Confessions of a Villain

Chapter Seven

Everyday Is A Winding Road

I've been living in a sea of anarchy
I've been living on coffee and nicotine
I've been wondering if all the thing I've seen
Were ever real, were ever really happening Sheryl Crow

Darkness and depression filled me with cynical notes of the world around me. I hated people. Most individuals I could stand to some extent, but people…no, never large groups of people. Masses of personalities clashed and created havoc, panic, and stupidity in large amounts.

For the greater part if you get a person to talk to you in seclusion, they will be polite and even pleasant. Crowds though, they are rude to a disgusting extreme and pretend that it's okay because they were just "following the crowd." So many things are wrong with that statement anyway. Who follows the crowd? Well, a follower would be the logical answer, but a follower is boring and predictable. Easily manipulated and even easier to control. I have no respect for those who live their lives through the dictation of others. It completely defeats the purpose of having a personality.

For these reasons, and a number of others, I never became a death eater. I am not a follower; I refuse to be controlled by some muggle born muggle hater. Damn walking contradiction…

I can remember the day that he came back. It affected Virginia in ways that it never should have. She shouldn't be connected to him; she had deserved her right to be free. She had earned it.

She was the first to know. She felt it, though she would never tell me what it felt like. I was with her, I saw her face lose all of it's coloring, saw her eyes widen in horror, and saw her body sink to the floor when she passed out from the energy that he stole from her.

I hated him because I knew that he could control her. He wasn't Tom, he was far more powerful. He was her blood; simple spells that my father knew by the dozen could tie her to him in ways that she could never escape.

It's funny really, how fear can so quickly turn into anger and hate. I was afraid for her when I found out exactly what he could do to her. That fear turned into hate at myself that there was nothing that I could do to protect her. Anger at her for being a follower, even if by extreme reluctance. I hated Velena and Molly for being of the Riddle descent. I was angry at everything because I had no control. Lack of control equals chaos. Chaos is unacceptable, it is a weakness.

Even having these thoughts turned to more anger because they weren't "normal" reactions. My upbringing caused me to despise and squash anything that could result in any form of, or even apparent weakness. I was a Malfoy, I had to control all around me or there would be hell to pay. And yet, look at me, trapped in some twisted funhouse maze with my childhood nemesis with no foreseen escape in the immediate future.

"Malfoy," came the irritated voice from my right, "what the hell are you thinking about? You keep making these funny 'angry' faces."

I snapped my eyes and my best glare towards Potter. "I was thinking about ways in which I could kill you and escape Azkaban."

He nodded slowly before hopping up from the floor and brushing the dust and dirt off of himself, "well could you mull over that while walking? We're kind of wasting time here."

"Walk where? Have you forgotten that this entire bloody place is nothing more than a circle?" Short-term memory that one…

He bit his lip for a moment and looked at his surroundings. "It's better to walk in a circle than to just be sitting ducks. We should keep moving, we can look for a door or passageway that can get us out of the circle feature."

Now I was even angrier, since when did Potter have good ideas? This was some sort of crime against humanity. Potter equals stupidity and self-righteousness, not logical and somewhat clever. I stood up with all the haughty grace that I could muster and contemplated briefly if hell had just frozen over.

He took the lead and I quickly walked faster to get ahead of him. I refused to follow Potter anywhere; Lord knows that he has enough groupies as it is.

"So," he continued sounding pleased with himself for finally taking charge. "We met at a split of two hallways…but why haven't we come to that split again?"

Surprise overtook me and I blurted, "I'd completely forgotten about that split," before thinking up a better comment.

"Me too," he admitted, "until just now that is."

After about another five minutes of walking and pondering the ultimate weirdness of it all the split appeared in front of us once more. We exchanged looks of equal bewilderment and apprehension.

"No way," Potter breathed. "This is just keeps moving up on my list of most creepy things that have ever happened to me."

"Really," I said in a mocking tone, "and what's number one on that list?"

Rudely ignoring my question he swirled around to glare at me. "Don't you find it just a tad bit odd that when we remembered that there was two hallways where we met we immediately found that place again? Or that I keep seeing windows and you don't see anything but the wall?"

"The passageway I find to be a very large coincidence…as for the window thing though, Potter we went over these a few times already; there was no window! Just your growing insanity."

"Whatever," he sneered in a way worthy of a Slytherin, "I know what I see and what I don't see. As for insanity though, it doesn't say too much for yours that admitted that your family is fond of portraits of naked men."

I ran his statement through my mind five times…nope; it still didn't make an inch of sense. "I would be more than happy to insult you in return if I knew just what the hell you were talking about."

"That portrait that we kept passing." In response to my blank look he flayed his arms about wildly, "the one that you said your father was fond of! It had a bloody naked man in it, don't you remember?"

"The portrait in question," I said calmly, "was some Malfoy ancestor holding up the head of a house elf with a triumphant expression on his face. I assure you he was fully clothed."

He threw an exasperated hand against his forehead, "maybe I am going insane."

I shrugged indifferently, "either way can we just keep moving…and preferably in silence if you don't mind. Your bouts of delusion are giving me a headache."

"Yeah," he countered, blatantly ignoring my request, "well maybe I'm not the one who is delusional. It could very well be you that's crazy and I'm perfectly sane."

"Possible," I allowed, "but not likely."

"You're infuriating, do you know that?"

Another shrug, "from you I would take that as a compliment."

I will never forget the moment that I found a hope for salvation in that godforsaken puzzle. The moment that a stairwell came into view was one of blissful contentment.

Potter cracked a huge smile and ran to the stairs. With a loud exclamation he called out, "these stairs go down!"

"Congratulations, Potter," I drawled as I walked slowly, "that is quite possibly the dumbest comment that I have ever heard."

He rolled his eyes and began to quickly descend down the stairs as followed in the same gracefully slow pace. When I reached the bottom Potter was no longer in sight.

I whistled menacingly as if calling out for a lost dog. Still no Potter.

The room that the stairs had led to was small; square shaped, and had no doors or any other form of exit. I turned in a slow circle once, Potter was gone and there was nowhere for him to go.

Narrowing my eyes I attempted to process some form of intelligent thought. There must be someway out if Potter wasn't here, he couldn't simply disappear. I walked to the nearest wall and placed a tentative hand on it, it was solid. I tried each of the other three walls; they were complete solid stone as well.

So he didn't walk through a wall, he didn't sink through the floor, and it was extremely doubtful that he had leapt through the ceiling.

I shrugged and decided that I didn't care; if he wanted to play bloody hide-n-go-seek then he could play with his imaginary friends. I was getting ready to turn and ascend back up the staircase when I heard a voice behind me that sent chills down my spine.

"Hello, Draco dear, you really do look more like your father with every passing year."

I turned with a slow reluctance and felt my knees buckle with dread and surprise. "Fortunately I can tell you that with each passing year Virginia looks absolutely nothing like you."

She smiled and walked towards me. Upon reaching me she grasped my arm and I felt her long nail draw blood. "How is my traitorous niece?"

"Alive."

"How very unfortunate."

I took a step back and felt dizzy with these incomprehensible circumstances. Velena was here instead of Potter…how very odd.