+
+ Infest: A Harry Potter Song Fic by Canarde +
+
+ Chapter Nine: Never Enough +
+
"Life's been sucked out of me,
And this routine's killing me.
I did it to myself, I said it would not be --
Somebody put me out of my misery.
Expression, stimulation, hallow sense of myself;
I did it to myself again.
Somebody put me in my place.
Never enough, never enough --
Do I deserve what I got?
Now everything's ok,
There's nothing wrong with me.
This seems unnatural to me,
I'd say in every way.
Somebody kick me in my face --
Now something's wrong with me:
I'm bleeding profusely and
Now this seems natural to me.
If I fuck up everyday,
Somebody put me in my place
Never enough, never enough --
Do I deserve what I got?
I feel as if I'm running back to where I started;
You ask what's wrong with me,
And I say nothing.
Is everything ok? Is something with me
Pushing and pulling, feelings eternal.
My heart is yours; I feel as if I'm running --
Life will knock me down."
+
24 February 1995
Why, they've been asking, why would a pretty, popular senior be dating such a shrew? Why would such a comely blond be wasting time with someone whose face is smashed to the point of resembling a small dog?
Why, they've been asking, why would the soul heir of such a grand fortune be willing to be seen with a near-mudblood like that?
Why, they've been asking, why would Draco Malfoy be courting Pansy Parkinson? What could he possibly be needing -- wanting -- from her? What is he getting in return?
Why, I've been asking, would the entire student body of Hogwarts be so quick to gossip, so envious of Parkinson, so eager to smear the Malfoy name into the grime, and still be so willing to grovel in cowardice when I directly and boldly broach the subject?
Apparently they believe what they shouldn't; apparently they believe that I actually enjoy her company, that I actually want to date her. Apparently, the student population of Hogwarts believes that I enjoy the presence of her kind.
Every one of their beliefs on subject, of course, is impossible. Not only do I loathe Parkinson, I loathe her entire gender. I do, however, adore her family, which is (despite all rumor) pureblood from the very powerful dark wizard Jeremiah Parkinson in the days of Salazar Slytherin to the newest infantile Thomasine Parkinson born barely a week ago to Pansy's very lucky cousin, Jeanne, who currently lives in Dublin with her husband Rudy. Her mother is a darling woman who would very nearly sell her soul for my wellbeing, which cannot be said for her own daughter.
In the Parkinson family, Pansy is looked upon as something of a black sheep -- what with her great interest in the Dark Arts and inspiration to one day join the Dark Lord. I suppose eventually she'll look to me for a good word with the Dark Lord, which I would never give anyone, as it would require me to actually converse with him, let alone Pansy, even if it would ensure her a tortured life and early death.
I refuse to be responsible for anyone's death, even someone who truly deserves it.
And apart from the Parkinson family, I adore her former sweethearts. Most of them were only in the relationship for the sex, which was hardly worth a full Galleon, though she was willing to engage at the whim of the fellow she was presently dating.
Personally I would not be able to agree with this, but only because my expertise in sexing women begins and ends with Pansy. I do know, however, that I definitely prefer screwing around with guys -- girls need to be reassured that the sex means something beyond physical gratification, and naturally that implies that they want us to lie to them. Much more realistic, the boys I've slept with all admit without shame or regret that the sex was merely sex, and nothing more was to be expected from the relationship.
One exception to this theory is Ron Weasley, but I believe that that can easily be explained by his childhood in the shadows and lack of monetary wealth.
But Parkinson, being a girl, is obsessed with emotions and feelings, and she has a constant need to prove that she isn't just seeing me for the things I buy her. I doubt she would believe me if I told her I didn't mind that her reason for dating me was exactly that, but I suppose it doesn't matter what her reasons are -- so long as she doesn't attempt to prove her attachment to me by putting it into clumsy words when we could be having a snog in the Astronomy tower or engaging in socially corrupt activities between her silken sheets.
