, poor widdle Blaisey. Did the Big Bad Draco make you cwy?' Huh. As if. In your dreams, Zabini.

After thirty minutes or so of listening to Zabini's highly exaggerated sniffles and heart wrenching sobs, I left, without a word to Zabini, to the Head's Meeting.

I found the compartment and entered, clearing my throat meaningfully as I did, in order to inform everyone in the room what lucky, lucky people they were to be graced with a Malfoy's benign presence. I looked around and saw that the compartment had only two occupants, Granger and McGonagall.

Hmphh. Granger. Why am I not surprised? She's the goody goody Gryffindor smartypants. Everyone knows as a fact that her 24/7 reading comes only second best to my naturally attained awesome brainpower.

"You are late, Mr. Malfoy," said McGonagall, her nostrils flaring alarmingly. Yikes.

"My apologies professor," I responded casually. What was a few measly minutes going to do anyway?

Her mouth tightened, if that was even possible. "Take a seat." Now, if I were Crabbe or Goyle, I would have grabbed the nearest chair, disregarding completely the fact that it was bolted to the train and gone off, probably to show off to everyone my new chair. And yes, they are that stupid. Maybe even a little bit more. Maybe even a lot more.

Anyway, since I wasn't either of the two pea brains, I sat down. Granger scooted as far away from me without falling off the chair as was possible, like I had some sort of contagious, life threatening disease. I smirked at her. Anyway, McGonagall started talking. And talking. And talking some more.

"Blah blah blah rules!"

"Blah blah blah model students!"

"Blah blah- Mr. Malfoy! Are you paying attention?"

No. "Of course, professor," I said sweetly. "there's nothing that I want to do more than to listen to you talk about the endless responsibilities of a Head" I didn't actually say that last bit. I want to be alive for my last Year at Hogwarts, thank you very much. Before McGonagall rudely interrupted, I was trying to count the trees that were whizzing by the bird crap spattered window and was doing just fine. Great. Now I have to start all over again. Thanks Professor.

I sighed and turned to the front where McGonagall was. She looked at me sternly and heard Granger beside me mutter "typical ferret.". McGonagall resumed her extremely bring monologue and I resorted to counting the lines on her face, but early on, I decided to give up because there were way too many. Hasn't this woman ever heard of Botox? Mother has that done every two months, but of course, we are filthy rich and we can afford those kind of personal luxuries.

"Blah blah meeting after feast," McGonagall concluded.

Bloody finally. I stood up and left, making sure not to bid goodbye to Granger and McGonagall. When I reached my compartment, I received the biggest shock of my young life. Well, not the biggest per se, but something relatively close.

A horde of sinister looking females was clustered around the compartment door, banging their manicured hands on the glass and demanding to see me. I rather thought that they would look more complete with a couple of pitchforks and torches, holding up placards that read 'burn the ogre' or something like that. But, of course, I am definitely not an ogre so the idea is absurd.

Luckily, my rabid fans were too busy forcing entry to notice my arrival. Inside our compartment, I could see Blaise's silhouette holding the sliding door shot with his hands.

"Pansy! A little help here please!" screamed Blaise. Oh no. pansy was there. Thank the high heavens that I wasn't present when she arrived or she would've raped me – Blaise or no Blaise.

"Pansy," Balise whined from behind the glass. "my hands are hurting." Stupid Zabini. Hadn't he ever heard of a simple sealing charm? Really, I do not know how he ever made it into Slytherin, a House known for producing the darkest –ahem-, I mean finest wizards in history.

I heard pansy say "Oh, move over!" and then she slid the compartment door open, revealing her ugly pug face. She slid the door open completely and I saw Zabini in a corner, curled up into a little ball with his hands flung over his head. I wouldn't be surprised if I saw a puddle of pee on the floor. Honestly, I know bravery is a Gryffindor thing but that doesn't necessarily mean that we Slytherins don't have any bravery left in us at all. Zabini should be ashamed of himself.

"Look you hussies," pansy said menacingly. "you had better stay the fuck away from my Drakey or I will personally tear you limb from limb with my bare hands, bring you back to life and torture you 'til blood drips out of your ears and- Draco!" she exclaimed, very unfortunately spotting me whilst threatening my mob of devoted followers. This was not good, not good at all

Instantly, all the heads in the crowd whipped to my direction, their faces filled with that murderous, bloodthirsty 'gimme-some-Draco!' look. It was at times likr these that I wished that I had an Invisibility Cloak like Potter's.

"No! I'm not Draco! Honestly! I could never, ever be as rich or as handsome as he is!" they started advancing slowly. "Stop! I, as Head Boy, command you all to stop! No! Stoooppp!! Aaaaargghhh!"