Memoirs of a Serpent's Son

Memoirs of a Serpent’s Son

--Age 14—part 1

Summer

This summer has not been so wonderful as of yet. It’s been busy. Father has had many guests over almost every other night. Most of them are from the Ministry and the Minister himself has come to dine with us. Father doesn’t allow me to sit in on the ‘adult discussions’ so I’m always sent off to my quarters just after dinner. It becomes boring to spend so much time alone, in my room or my library, with nothing more to do than think…

I’ve read all the books I can bear to read. I’ve done all the homework I’ve been assigned (by both Father and Hogwarts) and I’m sure I’m at least a year ahead of myself in my studies. That’s how bloody bored I’ve been. I’ve actually let myself sink to Granger’s level of bookworm, I think. Just the thought of being on the same level as her for anything gives me uncomfortable tingles.

In any case, I’ve done all my work and instead now spend my time on the balcony, staring off at the slowly darkening horizon, thinking of whatever comes to mind. The problem lies in just what comes to mind…

I just can’t stop thinking about him. Believe me, I’ve tried.

I’ve done everything short of a lobotomy. I’ve tried potions for dreamless sleep, but they tend to wear off before the night is done so I end up dreaming anyway. I think I need to increase the concentration. Anyway, I’ve tried to distract myself with Quidditch. I’ve played and practiced during the days, working myself so hard that I’ve begun to build muscle too quickly and I developed these strange stretch marks on parts of my arms. Luckily the nurse managed to get rid of those right away.

And then I just played harder. But every time I fly, I feel the cool air rush against my face and the weightlessness of being in the air and then my thoughts naturally drift to him… Of his dark hair blowing wildly in the wind. Of his bright green eyes searching restlessly for the golden snitch, of his flushed cheeks after he’s come out of a feint, of how gracefully he rides the Firebolt and of how he smiled that day when he won the Quidditch Cup…

And then I let myself soar straight into the ground.

But that doesn’t help get rid of the thoughts either. I just end up in the nurse’s quarters again, wordlessly waiting for her to finish scolding me for being so reckless (“Especially after how badly your arm was wounded at that terrible school! You know it will never heal completely! Being reckless by dropping yourself into the ground could easily reopen it!”) Blahblahblah.
I don’t care. I have more important things to worry about.

Like why I can’t stop thinking about Potter.

Damn, I told myself I wouldn’t write his name.

Anyway, I’ve stopped practicing for a while (to assuage the nurse’s anger) and took to reading books instead, but that doesn’t help for long either, because as soon as I pull my head out of the pages, I start to wonder if Potter knows any of those things I’ve learned or something stupid like that. I don’t know what’s happened to my mind. I was so stoic before I went to school…

I thought of maybe consulting the nurse about a possible mental illness that could have been passed down to me but I thought better of it. Father would find out about that soon enough and seek to find out where I thought my dementia was coming from.

Not a good idea. Too many complications.

Maybe I should just call up a house-elf (we got some new ones, thankfully) and order it to play a game with me. That might help. Especially if I order it not to simply let me win. Most house-elves do that automatically so as not to run the risk of outsmarting their Master. It amuses me because that has actually happened to some of Father’s cohorts. He couldn’t believe himself when they’d told him that they had to fire their elf because he beat them at chess.

Who loses at chess to a house-elf??

Ah… hold on…

……………………………

Father has just come to tell me that the Minister (who was our guest again tonight) has invited us all to the Quidditch World Cup as his guests! We’ll get to sit in the Top Box with him and the Bulgarian Minister as well, and many other highly-placed wizards! I can’t wait! Father said that I should use this experience to learn how to act amongst high-class people. Which I take to mean I should pay attention on how to properly manipulate people with more power than you.

Either way, it suits me.

I get to watch the Quidditch World Cup from the Top Box!

Hopefully that will be enough to distract me from Potter… at least for a few days.

*****

Quidditch World Cup Final –Ireland vs. Bulgaria

BLOODY HELL WHY DOES THIS HAPPEN TO ME?

I don’t think it’s only puberty that’s against me now, I think it’s the whole bloody world that has something on me. Everything. No I’m not paranoid.

Alright, alright. From the beginning.

We arrived on the grounds of the Cup early today. Our “campsite” –as the others were calling them –was amongst the usual people. We were next to several of Father’s friends –read: the people he manipulates on a daily basis, the ones who treat him like a leader –and our ‘tent’ was fully furnished and well organized. Honestly it was strange staying in a cramped space like that, but I suppose that’s what people who live in a normal house feel like. Father told me that average witches and wizards hardly have that many rooms in their homes.

