The artfully floppy blonde hair of one Salmandrius Beaugustus Malfoy was given a practiced flick as the twelve-year-old reached for his goblet of pumpkin juice. His upper lip twisted in a sneer when the unbearably common taste of the juice touched his tongue. How could Hogwarts serve such swill?

The least they could do, he thought as his brown eyes caught sight of a stray Hufflepuff who had wandered over into the exclusive midst of the Slytherin table, was serve the Slytherins the premium stuff.

He released a melodramatic sigh and replaced the goblet before resolutely returning to his sulk. With pointy chin rested upon his pale hand, he cast a baleful glance around the Great Hall, wondering once again why his parents insisted that he mingle with such commoners.