DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything that Rowling owns other than an imagination, though I don't own her imagination, of course...just mine. MINE, not hers. Not Hermione, but My-Own...Me (?).
Basically, I don't own anything Harry Potter related. There.
Enjoy, and please read on! It's a long journey, a long song, but I've been told it's well worth it! But don't take my word for it--see for yourself. ^_^
~~~Seeing as I haven't so much as glanced at my Part One in a year or two, I'm putting this story through a bit of editing. This chapter HAS BEED EDITED.~~~
: : E n t r y O n e : :
September 1st, 1997
I promised Mother and Father that I would record everything that happens to me this year. That way, I can read back and see if there is anything that might be of the Dark Lord’s interest. Father believes that if I present him useful information, he might forgive me for the Dumbledore incident last year—that is, if my master even knows the truth.
Speaking of which, I haven’t a clue as to why I didn’t just pluck up the courage and kill the old fool. Maybe I was too scared since I’ve never murdered a man in my whole life…or because it wouldn’t have been a fair battle with the Headmaster so weak and vulnerable. Ha—so much for being the high-and-mighty sorcerer. No matter the reason, the Dark Lord will be mightily disappointed if he finds out. Not disappointed—fuming. Disgusted. Murderous. It doesn’t take all that much to set him off, frankly. Thankfully, Professor Snape killed the former headmaster for me (though I could have done it, of course…if he had just been bloody patient!). There is still the slim possibility that the Dark Lord does not know I screwed myself over that night.
To tell you the truth, I think I’m a bit scared of my master—and you will not repeat that to anyone, you hear?—because, once I joined the death eaters, I’ve found that he doesn’t care about us in the slightest. Hell, he doesn’t care about anything, except gaining power, power, and (you guessed it) more power. If I had desired to take over the world, I would’ve gone about doing so the easy way by working my way up in the Ministry of Magic and becoming the Minister. The Dark Lord’s certainly manipulative enough to gain heights in record time. My idea’s such a smoother route compared with what he has done. Oh, well…maybe he wanted gaining power to be a challenge so he would be worthy of being considered the greatest sorcerer in the world. As far as I’m concerned, he’s already earned that title many times over; what he’s accomplished so far on his path to absolute power seems to make him worthy enough, if you ask me…which you should. You should always ask me—I would always have the best answers.
That’s just how Malfoys are. We can’t help being the best.
With these thoughts in mind, I boarded the Hogwarts Express this morning to find that Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson were the only 7th year Slytherins onboard. I suppose their parents were the only ones who allowed them back to school. Either that, or Blaise Zabini and his crew joined the Dark Lord and felt it more important to devote all their time to him instead of school. Scratch that: Blaise Zabini is too much of a sissy to join the Dark Lord. He would wet himself at the mere sight of him!
Once aboard the train, I found a compartment with Crabbe and Goyle. Unfortunately, Pansy found her way there, as well. I can’t stand her anymore! Oh, sure, she’s attractive, and I used to actually enjoy spending time with her, but that short period of idiocy has long since died away. I’m sick of her puppy dog eyes and nasal tone. She treats me like her pet! Just because we went to the Yule Ball together during the Triwizard Tournament and had a fling last year for about a week does not give her the right to claim me as her own. I own myself, thank you very much! No one is worthy enough to claim me. Not to brag or anything, but I’m, to be blatant, perfect. Oh, alright, so it might be a bit on the cocky side, but it’s an obvious fact that I have everything I could have wanted. I am filthy rich, superior to my fellow Slytherins, the girls adore me…what more can a guy like me ever want?
Parkinson stationed herself next to me and grabbed my hand.
She chirped in that annoying, squeaky voice of hers, “Oh, Draco, I’ve missed you so much! How was your summer?” I snatched my hand away from her and shoved it in my pocket out of her reach. She probably thought we were still together. Ugh! I can’t stand that girl! Thankfully, when I grabbed my hand back, she hushed up for most of the train ride.
