Memoirs of a Serpent's Son

[RANDOMNESS: I was watching HP4 the other day and during the scene where Draco gets turned into a ferret, I realized something. All his friends are wearing the "Potter Stinks" badges, but he isn't. I just thought it was rather amusing since they were supposed to be HIS badges, but anyway ^^; just a little thought there!]

Memoirs of a Serpent’s Son

--Age 14—part 5

Spring term

I absolutely adore being the bearer of bad news, sometimes. I love it. I’ve been doing it generally all year, presenting Potter and his pals with the juicy details of Rita Skeeter’s largely false articles. Of course I know they have little or no foundation in the truth but that doesn’t mean that I can’t take advantage of that and use them to spread fantastically cruel rumours. What can I say? I have a talent for using people’s stupidity to my advantage.

Just before Potions’ today (which has got to be my favourite class because it’s the only one during which I can adequately annoy Potter and not worry about getting myself killed by a Skrewt), I showed Potty and the mudblood the fascinating little highlight that Skeeter did on how Granger is a fame-seeking hussy (to put it lightly). I was preparing myself for a wonderful explosion of insult and frustration, enough to cause a commotion and get Gryffindor to lose MORE points, even possibly get Potter a detention, but…. It never came.

That stupid mudblood didn’t seem to care at all and, as a result, Potter and Weasel just shrugged it off. I could tell they were bothered by it but not nearly as much as they should have been. What is that about??

Don’t tell me Potter has suddenly gone and grown up just because he’s been to a dance with a girl.

Stupid prat, thinks he can outgrow me. Right. Fat chance.

I don’t give up that easily.

******

I don’t like Hogsmeade so much anymore. We keep having visits and all, but it doesn’t change. I used to go in the hopes of running into Potter and getting a chance to taunt him about something or other. I don’t really work with a plan; I find it’s much more exciting to wing-it and come up with a snide remark on the spot. He’s wonderful about that, always giving me so much material to work with.

But lately I’ve been unable to follow him or even see him there. The visits get dull and repetitive. We always go to the same old shops and the same old places. I suppose it’s nice to be able to get the sweets I want and stock up on Zonko’s things, but it doesn’t hold the same appeal that it once did.

Not if there’s nothing immediately in it for me.

On the upside, Pansy has become more sociable. She seems to be acting less and less like she’s hoping to marry me and more like a proper friend. I found that, on occasion, she actually makes for relatively good conversation. Better than Crabbe and Goyle anyway. They just nod and grunt. I honestly wonder if they aren’t actually Mountain Trolls.

It would explain a lot.

Pansy has kept up my almost unintentional rumour that Potter might prefer blokes. I didn’t really expect that to fly for long but the Slytherins seem to enjoy the idea of it. Every time they mention it, mind you, I get this strange nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach. It doesn’t last long, but it does tend to make me lose my appetite, which cannot be good for my appearance.

If I haven’t got those then what have I got?

Oh right, tons of money, the respect of my peers, great marks and unfathomable wit. Sorry, forgot.

Though I get the feeling that, recently, I’d be willing to trade all that just for one thing… or person really.

Ha, ha, I make myself laugh sometimes.

*****

Alright, I must confess to something. It’s really about time too. I’ve been talking to Rita Skeeter. Yes, that’s right. I’ve been talking directly to her and providing her with many of those tasty little tidbits about Potter that her loyal and utterly dimwitted fans read about every week. How, you ask?

Well, I figured out a while back that she’s an unregistered animagus. It wasn’t difficult when I started noticing this bloody beetle flying (or whatever beetles do) around Potter constantly. Once I saw the little markings on it, the ones that look exactly like the hideous glasses she wears, I picked her up and brought her to a quiet place. She transformed and asked me what I wanted; I simply told her that I wanted to contribute some useful information to her. She didn’t really believe me when I said this, because everyone always wants something for themselves out of a situation.

And it’s true, I’m a Malfoy. We never give without getting something in return. Not really, anyway. My father is the perfect example of that. He contributes massive sums of money to the Ministry or whatever and in return he gets the respect of the Minister and control over all sorts of Ministry affairs that outsiders should be privy to.

What do I get out of this arrangement?

I got to see Potter’s face every time I showed him a new article. I got to see him suffer like I’ve been doing for who knows how long now. I wasn’t lying when I said I love to see him squirm.

Pansy and some others have been in on it as well. They’ve each given proper testimonials to random events that don’t really make sense. In that lovely little piece about Granger’s fame-seeking ways, Parkinson suggested that she was far too ugly to get Potter to fall for her on his own. “She probably used a love potion, she’s quite clever” she said. Or something like that.

