This is a one-shot, written from Draco Malfoy's point of view. Cynical and somewhat sarcastic, so you are warned. Harry Potter & co. belong to JK Rowling, as we are all aware. 'Hollow men' belongs to the wonderful TS Eliot. I am not making any money out of this and do not intend to. Please tell me what you think of this, it's my first attempt at amonologue.
Nobody knows me. I know, that's a statement which is rather difficult to believe. I mean, anybody who's somebody knows who I am. After all, the Malfoy name has been a consistent presence in the wizarding world since the late 14oo's. It therefore isn't surprising that you already have a specific image of me. The adjectives rich, pureblood, sex god, attractive and blond come to mind, but also the words snob, dark, asshole, greedy, Slytherin and Death Eater. Alright, go ahead and insult me. I'm used to it. Hearing it from the Golden Trio on a daily basis is a regularity in my life. Not that I don't retort, or even start our little verbal fights (which often turn to makeshift duels), it just becomes tedious after a while. Now this must come as a shocker: Draco Malfoy not enjoying insulting, hurting and attacking people? Where, oh where, did his sadistic nature go?
Down the drain, I guess, hopefully having a good time making Moaning Myrtle cry. But seriously, I am not sure when I stopped enjoy my title as King of Prats. I think that it was some time in my sixth year. But you shouldn't be really surprised at my loss of enthusiasm for sharp insults and nasty hexes. After all, what is the point when your most treasured victim stops responding to you? Potty just wasn't the same when he returned to Hogwarts in his 6th year. He was all…indifferent and zombie-like. He completely ignored my insults, not even blinking when I criticized his performance in Potions class (which were perfectly justifiable considering what a disaster he is in Snape's class). But come on, when I call one of your little friends a mudblood and a whore- you've got to respond to that. You don't simply continue walking on to Herbology as if you didn't hear me. Sure, it was fun making the Weasel look red as a beetroot that is about to explode, but he's not half as fun as Scarhead.
So when I noticed the change in The-Boy-Who-Persistently-Lived, I became less enthusiastic about my attempts to make the Trio's life hell. But that wasn't all. I began noticing things, observing him. He just wasn't the same anymore, in any area of his life. He hardly listened in class, just barely enough to not get detention every day, he hardly ate, almost never spoke (even to the Weasel and the mudblood). I spent most of my nights thinking about reasons for Potter's sudden change instead of sleeping or trying to dis-attach myself from Pansy. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy seeing Potty unhappy. But I want to be the reason for that unhappiness. I want to make him angry, upset, furious. Over the past six years, making Potter miserable has been my favourite hobby. I enjoyed it more than Quidditch, and that's saying something. And don't ask why, I don't do the whole self-analyzing crap, and I don't plan on seeing those Muggle doctors who ask you stupid questions like 'and how do you feel about that?'. I don't think that I can give you a concrete answer for that. Maybe…maybe it is because whatever shit has been going on in the world, Potter has always been there. He saved that female miniature version of the Weasel from the Chamber of Secrets, he was the Triwizard Champion, he was there at the Ministry when my father got arrested and sent to Azkaban at the end of my 5th year. It's like, I could always rely on him for being there so I can insult him, and lower him, and get him in detention. He was there when I needed it.
Okay, that probably made me sound like some poor little daddy's boy. Maybe I am. It does become rather irritating when everyone thinks that your life is perfect. Take Zabini for example. Sure, he's all 'yes, Draco? Can I help you, Draco? I'll lick the dirt off your shoes, Draco' when I'm around. But I know the bollocks he says once my back is turned. I know that he envies me, the Malfoy fortune, the social status, the grades, the girls- all of it. Well, I'd trade lives any time. Fine…who am I kidding? I wouldn't. Who in their right mind would give up what I have! But at the same time, there are certain things which, however difficult this is to admit, money cannot buy. Friendship is an excellent example. That was a right slap in the face when I realized that. When Potter refused my extension of friendship on the first day on our way to Hogwarts, that was where this idea was born. Money can't buy you everything. Now really, who would have thought of that? After all, it was exactly the opposite of what my father had always taught me. After being moulded into the mini version of Lucius Malfoy all of my life, I was beginning to actually experience things on my own. I cannot say that it didn't hurt. No one had ever said 'no' to me before, except my father and I knew all too well that from him a 'no' meant 'no', which meant no negotiations. So yes, it hurt me when the great Harry Potter refused my friendship. From that day on, I vowed that if we wouldn't be friends, we would be enemies. Not acquaintances, or simple classmates, but enemies who would spill blood and curse one another without hesitation. And so my wish came true. But then stupid Potty had to go and spoil it all by becoming depressed and ignoring me.
