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The Sum of Draco Malfoy

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Draco stared at the blank piece of parchment. He was ten years old and had much better things to do with his time, like flying, than write essays for his stuffy old tutor. What was his problem, anyway? Draco shouldn't have to do this sort of thing. It was rubbish! "Explain who you are in six inches," he'd said. Were Draco more used to playing with other boys, the wording would have sent him into fits. As it was, he found it a waste of time.

"Who I am," Draco muttered, sitting at his writing desk. "I'm a Malfoy. I shouldn't have to do this." And with that he stood up and left…only to find his door wouldn't open. His father had done it again—spelled his door closed until his homework was done. Draco glared at the door for some moments, until suddenly the answer was clear.

With a smirk on his face, Draco returned to his desk and wrote his magnum opus.


"This is outrageous!" Mr Piddle sputtered. He threw the essay on his drawing room table and immediately crossed to the fireplace.

"Malfoy Manor!" he shouted, and hurled the powder in. He only just remembered to grab the essay on his way out.



When Mr Piddle next stepped back into his own fireplace, he was jobless and confused. "I don't see the problem," Mr Malfoy had said. "Unless the problem is you." He'd glanced down at the essay again, and absently continued, "You're fired. Please do not come back here again."


The essay was framed and put on Draco's wall beside the door. He stared at it every night before he went to bed and every morning before he left his room.

I am better than you, it read in large, looping letters. Draco would never forget it.