Memoirs of a Serpent's Son

Memoirs of a Serpent’s Son

--Age 15—part 1

Summer

The summer so far has…. not been pleasant. As always, I finished the homework assigned from school within days. Then Father assigned me a massive load of books to read and things to practice. Then he’d leave at random intervals. He spent a lot of time at the Ministry, but at night he wouldn’t be home for long either. He’d jet off somewhere, without a word to Mother or me, and come back in the early hours of the morning unnoticed.

Mother would not discuss any of it with me. She would simply tell me that Father does what he has to, but I disagree. I think it’s more that he does what he wants to. He did choose this, after all, once upon a time. He chose to join the Dark Lord’s ranks and take part in those kinds of things. Then when You-Know-Who disappeared he chose to pretend like nothing had happened, all the while training me to be everything that he is. Because that’s exactly what he started doing, by giving me all these books and spells to practice.

He’s training me to become a Death-Eater. Without giving me much choice in the matter.

I don’t complain. I never do. You complain and you get punished, I learned that long ago.

So I do as I’m told. I don’t honestly mind. The readings and practice keep my mind off other things that are much worse than dark magic…

So I’ve read countless books that I’m sure are banned by the Ministry. These kinds of things I’m sure I could never find inside the walls of Hogwarts. Not even with a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Books on the most cryptic and disturbing of curses, the kinds that you don’t see anymore because not even the spellcaster could stand to watch the outcome.

That’s what my father is having me study. That is what my father is having me practice.

Any moment he’s home, he impresses upon me the importance of knowing as much as I can about the Dark Arts. He tells me that I have to be prepared because one day, whether I like it or not, I will have to use them. It almost sounded as though he was warning me, but I knew it was more of an order. He was ordering me to follow in his footsteps, in his own subtle way.

In any case, I study.

I’ve gone through piles of books on curses and jinxes and even defences strong enough to block them. Those are important too. Anyone can curse, but defences are hard to pull off. I’d hoped that these kinds of things –at least knowing that I’m able to cast such complex and difficult magic –should have reassured me a bit about the OWLs that were coming up this year.

But I didn’t have time to think about school things.

I had to start learning all I could about the Unforgivable Curses. Father even had me practice them.

Well, naturally, not the killing curse. What would I practice it on? Insects? Anyone can kill an insect with a killing curse.

Instead, I practiced the Imperius curse and the Cruciatus curse. I used the Imperius curse on birds and other little animals that I could find in the gardens. I would have used one on a House-Elf if they weren’t already bound to do as I instruct. That would defeat the purpose.

The animals obeyed quite nicely. I didn’t instruct them to do anything terrible. Just dance or fetch me something, little things just to test my control. I know that people are different and can fight back, but for now this seemed to satisfy Father.

But he wasn’t satisfied with my use of the Cruciatus curse. He said that it wasn’t powerful enough. I had a lot of trouble watching the little creatures writhe in pain beneath me. I couldn’t stand to watch it and my father saw that. He told me that because of my apprehension the curse would never be able to take its full effect. He told me to practice on a House-Elf instead and left again.

I didn’t practice on a House-Elf. I didn’t practice on animals anymore either.

I practiced it on myself.

I figured that it might help me get rid of the constant image of Potter in my mind. It might help me rid myself of the pain of those feelings and ideas by at least causing a pain so intense that it could not be ignored. Maybe I’m just trading in one kind of hurt for another, but I don’t care.

I would stand in front of my full-length mirror and make sure my face was set. I could not allow myself to see the fear in my own eyes. I’m good at fooling other people, why can’t I fool myself?

Then I would cast the curse and immediately fall to the ground and feel a nauseatingly familiar agony come over me. I’d writhe and writhe in pain for what felt like days before I numbed enough to the curse so that I could stop the magic. Then I wouldn’t practice for a day or so, to allow myself to overcome the effects. It took me weeks of practicing to stop myself from letting go of my wand. After that, I managed to stop myself from collapsing completely.

Father had me show him one night and seemed very pleased when I did. He told me that not only had my spell improved in strength but it was a good thing that I had taught myself to control my reaction to it. I don’t often get my father’s praise.

But now that I think of all those weeks of pain and struggle, I don’t really think it was worth it.

I learned to use many of the other curses as well, but none of them were powerful enough to drive those constant images away.

I know it sounds crazy. It sounds masochistic and foolish to use something like an Unforgivable curse on yourself just to stop thinking of the person you have feelings for, but I’ve got no other options.

Every time I find myself dreaming of Potter, I feel this rush of euphoria run through my veins before the horrible reality sets in and I remember that he hates me and that I’m being an idiot. A great, stupid idiot. And then I find myself needing a curse to get rid of my discomfort.

I’ve been to the nurse so many times she’s told me that she doesn’t want to send me back to Hogwarts. She said she’s afraid I’ll end up killing myself with all the dark magic and anxiety that’s built up in me. She’s given me many different potions to deal with the damage the curses inevitably do, but it’s the other pain that she can’t do anything about. I’m almost positive that she has something that could cure it, but what am I supposed to say?

I, Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy legacy, am making myself sick over the one and only Harry Bloody Potter.

Yes, yes, good plan. Then I can walk right out of that room in time to have my head properly decapitated and body burned so that my father can later piss on my ashes.

I fancy that would be a fantastic end to my otherwise insufferable life.

This is all Potter’s fault. Damn him.

Father came home the other day and told me that he ran into Potter and the Weasel gang at the Ministry. He said that Potter had been accused of under-aged magic and had a hearing before the Wizengamot. He laughed at how Fudge seems to have it in for Potter and Dumbledore since the ‘incident’ at the end of last year.

I personally love how he referred to the death of an innocent student coupled with the infamous return of the Dark Lord as an ‘incident’. But then again, we are playing to the Ministry’s stupidity and pretending that Potter is a psychopath and Dumbledore is a fool.

i.e. You-Know-Who has not in fact come back and Cedric Diggory just up and died of his own will.

Father is rather contemptuous with the Ministry, though who can blame him for that?

In any case, he told me that Potter had, ‘sadly’, not been expelled from Hogwarts because of the interference of the Headmaster along with much discussion and the fact that the other members of the Wizengamot seemed to be against the idea of expelling him.

I almost made a terrible mistake. I almost let myself smile at hearing that, but thankfully caught myself in time. I managed to turn my sudden facial twitch into a ‘tut’ and disgust at Potter’s reinstatement at the school. Father agreed and told me not to fret. He said I need only keep playing my part and eventually things would go ‘our’ way.

I smirked but couldn’t help but wonder exactly what he thought ‘our’ way was.

I didn’t linger on it long, mind you, because he was called away again and I returned to my rooms. I lay on my bed for hours I think, without sleeping. I thought of Potter and having to face a full trial for something as simple as under-age magic. Hell, I’ve been doing under-age magic all summer! But I suppose Father gets around that with the Ministry… that and there are no Muggles anywhere near here to see the effects of my spells.

I don’t care to think of how it really works, as long as I don’t get kicked out of Hogwarts for it. I should, mind you, what with my use of the Unforgivable curses…

Come to think of it…. How DON’T they know???

……..

Maybe it has something to do with the Manor… Father mentions often that there are many very elaborate spells and wards surrounding the properties. Perhaps it’s even shielded from the Ministry… perhaps even from You-Know-Who.

I relaxed, thinking that my house was somehow safe and hidden from the whole world. I would inherit this place some day. It would be mine entirely, to do with as I please…

And I fell asleep to the image of bringing Potter home with me…

********

September 1

Today was exciting. I arrived at Platform nine and three-quarters early today. I figured it was the ‘prefect’ thing to do. I got a letter just before term from school with the news. I wasn’t wonderfully excited about it but Father was. He told me this was perfect for me. I could finally take my place in authority amidst the students, like a proper Malfoy. Come to think of it, if I HADN’T been made prefect, I may not have been able to attend school this year, the way he was going on about it.

Before I got onto the train, I saw Potter coming onto the platform with a massive shaggy black dog in tow. I stared at the creature, rather confused for a moment before Father pulled me aside and explained it to me. He said that the dog was actually Sirius Black in disguise. I gave him a look and he simply nodded to me. Black was with Potter and out in the open. That seemed incredibly stupid for a wanted man, but I suppose it was Potter’s style.

Always rush in without a backup plan and hope that things turn out well. Normally he’s got a hell of a lot of luck on his side, but I doubt that will last forever.

I got onto the train and made my way to the Prefects’ compartment. We had a meeting with the Head Boy and Head Girl during the first part of the train ride. I suppose it was to meet the other prefects as well as find out what the new passwords would be for the common rooms. There were other things too…. They told us of the rules and power associated to our position. We are supposed to keep order and set a proper example for the other students.

I could hardly stop myself from laughing.

The best part though, was finding out who the other prefects were. Pansy was for Slytherin as well, naturally. None of the other girls could possibly dream of being prefect. Then for Gryffindor it was the mudblood (naturally) and Weasley. Not Potter. Weasley.

I almost burst out laughing when they walked in. I honestly did not think, in a million years, that of all the people in the world, WEASLEY could beat out Potter for prefect. He cannot be THAT bad of a student, can he?? I mean Dumbledore LOVES him!

Perhaps he was trying to dissuade the idea that he favours Potter so much. I don’t think it really worked, mind you, I just think it makes him look like a bloody fool to have picked the Weasel over Saint Potter, but that’s just my opinion.

At least this way I have some power over Potter. Prefects have a lot of power in having to ‘maintain order’ and ‘enforce the rules’ in the school. I find that a rather pleasant and reassuring thought. I assume that the same thought might haunt Potter’s nightmares.

Oh well. That’s the price he’ll have to pay for infiltrating my mind and constantly consuming my thoughts.

The prat.

I went into his compartment later. I decided I needed to have a little visit with him. It happens almost every year I think… my visiting him in his compartment on the train. Considering that, I can’t possibly ruin tradition, now can I?

