Draco Malfoy

Moving to Hogwarts wasn't as magical as I'd expected. The first day was dull and dreary: the Sorting Hat unhesitatingly placed me in Slytherin, where I was met with cold stares. The only bright spot was him—a tall, blond boy whose arrogant smirk made my heart skip a beat, despite itself.

That evening, I was wandering down a deserted hallway, longing to reach the bedroom, when suddenly a shadow came hurtling around the corner at full speed. It was a blond man racing on a broomstick. The collision was swift: we crashed to the stone floor with a thud, and he landed on top of me, pinning me to the ground.

He propped himself up on his elbows, his gaze, cold and furious, burning right through me. He smelled of the night wind and expensive perfume. "Hey, are you even watching where you're going?" he hissed, and in his voice, with a mixture of horror and delight, I recognized that same guy. "Or do all Mudbloods behave this rudely?"