Hello! My sister just disowned her FanFiction account and gave it to me.
And I just read Twilight! I will not express my pure hate for it so as not to be bombarded with hate mail.
On a lighter note, I don't own Harry Potter!
Chapter 2: Draco Malfoy
Draco didn't know how he was going to survive the day, let alone the whole school year. He was there. He was actually there. In the rubbish dump they called 'Hogwarts'. In his opinion, Hogwarts was a stupid school, with stupid rules, and a stupid gamekeeper, and above all, a stupid Headmaster. Oh, and don't even get him started about the students. Everyone in his year seemed like complete idiots already, save two thuggish-looking creatures called Crabbe and Goyle. Well, they were idiots too. They were just the only people there that seemed to absolutely adore him.
If he didn't get put in Slytherin, he would take the train straight home.
Who was he kidding, he would get put in Slytherin.
Would he?
He didn't feel very cunning at the moment.
Urgh, he didn't need to add that to his list of worries.
The train ride was an absolute nightmare. So was the boat ride. They had to row across a lake. On their own! Didn't Hogwarts have house-elves to do that for them? He was liking Hogwarts less and less every minute.
They were all shoved into the castle and then had to listen to a professor rant on and on about how 'triumphs will earn you house points, but any rule-breaking will lose you house points.' The professor then left them alone for a few minutes, allowing Draco to take a good look at all of his potential classmates.
None of them looked very promising. He tried to predict what house each one of them would be sorted into. He'd see if he was right later. He probably would be right. Draco was an extraordinary judge of character, if he did say so himself.
He heard a girl- he would later find out that her name was Hermione Granger- babbling on about what spells she thought she would be required to use during the 'Sorting test'. Spells? They had to try on a flaming hat! Draco didn't suppose she knew that. She was probably a Mudblood if she didn't know that. Draco shuddered at the thought of being put in the same house as a Mudblood. They wouldn't allow filthy Mudbloods into Slytherin, would they? It was a definite possibility. Anything was possible when Muggle-loving, self-righteous Albus Dumbledore was head of the school.
Draco grew impatient. He saw some of the people surrounding him staring at the talking portraits- like they were all that special. Most of his year looked positively shocked when the Fat Friar came up to them and wished them good luck. The Friar said he hoped to see some of them in Hufflepuff. Most of them probably would end up in Hufflepuff, judging by how stupid they seemed to be, Draco reasoned. He didn't know if any of his year were pure-blood. They all seemed to jump at the most ordinary things. That meant that Draco better find some worthwhile friends in other year groups- or he was doomed to sitting around with filthy-blooded creatures for the most part of the next seven years. However, the seeming lack of pure-bloods also comforted Draco- he would have an obvious advantage over them.
He would have an obvious advantage over them even if they were pure-blood, he thought. People kept telling him he was a most extraordinary boy.
His eyes swam over his fellow first-years and they stopped at Harry Potter. He was the only person who Draco thought was worth making friends with in this hellhole, but- for some reason- he rejected him for… that Weasley boy. Weasley was a pure-blood. However, he was such a Muggle-lover- or at least Weasley's dad was- that he was as good as a Mudblood. Potter would realise his mistake later and come running back to him.
He was so preoccupied by his own thoughts that he didn't even see the rest of his year being ushered into the Great Hall. Draco jogged after them and finally caught up.
Now all the first years were staring up at the ceiling- probably wondering if there was one. Draco heard the girl from before telling them all that the ceiling had been bewitched to look like the sky outside (she claimed she had read it in Hogwarts: A History). Great. She was a swot as well as a Mudbood.
The first years were also peering around the Great Hall curiously. Draco wanted to join them: he was pretty curious himself. But they looked pathetic doing that and he knew that the eyes of all the students who weren't in their first year were on him (and the others), so he refrained from doing so.
The Sorting Hat began to sing some song about the four Houses. Draco listened for the first twenty seconds. He then realized the song contained all the rubbish his family had already told him about, so he tuned the Sorting Hat out and began to wonder- for the first time- what House he was to be in.
He'd always taken the fact that he would be put in Slytherin for granted.
What would happen if he got put in Ravenclaw?
He was pretty clever.
What about Gryffindor?
He was reasonably brave.
Or- God forbid- Hufflepuff.
He'd be disowned.
Kicked out of the house at the very least.
Thankfully, the song ended, so Draco didn't have any more time to contemplate over the horror of him being put anywhere but Slytherin.
"Abbot, Hannah!" he heard.
Draco would be somewhere in the middle, since his last name started with an M.
The line slowly progressed, and to Draco's surprise, the know-it-all girl got put in Gryffindor. Good. He wouldn't have to worry about her being in Slytherin.
A stupid-looking boy called "Longbottom, Neville!" ran off with the Hat still on his head. Draco laughed along with everybody else, until he realized: he was probably next in line.
Sure enough, he heard his name.
His legs felt like they were made of jelly.
Stop it. Calm down. Everyone's watching you.
He walked up onto the stage nonchalantly, like his heart wasn't beating at two hundred and ninety times a minute. Draco was a good actor. One of his many talents.
He walked calmly to the stool upon which the Sorting Hat rested, and tried it on. It was too big for him.
He heard a shout of "Slytherin!"
Maybe I made Malfoy too prejiduced. Oh well.