Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. To the best of my knowledge, none of the following ever happened. Other than any original characters, none of the characters herein are my property. This work is a figment of my imagination, and no profit is being reaped as the fruits of my labor. It is not my intention for any copyright infringement to occur.

Warnings: This fic does contain some more emotionally trying themes. Child abuse and self-mutilation does come-up, and may or may not serve as a trigger for some individuals, so please keep this in mind. Some minor coarse language may be used. Read at your own risk.

Author's note: Chapter two! I apologize for the long wait. As always, please read and review. If you have any questions, you can go ahead and ask in the comments, and I shall try my best to answer your questions unless they give away far too much of the story for my liking, or are of a very personal nature. Constructive criticism is welcome, but please - no flames!

An Untried Path

Chapter Two: Impressions

Draco's first class at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall. This class the Slytherins shared with no others, resulting in a somewhat unpleasant experience for Minerva McGonagall was the head of Gryffindor house, ad it was no secret that she resented their Slytherin counterparts with a passion fit to wage a thousand bloody wars. Nobody in their right mind would want to cross that woman and get on her bad side, but that goal was even more difficult to keep with if you're a scared Slytherin first year who has not a clue how to get to the classroom in the first place.

Poor Draco was completely incapable of finding the Transfiguration classroom in a timely fashion, even though he made it his priority to leave breakfast nearly ten entire minutes before most other even began to think of leaving the Great Hall. Crabbe and Goyle were of no help to Draco in the slightest, but rather more of a nuisance in having with him, as they had gifts for concocting some of the worst ideas he had ever heard in his life - thus causing them to become even more hopelessly lost in the labyrinth of the large medieval castle's intersecting corridors and pathways until a fifth-year Hufflepuff prefect on his way to Charms took pity on them and pointed them clear across the castle and down several flights of stairs.

Twelve minutes after the bell signaling the beginning of the first class of the year rang, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle finally sauntered into the classroom and made their way to the only empty seats. Draco kept his gaze down, sure his face was tinged with pink in embarrassment for all the occupants of the room were following them with their eyes. As he sat down and looked at the fore of the room, Draco could see Professor McGonagall fixing him with a death glare. So much for making a good first impression. He quickly averted his gaze in shame. This was one thing he could never tell his father about - Lucius was all about first impressions.

The rest of the day continued in misery. He had wanted to be early to his first class, he had wanted to be on time, and by G-d, why did nothing ever go the way he planned it? Draco knew a lot of his current issues could be solved if he were to rid himself of Crabbe and Goyle, but if Lucius knew he wasn't keeping them close at hand, all Hell would surely break loose. Draco was not an idiot. No, Crabbe and Goyle were there for a reason, and that was to keep his father at bay.

Herbology was thankfully a much more bearable ordeal. Draco did somehow manage to sustain a bite from a strange plant with a name he was incapable of pronouncing correctly, but Professor Sprout had told him not to worry for the plant wasn't poisonous. It just enjoyed biting anything and everything that came with its reach, which was exactly what Draco needed - yet another entity that thirsted for his blood and wanted to hurt him.

Only four words could accurately describe his reaction when he stepped into his first Defense Against the Dark Arts began: pure and utter revulsion. Professor Quirrell was a bit of a joke - the man was terrified of his own shadow! The room reeked of garlic, making its occupants feel nauseous by the end of the lesson, and Professor Quirrell was nearly incoherent due to stuttering so much. All they did the entire class was read out of the coursebook, "The Dark Forces," and when someone felt the need to ask a question, Quirrell seemed entirely incapable of answering.

Lunch was a much-needed reprieve from the monotony of classes. Despite still having not managed to shake-off Crabbe and Goyle, Draco could not help but be relieved for any kind of break. A girl by the name of Pansy Parkinson with a hard face and an upturned nose had seemed to really taken a liking to him. Those sitting around them were apparently a bit disgusted by Pansy being so obvious in her fancying Draco and in her attempts to woo him. Draco was admittedly somewhat disconcerted by Pansy's fawning, but he made no attempts to stop her. He wasn't used to receiving such positive attention, much less from pretty girls, and hey, it was kind of nice.

After lunch, only two classes remained: History of Magic, and Charms. History of Magic was taught by the ghost Professor Binns, who merely lectured and read from the selected text aloud a sleep-inducing monotonous willed himself to keep his eyelids from drooping, for he was determined to stay awake and take halfway-decent notes on the subject. How else would he get good marks? Charms, on the other hand, was actually quite enjoyable. Professor Flitwick was a tiny wizard, and though he was a bit odd, he seemed to be very nice, with few preconceived notions about any of the students.

The rest of the week passed without incident. Draco couldn't see the point of Astronomy, which the Slytherins would attend every Thursday night. Potions was a bit of fiasco, but not on his part - Professor Snape, head of Slytherin house, absolutely loathed the Gryffindors, who they shared the lesson with. Draco was delighted to find out that Potter had become a favourite target of Snape to pick-on. Draco couldn't help but snigger at Potter's embarrassment.

Another week came and went, and suddenly - viola! it was Thursday, and flying lessons with the Gryffindors had arrived. Marvelous. Draco knew he was a good hand on a broom, and he simply couldn't wait to see the look on Potter's face when he saw him showing-off on a broom. Seeing as Potter had been raised by a gaggle of inept muggles, Draco also knew he would have a nice laugh at Potter royally making a fool of himself on a broom.

Unfortunately for Draco, it appeared that nothing involving Potter ever went as he hoped or wished. The smug look on his face vanished when Potter joined him in the sky, showing himself to also be a spare hand on a broomstick. He was a natural! To makes matters worse, when he threw the Longbottom twit's Remembrall in the air and dared Potter to catch the thing, Potter merely made a fifty-food dive and he did just that - not even killing himself in the process. But then McGonagall was there, and boy, was she infuriated! With only Potter still in the sky when she arrived and Draco long since having sped towards the ground, Draco was sure the Boy-Who-Lived was in for the punishment of his life. A smug look again alighted Draco's face. If he was lucky, Potter might get expelled, and Draco would never have to deal with him again. He grinned in eager, spiteful anticipation.

Question for readers: Do you want this to stay being the books from Draco's point of view, or would you rather me stray from cannon a little bit more? I do plan on making this darker, and it won't be entirely cannons. What are your thoughts?