Draco Malfoy stepped onto the Hogwarts Express, with mixed feelings, as always. He enjoyed the school holidays; being back in the Malfoy Mansion, with his mother, Narcissa Malfoy, fussing over him. He didn't particularly enjoy his father, Lucius Malfoy, tearing him to shreds over the fact that Hermione Granger, Muggle born Granger, was still beating him in the yearly tests – him, a pure blood wizard!
But then again, his father wasn't around much. He was usually at the Ministry of Magic, or with high up, important people, lending them money so he could get personal favours and then screwing them around. He was always on the move, traveling to distant places, stopping by at home every now and again. On the rare occasion he was home, he was usually in the secret drawing room, where he kept dark and dangerous possessions, entertaining strange guests. Lucius Malfoy was rich, powerful and, as he and the rest of the Malfoys liked to think, well bred and a class above the half Muggle or Muggle born wizards and witches.
Malfoy knew his father was up to no good, but neither he, nor his mother, ever questioned him. Malfoy enjoyed being at home, where he got his own way with everything, but then again, he enjoyed school too, for the simple fact that he was clever, fairly good looking, popular amongst his fellow housemates, the Slytherins and got along with his housemaster, Potions teacher Severus Snape.
The holidays had been slightly boring; Malfoy and his mother had traveled to the South of France for a few weeks and had his fathers' guest, Igor Karkaroff in their home the rest of the time.
And now he was back, back on the train that would take him to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was looking forward to catching up with his two best friends, Crabbe and Goyle, who although were stupid, thick and gormless, did what he said and looked up to him no end.
He paused as he climbed aboard the large, old fashioned steam train and looked back onto the platform. His mother was there, of course, tall, bony and dressed completely in a black suit and fashionable black hat with a string of pearls around her neck. She waved at her only son, who did not return the wave – he had gotten tired of his mother over the summer.
Malfoy heaved his large school trunk up after him and started off down the train, looking for a carriage of his Slytherin friends. He passed a few Ravenclaw students, who he ignored as usual. Finally he stopped outside a carriage where his friends, Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and Zabini Blaise were sitting.
"Draco!" Pansy leapt up to hold open the carriage door for Malfoy, her pug like face shining with glee. "How are you, Draco?"
"Fine," he muttered in reply, rather unenthusiastically; Pansy had been crushing on him since the first week of school – and that was five years ago. He never knew why he, or any of his friends, entertained Pansy, but then again, she really was the only girl who would ever talk to them, plus Draco liked the feel of someone worshipping and admiring him, even if she was an annoying and pug faced. He liked admiration and respect – he was not so different from his father after all.
Malfoy nodded to his friends in greeting, words were hardly ever exchanged between them. He sat down beside Blaise, who offered him a Chocolate Frog and opposite Pansy, who immediately stood up to come sit beside him with the excuse of wanting another Chocolate Frog.
Malfoy wondered again, for the hundredth time, why Pansy was the only girl who had ever really shown interest in him. There were the few Slytherin girls who had – all as ugly as Pansy and worse – but where were all the talented, smart and pretty girls? Malfoy knew he came across as slightly arrogant, conceited and even sometimes, mean, but he was good looking, like his father, with his sleek blonde hair, sharp eyes and pointy face. He had brains, money – so why didn't he have girls fawning all over him like they did that stupid Potter?
He exhaled deeply. Potter. Potter with his dark scruffy hair, green cats' eyes, broken glasses and ugly lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. Malfoy could not help but let out a little snort of disgust at the title. Potter was nothing more than a swollen headed schoolboy, no more special, talented or clever that any other kid and certainly not any more than Malfoy himself was. Sure, Potter had gotten himself out of a few tight scrapes, rumored to be concerning the Dark Lord himself, but that had to be, as his father and Snape put it, no more than extremely good luck and the presence of friends more talented than he.
Not Ron Weasley, that was for sure. Tall, freckled, gangly, red headed Ron with his great big clumsy feet and army of red headed brothers and sisters with that Muggle loving fool of a father? The idea was amusing. Weasley had been Potter's best friend ever since their first day and the two were loyal to each other – but Malfoy knew Weasley was nothing, nothing more than a poor, clumsy sidekick.
And then there was Granger. Mudblood Hermione Granger. Now she was clever – but her knowledge only came out of textbooks and the school's library. Her family were Muggles, plain common Muggles, who had probably never even heard of magic until the letter from Hogwarts came. Granger could memorize enchantments out of a book, learn entire chapters by heart and maybe even perform the spells to perfection – but what did all that matter when the blood coursing through her veins was not the bloodof real witches and wizards? She had no more magical blood in her body than Malfoy had Grindylow blood in his.
Still, she was fairly presentable, Malfoy mused. Nerdy yes, with her horrible bushy hair and formerly bugs bunny teeth – but that had been rectified by the matron, Madam Pomfrey in time for last year's Christmas ball. Even Malfoy had to admit, as did many other boys, that Granger had looked respectable and maybe even pretty on that occasion. And she was smart. Which was more than he could say for the thick as a troll girl sitting beside him. In fact, if Granger hadn't been a Mudblood, a goody goody, Potter and Weasley's best friend and one of his mortal enemies, he might even have gone for her himself. Of course, because of those reasons, he knew the two would never have anything more than deep disgust and resentment for each other.
It was just too bad.