I have always been this malevolent.
When I was about two, I started picking up my father's ways. Two! I suppose it's no wonder I'm like I am. He taught me everything I know about wizarding types - what to embrace, what to avoid.
However, I really don't see anything wrong with my disposition, it always just seems like the thing I've been doing all my life.
That Potter. I could've really helped him. But he had to go around with that stupid Weasley trash, and now he couldn't tell a pureblood from a Mudblood if it had a sign taped to it and danced in front of him.
I am an honorable wizard.
My family is all magical, not a stinking Muggle among us. And you'd better believe if there was one, they'd be done away with faster than you could say "Avada Kedavra." I have followed my family's footsteps in Slytherin. I have welcomed those like me and shunned those against me. I know who my true friends are - the ones with the faithful families to Lord Voldemort. Someday I will be among them, and I will be welcome to the Death Eaters just as my father was.
The Malfoys are honorable.
Of course, it's very hushed. If anyone was to hear we were still waiting patiently for our time to return to Voldemort, we'd all be thrown into Azkaban. That's one reason my father wanted me to become friends with Potter - so it wouldn't seem to suspicious. After all, who would suspect the Malfoys still being under Voldemort's command if their son was friends with the boy who caused his "downfall"?
I wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot stick now. Especially now that he's got that Granger Mudblood and that red-headed disgrace to wizards everywhere hanging all over him. His Harry Potter fan club. The thought made me sick.
Still, I only have Care of Magical Creatures and Potions with the filth, so I'm not too disturbed by them.
I joined the rest of the Slytherins in the Great Hall for dinner. On my way, I ran straight into a very solid something and both of us were knocked off our feet.
"Ouch!" I muttered. The other person was getting up - it was Granger! Ugh! And I ran right into her!
"Watch where you're going, Mudblood!" I shot at her, and rose to my feet.
I looked at her and was surprised to see that she had tears in her eyes.
"Get away from me, Malfoy!" She yelled through tears, and ran away from me.
"Hey, I'm sorry," I told her, then realized what I had said.
Sorry? To Hermione Granger? Did I just apologize to her? To this dirty excuse of a witch? What was wrong with me?
And yet, as she turned in surprise at my words, I somewhat knew why I had said it.
I felt bad.
Why? Why did I feel shame at being mean to her? I'd done it for four years. Why was it all of a sudden different?
She turned and walked quickly into the Great Hall. I followed at a distance and sat at the Slytherin table.
"Hello, Draco," said Pansy Parkinson as I sat down. More annoyed by her than ever, I didn't answer. Instead, I glanced over at the Gryffindors.
My eye wandered to where Hermione was sitting. As I looked at her, she looked away, as though she had been watching me.
That was ridiculous.
Granger hated me. I hated her. That's always the way it's been. She's a stinking, filthy, dirty witch. I hate her more than anything.
Or do I?
