The Glass Prince
Draco was a peculiar boy. Once you saw those silver eyes focused on you like a cat, you were done for. No one knew why he did it, but no one wanted to question the predator that roamed Hogwarts’ halls. Unfortunately, Draco was a peculiar being himself. He had a peculiar story that started at a peculiar time. After all, it was’t easy being more popular than the boy who saved the world as a baby.
First Year
You sit on a throne made of glass.” Mother cupped my face before I sat down in the train seat. The train was too loud, the hallway was too crammed, and it smelled funny. I wanted to go home, but Mother and Father insisted. Hogwarts was prestigious, it was a tradition, and a proper wizard valued that above all else. “Dracie, you mustn’t let it crumble under your weight.”
“I know Mother.” I sighed, avoiding her glassy eyes. I could imagine it, a crystal throne of which I sat upon, crown upon my head and scepter in hand.
The whistle blew, and I covered my ears. Mother pressed a kiss to my forehead and something small into my hand. Father nodded solemnly before the door was closed and they disappeared.
The small object was a small metal case engraved with M on the front. Inside were two small earplugs of metal and rubber. They made the noise around me lull to a quiet hum. It was beautiful for a time.
The train ride became boats, which filed into carriages. I started alone in one before spotting Gregory and Vincent. I knew there was a reputation to uphold, but I waved them over like my life depended on it. They were oafs, the both of them. I felt like a hen to chicks, and I enjoyed taking care of them. They clambered into the carriage together.
“Vincent! Gregory!” I hugged them out of pure relief. I hadn’t received any word of their admission in weeks, and was terrified they hadn’t been enrolled.
“Drac!” Vincent grinned. We had a symbiotic relationship - Vincent and Greg and I. Vincent and Greg were stupid but lovable - like chicks without a hen. I made sure their homework was done on time and their food was balanced, and they provided me bodyguard service in return.
Soon, we arrived to Hogwarts castle. Inside, whispered swelled around us that were, for once, not entirely about me. As many eyes followed me also followed a short, thin first year in drab clothes too large for him and messy black hair. The boy’s name was Harry Potter, renown everywhere as the baby who saved the wizarding world. I recognized him as being the boy I had complained to while we got our robes fitted. I guess I shouldn’t have - it seemed silly now. Vincent and Greg at my back, I walked up and stuck out my hand. The youngest Weasley boy was with him, glaring at me. The Weasley boys were nothing but trouble, especially the twins. that gave Father headache after headache as a governor.
“I’m Draco.” I smiled, just the way Father did. “You'll soon find out that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there" My eyes flitted over to the Weasley boy, who looked as if we wanted to strangle me. We’d be a power duo, best friends, maybe even more, inseparable until the en-
"I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks." The boy with the lightening scar looked at my hand with a kind of disgust I had never felt before. I dropped my hand, my mouth hanging open. I felt the icy throne under me weaken.
Crrraacck!
I wanted to feel sick, I really did. The only thing I could feel, though, is the numbness of my stomach dropping into my shoes. I exhaled as if a weight were seated on my lungs, shaky and holding in the pressing humiliation of a thousand pre-teen eyes. Snickers went up all around us. Harry turned back to the Weasley boy - his insolent little face turned up in a smirk - and the insufferable girl on the train who told anyone who’d listen about her summer reading. Vincent put his massive hand on my shoulder, tugging me forward to shuffle like cattle with the rest of the first-years. Before I knew it, Headmaster Dumbledore was giving his speech, but I couldn’t listen. I had to get my head in the game, lest I be sorted into Hufflepuff or Gryffindor. Of course, bloody Potter got sorted into Gryffindor with his little friends. Professor McGonagall called my name, and I took my seat on the stool. Father told me I just had to be in Slytherin. Nothing else would be accepted.
Malfoy, you’re a Malfoy. I thought hard. You have to be in Slytherin.
I must have repeated it enough, because a loud ‘Slytherin!’ echoed through the hall. I felt like a weight had been lifted on my shoulders. A few Slytherins clapped lazily as I shuffled over. I was still in pieces over my earlier humiliation.
One thing was for sure: When I run this school, Potter will be miserable.