I was mildly impressed.

Anyway, in my most recent interview with the insect, I confessed that Potter can speak Parseltongue and cannot possibly be sane. I told her that his scar is always hurting and he frequently has to go to the Hospital Wing and such. Said he was unhinged, basically. I couldn’t even wait to see what would come of a comment like that.

It was priceless. She went on about how Potter must be some kind of Dark Wizard. Speaking Parseltongue is only associated to people who do terrible things, after all. Of course, doesn’t it make perfect sense?

The “Saviour of the Wizarding World” is actually evil. We should have seen this coming all along.

Right.

I love it. You can’t put a price on lies that entertaining.

I can just see the look on Potter’s face, thinking that he’s suddenly been shoved into my ranks. At least in his mind. It must make him burn with anger.

But come on. It’s not so bad being with me.

One day he’ll realize that.

*****

The Third task

Something is not quite right. I felt it from the moment I woke up this morning. I had another dream last night, but I didn’t wake up from it. That’s the first sign of trouble. I had to do cleaning charms on myself so that no one would ask questions when I got up to shower.

There’s something strange on the air. It’s a type of tension that I can’t really put words to. Like there is some terrible darkness that’s steadily approaching, but you can’t hope to be prepared for it, even if you are expecting it. As though it’ll catch everyone off-guard and at their weakest.

I don’t like that at all.

I walked down to the stands for the third task with the usual gang. The feeling of dread just got worse as we went, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it. More than I wanted showed on my face, but thankfully my friends just interpreted it as general boredom. Kept telling me that this one shouldn’t be quite as boring as the last task and maybe, if we’re lucky, someone will get properly mauled or disfigured coming out of this.

I laughed softly at them. Ah if only my concerns were so provincial.

We got our seats (close to the Durmstrang students, as always) and waited for the Champions to come out. The ripples of excitement passed periodically over the crowd as the beginning of the task approached. Everyone was chattering and talking animatedly, making bets and wagers of all sorts on what they predicted to happen. There were several around me that wagered that Potter either wouldn’t make it out of the maze, or wouldn’t make it out alive. I bit my tongue and didn’t make any bets. My excuse was that I didn’t have much faith in any of the competitors. I suggested that Krum was the strongest Champion but since his entrance would be delayed into the maze, there’s no telling what stupid thing could stop him.

They all thought I was magnificently wise for that. Sometimes I wonder about how some of these people got so far in their classes if they can’t make a simple analysis like that.

Anyway, the judges came in and the Champions were lead out along with their “families”. I put quotations marks because Potter, as is obvious, doesn’t actually have a family. I almost felt sorry for him until Mrs. Weasley and what I think is her eldest son walked out with him, then went to sit with the other Champion’s family members.

I couldn’t resist. I may have let slip that Mrs. Weasley was there because she had become Potter’s mother-in-law, what with her son being the little wife. There was a roar of laughter and jeering in Potter’s direction, which he might have misinterpreted as cheering.

Alright, I know, it wasn’t pleasant of me, but how is it right that the Weasley’s can claim they are family to Potter? It’s not fair that the lot of them are so important to him. He has enough room in his entourage for the WHOLE Weasel family, but no room for me??

I refuse to believe it.

Anyway, the whole task began and Potter and Diggory were off and running into the maze. They just disappeared amidst the foliage of the hedges and we saw nothing more of them. A short while later, Krum was sent in and then after another delay, Delacour entered and they were all consumed by the madness of the labyrinth.

The crowd was silent for a few moments, as though we had missed something. Everyone stared at the hedges but couldn’t see past them. We could know nothing of what was really going on in there, of what the Champions really faced. I think the same realization hit every single person in the audience at once, as we all stared in silence at the emptiness.

Then people came back to themselves and started chattering and wondering what was going on. I kept silent for a little while longer, with baited breath, feeling that horrible dreading sensation wash over me.

It was a while before anything happened. During that time, the people around me talked and made jokes and I played along, but I wasn’t really listening to what was being said. I kept hearing the echo of my father’s voice in my head as he warned me of how to behave this year.

He’d said that I was to keep my head low. I wasn’t to cause any grave trouble and that I was not to do any direct harm to Harry Potter. He told me that he knew how much I dislike Potter and that he would get what was coming to him soon. Every time he’d say something like this was after a conversation about the Triwizard Tournament. He told me that –should I be offered the chance –I was not to enter my name. He said that there was no need to risk my neck for eternal glory because Malfoys already have all the glory and riches we could ever want. He said that it’s a fool’s game to be watched and criticized from afar. He said that the Champions this year would likely not even know what hit them with the whole ordeal. He said, though, that it would definitely be a year to remember.

