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Slytherin Song: Part One by cedrixfan
Chapter 2 : Entry Two
 
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DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling writes rather well. Her story is hers, her own to sell; I've merely been placed under her spell. If this message's not clear, don't cry out and yell, for I'm not J.K. Rowling; I hope you could tell. 




: : E N T R Y  T W O : :


Draco Malfoy
October 4th, 1997


This has to be the dullest year in the history of all things Hogwarts! Every day passes the same way; I wake up, eat breakfast, go to class, eat lunch, go to more classes, eat dinner, do rounds, then go to bed. It’s too bloody repetitive.

The Dark Lord has not called for a gathering in ages! I find that rather peculiar…normally, there is at least one meeting every few weeks. Maybe he only needs a select few at the moment, like Snape or Pettigrew. They're never regular, the meetings, in the event that someone not affiliated with the Dark Lord came about any information of our whereabouts. To dampen the likelihood of that possibility even further, our meetings are never pre-arranged, instead always being spur-of-the-moment. Though I don’t see why he uses Pettigrew all that much; he’s a bloody coward. He doesn't deserve to live, much less be the Dark Lord's servant. 

My master hasn’t attacked anyone in a while, either. I would have thought that, by now, there would have been muggle killings right and left. I suppose my master has gone beyond killing the magic-deprived; he’s got more important things to worry about, after all, like Harry Potter, for instance. 

Pothead Potter.

Why does he actually think that "The Chosen One" is a threat? I could easily beat the scumbag in a duel any day of the week! Why should the Dark Lord be worried about Potter’s dead mother’s love, anyhow? She’s not alive to give her cursed child anything, much less love. God, I cringe at the word. There’s nothing in this world to love. Everything is going to the dogs soon, anyway, so why waste my time loving? I already don’t believe in falling in love. Maybe it’s hereditary; my parents never did, either...did they? 

Zabini and I have become somewhat closer friends over the last month. Though we haven't any classes together, he is a prefect, so we have plenty of chances to hang out. He’s the only Slytherin who isn’t either as brainless as a rock or as sickening as pouring Skelogro down your throat (believe me, that’s nasty stuff).

I recently discovered that Blaise is now in with the Dark Lord. He finally proved himself more than a little coward. It’s a bit odd conversing together about the Dark Lord’s plans, for I had never had anyone to talk to about that business before.

“Draco,” asked Blaise one day as we were tromping to the lake after my Herbology class (his Care of Magical Creatures), “Don’t you think the Dark Lord is fantastic?”

I practically snorted back, “That sounds pathetic, Blaise.”

He didn't seem to hear me.

“He’s got everything right. I mean, all that power…he’s got it all.”

“Yeah, he’s quite powerful, for sure,” I agreed, though I gave him the shifty eye. I sat down and relaxed against one of the many beech trees surrounding the lake. Zabini laid down on his back beside me. Peering down at him for a moment, I could have sworn he was in a daze. 

Gazing up at the sky, he asked finally, almost dreamily, “What I don’t understand is how people actually despise him.”

"There're alot of things you don't understand," I thought to myself smugly, "You're in for one hell of a lifetime." He didn't, couldn't understand...not yet. It took time and experience, painful experience to fully comprehend living the life of a death eater.

He won't last much longer, I'm sure.

Instead of voicing my thoughts aloud, I replied simply, “He’s evil, that’s why. Pure evil.”

Zabini shot up and looked as if he was about to hex me into oblivion. “How can you say th—”

“Hey, calm down,” I assured him wickedly, “Who ever said evil was a bad thing?” 

Blaise relaxed, sighing in relief. I was a bit shaken by his defensive reaction. It was quite unsettling, to be honest. He looked a bit insane.

I wonder if I look like that when I talk about my master... 

“Yeah, sorry. Got a bit carried away…”

Thinking back on our conversation that day, I started to wonder if what I said was right. Is evil a bad thing? Of course not. Yet, I get somewhat fearful when I hear the word. Is that normal? It’s only natural to be afraid of the Dark Lord, right? There is no way one could be under allegiance to someone without fearing that someone the slightest bit. Otherwise, one would just forget the allegiance bit and claim all the glory for him or herself.
 
