Anything that you see here belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringment is intended.
Look at them over there, sitting an eating as though they have no worries at all. And they probably don't. They don't have to live my life, they don't have to see what I see.
They don't have to know what I know.
No wonder the boy wonder can sit over there and stuff chicken, mashed potatos, and delectable sweets in his mouth with no worries of what tomorrow would bring. His little girlfriend, the always know-it-all Head Girl is just the same. She sits there while she eats up her dinner and studies, studies, studies, thinking that one day, she'll be able to put that knowledge to use. And the funniest of them all is that poor excuse for a pure-blood wizard, that weasle with red hair and hand-me-down robes. He aspires to play Quidditch when he leaves Hogwarts, and yet, there maybe no pitches to play on.
Those three don't know, the rest of the houses don't know, bloody hell, I'm sure that over three quarters of the teacher population doesn't know. I'm sure McGonagall knows though, she's very in with the Ministry of Magic. Dumbledore certainly knows; he is the Ministry of Magic, and then, there's always Professor Snape, my Head of House and soon to be "fellow brother".
Let's face it: Almost the entire magical world is clueless to Voldemorts soon to be second coming. Most believe that the last time boy wonder faced him, he was weakened so badly, there was no way for him to come back. They'll all be proven wrong though.
Dead wrong.
How do I know this, you ask?
I'm Draco Malfoy, my father is Lucius Malfoy, right-hand man to Voldemort, one of the most feared wizards in the magical realm. I'm expected to know these things.
Why?
Because, at the end of this year, my last year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I am to recieve the mark. That's right, I'll be a full-fledged Deatheater, like father, like son. I'll have a black mark which will be on my left forearm. It will burn when I am summoned for meetings, it will strike fear into all those who see it, it will make me invinsible to all those who oppose me.
And it will be the bane of my existance.
You look surprised. What, do you think I've aspired to be a servent to a mad man all my life? Far from it. I want nothing more than to see that bastard have one of the unforgivable curses placed on him, preferably by me.
Heh...you still look shocked. Allow me to explain. I'll begin at the beginning.
I was born on a cold Decembers night just after Christmas, on the 26th. To give you an idea of how much my dear father loved me, the first thing he said when he laid eyes on me was, "I hope this one will please Voldemort."
Yes, you heard right. Before me, there were three others, two boys and a girl. One of the boys was a Squib, so he was instantly done away with, the second boy failed a magic test given to him by one of Voldemorts Deatheaters, so he was killed just like that. The girl was unacceptable just because she was a girl. I don't have to tell you what happened to her.
So, when I came into this lovely world, I wasn't looked at as a child, a baby. I was looked at as a powerful tool in Voldemorts plan for his rise to power.
From the day I was born to my second birthday, I was allowed to be a child, a regular tot who would sit on the floor and play with stuffed animals and other random objects. I wish I could remember that time in my life, because from then on, my life was all about training, the darkarts, and keeping the Malfoy name in good standing.
You've probably already noticed by now, but in case you haven't, I hate my father.
I hate him.
He's never shown one ounce of love for me or for my mother. All he cares about is serving Voldemort, making sure that Voldemorts affairs are in order. All he cares about is power: getting it and using it. Sometimes, I have to really sit and think about why my mother, my beautiful, loving, understanding mother Narcissa stays with Lucius. But then again, when one is under the Imperious Curse by a wizard as powerful as Lucius, one has little to no choice.
In my mothers case, it's no choice.
She fough so hard to try and make my life as normal as possible, but she lost that battle, and she lost badly. Before I came to Hogwarts, I can't even begin to count the times that I saw a new bruise on her milky smooth face, or saw her wipe blood from a recent cut on her arm.
And Lucius wouldn't allow her wounds to be healed either. He made her walk around the mansion with blue and black marks all over, because he felt that it would teach her not to disobey him again.
And he did the exact same thing to me, although my beatings included a certain curse called Crutio.
But I'm getting off track.
When I turned about three years old, I was taken from my parents for two years and placed with one of Voldemorts top Deatheaters so that I could be trained in the darkways. You maybe asking yourself, "What can a three year old learn about the darkarts?"
A three yearold can speak, correct? I learned many spells in that two year period, including two of the unforgivables.
You can guess what those were.
From the time of the age of five until I was sent off to Hogwarts, I learned all the basic darkspells, all the unforgivables, all the ones that could make you turn into some kind of monsterious creature, all the ones that could cause you to become sick, helpful things like that.
But, great wizards, I was so happy to get to Hogwarts, to get away from my father. Oh yes, I know I was a prick in my early years here, but how was I to know that I was wrong in my actions? Hell, for a while, I actually thought that all parents raised their children like that.
It was at the end of the summer before the beginning of my 6th year that I found out that I was to recieve the darkmark at the end of my 7th year.
I told Lucius no, that I was NOT going to be inducted, that he could to hell.
And I paid dearly for my disobedience.
I almost didn't catch the train to school that year, but I did, even though I could barely walk. And I had my usual body gaurds, Crabbe and Goyle helping me along. They didn't have to ask me what happened, they already knew, and they have known since my 4th year.
Now, it's the end of my 7th year. Final Exams are over, the House Cup has been awarded to the Gryffindors, and to everyone else, all is well.
But I know it's coming, it's closer than even Dumbledore thinks. He doesn't know how soon this world will come crashing down. No, now, he doesn't know.
But he will.
Excuse me, I have an appointment with him that I must keep. Remember when I told you that I hated my father?