I don’t know how much of that was speculation and how much was insider information that he had; he never would say. But I do not like it. I didn’t like it then, when I could hear it in my ears over the roar of the crowd at the task, and I like it even less right now, after all is said and done, and I’m sitting here writing this.

After a while, red sparks erupted into the night air and one of the Champions had forfeited. I sat up straighter and craned my neck. They brought out Fleur Delacour, again. She looked terrible. She wouldn’t speak to anyone but her Headmistress. Even Dumbledore tried to calm her down and tend to her.

The whole crowd suddenly shivered with a different kind of emotion. They were concerned now. This seemed a lot more dangerous than it did at first light of day.

We continued to wait and then there was another jet of red sparks. This time Krum was removed from the labyrinth. The Durmstrang students all groaned in disappointment –as well as many of the Slytherins around me. I joined them briefly in their annoyed chatter before coming to the realization that only Potter and Diggory were left. It could now ONLY be a Hogwarts Champion to take the Cup and win the tournament.

But at what cost?

By the looks of Krum and Delacour, there was nothing worth enough riches or glory to make up for having to walk through that maze and face the demons within.

I’m getting poetic again, I can’t help it.

I’m distressed.

It seemed like ages before anything else happened. There was no time limit on this task. We were all simply to wait until there was sign of either distress or else a victory. But neither came. Not for hours, it seemed. It grew dark and uncomfortable in the crowd as more time passed. Then finally it happened, the darkness came and that THING that waited in the shadows reared its head.

Potter and Diggory soared through the air and crashed into the ground holding the Triwizard Cup. They seemed to both have taken it at the same time and the crowd erupted with cheers, but as soon as I saw Potter and how he was lying on top of Diggory, I knew there was something wrong. Potter was bleeding and motionless. Diggory wasn’t moving either.

I felt my spine stiffen and I got to my feet to rush down but just as I got up, several other people realized the problem and there was a surge forward of people trying to get down there and see for themselves. I was caught behind the throng and I couldn’t move.

My mind was racing as I pushed through more people to get a better look. It couldn’t be. My father couldn’t be right. He couldn’t have known. There was no way, no way whatsoever.

Then I saw it, just above the heads of some random Hufflepuffs. There were some students screaming and crying. The Chang girl was closer to the front and she was sobbing, her face tainted in shock. I looked past her and saw that Potter was crying and screaming, though I couldn’t hear him over the crowd. I knew what he was saying though. At least part of it: Diggory was dead.

I’ve always tried to deny this to myself, just in case it makes me seem less of a humane person, but I was a little relieved that Diggory was dead. I mean, not because I didn’t like the guy or anything, but because I found that I much preferred that he was killed instead of Potter…

I know, it’s horrible. My father would be proud.

But I feel like I can’t pretend anymore. Not to myself anyway.

I stood still and let the crowd pass before me until Pansy and the rest joined up with me and we were instructed to return to our common room. Dumbledore had taken Mr. Diggory off somewhere and Moody had escorted Potter away into the castle. There was something not right about that either.

I don’t like Moody. There’s something wrong with a man who thinks it’s justifiable to transform students into rodents and then bounce them off the ground. I know Potter really likes him, but Potter isn’t always the best judge of character.

We went back to the common room and I found myself cornered by just about every Slytherin who actually knew my name –which makes quite a lot.

They were staring at me with glittering eyes and hungry expressions. I had a feeling I knew what was coming so I threw up my usual façade, licked my lips and rolled my eyes in annoyance before looking each of them in the face one by one. I asked them what it was they wanted.

“Surely you know something about this, Draco… I mean with your father and all.” It was Nott that said it. I won’t lie; it bothered me a bit that they all had such insight into my father’s dealings. But I’m a Malfoy, through and through.

“Yes, my father,” I drawled, unimpressed. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

They looked at each other for a moment, wondering if they should press on and run the risk of getting cursed.

“Come on, Draco,” Montague whispered. “You’re dad was always in his inner-circle. He must have told you something.”

“My father tells me many things, Montague,” I answered icily. “Not many of which am I willing to share with you.” They looked disappointed. I rolled my eyes again. “However, let’s just say that the events of tonight weren’t entirely unexpected.”

That seemed to be enough to satisfy them. They could go on believing whatever it is they want about me and my father. I don’t care what they think. If they want to believe my father is an active Death-Eater and I’m going to follow in his footsteps, then so be it. All it does it give me more power over them.

And honestly, it wasn’t entirely a lie. My father had suggested that something like this would happen, whether he knew it or not. It doesn’t make me feel any better about it, but nothing is going to change what has happened.