As for the supposed 'friendships' that I have with the Slytherins, come on, you aren't dumb enough to actually think that there are any friendly feelings between us? Crabbe and Goyle: good buffers, useful for beating the shit out of someone, but so stupid that they can hardly put a sentence together. Then there's Pansy, a whore who sleeps with anyone as long as they give her a tad of attention, gossip queen who hangs on me like a leech because she thinks that being on the arm of a Malfoy will make her look good. Wake up and smell the roses, darlin', not even a full-body transfiguration can make you look good! Zabini: envious sneak, ready to backstab me as soon as I lose my status as Slytherin Prince, and would be eager to replace me. Who else, who else… Well, there's Nott, but he's not worthy of hippogriff dung. I wonder how in Merlin's name he got into Slytherin. As you should know, we Slytherins don't really mingle with other Houses (unless we're desperately horny, need to get our homework done or bully someone). Outside of Hogwarts, there's no one there. So much for friendship.
What else can't money buy? Honest teachers. Now, those are of an annoying breed. Perhaps I should have gone to Durmstrang. My father, with all his influence, hasn't been able to bribe a single one of Hogwarts' teachers! Well, except that bug-eyed Divination fraud, but that doesn't really count. Firstly, because I abandoned her class shortly after I began. Secondly, she is far too mentally disturbed to count as an actual human being, not to mention a teacher. It's not like I need to bribe teachers in order to get good grades, it would just make things so much easier. I don't need their stupid O.W.L.'s and N.E.W.T.'s to know that I am far above average intelligence. Granger and I are the top of our year. Yes, that does cause a little problem. When my father first found out that a mudblood beat a Malfoy in a wizard's school, he was furious. I still can't look back to that first Christmas break back from Hogwarts without a shiver of fear crawling down my spine. But anyway, I discovered that to maintain my top grades, I had to work. So now, every class that I have, I'm either the best, or, unfortunately, second best (and that takes a lot of guts to admit for a Malfoy, trust me).
Another thing that money cannot buy: the Golden Snitch. Not literally, of course. I could go to any Quidditch supply store and buy myself millions of Snitches if I wanted to. But I don't mean buying, I mean winning. This was definitively the toughest lesson yet. Sure, my father bought the Slytherin Quidditch team a set of brand new brooms in my second year, and that did help me getting the spot of Seeker. But, honestly speaking, I would have gotten the place anyway! If it weren't for Potter and his damn luck, Slytherin would have won every single match against Gryffindor. But somehow, he always manages to beat me. His fingertips are always a few millimetres closer to the Snitch, and that's all it takes to win the game. I haven't won one game against Potter. Not against Gryffindor, since that one time when Potty was knocked out in the Hospital wing and Weaslette replaced him, I caught the Snitch before her. What I want, is to win against Potter. He's the only real competition one can get here. Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws are a joke, mini-Weasel isn't good enough either. But Harry, he really makes one work to get what one wants. Perhaps that sounds contradictory to my desire of non-working, but come on, catching the Snitch instead of The-Bloody-Boy-Who-Lived, who wouldn't want that? The mere thought makes me giggle malevolently. No, scratch that, Malfoys don't giggle, I meant snicker malevolently.