Right?

A few days later, I heard Potter discussing the same thing, only his views were altered from mine (obviously). I had been joking with Crabbe and Goyle (it’s easy to do…all you do is make fun of how blundering they look, and they laugh right along with you). It was just after dinner when I was climbing the Grand Staircase after parting with dumb and dumber at the entrance to the dungeons. I wasn't used to climbing steps at home--my great-great-great grandfather invested in a levitating staircase when his stepdaughter's leg blew off in the front garden (long story). Therefore, I always had to reacquaint myself with shin splints until my calves got used to the strain. 

Bloody infuriating having to romp around the school for Head duty every night in addition to rushing to classes all day long. At least I would be in better shape soon--I'm afraid my abdominal pack is short a couple ripples. What to do with myself! I've been far too lax this summer, only jogging three miles a day instead of my usual six. Mum's been afraid my veins aren't visible enough in my arms. What a peculiar worry...  

Potter and Weasley were a several meters ahead of us, and I overheard snatches of their conversation:

“…wouldn’t care, Harry. He’s evil.”

“He’s too evil. He’s too evil to comprehend love, even.”

“…sorry lad as a kid, I take it?”

“He was…Dumbledore said….orphan…never right in the head…violent.”

“…same…disturbing…doesn’t care about…soulless git—”

That is when I decided to intervene.

“So, discussing a certain evil wizard, are we?”

They whipped around and glared at me. I was surprised that they hadn’t fallen down the stairs. Nevertheless, I felt my chest puff with pride--I had startled them out of their effing pants.

“Keep moving…not worth it.” I heard Potter mutter. They continued up the steps as if I hadn’t spoken at all. Once we all reached the landing, I called their attention once more.

“I believe I was speaking to you.” 

Weasley snapped back, “I believe we unconsciously ignored your snotty voice!”

“Well, you aren't now.”

Potter seethed, “What do you want, Malfoy?” I lazily walked up to him.

I scolded amusedly, “Don’t use that tone with me, Potter. I believe I have the power to take points now. Rather convenient, eh?”

“Just because you’re Headboy doesn’t mean you have to be unfair. It’s just like you to take advantage of it,” spat Weasley. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you, ferret boy?”

I felt a sudden pool of anger fill up and over in my body. How dare he bring that incident up again! 

My temper flared. “Five points from Gryffindor for being rude to the Headboy!” I added with a smirk, “Five points each.” Weasley made to retort, but Potter silenced him with a warning glance. The two stalked off angrily. Hah…I showed them! Boy, do I love this new thing called authority! 

I really sink to a childish level with them, don't I? Tis no matter--it is most definitely worth it to see the smiles whipped off their faces.

Unfortunately, I did not have the right to take points from another Head, for Granger really got me riled up that night. We had been studying individually for a while and had joined together a bit later to plan the next prefect meeting. After we organized everything, I noticed that the girl hadn’t left up to her dorm like she normally did right after planning. Hmm…odd. She just sat in her chair and gazed into the fire with an annoying, faraway look in her eyes. Why do girls always do that? They can make something incredibly and sickeningly dramatic simply by staring in that stupid entrancing way out in the distance.

The silence was maddening; why wouldn’t she say something?

After a while, I conjured in an attempt to spark conversation, “I don’t understand why all the teachers are scared and using all these bloody precautions.” She gave me a peculiar look. What is so puzzling about that, for heaven’s sake? Could I be any clearer? 

She voiced in her usual know-it-all fashion, “Well, obviously, with the pre-arranged attack last year,” she glared daggers that pointed dead at me--no, she wouldn't dare...

“Hogwarts needs to be prepared for more. Considering there are still death eaters attending the school, namely certain Slytherins—”

The nerve of her! Why would she ever even dare remind me of that?!

I was fuming. “Granger, take that back. Take it back now.” 

I wasn't amused by our confrontation this time. No...not at all.