Nothing.

*******

End of Term

Dumbledore held a massive ceremony in honor of Diggory earlier, before the two other schools left. He told us that Diggory’s death was a murder and that the killer was none other than You-Know-Who himself. He said that it would not do Diggory justice to lie about what had truly happened. It would not do anyone justice to operate under the false impression that the world is as safe as it had been before. He told us that You-Know-Who has returned and that there are dark times ahead. He said many more good things than I would have expected from him, judging from my father’s opinion of him.

But he went on to say that we must stand united to make it through.

I suppose he is right, but there are concepts in that that I disagree with. Standing as one large and very prominent group (who gives everyone the benefit of the doubt) makes it very easy for the Dark Lord to send spies to infiltrate and break you down, bit by bit. That and no matter how powerful or strong a wizard is, there is always something that will break you. Everyone has their turning point and the Dark Lord’s power is that he stops at nothing to hit that. He’s broken many a wizard to get what he wants and if they don’t break, they die. Simple as that.

I know this.

I know this not because I was there, but because Father was. And I am, sometimes despite myself, my father’s son. There’s little I can do to change that, no matter how much I might want to. If I do.

Dumbledore has to realize that just because he trusts someone with all of his being does not mean that they will not disappoint him and give away his secrets. People have a tendency to give up lives that don’t belong to them in order to survive.

I made some comments to the people next to me during his speech, not to disrespect the dead, but to highlight things like this to my friends. They nodded and agreed, though I think they were under the impression that I was insulting Dumbledore and saying that You-Know-Who is the ‘better’ side to choose.

That happens a lot. People like to assume they understand what I’m saying without actually listening to the words. It’s as though my reputation and my façade have begun to speak for me and taken on a life of their own.

I went to see Potter later in the train. I suppose it was partly to see if he was still in one piece, but I think there was a rather great misunderstanding there.

I told him something about picking sides. I warned him and reminded him that I had given him a chance in first year. I don’t think this came across the way I wanted it to because the next thing I knew, innumerable curses and hexes were flying at me.

Potter and his bloody friends hit me so hard with their mismatch of spells that I was knocked unconscious and looked kind of like a giant slug by the end of it. I only woke up near the end of the ride when Pansy came by to find me and turned me (along with Crabbe and Goyle) back into humanoid form.

I didn’t bother to explain to her what had happened. Crabbe and Goyle couldn’t remember.

I stormed off down the hall and found my way into one of the on-board toilets. I…

I had to fight hard not to let myself scream or cry or… generally react to strongly.

He just doesn’t understand! He doesn’t understand anything about the war he’s going to have to fight –whether he’s faced the Dark Lord before or not. He doesn’t understand anything about ME!

Just because I’m the son of a well-known Death-Eater, just because I’m a Slytherin, just because I’m his school rival doesn’t mean that I’m automatically the embodiment of evil! It doesn’t mean that I am not a person, it doesn’t mean that I don’t deserve a moment’s thought! I am NOT just the “son of a Death-Eater”. I am NOT just a “Death-Eater in the making”. I don’t even WANT to be a Death-Eater!!

If he can’t see things like that, if he cannot see through the masks that everyone wears, then how can he hope to accomplish the goal he’s set out for himself?

He’ll never understand and he will never see. He’ll hate me forever and never even be able to comprehend that someone like me might actually give a damn!

That someone like me might actually care about him!

Someone like me…

Me.

------IIIII------

A/N: OMG HE SAID IT. Sort of. I figure ‘love’ is kind of a jump just now. I don’t think he would admit to that so quickly, but this book was used as a turning point. It was kind of ‘filler’, in a sense, for Draco’s evolution. Now as it is, I realize it might not seem so obvious how I’m going to work with the 5th and 6th books after this, because it doesn’t really seem like Draco’s getting ‘better’ in those books, but actually seems to be getting ‘worse’. Don’t you fret, I’ve got a plan ^_^ Also I know that Lucius Malfoy was not (explicitly) aware of what was supposed to occur after the Third Task, but in my opinion he must have had some kind of insight what with his connections and the fact that he’s not a bloody moron. After the Dark Mark thing at the Quidditch World Cup I’m sure he warned Draco not to make a bloody fool of himself during the Triwizard tournament, and I would think that Lucius Malfoy is well aware that (eventually) Harry would have to ‘get what’s coming to him’. Anyway, I hope I haven’t confused you all terribly or made you think I’m mad X_X I hope you liked this chapter! Book five is coming up next and I’m very excited!

Review and you get cookies! Or just my love lol <3