Chapter 3: Bloodthirst

I suppose that greed propels everyone. Greed is the concept that holds society together. We all want something, why not just have it all? Even I (of course I), am run on greed. Some are just more power hungry than others.

" Watch your time boy. Soon enough we will get back what is ours, you and I! See, your father, mother; all of them! They don't even know what you and I know. Together we will win It back. You will just need to help me."

That's what you think.

This stigma on my arm symbolizes a change in me. I now bear the mark of the betrayer. The bittersweet pain is carved into my flesh for eternity. I am the talebearer.

What the dark Lord desires is the easy part. He needs Potter. Potter shall be the key to immortal life. He can bridge the gap between the two worlds. I suppose I shall follow the Lord; after all I must. I'll be travelling through hell, and I will need his guidance.

If there was ever a hope, that you could achieve something that you desired greatly, even with such risks as mortal death, would you pursue it? There is something that is wanted more than life itself inside me, and a glimmer of hope that I will once again possess such greatness as my family had so long ago. It isn't about me anymore! It is about honor; pride! He took that away. And I shall get it back, no matter what the cost.

[pause.]

Potter's on my mind again. Why him? I feel drawn to him, like some magnetic pull, and yet I despise him so. I feel I am losing my grip. I didn't even insult him today. Through potions, all I did was stare. It was all unconscious, though. I would never consciously stare at him. Would I?

He noticed, too. That's what brought me out of the trace-like state I was in. I turned away silently, not knowing how to respond to his silent stare. How dreadfully embarrassing. If I keep this up, he will think I am enamored. If only Father could see me now. He would tell me off.

I almost forget how I should act around him. I need to get a grip. After all, we are enemies. He hates me, and would never lose his senses like I just did. He doesn't care at all of me. Why would he?

Then again, he did stare back.

Oh, how I hate him! I hate this lost feeling; this bewildered sense. It won't last long, I hope. It is just nervousness. About the plan, of course. Because I don't care at all of him.

But what makes him change in me. Something inside me is unraveling. He is no longer that "specky four eyes" he once was. He is something else now. Something I cannot quite grasp. And yet, something significant, like a painting that is wretched and yet secretly beautiful. You would never want it for yourself, yet burning it would seem almost impious. It is a secret desire that disgusts the senses.

I remember when I was younger, back at the Manor; I used to play in the gardens. My favourite was the rose garden. The high walls seemed to protect from the elements. I felt made of the sun. My hands were always full of roses. One bush was incredibly ugly. It's gnarled, knotted trunk and deformed roses made the other bushes stand out brilliantly. It seemed withered and wrinkled with age. I hated it. I refused to look at it; it was almost offensive. When the gardener dug it up, and replaced it with another fresh, beautiful ordinary rosebush, I cried. Why does that remind me of now?

Perhaps I really... No, that's not it. Definitely not.

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On the 28th of this month, February, before the leap, the door of time shall be opened. From there we shall begin our journey into a shadowy hell. If I have it my way, then Potter will survive that leap. After all, even he has significance. While the Dark Lord would destroy such an angel, I would not have it. I have one more use for him.

But now is the hard part. Protecting that angel from his supposed fate. Voldemort plans to trap him. I am to lead Potter from the safety of Hogwarts, into an unsheltered part of the forest. Potter would be killed the instant he set foot in that clearing. The only way for the door to be opened, would be for blood to be spilt. Another need be in Potter's place. And I have a plan.

Dear Father,

I need your help with the plan. Just bring what I requested to Virgil Point. It will help me in foiling the Lord's trap. Don't let Mummy know what you are bringing me, you know how she gets. I send my regards.

Draco

Father will help me. After all, all we have is family. We must rely on only each other. Only Father understands me now. Mother of course is doting as ever, but she doesn't seem to comprehend much anymore. He will bring what is needed. After all, what is a simple mortal life? Father taught me that. Only one more death, then Father and my hands will be washed clean of the blood.

All over Hogwarts, there is an unusual buzz of anticipation. Slytherins are becoming more and more brash, I have noticed. I can only think of how traitorous I shall become. 'Tis quite funny how cut and dry we truly are. There are no mediums here. I am the only center.

All I hear is about how I will finally triumph and take my place as heir of Slytherin. If only they knew what that means. Ignorance is really quite a fuck-trip, isn't it? We are all sitting pretty, enjoying ourselves while someone screws us over.

Voldemort has set hints everywhere. It isn't too hard to see what he has planned. All of the young death-eaters-to-be are casually remarking to themselves about the brilliant secret of Voldemort, in earshot of our lovely protagonist. Really, I am amazed Potter isn't smarter than that. Then again, Crabbe and Goyle ARE stupid enough to tell the enemy the plan. Potter has other ways of obtaining information, as well. I bet the teachers are buzzing about it. Potter always seems to know what the teachers are doing. Teacher's pet, I'd say.

So, naturally, Potter knows Voldemort will be waiting for him, and he is too stupid to realize it's a trap. Potter will most likely march into battle, sword held high. I have to keep an eye on him. That won't be too hard, considering my staring problem.

All we have to do now is wait. The days are slowly ticking by. Voldemort waits for the day when he will taste Potter's blood. I wait for the day when I will taste his. Like I said before, greed runs everything.