Disclaimer: God, do I have to do these all the time? I don't own Harry Potter or its related whatever. Really. I don't.

OK, not much more to say. This chapter is in Draco's PoV. If you have any questions, leave them in a review or email me. My email's in me profile.


My name is Draco Malfoy. I guess that that's the most important thing about my life: I am a Malfoy. That name is the most respected/feared name in the wizarding community. Except, of course, for my master, the Dark Lord. We do not utter his real name; he has forbade it and the Dark Lord always knows.

So there you are. I am one of the Dark Lord's many followers. My father, Lucius Malfoy, is also a Death Eater, and is the one who got me into the Dark Arts. He is the one who gave Ginny Weasley an enchanted diary, one that held the Dark Lord's memory in the form of a 16-year-old. She opened the Chamber of Secrets and almost gave her life for my master. She would have died, and my master would have become more than mere memory, had it not been for the Wonder Boy, Harry Potter.

Harry Potter is my nemesis, my archrival, my enemy. He has thwarted the Dark Lord so many times that he deserves to die. He survived the Dark Lord every year at Hogwarts, when he was born, and numerous times post-Hogwarts. He was part of the Golden Trio of Gryffindor back at school, his best friends being the Weasel and the Mudblood. Oh, I don't call them that anymore; I've matured enough to not name-call. I haven't run into any of them for years, and I prefer to keep it that way, although the Dark Lord is eager to kill them and therefore I must keep an eye out for them.

Unfortunately, not seeing them means not knowing how Ginny Weasley is. She was my girlfriend for my last year at Hogwarts, and was the only girl I actually dated and liked. (Pansy Parkinson didn't count; although beautiful, she was far too slutty for my tastes.)

Ginny, though… she was like a breath of fresh air, with her innocence and naivety, even though she was a Gryffindor. My father and friends strongly disapproved, but strangely enough they decided to let it go. It wasn't like my father at all; if he didn't like something, he'd get rid of it. Slowly. Painfully.

I look like my father, people tell me. And it's true, mostly: we have the same white blond hair and grey eyes. Ginny once called my eyes "stormy" grey. We're both built tall and strong, and we both have angular features on our faces. But there is where it ends. Our personalities differ greatly. He loves the Dark Arts like I should, but while I find the Dark Arts fascinating, killing people isn't really my thing. I joined the Death Eaters at my father's undeniable command, and now I must be loyal to my master for ever and eternity.

I wonder if I must worship him in Hell.

Don't think I'm a softy, though, just because I don't enjoy killing people; I still do it without question or regret. I torture Muggles and Mudbloods just like the others. I've adapted to my new life of five years past.

Five years since I last saw her. It's been five years of hell.