Let me think, what else is impossible to buy with money… We've already ticked off friendship, nagging-honest teachers, the Snitch…oh yeah, respect. Now, this lesson, I am sure, I am the only Malfoy to ever have learned. All of those generations of pureblooded ancestors probably thought that they had the respect of the wizarding world. Well, they were sadly mistaken. Over the years, I have discovered a flaw in the Malfoy image. Most of the time, we are not respected, but feared. And that makes all the difference. I noticed this first with my father, and then with myself. Both my father and I use our social status, our money and other malicious methods, to intimidate those who are beneath us (which is the majority of the wizarding world), cripple them to submission and make our desire the law. Naturally, I do so in a smaller area, using my power within the school. My father, on the other hand, has control on a much larger scale. I used to admire him, pride myself in having such a respectable family name and such a powerful, influential father. But then a few things made me change my mind about respect. Most of these events included a certain annoying Gryffindor with an irritating ugly scar on his forehead and his utter lack of respect for me and my family. Without realizing it, I allowed the words that he said, which were usually mere mentions of my ferret experience (I shudder), get under my skin. A few times, he mentioned something about 'intimidation' and 'not worthy of any respect or consideration'. With that in mind, I explored the idea that, perhaps, Malfoys weren't as respectful a family as it had seemed to me. Obviously, I did not turn to my father with my questions. That would have been suicide. So I observed. I watched how students reacted to me in school, then I watched how the Ministry employees acted around my father, how the salesmen in Knockturn Alley behaved around us. And that was the first time that Potter and I ever really agreed on something: my family was, mostly, not respected, but feared. But, that shouldn't really matter, right? As long as the Malfoys can continue manipulating people and getting what they want, all is fine and peachy in the most perfect of worlds. Wrong. However much my Malfoy nature wanted me to not care, I couldn't. I still can't. I cannot replace respect by fear. Respect is when someone believes in you, and does not hate you with all their strength. Respect is when people are in awe of your powers, your traits, your riches, whatever. Respect…respect requires people to actually appreciate your company. And I seriously doubt that this is the case for any Malfoy.
Money cannot buy love. This one, I didn't have the chance (or misfortune, guess it depends on your point of vantage) to experience, and I don't plan to either. All of you poor sods out there who still believe that such a thing as love exists- you can pack up your suitcases of silly love songs and sappy desires, return to reality and get shagging. Love is an illusion, a myth, created by Muggles in order to give some meaning to their futile lives. It is pathetic how wizards have taken this part of the Muggle culture and absorbed it into its own. There is no love between couples! Only the selfish desire to have someone by your side who witnesses all of your bad sides, all of your tantrums, all of your problems. It is the desire to know that you, however ugly, poor, etc, you are, can still get someone to shag you on a regular basis and live under the same roof as you. It is the fear of loneliness and the wish for its disappearance. Now, you've got to admit that I'm not talking complete bollocks here. I think my very real definition of what people call 'love' is right on the dot. That is why I somehow have to disagree with the statement 'money cannot buy you love'. Because, really, look at people like Pansy. If I really wanted to, I could marry her and spend the rest of my days annoying the hell out of her. And I will achieve that not by my oh-so-wonderful personality, but by the gigantic sum of money that lies in the Malfoy vaults.
The last, but not least, that one cannot buy with money: happiness. This one's a tough one, I have to admit. Firstly, one has to discover one's personal definition of happiness, and then see if it has a reasonable price tag on it. For example, Crabbe and Goyle find their happiness when they're stuffing their faces with food. Food is something they can buy, so logically speaking, they can buy their happiness. Then there's that old fool, Dumbledore, who is happy when everything's running well in the school and he has his Lemon Drops by his side, as well as Potty being alive and healthy of course. Lemon Drops he can buy, obviously. For Hogwarts, well, that might take some work, but money can solve some of the most persistent problems. Scarhead might be a bit of an issue, considering his habits of always getting into trouble which often ends up in the Hospital wing, and the fact that he's kind of been less enthusiastic about the whole living thing lately. But otherwise, it's manageable.
