So fucking noble, aren't you Potter?
So fucking self-sacrificing.
What the hell possessed you to do it?
I knew about that time in second year when you took the Polyjuice Potion and became…was it Crabbe or Goyle? The two usually blend in my mind. But what the hell possessed you to do it a second time?
Over the holidays, too. You just took it and became me just before the train left, while I was getting knocked out by the Muggle-lovin' fool Dumbledore. To spy on my parents, obviously. Or maybe you just got too pissed off at those Muggles you live with so you needed a real wizard family to hang around in the holidays. I heard you even played my part perfectly, going so far as to put the full Body-Bind on that idiot Longbottom. Of course you slipped a note in his pocket to say sorry, yadda yadda.
It's kind of depressing that no one even thought it wasn't me, that it was you. I guess that was how Moody felt.
Yeah, bet you didn't know that, huh?
Moody was the one to raid our house a couple of times. I must've been…what, only five or so, but he acted different. Much more business, no sense of humour whatsoever. God, I thought he was getting senile in his old age when he actually cracked a funny in DADA that one time. No other excuse except the Potion for that.
But I bet it was even more depressing for you, to get on that train and realise no one was looking for you, no one missed you. Not even the Mudblood or the Weasel. Too busy smooching, I s'pose.
Then the triumphant return of the youngest Malfoy horror to the grand castle.
Could you tell I was sarcastic?
It's not really all that surprising you actually stayed undercover for almost the entirety of the holidays. Father has a lot of spell-checkers, but with Dumbledore's magic and Snape's own potion, they didn't stand much of a chance against Boy Wonder. And any change in my personality?
Father is home maybe an hour a day, and that's spent sleeping. Mother is home all day primping. Literally. She doesn't come out of her room until five minutes before we go somewhere, then she comes out in a literal cloud of blush and other girl products.
Five weeks, you lasted. Five fucking weeks.
Good for you. I mean it.
It takes ten days for me to go nuts and start Transfiguring my cushions into chickens so I could pluck out their feathers. You should try it. It's actually pretty good for stress, and getting rid of all those naughty violent tendencies no one thinks the Boy-That-Lived has.
But you do have them. You wouldn't be human if you didn't.
Now, where was I, you stupid fool?
Ah yes, the fifth week under the influence of the potion.
Lucius calls you in for a father-son chat, I bet. You go, minus one, not knowing what to do or say or act. You're as polite as you usually are at school, minus two. You look at him directly, minus three. I'll bet you don't bow out, either. Minus four.
Geez, I didn't know you could get this high with my father before being transfigured into a Hippogriff or some great ugly brute like that.
Then, obviously, something struck Father and he locked you in his room for two days. You've taken over that stupid Muggle-group's motto, what is it, the Boy Brigade or something? Be prepared. I'll bet you've got a flask of potion in your pocket, but you don't have enough and eventually you run out. Become Harry again.
Meanwhile at the stupid school I'm locked up in the same way screaming about how my father will make their deaths painful and pointless da da da.
Then Father comes back, realises you aren't heir of all Malfoy everything and he starts the Cruitacius curse.
Wonder if you got to my record of twenty-three minutes without screaming…nah, you wouldn't have made it.
And now you lie here, physically exhausted. My father's been carted off to Azkaban; not really sad to see him go. Dumbledore took me out of that place as soon as you arrived, and now we're locked in the infirmary together.
I'd bet a thousand Galleons the first words out of your mouth will be 'What are you doing here?'
Yep, your eyes are opening.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
Close.