Draco Malfoy was not having a good time. The Slytherins hated him for being a Griffindor, and the Griffindors hated him for being a Malfoy. Worst of all, his father had wanted to disown him. He'd only backed down from the idea when Draco's mother had threatened to divorce him if he did. She was the only person who cared about him.
Draco kept to himself as much as he could, and his fellow Griffindors let him be, not disliking him enough to seek him out and torment him. He wished the same could be said for the Slytherins in his year. Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkenson abused him relentlessly. The sorting hat was right. They were not really his friends.
The constant solitude allowed Draco to reflect on his position. He'd been labeled a blood traitor simply for being sorted into Griffindor. He'd tried, at first, to win back the approval of his former friends by saying that his sorting had been a mistake, that his father would fix it, that he hated mudbloods just as much as they did. They only laughed at the desperate tone in his voice.
The Griffindors, on the other hand, despite disliking him, were quietly looking out for him. When he wandered the corridors alone musing, he never saw them, but if his former friends found him, a half dozen young Griffindors would appear with their wands out within seconds. It was always the same ones: The Weasley twins and their friend Lee Jordan, their younger brother Ron, Neville Longbottom, and to his horror, the mudblood Hermione Granger. Outnumbered two to one, and against third years as well as first, Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkenson would retreat, scowling, and the watchful Griffindors would lead Draco back to Griffindor tower, where he would sulk in the corner of the common room.
This, along with his father's attempt to disown him, led Draco to question the beliefs that he'd been taught since he was old enough to repeat what his parents told him. Did his pure blood truly make him any better than his peers? It certainly didn't seem so. Meanwhile Granger was top in every class except potions, which was not to say she she couldn't brew them. Professor Snape hated Griffindors, and their grades suffered accordingly. Pansy Parkenson was top of potions class.
Pansey. Just the name was enough to make his blood boil. Their parents had betrothed them when they were two, only for betrothals to be banned a year later. Still, their friendship had been strongly encouraged, and it had been expected that they would eventually marry by their own choice. So much for that.
Draco came to his decision. He could not pretend that mud-muggleborns were somehow inferior. He could not pretend that pure blood really mattered. He could not pretend that he belonged in Slytherin.
His father thought a son in Griffindor brought dishonour on the name of Malfoy? Draco would show him real dishonour.