“…the question shouldn’t be why would they be scared; it should be why wouldn’t they be scared.”

“I’m warning you…”

“And you’re asking me why? You’re the one who let the death eaters in through—”

“SHUT UP!!!!!” 

She did exactly as she was told. Maybe it was because of how frightening I looked; I’m proud to have that effect on her. I decided to give her a bit more of that side of me. I stomped up to the girl and stood close enough to her that our faces were mere inches apart.

“Don’t you ever speak of that again,” I hissed. I waited for her to tremble before stalking up to my dorm. I didn't look back...I was almost afraid to, though I'm not quite sure why that was.

How could she possibly think that I was okay with that popping up in conversation? She wasn’t there…maybe that’s why. She wasn’t there to witness my cowardice up in the Astronomy Tower. She wasn’t there to see me back away from the most important mission of my life. She didn't see Snape come and...and finish it.

She doesn’t know anything.

To make matters worse, she didn’t say one word to me for the next week. Normally, I would have rejoiced, but, given the fact that I shared a common room with her, it was a terrible inconvenience. Having questions not answered about whom would use the shower first in the morning or something of the sort was simply aggravating. I would ask her, and she would not answer. Naturally, I assumed that only meant that I was to receive first dibs, so I would wake up bright and early in the morning only to have to wait impatiently outside a locked and occupied bathroom door. And she sang in the shower...she sang well. Damn well. That made me want to kick and scream. Why the hell did she have to be so perfect at everything?

It's infuriating.

Enough about her. She does not deserve to be the topic I waste ink writing about in this good-for-nothing notebook. Not to boast, but this book does not deserve to have me writing in it; it is not worthy of my time spent writing nonsense. And here I am doing just that—writing nonsense. Not only am I writing nonsense, but I am also writing about writing nonsense Since when have I written nonsense? Since when have I written nonsense about writing nonsense? 

Since when have I written anything?

Here is just a bit more nonsense to add to this blasted entry—Pansy. Ever since I stopped coming to the Slytherin common room—I had literally no free time to do so—she would not leave me alone. Not one minute! All she did was strut around the place as if she owned me. How on Earth am I supposed to break her heart (I’ve been trying to for ages) if the other girls think I am off limits? I have had to insist for longer than I can count that we are not an item anymore, and we never will be again.

The only highlights of my days are Potions’ lessons. Since it is a N.E.W.T. level class, hardly anyone was accepted in. Unfortunately, this called for unwelcome measures—all houses were combined into one class. Potter, Granger, McMillan, Abbott, and other scum-of-the-earth-smart-alecks are taking it with me. I was not surprised that Weasley did not get accepted. He’s so dimwitted! His two friends, however, got in and can be extremely obnoxious, especially Granger, always hissing in Potty’s ear every other second to scold him for his infinite mistakes. I cannot believe he was accepted, not to mention he actually passed the class last year. I know that if Snape was still teaching, that scarhead would have been chucked out the very moment he set foot into the classroom.

However, much out of the ordinary occurs during the lessons. Though I do not appreciate the mudblood-lovers that make up the majority of the class, what happens there is hilarious. Since the course is terribly difficult, most of the potions we are assigned to brew in class are practically impossible to manage. Accidents are common on a normal day. Thankfully, only a few brewed results are actually recorded as grades. Slughorn’s teaching is, I hate to admit, fascinating. This factor added with the laughable accidents brings excitement to the Slytherin god (AKA: me).

There is also this feeling that keeps nagging at me from the back of my mind, some sort of anxious anticipation. I haven’t a clue as to what it is. What would I be anxious about? Other than being a bit apprehensive about what the Dark Lord might do to me if he found out I did not follow orders, nothing comes to mind. I have no idea whether or not my master knows of my failure. I just hope that Snape covered it up. After all, only Snape and Dumbledore saw that I hesitated. Dumbledore’s dead, so only Snape witnessed my mistake. All the other death eaters were too preoccupied to have noticed. As long as Snape is loyal to me—which I desperately hope he is—, I am relatively safe. Relatively.

