My life has become hell. It's been this way for almost as long as I can remember, but I have absolutely hit my breaking point. My lunatic of a father has asked, nay, demanded that I join his precious Dark Lord's Death Eaters to save his own failure of an arse; he chose to sacrifice my life over his own. I fucking hate him, and yes, I want revenge. Not just the typical pathetic I-want-him-to-feel-what-I-feel shit, I want the bastard fucking dead, and I will go to any means to see it happen, even if it means asking the goddamn Golden fucking Trio to help me - and if they refuse, I'll just obliviate their sorry arses and do it my own damn self.
Weasley is on the Quiddich pitch, Granger is in the library, and for some reason completely unknown to me, Potter is late for Quiddich practice.
Take a deep breath, I tell myself, You can do this.
"Potter-" I began.
"What the hell do you want, Malfoy?" he sneered.
I took a very deep breath before continuing. "I need your help."
"That's funny, ferret. I thought I heard you say that you need my help. Hilarious. I'm late for Quiddich practice thanks to you, an-"
"Potter, I don't give two flying shits and a rat's arse whether or not you're late for the rest of the damn season; I want you to listen to me."
"Then what-"
"I need you to help me kill my father."
I don't own Harry Potter and (unfortunately) I don't own Draco Malfoy. I'm not making any profit on this.
- This revenge plot was inspired by Edgar Allen Poe's short story, The Cask of Amontillado. Warning - it will get dark; evil, perhaps.