When we were about halfway to Hogwarts, Blaise Zabini strutted inside the compartment. In the last few years, Blaise had become my best friend. Oh, no, I was still superior over him, no doubt about it. I have definitely been through much more than Zabini has, and that goes for the whole school population, as well. They don’t know what it’s like to bow before the Dark Lord. They don’t know what it’s like to suffer under the Cruciatus curse for making the slightest mistake.
They don’t know anything.
Blaise closed the compartment door.
“Blaise! Where have you been?” I was thankful for the boy’s company; Crabbe and Goyl only grunt, and, as I’ve made clear already, Parkinson’s not too pleasant to be around.
“Father held me up. I just Apparated here a moment ago.” He took a seat on the other side of me. For the remainder of the ride, Parkinson and an irritated Blaise discussed their summer activities. When we had almost arrived at Hogsmeade Station, the snotty girl pestered me about my holiday again.
“Well,” I sneered. “It’s none of your business what the Dark Lord has assigned for me to accomplish, now is it?” I wished I could chuck her out the window right there and then.
“C’mon, Draky,” she whined. “You probably had an exciting mission! Oh, do tell us about—“
“Shut it. We’re here,” Zabini hissed at her. I made a mental note to thank him for saving me from that cow later.
Once at school, we took a seat at our usual places in the Great Hall. I made a point not to sit anywhere near Panty Pansy.
“Welcome, students and staff!” announced Professor McGonagall, the new headmistress. “I hope you all had a rather enjoyable summer. Without further delay, let the sorting begin!”
The sorting hat was placed on the stool in the front of the hall. I decided to scribble down what the hat sang, just in case it gave any clues that might prove important for the Dark Lord to know about:
Hogwarts the great, Hogwarts the good,
Home to four houses of old,
Cannot be whole if all is not well,
And all is bitter and cold.
Hufflepuff may have supported equality.
Slytherin may have been unjust.
Ravenclaw may have excluded the daft,
And Gryffindor valued none without trust;
But despite their views, they united together,
Forming a bond thick and mean.
Until the day it all died away,
To the broken world I have seen.
Now, take this warning seriously,
As you have neglected to do,
And unite together through these times,
And form a bond strong and true.
I chuckled with the others at the Slytherin table. I knew that the message was true. If I were not in with the Dark Lord, the message would have been useful advice. The ridiculous hat was warning everyone to watch out for people like me, people who were classified as dangerous.
Oh, the joys of being a pureblood. Purely gratifying.
The Sorting ceremony began, and I noticed that, other than the two students placed in Slytherin, the majority of them were sorted into Gryffindor. I scowled in disappointment and glared daggers at the Gryffindor table (wishing the blades were tangible), catching Harry Potter’s eye. Oh, how I loathe the brute! Little Potty and his oh-so-mysterious scar…he makes me sick. He is the reason why the Dark Lord’s work has yet to be accomplished, all because of his filthy mudblood mother’s love. Hah! Love…I’ll never understand it. It seems too bothersome to deal with. Honestly, who wants to make an effort to get some girl, anyway, when all you have to do is sit back and relax, and they all swarm around you? In other words, I don’t have to seek the girl out; she always comes to me. They’re all skanks, women—even though some don’t flaunt it to the world. I suppose I am just too irresistibly attractive for them to hold back. Anyhow, girls are too complicated. It is utterly ridiculous to fall in love.
Once the sorting ended, a marvelous feast was placed before us. Though, I admit, the food is quite good, I merely picked at my plate; I never really had a large appetite to begin with. Crabbe and Goyle, on the other hand, stuffed their face with everything they could lay their pudgy hands on. I swear, those two must have troll blood in them; they are as dumb as dirt—and I’m sure they’d eat dirt if I flopped a mound on their plates! I cannot begin to comprehend how they managed to pass their classes this whole time. I wouldn’t be surprised if they forced firsties to do their homework for them all these years. Though there is no explanation for how they passed their exams…money, maybe…most definitely…though I didn’t need a galleon of the Malfoy fortune to pass my exams—I got through them on pure intellect.
Only the pure in blood are pure in intelligence…Granger must’ve been an accident, I suppose.