I normally try not to think about it, what might happen to me. However, I have a constant reminder of my possible doom whenever I talk to Zabini.

“Hey, Draco, heard from our master yet?”

I groaned inwardly whenever he asked that question, which he did too often to count. Zabini, whom I always enjoyed to spend time with, was becoming annoyingly obsessive. All he wanted to talk about was the Dark Lord’s plans, and all I wanted to do was beat him with a club to shut him up. It was enough to have that mysterious nagging feeling in my mind. Why did Zabini have to be such a twit, now, of all times?

“No, I haven’t, Blaise. I would tell you if I had, alright?” I always answered. He would then look disappointed and stay silent for a while. Sometimes, I saw this somewhat frightening ignition of desire in his eyes when he talked about our master; it left me uneasy. I often wondered if I had the same fire in my gaze, if I was as committed to the Dark Lord as he was. The only explanation for why I would not be is because I had screwed up in a major way. Maybe my fear for what might happen got in the way of my commitment.

Yes, that must be the answer.
There was no way I could avoid the nagging feeling, though, for not only Blaise was a clear reminder of the war going on. Every morning, all the students were silent in the Great Hall when they awaited the Daily Prophet to bring them news. It was such a gloomy atmosphere. On the days that brought no news of recent deaths, it felt like a huge sigh of relief left the hall in unison. On the days that did bring ill news, however, the usual chatter was sad and anxious; the war had definitely impacted everyone in the magical world.

The Dark Lord’s attacks were rare, however. The only victims seemed to be people that got in his way. I began to realize with bitter satisfaction that my master was finally going to end Potter’s threat to him. I cannot believe he didn’t just get it over with back in first year with the Sorcerer’s Stone, or back when the Chamber was opened. And how, in the name of Merlin, did Potter get away during Triwizard year? If it hadn’t been for Dumbledore, he would have been finished when he was in the Ministry the year after, too. And now, Dumbledore was no longer a threat to the Dark Lord; he could finally finish what he had started.

Speaking of that scarhead, he has been acting rather peculiar lately. Whatever he has got up his sleeve, he seems to have involved Granger and Weasley, as well. I have seen them whispering to each other in the halls whenever deaths have occurred, and have even overheard Potter and Weasley discussing when Filch retires at night…which means they were planning to snoop around after curfew…therefore, they were up to something.

Another clue involved Granger’s workload. I observed that she always finished her homework days before the assignments were due, yet she always seemed to have piles of books to take notes from. I never got the chance to see what exactly she was reading each night, but I was determined to find out. Not that I care or anything—I’m just a curious individual. After all, I wasn’t sorted into Slytherin for nothing.

So, naturally, I decided to snoop around. One night, when Granger did not come back from dinner, I glanced over at her book stash on the long worktable we had summoned into the room a few weeks ago. There were so many…I just had to find out what they contained.

I stood from my lazy position on one of the coaches and made my way to the table. I sat down in Granger’s chair and began to skim through the volumes before me.

Several passages sparked my interest:

“Born to a magical mother and nonmagical father, Thomas Marvolo Riddle never knew his parents. He grew up in a grungy orphanage until he received his letter to Hogwarts…”

“…Helga Hufflepuff came back from the local village to find her home and her mother’s orphanage up in flames. Her parents had disappeared, as well. She was sent to live with her aunt in Norway, where she was taught in witchcraft by…was not welcome in Denmark, so she traveled to Germany where she formed the secret league of witches, Veneficusunum, but one betrayed the society and peeped to the King, Louis II, and…moved on to London and worked at The Leaky Cauldron…met Rowena Ravenclaw there and assisted her in teaching the local children magic in the pub’s cellar…Gryffindor stumbled upon them…brought his friend, Salazar Slytherin, into the picture…built a school for magic in Scotland…Hogwarts was born…Hufflepuff traveled to France and fell in love with a Frenchman named…”

Why was the mudblood researching all this? What on Earth did this have to do with anything? I could understand why she would be researching the Dark Lord’s past, but Hufflepuff’s? I could care less about that woman. Slytherin was by the far the greatest of the founders, after all.

