I have destructive tendencies. I often feel consumed in rage or anger for no reason whatsoever. At these times, I like to vent the anger in some way. Usually I take it out on someone younger than me, a first-year maybe. Lately, I’ve been trying to find alternate ways to calm myself down, like taking walks on the crooked bridge or in the forest, or writing them down in this journal. Father says that my rages put me under the ever-watchful eye of Dumbledore even more than I already am. But I’ll explain that later.
Nobody understands why this frustration eats at me. Nobody wants to understand. So they all think I am the bully, the bad guy. Nobody thinks that maybe I’m the victim. Maybe I’m not as heartless as I seem to those around me, those who don’t really know me. Even she thought that…at first. She thought I was one of the foulest things to crawl upon this planet. She doesn’t even know what foul is. She has NO idea what I’ve been through in my life.
But this one year changed everything. This one year, she came to understand. But it’s a long story, very long. There are many ups and downs, twists and turns in our relationship. It hasn’t been a picnic, this tumultuous journey through life, my life. My life can be hell, my life can be heaven. Despite all the other problems in my life, that teetering scale will be tipped by her. Everything hinges on her choice. I want to write down everything, to record it. To do that, I will have to start at the very beginning.
My name is Draco Abraxas Malfoy. This is the story of my journey through Hogwarts. This is my biography of my mistakes, and the horrible deeds I committed. This is my tale, from beginning to end. I need to write out how I became this way. As the day draws nearer, I need to explain how I wound up like this, and what she did to me. What she still does to me.
I will relive my failure every day.
Draco stepped into the Great Hall, and beheld the wonder of the castle for the first time. However, he was not fully able to enjoy it. Stupid Saint Potter, already ruining him, already denying his valued hand in friendship for another stupid Weasel. At least he, Draco, knew better than to be running around with that sort. That kind of behavior could jeopardize his whole future.
Unlike other soon-to-be-first-years, Draco did not have to sweat over which house he was going to be sorted into. He knew, with complete conviction, that it would be Slytherin. In fact, if the Sorting Hat dared to put him into any other house, Draco’s father Lucius would pull Draco out of Hogwarts and send him off to Durmstrang.
But there was no cause to worry, for as soon as the Hat skimmed Draco’s head, he was claimed for Slytherin. Legacy prevails.
Draco sat to watch the other students being sorted. It was Saint Potter’s turn. Gryffindor, of course, what else? And then Weasleby too, but of course the whole Weasel litter was in the house of the stupidly brave.
Draco was soon fuming at all the people who were fawning over Saint Potter. What did he do that showed true skill anyways? He was a baby when he was attacked; all he could do was drool and poop his pants, and they think he vanquished the Dark Lord?
There was Weasleby sitting next to him, looking astounded to be in the mere vicinity of The Boy Who Lived. Disgusting, the way people acted around Saint Potter. Like he has done anything? He didn’t even know what hardship was. Let him walk one day in Draco’s shoes, and try it out for once.
Saint Potter was so depressed that he didn’t have parents; Draco prayed every day that his parents would be killed in some freak accident or finally get fed up enough with life to kill themselves. Potter didn’t know what it was like to have your father beat you to make you stronger. And since crying is a sign of weakness, when your eyes teared in pain, he beat you harder until the water dried in its sockets. Potter didn’t know what it was like to have your mother, your beloved mother, sit there while you get beaten to within an inch of your life at your father’s own hand.
These were parents that Draco was supposed to love, and they betrayed him on a daily basis. They are concerned with family reputation only, not with Draco, unless, of course, someone else hurts him or slanders his way of life. Then of course, they jump to his defense; the defense of the Malfoy family name. And Potter thinks it’s a tragedy that he has no parents. He doesn’t know what he is talking about. Stupid Saint Potter and his little lament.
Draco glared up at Potter’s posse. There was another person trying to fit into their conversation. A girl. Saint Potter and Weasleby didn’t look too inclined to adopt her into their conversations but she tried nonetheless. She had bushy brown hair and buckteeth. Draco thought her attempts at sneaking into Potter’s circle was a bad personal choice, but admired her persistence even so. Draco would have to keep an eye on Bucktooth. She might turn out to be a valuable ally against Potter, especially if he ended up denying her back-stage passes to his pity-party. Draco would watch her. This little determined witch.
Everything he knew about her was wrong. Bucktooth was a mudblood. Draco could hardly believe it. He had been taught that pure-bloods could sniff out mudbloods like the Plague, and yet he had wanted to be friends with this one. What more had he been lied to about?
Bucktooth, real name Hermione Granger, was doing all too well of a job shattering everything he knew to be true about mudbloods. She was top of every class. She made every potion correctly, with time to spare, even though Snape was favoring the Slytherins. She knew every spell the day it was taught, and she had every chapter read before it was assigned.
As hard as Draco tried, he could not even come close to beating her in any area, except perhaps on the Quidditch pitch, and what use are Quidditch skills when the O.W.L.s roll around? A strong family name could only get one so far in life, though Draco could hardly believe he would ever admit that. Granger’s enormous brain just made Draco even madder. Why did she have to be a mudblood? He would never be able to lower himself to consorting with a mudblood in a friendly manner.
If his father ever found out about this there would be hell to pay. If his father ever found out that a female mudblood was the most intelligent person in Draco’s year, he would come down on Draco and he would be lucky if he lived through it. If he did, it would only be because Lucius wanted Draco to still be alive to surpass her in classes the following year.
In the Malfoy book, there was no such thing as second best. In Draco’s book, second best was all there ever was. Blood kin’s wellbeing versus family name? Draco comes in second. Reputation versus son’s heart and soul? Draco comes in second. Female mudblood versus Draco Abraxas Malfoy? Draco comes in second in all ways imaginable, and possible. Second rate friends, second rate grades, second rate, second rate, second rate.
Draco was sick and tired of hearing that word as it pertained to him. To others, it was preferable, but to him?
Stupid Saint Potter and stupid Weasleby and stupid mudblood. They are in an alliance. And even though there was no way Draco would align with a mudblood anyways, the fact that Potter snagged an ally as powerful and knowledgeable as Granger was nauseating.
Draco would do anything to bring Potter down off his high horse, the legs of which were growing longer and longer with each passing day. Draco was just waiting for Potter to come tumbling down.
Draco didn’t know how, but somehow Potter had done it. He had stopped the Dark Lord from obtaining the Sorcerer’s Stone. A feeling began to bloom in Draco. Perhaps Potter was not quite as useless as he previously believed? He was now older, he knew how to use magic, and once again he stopped the Dark Lord in his tracks, only this time, he stopped him from coming back.
If Potter was actually some miracle child, that would be it for him. Draco could only take so much of Wonder Boy and his army of screaming fans. He noticed that Granger was not one of those fans. She was there, patting him on the back, but Draco distinctly noticed a haughty undertone in her attitude which said that she knew Potter didn’t deserve all he got. It said that she thought she was just as important as him, unlike Weasleby who doted on him like he was God Almighty.
Good for her, Draco thought. But you know that our world has gone to the dogs when the only person who recognizes sense is a mudblood.
Draco got off the Hogwarts express in a bad mood. Summer meant he would go home to beatings by the crackling fireplace and verbal assaults over a warm dinner. Home sweet home. Next year, Draco must stand out. Next year he needed to beat out Granger. Next year, he must prove to himself and everyone else that Draco Malfoy was a force to be reckoned with.
Write a Review Nobody Puts Baby In The Corner: Year One