My right shoulder was badly bruised, and pain shot up through my entire arm when I made an attempt at bandaging it. Father had hit me – again – which was the cause for my shoulder being injured in the first place. It was another beating I had taken that I had done very little to deserve. It really hadn't hurt much at all, being completely honest…or maybe it did hurt…perhaps I'm building up a tolerance…
Well, to put things into perspective, I probably wouldn't have this tolerance if I were punished for the things I did do, opposed to all the things I didn't do. I'd swear it on the House of Slytherin, if Harry Potter himself lived with us in Malfoy Manor, even he wouldn't be beaten as much as I would.
As much as I do…excuse me.
And, as I said, I had done very little to deserve this such punishment; so I sat quite still in my room, trying not to disrupt the resting position of my tender shoulder. I was going to have to sit still for a long while if I wanted the pain to go away without the magic that I had no access to.
Slowly, my eyes began to wander. From the blank patch of black ceiling, they moved to the black walls – yes, my entire room is black, with the exception of the Malfoy family crest (which had been magically stenciled onto one wall) and the crest of Slytherin House (which had also been magically stenciled onto the wall to the right of the Malfoy crest). My room had been in this way since long before I was born, and it would remain this way until long since after I passed, I suppose. Even the curtains that framed the solitary window were black. Outside the window were the dull but professionally cared-for grounds of Malfoy Manor. They were colorless and drab; the green grass seemed out of place against the stony statues that lines the great drive, and the rough-looking walls of the Manor itself. Mother always wished she could plant a bed of flowers, or something of the like, but Father insists on keeping the house looking as gloomy and uninviting as possible.
I suppose those weren't his exact words, but you've got the idea…
On the inside, though, the castle itself was quite…cozy. The halls were open and echoic and even mysterious on some occasions. But the majority of the rooms, like the library for instance, tended to lean toward a warmer and more pleasant atmosphere. Alone, the library was a nice place to sit in with one's thoughts, but to each his own.
My shoulder was becoming stiff, but it meant the joint was healing. I sighed and reviewed the events that had led to the injury. Perhaps it was only in my mind where the world of Father's actions was unjust; it was something I would have to work on. Curbing my temper, that is.
I had been in the library, reading Quidditch Through the Ages when Father, Avery, and Nott had passed through the hallway and stopped in a moment. But when Father spotted me, he hurriedly directed them out to a different room.
Apparently, father didn't approve of my love for Quidditch, or flying in general, whenever his "business associates" were visiting.
Only part of me hates to say this, but Father is an enormous hypocrite occasionally. He was my hero, sad to say, for too many years…I suppose I picked up on some of his traits…again, sad to say. Of course, Father can't wait until my sixteenth birthday. No matter how much he and I have our disagreements, that day will be…extraordinary. Sixteen is when most people associated with Death Eaters by family become official Death Eaters themselves.
My initiation ceremony will be a great celebration, but I only know one other person in Hogwarts who will join me in my future career: Nott. He's in Slytherin as well, and though we never truly speak to each other, it's possible he knows Malfoy Manor almost as well as I do. His father is another of Father's…colleagues.
I knew Father had shuffled them into the drawing room – it was quite sacred to him. Almost like his study. Those two places were strictly forbidden to anyone in the house besides servants (on extremely important business) to enter, and whenever I'm summoned to one of them my pure, Malfoy blood turns to ice.
And the irony of it all was that at that moment, our new house elf appeared before me with a message: Father wanted me in the drawing room.
I sighed a huge, resounding sigh (something I tend to do) and walked down the hall to the hallowed room. Standing before the door, I drew in five deep breaths and slowly let each out; it was an effort to compose myself that I had been using since I was old enough to be punished. You can more than likely assume it's been a trick of my trade for quite a while. Slowly my hand reached toward the crystalline knob, and involuntarily, it turned.
Inside was a darkly lit room, filled with all sorts of odds and ends that called themselves knick-knacks. Father had picked most of it up in Knockturn Alley, or from friends, but some of it his father had actually made…such as the framed saying that hung over the fireplace. As if on command, my attention swiveled to the cased maxim that Father seemed to live by:
"Meaningless! Meaningless!" says the Teacher. "Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless!" -Ecclesiastes 1:2
The origin of the saying had always puzzled me, as Father isn't exactly the most religious man in the world, and this phrase of hope was from one of the most depressing books of the Bible itself…
* * *
Father was poised in one of the many high-backed chairs, his arms folded, his brow furrowed. He seemed cross, but Father always seemed cross. I stared at him, as he stared back, the moment was intense – but I couldn't look away, I couldn't break the stare. I was trained not too…
"Draco, hello, how have you been fairing?" Avery stepped in between the stare that had connected our eyes. I shook myself to conscious thought and looked up a Avery,
"Oh…yes. I've been fine, sir." I replied politely.
"Wonderful to hear," he smiled and resumed his seat next to Nott.
"Draco, Lucius tells me that Potter is still quite well in his health," Nott replied sternly. "Why exactly is this?"
Nott had never been a conversationalist when it came to his so-called 'inferiors.' And of course, I was an inferior. I knew what the correct answer was, though. Clearing my throat, I turned to face him full-on.
"Bartemis Crouch fought very bravely for the worthiest of causes. His death was most noble toward our fight to restore the Dark Lord his rightful power. While among us, his contributions were great and greatly appreciated. Sadly, the famous Harry Potter has one too many people on his side. I am reassured, though, that this time our efforts will not prove to be in vain."
It sounded so very rehearsed, but truly it came from of the top of my head. It was easy for me, simply because I had been put on the spot often by Death Eaters, and Father's friends had become accustomed to my monologues that seemed to express my undying loyalty to their 'worthy cause.'
"Very noble indeed," Nott replied, satisfied with my response. I looked at Father; he seemed pleased, and this pleased me. Perhaps my shoulder would get its proper chance to heal after all.
"Draco, I called you here because this idea constitutes you as a large part of the overall scheme to relieve Mr. Potter of his heavy burden of…life," Father slowly explained to me. He glanced over at Nott and Avery, who nodded slightly in unison. "When your assistance is needed, I shall summon you accordingly. You may leave now, just be aware that I may call you at any given moment."
"Yes, sir." I nodded respectfully.
"Go then," he replied. After a moment, I moved to leave. Walking out, I could hear the hushed voices of Nott exchanging…words…with Avery for some reason or another.
Try after try had failed in ridding the world of Potter's vile pestilence, but this time I knew we would succeed. This time, I was part of the plan. And I would receive my long-desired revenge…the revenge I had sought since the first day on the Hogwarts train those many years ago.
Previously I had mentioned to Father and his colleagues a few of Potter's weaknesses: his 'crush,' Ginny Weasley and his long-time friend, Hermione Granger, the filthy little Mudblood. But most importantly, the one thing that meant everything in the world to him. His goddamned 'Wheezy.' The Weasel seemed to be the most logical approach, but there was one weakness still, and only I knew of it: Sirius Black.
Careful investigation had led me to discover Sirius Black's communication with not only Potter, but Dumbledore as well. Fraternization with a convicted, escaped criminal should definitely be enough to get Dumbledore fired from his position as Headmaster of Hogwarts…perhaps even land him a nice, cozy cell in Azkaban.
I hadn't decided when I would divulge this bit of information to Father, but I knew I would let it all come out eventually. And in foresight, it seemed that 'eventually' would be sooner than I had originally expected.
Potter won at Quidditch, Potter won at Tournament, this time Potter would not win. I would win, and I would relish in every bit of it, from the moment that I handed Potter to Father to the moment the Death Eaters handed him to Lord Voldemort himself…