What about me, you ask? Hmm. I don't think that I can buy my happiness. My happiness mostly consists of having the Golden Snitch in my hand, being respected, getting top grades and having a ready-to-retort Potter around. But that was what I had before (except maybe the Snitch thing), or at least, I thought I had. Now…now, I don't know anymore. Reading Muggle poetry makes me happy. I bet that got some heart attacks from some of you. Yes, 'tis true, the Malfoy heir, pureblood extraordinaire, likes reading TS Eliot. Of course, if my father found out about this I would be severely punished. So it would be best if we kept this between us. Unless you want to accidentally drink some basilisk venom with your pumpkin juice.
Brewing a perfect potion makes me happy. Not because I can laugh at Potter and his feeble attempts at making a hardly satisfactory one. Not because it gets Slytherin house points. Just knowing that Potions is a difficult art, necessitating precision, concentration and a steady hand, and knowing that I can complete a potion thanks to those qualities: that makes me happy. Potions is possibly the most difficult class in Hogwarts, partially because of Snape's vilepersonality. And throughout my years in this class, I have never received less than an O. This is the kind of happiness that I don't have to buy, I can achieve it with my own means. Perhaps that is why it makes me happy: I don't need money to brew a faultless potion.
Flying on my Nimbus 2001 during the last few minutes of sunshine, before the sun sets and darkness consumes everything around me. That makes me happy. Now, I know that I have nothing to complain about, my life is, after all, perfection in the most direct sense of the word. But there are times when the pressure of being the perfect Malfoy heir, the life-size copy of Master Lucius Malfoy, of being King of Deviousness… all of that does become tedious and overwhelming. Only sometimes though, on very rare occasions. It is absolutely natural that when one is feeling down, the aim is to get back up again. I take that literally. When things get 'too much', flying becomes a release of those pent up frustrations which I haven't managed to burden someone else with. There is such an intense sense of freedom, of 'who gives a fuck', about it. It's as if my mind becomes devoid of all thoughts, and only what I see and what I feel becomes important to me. Only the wind slightly whipping my cheeks, billowing my robes, untying that knot I feel in my chest and dishevelling my hair. The colours of the sunset are the only ones that matter, not Slytherin silver or Gryffindor gold, Voldemort's red eyes or father's blonde hair. It's all about the soft oranges, the palling yellows, the mild reds, the invading purples and vivid pinks. At times I think that nothing in the world could rival such beauty.
Enough mush now. This isn't the way the quill is supposed to scratch. However, it is too late now, isn't it? Now, somewhere out there in the vast universe, Muggle or magic, someone knows that a certain sexy blonde Slytherin, heir of the Malfoy fortune and brilliant potions-maker, is not all that he seems. That thought is supposed to scare me, and on some level, it does. But you know that thing that people say? How telling a secret kept too long feels like lifting a weight of one's shoulders? Well, it's true. Nonetheless, no need to worry and run to owl the Prophet. This doesn't change a thing, neither in my life, nor anyone else's. It doesn't stop me from hexing Hufflepuffs, or sabotaging Ravenclaws, or tantalizing Gryffindors. Other people's misery and stupidity still makes me smirk. I will continue harassing Potter with discomforting remarks until he reacts in some visible way. I will continue using the taboo term 'mudblood' instead of 'Muggle-born'. I will continue being the spoilt Malfoy that I am, flaunting my money in the Weasel's face.
And all of this building up for what, you may ask. Your suspicions are probably pretty accurate: follow my father's steps, become a Death Eater, serve the Dark Lord, work in the Ministry and manipulate it for all its worth, take a wife through arranged marriage and live unhappily ever after. Isn't that what you expect? What everyone who is relatively informed about the going-ons of the wizarding society expects? Don't you dare deny it, stuttering and making objections. Potter might or might not win the war against Voldemort, but either way, it doesn't matter. Nothing will change that this is how the story will end for the great Draco Malfoy,
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
- T.S. Eliot 'Hollow men'
Well, there we go. Please review, you'll make my day :)