He was, as usual, quite displeased to see me. He was sitting with the mudblood, Weasel, Longbottom, the she-Weasel and this other… girl. I have no idea who she was but she was reading a magazine upside-down. It was mildly unnerving but I suppose that no much more than that can be expected of Potter’s taste in cohorts. I think it needless to remind you that he chose the Weasel over me, aeons ago.

I didn’t stay long. The blonde girl was causing me some discomfort so all I told Potter was that I would be dogging his footsteps this year. I wasn’t going to let him get away with anything like he usually does. I also thought that the clever use of words would catch his attention. Perhaps it will teach him to be more careful when walking around in public with wanted prisoners.

I left after that, with only the amusing image of Potter’s confused and slightly worried face in my mind. I have a lovely little collection of his expression in my head now. Whenever I get bored I find myself going through them and musing over the cause of the different emotional reactions.

Then, of course, I kick myself and remind myself that I can’t do that anymore. I can’t think about him, not freely nor otherwise. He cannot have the same hold over me that he has had. I can’t care much about what he does –unless I can use the opportunity to abuse my power as Prefect, of course.

By the time we got to Hogwarts and Dumbledore had had his speech, I realized something rather amazing. Very few people actually believed Potter’s story about the Dark Lord’s return. Even a number of his friends and house-mates were disbelieving! It was as though the population of the school was uneasily split down the middle on the subject of whether or not to believe Dumbledore and his star-pupil.

I almost laughed about it. I can’t really believe that. I mean I know the Daily Prophet has been having a field day with all the things that have been going on. They don’t miss a chance to ‘reassure’ the wizarding world that You-Know-Who has not returned and to tarnish Potter’s name. Dumbledore has even been removed from the Wizengamot and other such titles. It almost baffles me that people can be that fickle.

They LOVED Potter. One minute he’s their hero; he saved the world and stopped the Dark Lord in his tracks, again and again, bringing glory to his name and protecting the innocent where many other wizards with more power and experience have failed. The next minute he’s a bloody psychopath with a pathological need for attention so desperate that he’ll cook up any ‘cock-and-bull’ story that might get him the front page.

Honestly, I think it’s almost absurd how quickly some people’s loyalties change. No wonder it was so difficult to defeat the Dark Lord the last time around, what with people spontaneously deciding to believe he’s back or not. He must have had a very easy time with all that.

The bloody fools.

I mean, Potter maybe a lot of things, but he is not a liar. Even I know that. I can admit that and I know that there are few Slytherins –even general people who hate him –that can attest to his almost annoying constant need for honesty about these things.

Not that I’m going to admit that to him any time soon. As long as this goes on it serves my part to agree with the masses and pretend that You-Know-Who isn’t back and that Potter is just crazy. He doesn’t need to know I actually believe and support him.

Not that he’d ever believe it anyway. He’s stupid like that.

Anyway, the Ministry decided to assign the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher this year. They chose the perfect person to do it too. She’s short, squat and generally looks like a bright pink fairy. A massive fairy. Her voice is so high-pitched I’m surprised that anyone can actually understand her.

Her name is Professor Umbridge and she actually INTERRUPTED Dumbledore in the middle of his speech, to give one of her own! And he ALLOWED IT!

I was speechless for a moment or two. Until I listened to her speech. I think I might have been the only one to actually hear what she was saying.

No, that’s probably a lie. Granger listens to things like that too.

Damn.

Anyway, she went on and on for hours on end about garbage, treating the whole lot of us (teachers included) like four year olds. From what I gather, the gist of what she was saying was that the Ministry is poking its large and generally useless nose into the business of the school blindly to try and crack down on unwanted behaviour. I take this to mean that she’s here to keep an eye on Dumbledore and Potter, to make sure they don’t try to ‘brainwash’ us into believe that the Dark Lord has actually returned so that we might prepare and protect ourselves.

I personally think she’s full of shite but I won’t say that aloud.

I don’t swear. Remember that.

In any case, as long as this bloody woman doesn’t do anything to make MY life harder at school, she can do whatever the bloody hell she likes. As of now I’m not particularly worried because of Father’s connections to the Minister.

Potter, on the other hand, looked as though he’d just been smacked across the face when he saw her.

I took a mental photograph of that image too.

But I’m not going to look at it. I don’t do that anymore.

STOP DOING IT.

Don’t make me resort to the curses again!!

………………

Oh… god….. I’ve resorted to arguing with myself. Someone kill me now, before I sink much further.

This is all Potter’s fault!! I KNOW IT!

He does it on purpose! If it weren’t for him I wouldn’t be so bloody mental!! I would still be sane and I would have a proper girlfriend and I wouldn’t have to curse myself in order to concentrate on work!

He drives me MAD!

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A/N: So the start to this one is changing… Again, forgive me for the insertion of his own self-abuse with the curses, though I thought it was necessary for different reasons. Also I figure he is very contemptuous of Umbridge and fully aware of her stupidity. It seems logical that he would just use her to his own advantage, so I’m going with that ^_^ I’m going to add more parts into this book and hopefully they will all flow nicely so that it makes sense still! Reviews are love!!

*Hands out cookies to my wonderful reviewers*