Disclaimer: No, still not mine. I'm actually grateful that I don't have to deal with the pressure.
A/N: Maybe I should just stop apologizing for how long these take and just accept that I'm not a particularly proficient writer. And maybe I should accept that this story is completely and absolutely AU and will remain so for as long as I continue to write it.
Yes, maybe.
"Confound it!" Draco snarled at the slightly mildewed, damp expanse of stone wall that was the entrance to the Slytherin common room. He would have used stronger words were it not for Snape's irritating habit of showing up at the most inopportune moments—and though he was a favorite with the Potions master, Snape's "gentle remonstrances," in Draco's opinion, were worse than his sarcastic remarks, and far lengthier.
"Problems, Draco?" At the sound of that all too familiar voice, Draco winced.
"Not at all," he said calmly, not turning around. "Not a single problem, Blaise. Don't let me keep you waiting," he added, gesturing politely towards the wall and turning to give her his most charming smile.
She snorted softly. "Do you really think that nothing's changed?" The laughter in her voice was more poisonous than her usual sarcastic sweetness. "You thought that your near-celebrity status would last forever, didn't you? Clever Draco, making a name for yourself by becoming Potter's arch-enemy in school and tormenting the Gryffindors whenever you could." She shook her head slowly, keeping her eyes on Draco. "Well, now everyone knows who you are. Are you satisfied?"
He looked up at her suddenly, and she was surprised to see his eyes glinting with amusement. "Perfectly satisfied. Now, Blaise, if you'll excuse me?" He bowed gracefully to her and swept off down the corridor, leaving the dark-haired Slytherin girl staring after him in utter astonishment.
There was no way she could see how hard his nails dug into the skin of his palms inside the sleeves of his robes.
"She doesn't know anything," Draco muttered to himself as he strode blindly down the dark passageway. "She's wrong, she's always wrong, nothing's changed…" But the lie that he had been trying to cling to through most of the summer had lost its charm. Blaise's scorn, the open disdain of a fellow Slytherin—even one who had hated him since they were both five years old—had made his change in station painfully clear, even more so than the half-hidden looks of disgust he had seen around the Great Hall during dinner. He walked still faster, not knowing or caring where he was going, only aware of Blaise's words, still echoing through his mind: "Well, now everyone knows who you are. Are you satisfied?"
"Damn you, Blaise," he snarled suddenly under his breath, still speeding towards he-knew-not-where. He turned a corner abruptly and ran straight into a scrawny fifth-year—a Gryffindor, Creely or Creepy or something of that sort.
"Malfoy!" the puny Gryffindor—was it Crawley?—squeaked happily. Draco's fury was submerged momentarily in complete confusion. A Gryffindor—and an undersized male one at that—was happy to see him? The situation was worse than he had thought.
"Malfoy, I've been looking for you for ages after dinner—would you mind posing for a picture? I've asked everyone I knew, even Hermione Granger, and no one ever saw or heard of a curse with the Malfoy-head effect—see, they've even named it after you, and—"
Without waiting to hear any more, Draco whipped out his wand and pointed it at the skinny fifth-year's face. "Just one more word," he whispered, voice shaking with rage, "just one more word, and I swear I'll use the worst curse I know." The boy fell silent instantly, eyes wide behind his glasses—identical to Harry Potter's, Draco noted irrelevantly. "Good," Draco hissed venomously, "being in Gryffindor doesn't seem to have completely damaged your brain capabilities. Now move!" As the runt scuttled quickly out of the way, clutching his camera tightly to his chest, Draco swept past him, tucking his wand carefully back into his robes, resisting the temptation to snap it and trample the pieces.
His mind, Draco thought as he paced up and down a deserted passageway, didn't seem to be working properly anymore. Try as he might, he couldn't seem to explain to himself why the Slytherins would turn so suddenly on him—him, the Slytherin prince. Surely his looks didn't matter so much? They had not admired him, snickering at his jokes and laughing along with him at Potter for six years just because of his perfect blond hair, had they?
