Draco shuffled his feet nervously. He was sick of standing in this stupid line waiting for his name to be called and he certainly did not want that disgustingly filthy hat touching his precious blonde locks. He ran a hand through his hair to make sure it looked impeccable. He did not even see why they had to go through with this whole sorting garbage. He was going to be a Slytherin. Both his parents had been Slytherins, and their parents before them. In fact, Draco's entire family had been in Slytherin, with the exception of one of two bad apples from his mother's side of the family. She'd had a disgrace of a cousin in Gryffindor. Sirius, Draco thought his name was. However, at that moment, Sirius Black was rotting away in Azkaban, having finally brought the family glory by killing dozens of Muggles and selling out the Potter family. Draco smirked a little at that thought and cast a hateful glance towards Harry Potter. He'd probably be in Gryffindor, Draco thought, like his damn father. Draco could pretty much tell who would be in what house just by looking at them. The slightly chubby, disoriented boy who had already lost his toad, would undoubtedly be in Hufflepuff. The snooty looking witch with her nose in the air and a book peeking out of her robe pocket was a Ravenclaw through and through. And then there was the shock of red hair further down the line. Though he was undoubtedly as brainless and Muggle-loving as the rest, he would be put in Gryffindor where his brothers awaited him. Weasleys in Gryffindor were like Malfoys in Slytherin. There really was no question about it.
Professor McGonagall finally spit out "Malfoy, Draco" with more than a hint of disgust in her voice. She looked down her nose at the icy boy who strutted towards the center of the room, glad that he would not be in her house, at least. Draco shot her a condescending look, having no respect for anyone outside of Slytherin house. As he picked up the musty old hat, he looked towards the Slytherin table, his new home. Once the hat settled on his head, with a great deal of twitching and sighing, Draco began to get nervous. The hat had not immediately screamed out his name the way it had with his friend Vincent Crabbe or Gregory Goyle. He cleared his throat a little impatiently as if to tell the hat to get on with it. Suddenly, Draco's mind was full of an old, cracking voice, which seemed to be coming from the hat itself.
"Ahh, another Malfoy, I see," the voice muttered. Though Draco did not actually say anything, he could hear his own voice answer back in his head.
"Yes, I'm a Malfoy, so what's taking so long? Just put me in Slytherin you mangy old hat."
"I'm not so sure Slytherin is the place for you, young Malfoy," the hat retorted. It gave another twitch, trying to get a better idea of Draco Malfoy. "Perhaps you'd be better suited for Gryffindor. I see in you a great heroic streak. Even under all that cowering weakness, I spy some bravery. Yes, I'm beginning to think Gryffindor is just the place for you."
"No! Not Gryffindor! Not with all those mudbloods and Muggle-lovers and redheaded fools! I speak Parseltongue! My father's a Death Eater, one of the most important ones! I'm going to be one too! I'm evil, really evil. Please, don't do this. My father will kill me!" Draco shrieked inside his head. He could practically see the hat grinning wickedly as the entire Great Hall looked on in confusion, what was taking so long?
"Gryffindor!" The hat burst forth as the Gryffindor table cheered half-heartedly. Draco ripped the hat from his head and stomped on it before marching to the Gryffindor table, swearing the entire way.