As I scanned the Gryffindor table, I spotted Potter again and his two worthless friends, Ron Weasley and that smart arse, Hermione Granger. God, I hate them! I hate them all! I wish they would all jump off a cliff and die! Or, better yet, jump off a cliff and not die, having to suffer helplessly until they frizzle up in the hot sun. Oh, and while they’re at it, they should bring Ginny Weasley along, also. Weaslette is no better than the lot of them. I will never forgive that dreadful blood traitor for bat-bogeying me two years ago!
I saw Weasley (the boy) point in my direction, and his friends turned around and looked at me. Granger caught my eye; despite how tremendously gorgeous she had matured to be over the summer—somehow, I hated her more because of it—I glared maliciously back at her, as usual. How dare she look at me! I was tempted to flash her the finger, but, seeing as I was Headboy, I felt the oh-so-friendly hand gesture would be pushing it a notch.
"Attention!" McGonagall chose that moment to stand up and speak. "I hope you enjoyed the feast! I have just a few words to say before I dismiss you for the night: As you all had better know by know, the Forbidden Forest is quite obviously forbidden. Also, all Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes items are strictly prohibited in the castle and grounds, as well as any other precarious joke items. If you have second thoughts about using any particular items in your possession, you had best dispose of them immediately…or you may inquire your caretaker, Mr. Filch, if you wish. On a darker note, due to threats from outside our walls, a new rule has been secured for your safety." She paused before continuing, "No student, under any circumstances, is permitted to wander anywhere in the castle and grounds without a minimum of one other student present in his or her company, with the exception of the common rooms, naturally." Groans were heard from throughout the hall. I cursed under my breath; Parkinson will definitely take advantage of the new rule.
"That is all for tonight. I need to see the Headboy and girl up front for a moment while you all are dismissed. Prefects, please escort the first years to their common rooms. Goodnight all!" she finished.
Against my will, —why would I actually want to be Headboy, anyway?— I scuffed my way over to the headmistress. She was gazing away from me, staring off at someone approaching her from the other side of the hall. I peered around, followed her eyes…
And, to my horror but not surprise, I saw it was Granger in her line of vision, meaning that the mudblood was the new Headgirl.
Dammit. Damn it all.
I swear the mudblood practically fainted in shock…though I didn’t blame her. Though I kept myself under relatively good control, I was positively fuming inside.
"Yes, I am, Granger." I decided to be somewhat civil, seeing as we were in the presence of our headmistress. Ooh, but once we weren’t…I’d taunt her to kingdom come. She scowled and gave McGonagall a "How could you do this to me?" look. I suppressed a snigger, in spite of myself. I realized the situation wasn’t all that bad, after all.
Boy, would this be fun…she’s stuck with me, and she’ll have to endure every single torment.
Cue the maniacal laughter.
"Congratulations, Ms. Granger and Mr. Malfoy!" the professor congratulated us, tight lipped. "As Heads of the student body, you shall be in charge of the prefects and assign their shifts. You will also be responsible for the arranging of all school social events, such as Hogsmeade visits and parties, with my approval." She noticed our murderous glances at one another and warned, peering at us disapprovingly over her glasses, "You two shall be sharing a common room this year. It is tradition that the Headboy and Headgirl do so, so I will here no complaints. Now, in order for everything to remain at ease, I suggest laying your differences aside, at least when you are performing your Head duties. Am I understood?"
We both nodded reluctantly.
McGonagall than escorted us to our common room, located behind a portrait of Newt Scammander on the eighth floor. I could have sworn the man’s finger was up his nose when we arrived, but, once we was aware of us, his finger was safe with the rest of his hand at his side.
"The current password is Canary Cremes," announced McGonagall sleepily. "You may change the password whenever you wish by sticking your tongue out at Mr. Scammander and requesting for the change. Have a good evening." And with that, the teacher left us to deal with each other alone. Her explanation of our duties seemed a bit trite to me, but really now, who cares how vague she was? It only meant that there may be less involved in being Headboy than I had anticipated…less of my precious time spent feeling miserable and disgusted by Granger.
Though the bullying will be awfully entertaining, I’m sure.
"Well, what should the password be? We don’t have all night, Mudbl—err, Granger," I spat irritably at her after standing outside the portrait for a few unnecessary moments. She glared at me for almost calling her a mudblood. Ha, as if I cared. If it weren’t for the whole civility business, I would have sent several other words her way—she should have considered herself lucky.