Anyway, the excitement on the air was what really got to me. Everywhere there were people milling about and the feel of a Quidditch final was so thick in the atmosphere you could practically taste it. I love that feeling. It’s my favourite feeling in the world next to…

Well, nevermind.

I sat outside for a while, watching people go by. Flint and Montague came round to say hello. We discussed the possibilities of the match for a bit, but then they went off back to their own campsites. I didn’t mind. Flint is a relatively good Quidditch player but he doesn’t make for great conversation.

Eventually we prepared ourselves and set off to meet the Minister and to get our seats. I was a great deal happier than I’d been in a while, I’ll tell you that, but it didn’t last. Why? Well because happiness never lasts for me. You should have known that by now. What with all the events of the past three years, it should be common knowledge that nothing goes as I plan it to.

As soon as we got there, who do I see? Well of COURSE it’s Potter. No doubt there. I should have known better. If there is even the tiniest speck of light in my day, he’ll come along to block that out and leave me in my maddened misery.

He was sitting right there in the front row, with a bloody shamrock attached to his shirt and the most awkward looking gadget around his neck. He’d gotten taller… a bit. And his skin was a little more tanned. Perhaps from being outside.

AH.

That’s not the point!

The point was, he had to come invade my time WITHOUT HIM TO THINK ABOUT and to make matters worse he had to bring along the whole damn Weasley gang! And the mudblood, but I like to pretend she isn’t a person when I can. He didn’t seem too pleased to find out that we were there either, mind you, which kind of reassures me in thinking that he DIDN’T actually plan to ruin my day.

In any case, I put on my smirk –the special one, the one that’s just for him, it’s just contemptuous enough to make him glare –and I took my seat next to Father. The Minister introduced us as his guests and then Father asked Mr. Weasley how he could possibly afford the tickets. Nothing good came of that, except for Father to show his pure disdain for the Weasleys. I didn’t notice much. I was busy staring at Potter and wondering if he’d ever been to a real Quidditch match before this one.

Then the game began. Well no, that’s a lie. The mascots came out first. The Bulgarians brought their Veela, so naturally they had to go first. These almost frighteningly unnatural women filtered out onto the pitch and that’s when Potter went crazy. Like something was broken inside of him.

He got this weird, goofy grin and a strange look in his eyes. Then, without warning, he reached a leg over the side of the box before the mudblood had some sense to ask him what the hell he was doing. I would have asked him myself if she hadn’t. Can’t have the same thoughts as she does.

Anyway, Father explained the whole concept of Veela before the match. He warned me that I should restrain myself in their presence, but I had no need to. I didn’t feel much different that they were out there, not counting the strange surge of jealousy that washed over me when Potter tried to jump out of the box. But that was inexplicable though I’ve got the impression it didn’t have anything to do with the Veela.

Potter calmed down after that. He flushed a bit at his foolishness and I smirked. I couldn’t understand precisely why he’d reacted the way he had, but the blush was worth it.

The Irish sent out their mascots –Leprechauns –and there was a new uproar in the crowd. All the golden coins falling from the sky made people go mad in a different way. Pity they would disappear in a few hours. Otherwise Weasley would have been rich by the end of the game.

And THEN the game began. The players zoomed out onto the pitch, on their Firebolts and the crowds cheered back and forth for whomever they supported. The loudest uproar, however, by far was for Krum. He flew out and the whole stadium went wild, whether they were supporting Bulgaria or not.

I could feel the excitement around me. I started picturing being in Krum’s place. I could see the stadium explode from the screaming fans, calling out my name and waving banners and flags with my name or my face. Then I’d see Potter zooming out to meet me from the other end of the pitch…he’d come at me with that look that he had in his eyes when the Veela came out, the same look he gets when he’s about to catch the snitch.

Then I snapped back to reality and realized that I’d missed the first quarter of the game. It was insane. The players moved more quickly in the air than the eye could possibly follow (which explained the omnioculars that Potter was pressing into his eyeballs), forcing Bagman to cut his commentary down to only their names.

Then, as though only a few seconds had passed, Ireland was a hundred and sixty points ahead and the Bulgarians were not doing so well. Krum and Lynch went into dives and Krum came out the better flyer. Lynch went straight into the ground. I grimaced slightly at the image. I know what that feels like, but I had done it willingly and so would slow my speed a bit before impact. Lynch didn’t see it coming, I guess.

