Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Notes: I don't like Draco Malfoy very much at all, but I'm doing my best at delving into his mindset. Please review and let me know how I do!

Stripped, Snatched, Stolen

By: ChoCedric

Draco Malfoy sat at the Slytherin table at the leaving feast of 1992. He thought smugly of how the Slytherins, for the seventh year in a row, had won the house cup. It was a victory well-earned, and Draco thought he rightfully deserved it. Potter, Weasel, and that Mudblood could all be as miserable as they wanted, but no one could deny that the Slytherins had won fair and square.

He was sitting chatting with Pansy Parkinson when a sudden hush fell over the Great Hall. He looked around, and saw the famous Harry Potter walking in through the doors. He looked extremely happy, and Draco felt anger bubble within him. How dare the boy look so jubilant! The little whelp had broken so many school rules throughout the last few days that it was unfathomable, and that old fool Dumbledore was letting him off scott-free. Well, at least Slytherin wins over your pathetic house, Draco thought with a smirk. Even your meddling heroics can't beat that.

All his life, Draco had grown up learning the Death Eater ideology. Thinking about how much power he'd have when the Dark Lord returned was a really neat thing to ponder, but he wondered what it would be like to kill a person, to see the light of life leave their eyes forever. Would he be squeamish, or would he just go ahead and do it? Sometimes he was angry enough at Potter that he wished to put his hands around the boy's puny little neck and squeeze, hard. How dare that pitiful loser refuse the hand of friendship from him!

Potter took a seat next to Weasley and Granger, and Draco felt bitter resentment as he stared at the buck-toothed, bushy-haired Mudblood. His father was not best pleased; apparently, she had bested him in every single subject. He glared at the girl, wishing he could knock those foul teeth right out of her mouth.

Suddenly, the doddering old fool Albus Dumbledore walked into the room. According to Draco's father, Dumbledore was the worst Headmaster Hogwarts had ever had, and Draco couldn't help but agree. The man was completely barmy, and was off his rocker. His words at the start-of-year feast had confirmed that fact.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully, pulling Draco out of his thoughts. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were ... you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts. ..."

Get on with it, you pathetic old man, Draco sneered inside his head. The old codger's attempts at humor were extremely lame at best. Draco wanted to eat, he was so darn hungry, and he wasn't ready to hear Dumbledore waffle on about how Potter and his little friends had destroyed the attempt of his father's master to come back to power.

"Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two." said Dumbledore, and a storm of cheering, whistling, and clapping arose from the Slytherin table, Draco being one of the loudest. He looked at Potter as he banged his goblet on the table, a superior look on his pale, pointed face. Potter was apparently staring at him too, his face now downcast. Serves you right, Draco thought snidely. Breaking school rules and almost getting yourself and other students killed won't win you points, Potter. So there!

"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin," continued Dumbledore, suddenly smiling in a way Draco did not like. "However, recent events must be taken into account."

Draco suddenly felt a sinking feeling swoop over him. No, no, no, he thought frantically. He can't be serious, he just can't be. This is going too far.

"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes ...

"First-to Mr. Ronald Weasley ..."

Draco felt a vicious surge of hatred tear through him. That pauper Weasel, he thought furiously. He's a bumbling, filthy blood traitor. What does he deserve points for?

"... for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."

"Pathetic," Pansy Parkinson whispered in Draco's ear, and the boy nodded mutely, anger coursing through his entire body. He looked at the other Slytherins, and saw the same expressions mirrored on most of their faces.

"Second-to Miss Hermione Granger ... for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."

Nasty little Mudblood, she doesn't even deserve to be here, Draco thought cruelly. Mudbloods are polluting our society, taking away its richness and culture. He felt sick as Gryffindor cheers once again permeated the air.

"Third-to Mr. Harry Potter ..." said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet. "... for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."

Draco glared hatefully at Potter, who had an embarrassed but joyful look on his face. People were cheering, staring at him with rapture and wonder. "Sanctimonious little brat," Draco muttered to Pansy. "And now we're tied with Gryffindor."

"Well, at least that's better than them winning," drawled Blaise Zabini from his other side. "But what's Dumbledore trying to do, gather more supporters for the Dark Lord? I was told that Dumbledore wants to unite the houses, well, he's doing a fine job of it!" he snarled sarcastically. "He'll only make us rebel even more against the precious light side!"

As the room grew quiet, Dumbledore said, "There are all kinds of courage. It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."

"Noooooo!" Draco howled, almost jumping out of his seat. That fool, that blithering, cow-brained, filthy old fool! Gryffindor had won! Slytherin's well-earned, fully-deserved victory, the one they had worked their butts off for, had been stripped, snatched, stolen from them. A wave of a wand later and the room was decked out in red and gold, and Draco felt bile rise in his throat.

And the feeling didn't subside for the rest of the night. He sat miserably in the Slytherin common room, all his classmates with similar expressions of defeat covering their faces. Angry words against Dumbledore were spoken, and Draco vowed to himself that one day, he would make the old fool pay.

The last thought he had before he fell asleep was, I hate you, you bumbling, manipulative lunatic of a Headmaster. Wait till my father hears about this!