She yawned. "How about Sleeping Draught?"
I blinked at her. "Surely you, being the know-it-all that you are, can conjure up something better than that." I wondered what the password could be while ignoring a rude comment from Granger.
"I was joking. I’m tired, so I said Sleeping Draught. I—"
I interrupted her; something completely and utterly ridiculous came to mind.
But it was brilliant as ever…coming from me, that should be no surprise.
"What about…Malfoy and Granger are inseparable friends." She looked absolutely mortified: Mission accomplished.
"What?" I sneered. "Nobody will ever suspect it, will they?" Oh, she knew I was right—I could see it in the way her lips curled and tightened and could hear it in the way she had to control her shaky breathing. She was angry. I suppose she realized just how brilliant I am. Hah; I outsmarted the smartest.
"Y-you’re right. Let’s just get this over with." Granger recited the new password and, after taking his finger out of his nose, Scammander greeted us—I ignored him—and let his portrait swing open. I pushed past Granger and went through the portrait hole first. I knew I received a scowl for going in before her, but I didn’t care. In fact, I could have cared less what that wretched girl scowled about. What, did she expect me to be cordial?
Ha…dream on, mudblood.
Once inside, I took in my surroundings. An enormous red coach and two spacious, black armchairs stood in the middle of the room. In-between the three pieces of furniture sat a large coffee table. A roaring fire was lit up against the left wall, the mantle surrounding it carved into amazing architecture. A reasonably small table near the portrait hole held bowls of fruit and a small tea set. The Hogwarts Shield hung above the table. With Slytherin and Gryffindo house colors—silver and maroon were surprisely made for each other…only in the literal sense, of course—the checked carpeting stretched all through the room. Torches burned bright along the walls as they did in the corridors.
On the far wall, two spiral staircases led up to each dormitory. The carpeting changed to only show each head’s house colors once the carpeting reached the stairs. The Slytherin crest hung above my dorm while Gryffindor’s was above Granger’s.
"I could get used to this," I found myself saying. Granger nodded in agreement. She than summoned a bit of parchment and two quills from her dorm.
I gave her a questioning glance.
She said without looking at me, "Let’s have the prefect shifts in order tonight to them out of the way. Sound good?"
I spat, trying to make it hard for her, "And what if I said no?"
She gave me the most horrifying look she could muster, and, though I hate to admit it, it scared me to death. "You wouldn’t dare."
I simply shrugged and turned my gaze.
"I’d say we should have a prefect meeting once a month." I voiced, not wanting prefect meetings to occupy too much of my free time. I had so many better things to do with my precious time.
She seemed to like the idea.
"That’s probably best, I suppose. What day of each month should it be on? Monday? Friday? What about when in the month? The beginning? The end? Maybe the middle. How about that?"
Good Merlin! What’s with all the questions?
I scowled. "I could care less when, Granger. But I suppose if I had to care the least bit, I’d say it should be near the beginning on Fridays, and we can post in the common rooms when each meeting will be. That way, we don’t have to have a set date that might change. Gives it a bit of variety." She seemed surprised by my feedback. I smirked; she probably thought she would be doing all the work herself.
Tough luck, Granger scum.
"Well, then," she announced. "I guess we’ve handled that part."
"You mean I’ve handled that part."
"Don’t give me that, Malfoy. This is a team effort, whether we like it or not. Anyhow, it’s done...let’s sort out the rounds." She determinedly did not look at me at all except when she sent me her famous death glares while we organized the pairings for duties. That was only occasional, though. I did the exact opposite and glared at her every chance I had. What the hell—might as well get her worked up whenever possible, make her hate me more by hating her. In this situation, it was her being uncomfortable that made her angry.
"Quit staring at me."
I had been banking on that reaction.
"I wasn’t staring at you, I was glaring. Don’t flatter yourself, Granger."
She finally looked up from the parchment and hissed, "I would take no pleasure in you staring at me, anyhow."
"Good, because I wouldn’t take pleasure in staring at you, either."