He's about to find out just how much.
Look at them over there, sitting an eating as though they have no worries at all. And they probably don't. They don't have to live my life, they don't have to see what I see.
They don't have to know what I know.
No wonder the boy wonder can sit over there and stuff chicken, mashed potatos, and delectable sweets in his mouth with no worries of what tomorrow would bring. His little girlfriend, the always know-it-all Head Girl is just the same. She sits there while she eats up her dinner and studies, studies, studies, thinking that one day, she'll be able to put that knowledge to use. And the funniest of them all is that poor excuse for a pure-blood wizard, that weasle with red hair and hand-me-down robes. He aspires to play Quidditch when he leaves Hogwarts, and yet, there maybe no pitches to play on.
Those three don't know, the rest of the houses don't know, bloody hell, I'm sure that over three quarters of the teacher population doesn't know. I'm sure McGonagall knows though, she's very in with the Ministry of Magic. Dumbledore certainly knows; he is the Ministry of Magic, and then, there's always Professor Snape, my Head of House and soon to be "fellow brother".
Let's face it: Almost the entire magical world is clueless to Voldemorts soon to be second coming. Most believe that the last time boy wonder faced him, he was weakened so badly, there was no way for him to come back. They'll all be proven wrong though.
Dead wrong.
How do I know this, you ask?
I'm Draco Malfoy, my father is Lucius Malfoy, right-hand man to Voldemort, one of the most feared wizards in the magical realm. I'm expected to know these things.
Why?
Because, at the end of this year, my last year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I am to recieve the mark. That's right, I'll be a full-fledged Deatheater, like father, like son. I'll have a black mark which will be on my left forearm. It will burn when I am summoned for meetings, it will strike fear into all those who see it, it will make me invinsible to all those who oppose me.
And it will be the bane of my existance.
You look surprised. What, do you think I've aspired to be a servent to a mad man all my life? Far from it. I want nothing more than to see that bastard have one of the unforgivable curses placed on him, preferably by me.
Heh...you still look shocked. Allow me to explain. I'll begin at the beginning.
I was born on a cold Decembers night just after Christmas, on the 26th. To give you an idea of how much my dear father loved me, the first thing he said when he laid eyes on me was, "I hope this one will please Voldemort."
Yes, you heard right. Before me, there were three others, two boys and a girl. One of the boys was a Squib, so he was instantly done away with, the second boy failed a magic test given to him by one of Voldemorts Deatheaters, so he was killed just like that. The girl was unacceptable just because she was a girl. I don't have to tell you what happened to her.
So, when I came into this lovely world, I wasn't looked at as a child, a baby. I was looked at as a powerful tool in Voldemorts plan for his rise to power.
From the day I was born to my second birthday, I was allowed to be a child, a regular tot who would sit on the floor and play with stuffed animals and other random objects. I wish I could remember that time in my life, because from then on, my life was all about training, the darkarts, and keeping the Malfoy name in good standing.
You've probably already noticed by now, but in case you haven't, I hate my father.
I hate him.
He's never shown one ounce of love for me or for my mother. All he cares about is serving Voldemort, making sure that Voldemorts affairs are in order. All he cares about is power: getting it and using it. Sometimes, I have to really sit and think about why my mother, my beautiful, loving, understanding mother Narcissa stays with Lucius. But then again, when one is under the Imperious Curse by a wizard as powerful as Lucius, one has little to no choice.
In my mothers case, it's no choice.
She fough so hard to try and make my life as normal as possible, but she lost that battle, and she lost badly. Before I came to Hogwarts, I can't even begin to count the times that I saw a new bruise on her milky smooth face, or saw her wipe blood from a recent cut on her arm.
And Lucius wouldn't allow her wounds to be healed either. He made her walk around the mansion with blue and black marks all over, because he felt that it would teach her not to disobey him again.
And he did the exact same thing to me, although my beatings included a certain curse called Crutio.
But I'm getting off track.
When I turned about three years old, I was taken from my parents for two years and placed with one of Voldemorts top Deatheaters so that I could be trained in the darkways. You maybe asking yourself, "What can a three year old learn about the darkarts?"
A three yearold can speak, correct? I learned many spells in that two year period, including two of the unforgivables.
You can guess what those were.
From the time of the age of five until I was sent off to Hogwarts, I learned all the basic darkspells, all the unforgivables, all the ones that could make you turn into some kind of monsterious creature, all the ones that could cause you to become sick, helpful things like that.
But, great wizards, I was so happy to get to Hogwarts, to get away from my father. Oh yes, I know I was a prick in my early years here, but how was I to know that I was wrong in my actions? Hell, for a while, I actually thought that all parents raised their children like that.
It was at the end of the summer before the beginning of my 6th year that I found out that I was to recieve the darkmark at the end of my 7th year.
I told Lucius no, that I was NOT going to be inducted, that he could to hell.
And I paid dearly for my disobedience.
I almost didn't catch the train to school that year, but I did, even though I could barely walk. And I had my usual body gaurds, Crabbe and Goyle helping me along. They didn't have to ask me what happened, they already knew, and they have known since my 4th year.
Now, it's the end of my 7th year. Final Exams are over, the House Cup has been awarded to the Gryffindors, and to everyone else, all is well.
But I know it's coming, it's closer than even Dumbledore thinks. He doesn't know how soon this world will come crashing down. No, now, he doesn't know.
But he will.
Excuse me, I have an appointment with him that I must keep. Remember when I told you that I hated my father?
He's about to find out just how much.