In the end, Krum caught the snitch (making Lynch’s state even worse, he looked as though he’d been hit repeatedly by mountain trolls) ending the game, but losing. Ireland won by ten points and the Irish fans went wild. I was crazed and elated but no one would have known. My father taught me well and I just showed an expression of pleasant surprise. I honestly think that it would have been a smarter move to jump for joy and scream out like Potter and his posse were doing, it seemed more natural for a sporting event of this magnitude. Nevertheless, a Malfoy is only as good as his façade.

We left after that and Potter went out of my sight.

We celebrated with the Minister for a while but when he left Father warned me to go into the forest and stay there until he came for me. He told me not to say a word or speak to anyone, but to stay out of sight. I got dressed and didn’t question him. I left with my wand in my pocket and without looking back.

I should have expected what was going to happen but I guess I was blinded by the excitement of the night. I stayed in the forest for a good half-hour, alone and bored as hell, with nothing better to do than think of HIM again, before the screams erupted and people became frantic.

It was dark and frantic. I don’t know why but I’ve become rather sensitive to the emotions on the air. I could feel the panic spread from the core of the danger. I went to the edge of the trees and saw the faint outlines of people floating in the air above a mass of black. I straightened and froze in my position.

Why did he have to do this tonight? What was really in it for him?

I shook myself out of the shock and pressed further into the darkness of the trees. More and more screams were coming from the campgrounds and people started filtering madly through the forest to get to some safer place. As if there was some safer place.

If the Death-Eaters managed to start something at the Quidditch World Cup, what makes these people think they are any safer anywhere else?

I shivered uncontrollably for a few minutes, thinking about what I’d just thought and then shrugged it off and tried to relax myself. Sadly, the only thing I found to work was to allow myself to do the one thing I’d been trying to avoid all summer: think of Potter.

I thought of how he looks when he flies, how his eyes sparkle when he’s smiling and how it might feel to run my fingers through his messy hair. It calmed me down for about three moments before I opened my eyes and saw him standing just a few feet away, Weasley and Granger in tow.

Great.

I made some inordinate comment about Weasel’s feet and then they went on the defensive immediately. If they hadn’t been putting their guard up from the approaching Death-Eaters, why should I make them uneasy?? I just don’t understand Potter’s logic.

Anyway, I told them that they should get out of there. I said that the mob was after muggles and they seemed to think that this was a terrible insult or oversight on my part. Oh-so-cleverly defending the mudblood as being a witch (which makes her right out of the Death-Eaters’ sights, right?), Potter gave me a look. I shook my head, inwardly, and elaborated on my comment.

They can’t be all that smart if they didn’t realize that to Death-Eaters muggles and mudbloods are practically the same thing. I pointed this out and yet somehow it didn’t seem to help the situation. They just got more angry.

I don’t know how it got to this, but one of them suggested that my parents were out there with the other hooded people. I tensed at that and stared at Potter. I grit my teeth and frowned, thinking of how best to answer that question. True, my father WAS probably out there. But my mother? I had no idea where she might be. For all I know she might be back at the Manor already. I’m not privy to all the information on my parents’ whereabouts. It also frustrated me that Potter would automatically think that I’m nothing better than the son of a Death-Eater. So really, how does a Malfoy answer a question like that?

“Well if they were, I wouldn’t be likely to tell you, now would I Potter?”

Or something like that. Yeah, I know. Pitiful retort, right? Malfoys should know better than that. They should DO better than that, but I was caught and honestly, I was getting worried. I had tried to warn them about the Death-Eaters before and they took it as an insult.

Maybe it was in the delivery, but I DID say that they were going to attack the mudblood if they came across her. What more warning do they need?

Finally the mudblood cued in to the whole matter and they went off. I watched them go for a while. I even followed not too far behind, just to make sure that Potter made it far enough away, without getting himself killed.

When I thought it was safe enough, I went back to my original spot and waited for my father. It got boring and colder as the night went on. The darkness of that time became oppressive and I felt lonely and cold. I found myself wishing that I had company like Potter and his friends to stay with.

Then I kicked myself.

I don’t need anybody! I’m a Malfoy and that’s that! People are just tools to use to do your bidding, nothing more. I have to keep telling myself that.

Somewhere in my frustration, though, a spell was cast and a bright green light erupted from further in the forest. I gasped and looked up at the night sky. There, against the blanket of black, was the distorted green image of the Dark Mark. I’d seen this mark on Father’s arm before, but it was never this clear and never this bright.

I also know why the Dark Mark is usually cast. The Death-Eaters used to cast it above the houses or locations of whomever they’d killed. I swallowed hard and fought with myself, hoping that Potter hadn’t done something stupid and gotten himself killed.

I had the urge to run in that direction but at that moment Father Apparated and grabbed me to take me back to the Manor. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t even look at me, but took me back and left me in my quarters.