She ignored me. "When will the first meeting be? I was thinking that it should be tomorrow. That way, we can get it over with before we’re piled with homework."
I told her, "Though I hate to admit it, I can’t disagree with you on that one."
"The meeting would have been tomorrow, anyhow, even if you had disagreed."
I smirked. "Thought so."
Though I found her insufferable most of the time, our arguments were rather interesting, entertaining as I had hoped. I suppose I’d rather share a common room with her than someone like Pansy; at least Granger is amusing and doesn’t treat me like a puppy.
Or try to grope me when she’s close enough. Eww…picturing Granger in Pansy’s shoes is terrifying.
"The meeting should be directly after dinner, so we can get them started on rounds right off the bat," I said.
She asked icily, "Do you even know what a bat is?"
I thought about it for a minute. "No. I don’t care to know, either, so don’t even begin to—"
"A bat is used in baseball." She interrupted.
"What the hell is that?"
She explained, "Mind your language, Malfoy. It’s a muggle sport that American and some Asian countries play."
"Well," I answered. "Why should it matter, anyway? It’s only a figure of speech."
"Well, baseball is like Quidditch to parts of the muggle world. So is football and rugby and handball and—"
"I don’t care, Granger!" I seethed.
She laughed bitterly. "Oh, how could I forget? You’re too jaded to open your mind to the muggle world, aren’t you?"
"Yes," I said in satisfaction. "In that, you are correct, mudblood."
"Now, now, bushy pest," I shushed her with the most annoyingly calm voice I could muster. "Remember: We must be civil with each other, or we’ll lose our Headship. And I’m sure that would be the end of your perfect world if that happened, eh?"
"You are so rude!" she snapped back, snatching her parchment from the table and stomping to her staircase. I watched her as she continued to stomp up to her dormitory and sniggered—I believe I had won that battle.
And I intended to win the war.
After yawning five times in a row, I decided that it was about time I turned in. I suddenly missed the Slytherin girls—they always gave me a goodnight head and back massage.
No chance of any of that tonight.
Once in my room, I grinned like a little boy on Christmas morning who had just torn open the wrapping of the latest broomstick model…which, of course, is completely out of character for me. If anyone else had been around, I wouldn’t have moved one muscle in my lips. It wasn’t fit for a Malfoy to show such elation.
My room was everything I could have dreamed of! I felt as if I had stepped into a mini Slytherin common room (minus the fireplace…with green fire, I might add). I am currently lying on my green and silver comforter atop a luxurious four-poster bed. All the books I enjoy are held in a small bookcase to the right of the bed—and yes, I do enjoy reading, so quit looking at me like that, you. On the left is a bedside table with the most Slytherin-like lamp I have ever set eyes on, with the snake and everything. The room even held a cleaning station for my broom! I was so amazed, I almost laughed (and that would have been absurd, so I refrained from doing so).
And this is where I currently am at this very moment as I write. I just checked back a moment ago to see if any suspicious information could be gathered from this entry, but there was nothing even close. God, I hope I get something eventually. It is not in my best wishes to be tortured by the Dark Lord any more than I already have been.
I hope tomorrow will bring a good start to the year. I doubt it, though; I bet the professors will just lecture about N.E.W.T.s all day…what a bore! I could probably gain a fare few N.E.W.T.s already, with the vast knowledge I have impressively attained in my lifetime. This school material is too simple! Only Granger’s marks exceed mine…more reason to hate that savage.
Yes, Granger was an accident. No normal mudblood—if that’s even possible—could be so effing brilliant at everything.
I cannot believe that I will have to be stuck with her for the rest of the year. What was McGonnahurl thinking, anyway? She knows that we have never been compatible, not in the least. Perhaps, she needed someone to have a closer eye on me after what I did last year…bah! Granger would never be able to pull information about the Dark Lord from me! Why would I ever reveal anything of the sort to the girl I despise?
I’d better call it a night. After all, I’ve got a day full of lectures and mudbloods to look forward to…
AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, how was the first chapter? I'm experimenting with this kind of story, and I'd appreciate any feedback! Please read, REVIEW, and read Chapter Two!
Write a Review Slytherin Song: Part One: Entry One