The female need for reassurance is at the top of my list of reasons for loathing them; but closely following is the extraordinary sense of denial girls possess. No girl I have ever met has ever been entirely honest with me. They seem to feel that lying is a secret tool no man could ever hope to master, when, in fact, by omitting certain truths most men are more effective in their dishonesty. And instead of simply admitting their faults, they expect us to believe that they are entirely accepting towards themselves and all of their actions, and to lie with them until they've become perfect entities, and to never once question their lies even though, more often than not, they are screaming within to be questioned.
Because even though girls are immoral, they tend to have fairly accurate consciences.
Women are obsessive and compulsive. They must be right at all times, and they must be in control of every situation. In all my life I have not met one woman who has been indifferent to the choices made regarding their lives. Control freaks, every last one of them, which explains why Muggle women constantly complain that their husbands "hog" the remote control for the television set.
If they asked, I'm sure their husbands would hand them the remote without argument. This brings me to my next problem with women; they always must be pampered. They must be the top priority in every situation. The term "Drama Queen" is feminine because men are willing to accept the fact that they can't be important to everyone at every moment of every day. In addition to wanting to be important to everyone else, they want men to be very much less important than they.
Sex, to them, is solely about their need to feel desired and wanted and beautiful; marriage is about their dignity in bearing children; art is an expression of the female grace; and music exists for the likes of the female ear. Men are not important unless they are ensuring the sex, dignified marriage, beautiful portrait, pleasing melodies of women in the world today.
But I am getting way too far off of my subject.
Pansy Parkinson has no idea why I am dating her. In her mind, I enjoy listening to her complain about her lessons, professors, and roommates; I am the perfect, heterosexual boyfriend who would do anything for her, and I am already planning our wedding, even though I am well aware that our relationship will not live to see the end of the term.
And in fact, if ever she found the reason for my dating her, I doubt she would be able to believe it.
I am so utterly drained by dating her that I have been forced to write all of this down and hide it thoroughly at the bottom of my trunk, and I probably won't remember that I've written it until I repack my trunk for the autumn term six months from now.
There have been rumors (that the rumors have been every bit the truth is entirely irrelevant) that I have been cavorting with members of my own (sane) male gender in a fashion unsuiting to the ideals my father has set for me. I would not be concerned but for the fact that it would break my mother's heart to hear that I liked boys, and I love my mother too, too much to allow that to happen. If my father found out, my mother would also, and I simply cannot risk that in my life.
So I must continue this charade with Pansy (who is, I believe, growing to suspect my devotion to her; she constantly, now, asks me what's wrong, if everything is okay, if something is bothering me. She assumes it's her, and she is only looking for her flaw so she might be able to fix it. If I told her I didn't like her because she was lacking a penis I think she might not entirely believe me, or if she did she would certainly not like it, and my adoring fans in the Parkinson household would suddenly not adore me quite as much) until I can dissuade her from my affections in a way which would not jeopardize my reputation.
After all, with a last name like Malfoy there is no possibility that it was another with the same name; everything I do wrong will haunt me -- especially with a father like mine, who would condemn me if ever I let slip that my fantasies are not of a "nice girl like Pansy," but instead of the world's golden boy and his shining emerald eyes, a "definite threat to everything the Dark Lord has ever worked for" -- no matter that my intentions may be.
+
Thank you, Raven; though you exemplify every negative aspect of the female gender, you (at very least attempt to) accept the fact that I, too, am not perfect, and that is why I love you, even when your actions betray your double X chromosome, even when you kick me offline to tell me that your newest infatuation has a girlfriend. I wish I could have been more sympathetic to a situation I have been in entirely too many times.
+
All characters used in this piece of fiction are property of J.K. Rowling and copyright Warner Brothers.
+
Song lyrics are property of Papa Roach and copyright Viva La Cucaracha Music.
+
Chapter Ten coming soon to a fan fiction archive near you.