Draco Malfoy-The Blood Traitor

Chapter 1-The Sorting

A/N: This fanfiction has been written out of pure pleasure, I am not expecting people to instantly enjoy it, but if you do, thank you! One more thing, I don't own any of the Harry Potter Characters or Canon storylines. I only own Created Characters and storylines made for this fanfiction. Enjoy!!

A tall, stern-looking witch stood in a big archway Draco assumed was the entrance to the entrance hall. She had emerald-green robes on, and was standing in a tight posture.

"I'll take them from here, thank you Hagrid," the witch said through a thick Scottish accent.

She pulled the door wide to reveal the entrance hall. It was huge. Even Draco was surprised, considering he had lived in a mansion his whole life. It was big enough to fit most of the smallest rooms of the Malfoy manor, with space to spare. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches, the ceiling was too big to make out, and there was a marble staircase leading up to the higher floors.

The first years were led past huge wooden double doors, embellished with golden symbols, Draco couldn't understand. There was excited commotion coming from behind the doors, Draco thought that must be where the Great Hall was. The witch led the first years into a chamber off the side of the Great Hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer than they usually would have done, peering about nervously. This gesture made Draco feel rather sick, he hated tight spaces. His father would keep him locked in tiny cells in the basement of the manor. This kind of punishment would have been issued for any association that went against the family beliefs; for example, if he had tried to read a book on muggle life or practising charms that would prevent the use of dark spells. Those spells of course were conjured with a practice wand in which underage wizards were allowed to use, to get ahead in their studies.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, you will address me as Professor Mcgonagall." The witch said. "The start-of-term banquet will start shortly, but before you can be seated, you must be sorted into your houses. They are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. Your house will be like your family within Hogwarts."

Draco already knew what house he would be in. His family had been in Slytherin for as long as he had known. It was custom for most pure-blood families, with hundreds of years of pure-blood wizards to be sorted into Slytherin. Draco couldn't remember the last time even a half-blood wizard was sorted into Slytherin.

"The sorting ceremony will begin shortly, I suggest you smarten yourselves up."

She looked at a clumsy black-haired boy's cloak, which was hanging off his shoulders. She then looked at a red-haired boy, probably a Weasley Draco thought. He had a black smudge on his nose. He obviously had noticed Professor Mcgonagall looking at him, as he flushed a violent shade of red, and started rubbing his nose profusely. Draco kind of felt bad for him, as he would be very embarrassed if that was him. That guilt quickly faded, his father had taught him not to feel bad for people, especially Weasleys. They were considered the runt of the pure-blood families. They were a heavily light pure-blood family, and were also considered blood-traitors.

Professor Mcgonagall left the chamber quietly. Draco could hear his heart thumping rapidly, he wanted to please his father by being sorted into Slytherin. He wasn't sure if his father would be disappointed if he was sorted into Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, however his father would probably be livid if he was a Gryffindor. Gryffindor was a sworn enemy of the
Slytherins, knowing his father, would definitely disown him.

"How exactly do they sort you into your houses?" Draco heard someone say.

"My brother Fred said it was some sort of test. He also said it hurts alot but I think he was joking." The Weasley boy spoke.

Just then something unexpected happened. There were lots of gasps as about twenty ghosts streamed through the back wall. The ghosts were pearly-white and slightly transparent. They glided across the room, hardly looking at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying, "Forgive and forget, we ought to give him another chance-"