I, Draco Malfoy, Am Not Pointy

You know the story about that kid, Harry Potter? Yea, him. The one with the smarmy glasses and wicked scar. That one. What is it... five books? Six? The author is making millions and millions of dollars in royalties, and Perfect Potter is soaking up the glory. Well, what about the rest of us?

Yea, that's right. What about me?

I utterly resent that I have been portrayed as a whingy, stuck-up, rich, pompous little arse of a child. Just because I am naturally more beautiful than Potter doesn't mean that he can call me pointy. I have aristocratic features, thank you very much. Just because his eyesight isn't perfect doesn't mean that we all have to wear those godawful glasses. And just because my skin is pale and clear, and he has that horrid disfigurement on his forehead, he thinks that he can get away with calling me pointy.

I, Draco Malfoy, am not pointy.

Furthermore, he refused my gracious hand of friendship. The first day I met him he already had opinions about me and my upbringing. Can I help it I was raised in the lap of luxury? Can I help it his parents went and got themselves killed? Wasn't my fault they refused to accept the inevitable. I was barely one at the time, how dare he judge me on something my fath- er... the Evil Dark Lord did. I certainly wasn't old enough to aid in any illegal actions, much less murder.

How dare he snub me? Me! Draco Malfoy! I always get what I want. Always.

Even at school, I saw him send that nasty look my way after we were placed. Honestly, could he act any more immature? Bloody non-magic folk. Too quick to judge and never slow enough to die. So, I found out that he had been snarking around at night. Being the excellent student that I am, I followed him. Discovered that he was not only breaking the rules, but he had dragged two of his cohorts into the mess as well. Typical. If one goes down, they all go down.

So I decided to... help them along.

It really was only a matter of time before they got in trouble. In a sense, I was helping them out. This being the first and only time they had snuck out this year. Think about it. If they had snuck out multiple times, their punishment would be far worse, right? So I was doing them a favor by catching them red-handed the first time.

And how do they thank me? Evil glares and rude comments passed back and forth. Gracious I tell you.

So we had flying lessons, right? Because a lot of the non-magic students had never flown before. In fact, some of the magic students hadn't touched a broom either. I mean, honestly, what sort of household won't let their children touch broomsticks? Ah, sorry. Got a bit off track there.

That crazy kid Longbottom landed himself a broken arm, and the professor marched his sorry arse to the infirmary. But I noticed he had dropped his little play toy. A small little thing, clear and round like a ball. It fit in the palm of my hand, and I picked it up. The entire class saw how awful Longbottom was at flying, so I decided to help him out a bit. I would put his little toy at the top of some random tower, and he would have to fly up to get it. He would be forced to practice flying.

Sure enough, who impedes my plan? None other than Harry Potter. Stupid little hero. Comes at me demanding to give the stupid little thing back. So I tossed it, thinking I could pin the blame on Potter if it fell and broke. Sure enough, the little bugger caught it! In mid air!

And then, Potter went and made the house team! The team! No first years are supposed to make the house teams. They just weren't good enough. Apparently his stunt (that I helped him with) had given his house a much needed boost in talent. Did he give me any credit? No, of course not. I was just the malicious bastard who had tried to steal his friend's little toy and then break it.

Have I mentioned before that Potter really, really, irks me?

So he made the house team. He played the games, he won spectacularly, but most of all he soundly beat my house. Mine. As in, the house I am in. Yes, that one. Next year would be different, I said, next year I would make the team, and I would best him. He wouldn't be perfect Potter for long.

This was, of course, before the entire fiasco with some... hidden magical device in the school and a three headed dog and a two-faced man with a turban. I don't know, these are just the rumors I heard! Of course, I didn't believe a thing. I'm too smart to honestly believe that there was a man with two heads walking around; much less that he was our stuttering, spineless, Dark Arts teacher. What did these people take me for? A sponge of random gossip?

The train ride home was uneventful. I sat alone in a compartment (Crabbe and Goyle don't really count, they're just hulking mounds of flesh), listening to the chatter around me. Potter this, Potter that. What will next year be like? Will Potter win the house tournament again?

Bloody Potter.