Hippogriffs.
Draco couldn't stand Hippogriffs. As much as the 'idiotic oaf' Hagrid had deserved to have the accident take place in his very first class, Draco would obviously have much preferred it if somebody else had taken the pain for it. He wasn't one for self-sacrifice, even if it meant that filthy half-breed getting what he deserved.
It wasn't his fault. Potter must have turned the stupid beast against him. Typical of Potter to have that animal magnetism, as it were. After all, he did live with Muggles.
So the attack had happened and the blasted Hippogriff had taken a great chunk out of his arm. Surrounded by Slytherin followers, he was taken to Madam Pomfrey, and only returned to classes the next Thursday, arm bandaged heavily. A minor annoyance (Madam Pomfrey had insisted that he didn't need it, but she probably had something against him and he wasn't going to take any chances) but it was something he would have to bear.
He had returned in the middle of Potions and the fun had begun. Severus Snape - a 'friend' of his father's and a man he had never been able to bear - had ordered Potter to prepare Draco's ingredients for him and Draco had taken the opportunity to throw a few taunts about Sirius Black his way. And of course he had received plenty of well-deserved attention from the likes of Pansy Parkinson and other nameless Slytherin girls.
In fact, the positive uses of his injury seemed to steadily increase throughout the day.
The final, slightly more necessary use came in Defence Against the Dark Arts.
He had shared - without giving a single hint of his inner feelings, naturally - the class' excitement when Professor Lupin had told them that they were to have a practical lesson and proceeded to cart them off to the Staff Room and stand them before a wardrobe.
It was only when he informed the pupils of what waited inside that the mood seemed to drop, and it happened instantly, like the extinguishing of a candle's flame by long, pale fingers.
There was a silence.
Glancing around at his fellow Slytherins, Draco caught what might well have been snatches of fear. He knew, as much as he shared the panic, that it was not fear at what they would see - it would no doubt be something they had been forced to endure in the past - but fear at others seeing this fear. Draco's gaze swept onto their Professor, and he could have sworn he saw his eyes glinting. The man must have known what effect a Boggart was going to have on a class full of Slytherins.
Well, they weren't going to be seeing spiders and mummies.
He scowled at the ragged Professor.
"Unfortunately," He drawled, mind working fast in self-protection, "I will not be able to participate in this practical."
He shot another glance at the shaking wardrobe, and Lupin noticed it.
"Perhaps you're right, Draco," He said, and his voice held a tone of gentleness that Draco returned his eyes to him sharply, narrowed them in suspicion.
"I'll return to the Slytherin Common Room," He told the Professor, trying to fight off both his dislike for Lupin and his increasing fear of the creature within the wardrobe.
Lupin nodded, and as his classmates watched on Draco walked graciously from the classroom, not looking back.
That night, his dormitory bed cloaked in a precautionary silence spell, Draco nightmared of that wardrobe. He nightmared of the creature stepping from it, wearing an imposing form that it didn't own - a form of long black cloak, pale skin and blond hair.
For yet another night, Draco nightmared of his father.