Despite my confusion, I was intrigued, so I flipped to a page she had marked and read on:

“Soul-splicing: The vile act of separating one’s soul. It is a topic well hidden from society and frowned upon. Splitting one’s soul is a difficult process that has yet to be discovered. None have ever been recorded for committing such an act. Though it has yet to be done, universal law does not permit soul splicing, just as it is unlawful to remove one’s soul from their body.”

“Interesting, Granger, very interesting,” I muttered in fascination.

Unfortunately, I received a reply—Granger must have entered the room without my knowing.

She was shaking with rage. “Yes, it is interesting, Malfoy. But even more interesting to me is why you would have the nerve to so much as touch any of my belongings! You—”

She was ready to explode, so I held back my, “You see, these are from the library, so technically, they are not your belongs,” comment and quickly shut the book I had been reading.

I attempted to stay calm. I was lost for words, for the girl before me appeared as a fierce predator who had found its prey.

I stood from my seat and backed away from her. She followed, unfortunately, her fiery glare still on me.

Her temper was still rising. “Why were you reading my books, Malfoy? Searching through my stuff? Is it some sick game of yours that—”

“Hey,” I said in defense, “What’s wrong with being curious? I just wanted to know what you and your boyfriends have been up to.”

I expected for her to continue yelling at me, but instead, a flash of panic emanated from her gaze.

She asked somewhat shakily, “Wh-what did you read?”

“What…something to hide, Granger?”

She did not answer immediately, but she tried to avoid my question completely when she next spoke, “Just, just answer me. What did you read?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, don’t give me that. I can safely say that you were—”

“Alright!” I decided to give up—but I did not tell her the whole truth. “I remember reading something about some bloke, Tom Riddle, whoever he is…and Hufflepuff was in there somewhere, as well. Happy now?”

She did not even acknowledge that I had said anything before she stomped up to her dorm. Only seconds later, her books that I had scanned disappeared from the table; I assumed she had summoned them to her.

I glanced over at where she had left the room once more before resigning to go up to my dorm, also.

Stupid mudblood. The books are from the library, and, seeing as all students have access to library books, I technically had done nothing wrong. And what was all that about, anyway? Hufflepuff’s secret witch cult? Soul--splicing? Why on Earth would that stupid—well, overly intelligent, to be more exact—girl want to know about splitting souls?

“Maybe she wished to share souls with Weaselby,” I assured myself. It was rumored that they were having a fling. Maybe they had some crazy idea to join souls out of “love for the other”. I had read about a medieval couple like that…they both blew up into a pile of ashes when they tried to split their souls, though. Heck, if that happened to Granger, so be it. I wouldn’t have to put up with her anymore, at least.

Yes. It must be something like that.

She wasn’t thick enough to try something out like that, though. Why would she ever wish to split her soul? Not that I care, but it would be rather strange for her to do something of the sort. I do not know her well (thank Merlin), but I know she wouldn’t do something like that. She’s too much of a sickening, noble Gryffindor to even consider it.

However, if she was a Slytherin, I wouldn’t doubt her taking that action one bit. Though I would never resort to such a ridiculous option, I’m sure several of the others would jump at the idea. They would think it a grand idea to split their souls and exist in more than one place at once. It would bring them more power.

It sounds like something the Dark Lord would do.

I wonder…would the Dark Lord risk his life to coexist? He only believes in the weak and powerful. Splitting his soul would only increase his power and immortality. Perhaps, Potter and his friends considered this, as well.

That would explain why Granger was interested.

But why should they have been interested in the first place?

I smiled as that thought crossed my mind. I had been a successful snooper today.

Maybe things won’t be all that dull from now on.
-Draco Malfoy 
















AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, there you are! How was the second entry? I hope you enjoy this story so far, because I have most definitely enjoyed writing it. Please REVIEW with any comments, good and bad, relevant and irrelevant, pureblood or mudblood. I truly love feedback!


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