Draco Malfoy hopped into the carriage lightly, unsurprised that Pansy climbed in just after, with her usual retinue of Tracy and Mill and Daphne. It was quite a tight fit, particularly after Astoria climbed in. Wow, that one was getting... old enough, Draco Malfoy thought suddenly, looking at how her front swelled with a burgeoning beauty. Thinking quickly of stewed okra and mussels (one of his most hated foods), Draco found himself staring out of the carriage awkwardly. He didn't especially want to talk with any of them, and wasn't in the mood to put up with Pansy's "You are Mine Forever" gag. At least, he hoped everyone in the carriage knew it was a gag. Because if they didn't... well, that would be even more awkward. Nothing like starting some juicy gossip first day back, Draco Malfoy thought wryly, just, do try and not have it stick to your own shoes.*
Draco Malfoy was the first out the carriage, and he heard a squawk from behind him as he raced for the Great Hall (some lass undoubtedly upset that he hadn't helped her out the carriage). The new student/s (if there were any, most years there weren't), would already be in the Great Hall. Draco got almost to the Great Hall, before - panting - he slowed to an elegant walk, taking the time to catch his breath. Appearances weren't everything, but they were often crucial. And Draco Malfoy would hardly put in an appearance looking like he'd been running for his life.
Draco Malfoy strode into the Great Hall (the second one there, and the first had been one of the ganglier weasleys. possibly planning a prank, best to be wary). His eyes scanned the High Table, seeing the four children sitting on stiff, high-backed chairs. Eight dangling feet. Gliding effortlessly to his own place, he pretended to be more interested in sitting properly than gawping at the new students. Having seated himself (and as more people started filing in), Draco Malfoy shamelessly eyed the four students. He had been right, he wanted to exult, but kept that feeling well under wraps.
Two were girls, and one was a stout boy that Malfoy felt certain couldn't have possibly been Potter. There was no way Draco could see Snape, or anyone, really, feeding Potter enough to turn him as big as Gregory Goyle. So that left the last in line - mouse brown hair, a simple, tanned face - and sharp brown eyes. They weren't on him, of course, and Draco obscurely felt a little bit of relief at that point. Instead, those eyes scanned everyone entering, nearly passively - as if he was busy thinking about things that weren't quite there. Which he well might have been, trying to rethink his story and keep it straight.
*Don't make gossip that reflects poorly upon yourself. The reference is to dung.
[a/n: well, Potter's here. Or at least Draco thinks Potter's here. What'll happen next, you think?
... that's right. The sorting!]