However, even as Draco posed this seemingly sensible question to himself, he knew the answer. Slytherins by nature were cunning and ambitious—loyalty was not one of their greater attributes. If trampling on someone else was the way to fame and achievement, then they would take it without hesitation, and it simply was not in them to continue worshipping someone—no matter how good a model of Slytherin qualities—who was a laughingstock for the rest of the school.
He winced as the full implications of this hit him. Draco Malfoy, for perhaps the first time in his pampered, spoiled life, was on his own.
Unless, he thought excitedly, his pacing doubling in speed and his strides growing longer, more confident, unless I can win them back, show them that I'm still Draco Malfoy, show them that I haven't changed underneath this disfigured scalp of mine—that I'm still the Slytherin prince…but how?
Simple, you idiot, a little voice inside his head said calmly, forget about being 'Slytherin Prince' and start shaping up. You could start by being nice, you know, stop acting like a jerk—you have been rather cruel to people lately—
That's already established, he snapped icily back, and I don't need you talking to me after all these years of keeping quiet. You can go nag someone else.
The voice fell silent—he had, after all, spent years teaching it to obey his every whim, and breakouts like the one he had just experienced were growing progressively rarer. That's better, Draco thought sweetly. Now, where was I?
A mere six minutes later, Draco had formulated his plan, jotting it down on a piece of parchment that he had Summoned from the nearest classroom.
1. Continue being what I am: the best-looking and smartest Slytherin in the school.
2. Buy a wig.
He considered number two for a brief second before slashing through it with his quill and hastily continuing.
3. Mock Potter (and the other Gryffindors) even more to prove to the other Slytherins that I can still aggravate him more than anyone besides the Dark Lord himself.
4. Keeps sucking up to Snape so that he praises my potions—though heaven knows where he gets some of the compliments he comes up with.
5. Make fun of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. She looks like an easy target.
"Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco barely glanced up. "What do you—oh, good evening, Professor Snape, sir."
Snape's thin lips twisted in a slight smile. "Isn't it a bit late to be up writing letters, Draco?"
"Why, no, sir, it's not that late, is it?" he asked innocently.
The Potions master raised an eyebrow. "Eleven 'o clock is considered rather late, usually."
Draco's eyes widened in real surprise. "Eleven, sir? I'm so sorry, Professor, I must have lost track of time—do forgive me," he added, looking pleadingly up at Snape. "After all," he continued on a stroke of inspiration, "love does tend to make one forget things, does it not?"
Snape seemed to be torn between his partiality towards Draco and his hatred for all things romantic. Lockhart's face swam into his mind, and he shuddered involuntarily.
"Professor?" The tall blond Slytherin was still on the floor, looking confusedly up at his teacher.
For Draco's sake, Snape managed to pull himself together. "Ah, yes, love does tend to, ah, make one forget things, does it not?" He pasted a sickly smile on his face.
"Professor, are you in love too?" Draco asked in a voice that seemed to Snape to be trembling with eagerness towards a fellow suitor. In reality, he was having trouble holding his laughter back.
"Heaven forbi—why, no, my dear boy, not at the moment, no. No," repeated Snape, who seemed to be having trouble moving beyond that one word, "I am not in love, no, most certainly not at the moment."
Draco blinked. "Very well, then, Professor—do wish me luck in my venture though, won't you?" he asked, climbing to his feet, the list held tightly in his hand.
Snape seemed to be on the verge of choking. "Yes, yes, Draco, ah, good luck with your…venture. Yes." Shaking his student's outstretched hand as quickly as possible, he positively fled down the corridor, muttering curses at Lockhart under his breath.
Ironically, it was then, as Draco lay sprawled on the floor, laughing, that he suddenly remembered that he still did not know the Slytherin password.
A/N: As usual, constructive criticism can make my day--and really, if you'd like to criticize, go right ahead. Just keep in mind that, yes, I do know that my fic is OOC and AU, and I'm not going to make an attempt to change it now. Hopefully, though, it is entertaining...