Disclaimer: You know the drill – JKR's not SJ's. Sad face. . . Secondly, title comes from How To Lose Friends & Alienate People by Toby Young, a memoir for which this story was inspired (but does not share the same plot as this one).

Summary: Malfoy, Draco. How To Lose Friends and Alienate People, A Memoir. London: Diagon Press, 2006.

Author's Note: A hundred thanks to Lorett, my fabulous beta! Thank you so much for all your help! This story was written for the dmhgficexchange as a backup for sundroptea - all further chapters will be posted here, rather than at the exchange. (P.S. I corrected a bit of a glaringly obvious grammatical mistake brought to my attention by Gem – thanks for pointing that out, both me and my beta missed it. You're more than welcome to point out any other glaring oversights.)

Interview – Flourish and Blotts

July 13th, 2006

"No I don't think it's pretentious of me to write my memoir at only twenty-six. I've lived a hundred lives up til now. What did you do before you were twenty-five? Nothing worth writing about, I'd imagine . . ."

"Naturally there were some embellishments – for the sake of entertainment, of course – but the integrityof the story remains. A heart breaking tale, really – of love and loss . . ."

"Actually no, I didn't include my mother's funeral – rest her soul – I only wanted to include the importantmoments. You know, those 'self defining' times . . . Well of course that moment was important in her life – well, the end of it at least. . ."

"Haha, thank you – yes, yes I thought so myself – one of my favorite parts, actually. Oh your wife loved it? Of course she did, lovely woman. Absolutely, I'd love to sign it . . ."

"Contrary to popular belief, no I am not – I mean, who starts those kinds of rumours? I mean really. . . A single bloke, going through a dry spell, spending lots of time with his mate – best mate – why would anyone jump to that conclusion, any conclusion for that matter? I think the book clearly explains my preference . . ."

"Oh, bollocks! For the record, I am not – "

"How did I get from A to B, you mean? Well, the road wasn't easy, let me tell you. There were lots of tears, lots of sweat, many sleepless nights but I think it came together quite nicely. . . Yes, quite nicely . . ."

"Well I thought it was about time everyone knew my story, you know? A bit like that book about the wolf and the three pigs. . . You know, the one with the wolf's side of the things? No? – Well itisa muggle thing . . ."

"Ah, I knew it would come to this. The dedication? You want to know about her do you? Well, you'll just have to read and find out."

How to Lose Friends and Alienate People.

A Memoir, by Draco Malfoy.

"Draco Malfoy was born with a silver spoon in his mouth upon which we all hoped he might at some point choke. From the get-go, he was a blessed child – wealthier than many third world countries, magically adept at the most tender of ages, and most (un)fortunately - a pureblood. In an unflattering self-portrait, follow Draco Malfoy's rise and subsequent fall as a pureblood elitist in a society at war against his very existence. Prone to maliciously attack his peers as harshly as himself, Malfoy gives new definition to hypocrisy, and as a self-proclaimed wanker, he's impossible not to love." – Editor, Diagon Press

Before Publication:

"I'll rot in hell before I give that dirty snake a quote for his book." – Pansy Parkinson, The Daily Prophet

After Publication:

"A brilliant read. Draco Malfoy is an Ignatius J. Reilly for the 21st century. What ketchup does for filet mignon, Draco Malfoy does for pureblood elitism." – Pansy Parkinson, The Daily Prophet

"A pathetic portrait of social constructs gone wrong. A must-read." – Ginny Weasley-Potter, Wizard's Time

"As career moves go, Draco Malfoy's were the worst since Fudge's lime green bowler." – Lavender Brown, Witch Weekly

To the woman who started it all:

I could have you if I wanted you.

Foreward:

There are many 'ists' in the world - facists, socialists, femminists, perfectionists, idealists, realists, activists, capitalists, communists, atheists, chauvinists – to which everyone in the world can be assigned. Motives and intents may vary to some degree, but in the end they are all 'ists'. I am no exception. I am all these things and none of them. I am everything and yet I am nothing.

I am a Me-ist. I do everything for the benefit and promotion of me. One day I am a femminist if it means bedding the uptight witch down the hall with the obsession with equal rights. The next day I am a chauvinist if that means a membership into the elite Men's Club down the street, the one where they congratulate one another for saving the world even when they're sleeping with each other's wives behind their backs. Today I am an idealist, tomorrow a violinist; whatever suits my need.

I am a modern-day metamorph, adapting to every situation in a chameleon-like manner so that whatever befalls me I know will be in my best interest. It's the only way to insure my survival. A bit selfish, you say? Absolutely, but tell me the last time you did anything for pure altruistic purposes?

Altruism, and by that I mean true altruism, is a disabling mental disorder for which the only cure is an injection of two parts selfishness, one part cunning. Of course, it has it's uses – someone else's altruism may be my gain – but in its truest form, it is detestable and frankly hurts my soul. But you disagree, don't you? You say it does exist; even you have practiced it before, have you?

So you saved the baby from the burning building, not for your sake, but for the child's, correct? Then one would assume that the front page headline and all the gifts from the community mean nothing to you.

And what about the time you fed the homeless down at the shelter? The feeling of knowing you did something good really wasn't a factor in your decision and the fact that you could put 100 volunteer hours on your resume was just a fortunate coincidence?

Everyone, and I do mean everyone, is selfish and is looking out for number one. We all do, in fact we must in order to thrive. It's survival of the fittest in a dog-eat-dog world where there is only one constant – you. You have your back and no one else. You know this is true; you see it in your lives every day.

You see, you and I aren't as different as you may have thought. Granted, I may be more of a first-class wanker than you, but at least I admit to that. And that, my friends, is something.

Prologue:

When I was two years old, I successfully escaped the clutches of my nanny and stumbled into my mother's dressing room. She was not in there, nor was my nanny on my trail, and so I began to investigate. I picked up anything within reach, relocating them to better and more obvious places – slippers beneath the sofa, hair brushes in the rubbish bin, shiny barettes in my pocket, etc. I ransacked the room, entranced by all the possessions and toys I was never allowed to touch. I laughed with pure delight at my unbelievable fortune.

It was not until I moved toward the bureau and what treasureswere in store for me that I realized I was not alone. To the left of the bureau stood a little boy – white blond hair that was once combed neatly, pudgy little legs that could barely stand straight, and a small green tie that hung loosely around a neck that had yet to grow – I was startled by his image. I had never seen anyone like him before.

I moved closer. So did the boy. I ran up to him and placed my hand up to his face in greeting. His hand met mine and it was cool and firm – not like the warm, soft touch of my nanny or mother. The boy mimicked everything I did. I smiled, he smiled. I blew a raspberry, he did the same.

I couldn't take my eyes away from him. We had a special game just for us. He knew my every move and, it seemed, I knew his. I leaned close into him to peer into his face and I hit my head on something hard; it hurt and I wimpered. I saw a small tear fall down the boys face and felt the burning path on my own.

I realized that boy was me. I studied myself more, noticing all the fine details of my features, all the nuances that composed me. I was mesmerized. I couldn't look away and it was with only with great reluctance that I looked away when I was gathered into my nanny's arms. She scolded me but her words were nonsense on my ears as I strained in her arms to look back into the mirror at my departing reflection.

It was then that I fell in love with the baby in the mirror and I vowed to return to him, to me.

And thus began the first great love of my life . . .