Chapter 1 : Chapter 1 - My Most Evil Mind
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Chapter 1 – My Most Evil Mind
Welcome, my apprentices, to my grand evil lair, where I assume I have graciously invited you to read this book (and if that is not the case, you’re more evil than I thought). Just to clarify, so as to avoid any confusion, this book is, under no circumstances, a diary. More of an… intellectual learning device, to assist those in their journey to become an evil genius. Anyway, this learning device will consist of both practical advice to achieve evil leadership, and an exclusive look into the inner workings of the best and most accomplished evil mind there is - mine.
Before this story commences, I think it would benefit everyone if they knew a little more about me, some background information. I’m 15 years old, and just about to start my 5th year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It’s no Pigfarts, but for now it will suffice. Also, I’m in Ravenclaw. I know, atrocious, isn’t it? Sorty must be going insane, because what normal talking old hat would even attempt to put Lysander Scamander, evil genius extraordinaire, into Ravenclaw? Slytherin, in my opinion, is far superior. Why be a simple nerd when one can be an evil nerd? Everyone’s going mad these days: especially Scorpius Malfoy.
It is most upsetting, you see, when someone doesn’t make the most of what they have. Like when someone only eats half of their chocolate brownie, and throws it away; they should, however, give it to someone in desperate need for it, such as hungry little Lysander at the Ravenclaw table. Or when someone ignores his amazing girlfriend for three whole weeks merely because she went to quidditch practise instead of prancing off to Hogsmeade with him. Or (and this one particularly annoys me) when someone’s family are death eaters, giving this someone an easy path into evil geniusness, but instead they decide to sit at the Slytherin table (but he really doesn’t deserve Slytherinship), talking to Albus freaking Potter about inter-house unity, happiness for all, or some other pointless shit involving peace and joy. And all this time poor Lysander is stuck with petty Ravenclaws, having to act all nice and friendly because it is incredibly difficult to just start evilly plotting in the middle of the great hall when your mum is a bloody war hero.
In case you couldn’t tell (and if you are that stupid, I sincerely doubt you should be reading this book, leave now, you are not welcome here), that someone I kept mentioning is Scorpius Malfoy, a person I hate with every bone in my body. Why? ‘Cause he’s going out with Rose Weasley. And guess what? I like her. But she picked Malfoy. If you had to choose between Mr. Perfect, ‘lets all be happy!’, and an evil psychopath, who would you choose? I know, I thought the psychopath too. She must have mental issues, and I have consequently come to the conclusion that she is unworthy of me. I still like her though.
Now I know you’re all thinking (I’m an accomplished legilimens, for your information) that I can’t be a true evil genius if I like someone. Evil geniuses aren’t supposed to like people; the whole point of Voldemort was that he couldn’t love. Well that just proves that I am far superior to everyone else, including (and especially) you.
Before you ask, I don’t give a Dobby’s sock about blood status. I would happily eat a muggleborn for breakfast, just as happily as I would eat a pureblood (but I’d have to add extra sugar). Doesn’t that just show what a lovely person I am? Besides, all that blood status rubbish was so last wizarding war: keep up with the times people, or I can guarantee you won’t succeed.
At school, I excel. I can ensure that by the end of the year I will have 11 outstanding O.W.L.s. All the teachers simply adore me, well, those with any sense do. McGonagall even made me a prefect this year: I see she has finally come to her senses, and finally realises what a wonderful and caring person I am. Either that or she realised that the only other choices were Jeremy Corner, who, for some absurd reason, seems to believe that he’s a mermaid, or Lorcan, my twin brother. Oddly, people think that I’m the strange one, even when Lorcan’s prattling on about barglies, shrackburts, and jiggery-horned whatsibacks. I think that when we were younger, mum dropped him on his head into a boiling vat of essence of insanity, then used him for quidditch practice. When he got too big to be the quaffle, he was a beaters bat. And my peers seem to think I have too vivid an imagination. I sometimes wonder where they got that idea from, to be honest.
Chocolate. That’s what I’m thinking about right now. How I really want a massive bar of Honeydukes chocolate. Because all evil geniuses require chocolate to properly function. So I decided to express my extreme love for chocolate by giving it its own sentence. How lucky.
My name is Lysander Scamander, and welcome to my most evil mind…
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