He left me with nothing but my mind, to think further on the one thing I wanted to avoid. The one thing I couldn’t.

*******
September 1 –Start of Term

The rest of the summer passed quickly and roughly. I don’t remember any of it now that I think of it, but I did meet some more of Father’s old acquaintances and other such people. I can’t remember half of them, but I don’t suppose it matters much.

I got onto the Hogwarts’ Express with a little more optimism for the year than before. Father told me about the Triwizard Tournament coming to Hogwarts this year. Fudge told him ages ago and he told me that a friend of his is Headmaster of one of the other schools, Durmstrang.

I found a compartment next to Potter’s with Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson and some others. I talked to them for a while about what I knew and loudly mentioned that Father wanted me to go to Durmstrang instead of Hogwarts. He said they have a better position on the Dark Arts… They actually learn them instead of just the defense. Mother didn’t agree though. She said she didn’t want me going so far away but I think she had some other reservations than just that. I said all this loudly because I could tell that Potter’s compartment door was open. I wanted to see how he would react.

……..

Come to think of it, I almost wish I HAD gone to Durmstrang. Then I wouldn’t have met Potter and he wouldn’t be able to drive me so bloody MAD.

Almost…

I went into their compartment a little later to ask him about the tournament but when I got there, I was pleasantly surprised. I found Weasley’s dress robes –which simply looked more like a dress from the 1800s instead of men’s clothing –and had a little laugh at his expense. I think I deserved to laugh after the way they had treated me at the World Cup. I DID try to warn them, after all. They could have thanked me.

I forgot the dress robes and went on to ask them if they were going to enter. I figured Potter would because he always has to be the hero. Always. The problem with my comments was that none of them seemed to understand them. They had no bloody clue what I was talking about.

I figured it was just because his father is too low-placed at the Ministry (though his brother is there too). I told him so but then left. I didn’t need to face some more of their unfounded anger. It wasn’t like I was saying things that weren’t true. Worse, it wasn’t like I was saying things I haven’t already said.

I left them to their own confusion for a while and went back to my own compartment. Pansy almost immediately started fawning over me and, I must say, it becomes boring. I’m not a bloody cat. I don’t need to constantly have my arm pet. I don’t think she was really trying to ‘pet’ my arm, but I don’t care. My mind is elsewhere.

When we got to the Great Hall for the welcoming feast and the sorting and all, I felt a little better. Against my own intentions, Hogwarts has become a kind of surrogate home for me. I feel comfortable here… well more comfortable than I am at home, alone and left to my own devices anyway.

The feast was ultimately uneventful. We welcomed the new Slytherin students to the table, met the new Defense Agains the Dark Arts Teacher (surprisingly, Mad-Eye Moody who’s been off his rocker for years –at least as far as Father says) and Dumbledore finally presented the Triwizard Tournament.

Naturally that got a whole ripple of excitement. Everyone perked up and paid close attention. He explained it in the usual way : three schools, three champions, three tasks, big prizes and grandeur associated with the winning, the same old deal. Some things that he added, however, were that there would be an age restriction and that the champions stand alone. They can be offered no help from their teachers and such, and the tasks are far too dangerous for students under the age of seventeen. I frowned for a moment, because as far as I know there has never been an age restriction put on the tournament before, but then again, people have died before in the competition. I glanced over at Potter and sighed in relief. Despite myself I realized that I preferred he not take part in something this dangerous, no matter how badly he wants to be the hero again…

Stupid git.

-----IIIII-----

A/N: BEFORE I FORGET: I will indeed be going past the 6th book. If (though the odds of this are terribly small) I don’t finish the 6th book before the 7th comes out, then I’ll write the 7th like I did the rest, but (as is much more likely) if I finish before the 7th comes out, then I’ll just write it under my own predictions (or whatever seems to fit) and I’ll continue in the journal style. Though as the parts become more my own creation and less from the books, there will be a little more description and more dialogue, to make it flow a little better. Certain parts are very clear in my mind and I am anxious to get there, so hopefully I’ll be able to soon ^_^

I just had to write that before I forgot to again (because I’ve answered this question in my head and yet never put it down into writing, I think)

Also, going through the 4th and 5th books to find all the parts I could for Draco was exhausting. Those two books are so damn long and I’d forgotten so many important things about the 5th book, that I almost cried lol. I think, of all the books, the 5th is going to be the hardest to write. I hope that it continues to flow well anyway, and I hope you all enjoy the next chapters! I’m doing my best to keep up a relatively good pace of writing between my studying. Anyway, thanks for the awesome reviews and please do keep them coming!!