'Well, this is certainly interesting,' I thought to myself as I looked at everything around me in a new light.
Crabbe Goyle, those two thickset boys I previously disregarded, suddenly stood out a lot more to me, and so did Parkinson. I could feel it - for lack of a better term, I knew more about them. I knew, for instance, that Crabbe would eventually end up casting Fiendfyre in Hogwarts.
I could suddenly recall memories that hadn't been there before. I remembered being a Muggle, of all things - not just a Muggle from the 90s, but from the future.
"Are you alright, Draco?" Pansy questioned, her voice dripping with sweetness - but not the genuine kind. As I gazed at the black-haired girl, her tone only seemed to highlight the insincerity behind her words.
Her tone was something I'm certain I wouldn't have noticed before. "I'm fine, Pansy. I'm merely thinking, a habit you should pick up," I snarked, and that certainly wouldn't have been my answer - but Draco Malfoy would say that.
But I am Draco Malfoy. I knew that; I had thirteen years of memories to prove it. I had memories of seeking my father's approval, of wanting my mother to be proud of me.
Pansy didn't lose her 'sweet' smile. "Oh, I'm sorry for disturbing your thinking, Draco," she apologised, but I caught it - a momentary flicker of contempt in her gaze as she looked at me.
"Do any of you know when we'll arrive at the platform?" I said, adopting a slightly pompous tone, reminiscent of Draco's usual mannerisms. Any sudden personality shifts and people would get suspicious - after all, there were many spells and potions out there that could mess with a person's mind. The muggle aspect of me couldn't help but think of all the awful and mind-boggling things that could be done with memory alteration alone. All it would take would be to change a positive memory and alter it to a negative one, resulting in a far different person.
"In an hour or so," Pansy answered in her 'sweet' tone, which really grated on me. "You must not have heard it in your thinking," she remarked, her tone not changing in the slightest. The previous Draco would have thought she was merely stating the obvious, but I could now tell that it was a jab, and I found myself frowning in response.
"Watch your tone, Parkinson." I said warningly. The reason she followed me now was obvious: her family was in debt, her father had seemingly bet it all away, though I was damn sure that there was more to it - a head of a family like the Parkinsons wouldn't waste all of that money. I could recall now, as Draco, that I had written a letter to my father near the start of my second year, noting how Pansy had begun to latch herself onto me more often. She had done so previously, certainly, but the frequency had increased significantly.
To her credit, for being a child, she acted well. Her eyes widened seemingly in worry, her mouth slightly parted in panic. "I-I didn't mean any disrespect, sorry," she stammered, but her acting couldn't cover the furrow of her brows, which betrayed her true emotions.
I am Draco Malfoy, a Pureblood - and that still mattered to me. I wasn't a Muggle, I wasn't a customer service worker anymore, I didn't have to work long hours anymore just to barely be able to afford to have a roof over my head and some stale food to eat. I was a wizard, and I had magic. The thought was almost liberating, and for a moment, I allowed myself to bask in the privilege that came with it.
Indeed, it was a privilege to wield magic - to defy reality and bend it to my whim, to shape it into what I desired. I took a deep breath, savouring the sensation, and let it out slowly. Though I possessed the memories of a Muggle, I was, undoubtedly, Draco Malfoy, a wizard. As I reaffirmed my identity, I felt the familiar sense of superiority that came with being a Malfoy wash over me.
However, I was acutely aware that, despite my ability to command magic, I was still just a small fish in a vast ocean, teeming with predators. There were individuals in this world who embodied the true essence of being a wizard - people like Albus Dumbledore, Tom M. Riddle, and Gellert Grindelwald, who had reached unprecedented heights of magical prowess. They had mastered their own ways of bending reality in ways that my muggle aspect couldn't fully comprehend.
With a sense of urgency, I knew I had a two-year deadline before everything came crashing down. As of now, the second year had drawn to a close, and the Basilisk had met its demise. We were currently en route to our respective homes for the remainder of the summer, before the third year of Hogwarts was set to begin. The clock was ticking, and I was acutely aware that I had to make the most of the time I had to prepare for the revival of Voldemort.
As of now, I wasn't capable of dealing with his Horcruxes, except for the one hidden in the Room of Requirements. Even then, I couldn't take the risk of being under a compulsion and wearing it, potentially falling under the Dark Lord's control.
I didn't want to fight the Dark Lord, but as long as that man drew breath, there wouldn't be peace for me to learn and develop my magical abilities further. Some people in my situation might have thought they were safe from Voldemort's tyranny, simply because they were Pureblood. However, how many Purebloods had he killed during the first war? The truth was that Voldemort didn't believe in blood supremacy; in fact, he and Dumbledore were the poster children for powerful half-bloods. The reality was that Purebloods were just a tool to him, one that he would discard without hesitation.
I was jolted out of my thoughts as I heard the announcement: "We have arrived at Platform 9 34." Crabbe and Goyle lifted down their own trunks, alongside my own and Parkinson's, as all of us together prepared to leave. As we made our way out, I caught sight of Potter, Weasley, and Granger, and as soon as I looked at them, they seemed ready for a confrontation, their postures tensing. I merely rolled my eyes at them and walked away, not in the mood for a confrontation.
As soon as we left the train and walked near the Floo stations, Pansy whipped her head towards me, her eyes blazing with anger, and glared at me. "What was that?" she demanded, her voice sharp with indignation.
I took a deep breath in, silently praying to Merlin for the calm of mind to deal with her. Her voice felt grating on my ears, and in her indignation, the saccharine tone she usually employed had faded. "What are you on about, Pansy?" I questioned, feeling a hint of exhaustion creeping over me.
"Potter and Weasley were laughing at you!" I winced, even though her voice was low, her tone was shrill and ear-piercing.
"First of all, will you stop screaming like a banshee?" I hissed, as she flinched at my words. "Secondly, Potter and Weasley were laughing before they even saw us," I said, as I stormed off, giving Crabbe and Goyle a terse nod. I grabbed a pinch of Floo powder and, ignoring Pansy's attempts to stop me and offer a fake apology, I threw the powder into the fireplace. "Malfoy Manor," I declared, as the flames roared to life, coloured green, and I walked through.
As soon as I arrived, I felt myself being enveloped in a warm hug, and all the tension that had been building up inside me melted away as I returned the hug of my mother.
Narcissa Malfoy, née Black, didn't look a day older than thirty. Her wavy blonde hair cascaded down to her lower-back, framing her high cheekbones and noble features, which were subtly accentuated by her light makeup. She wore a comfortable black dress that complemented her elegant appearance.
"Welcome back, Draco," I heard the smooth, velvety voice of my father greet me, and I couldn't help but smile. Father - Lucius Malfoy - was a man of refined elegance. Like Mother, he had blonde hair, but his fell down to his shoulders in silky, smooth, and straight locks. His features were just as aristocratic as Mother's, but what truly stood out were his piercing grey eyes that are usually filled with indifference were now filled with relief.
"Father," I tilted my head towards him in a greeting. He, unlike Mother, wasn't particularly fond of touches or displays of emotion in general. However, the knowledge I had gained from my Muggle experiences had only compounded my understanding of how much both of them loved me, despite my flaws. With my changed perspective, I could see that I hadn't been a good son - I had been bratty and whiny. But I was determined to change that. I vowed to myself that I would make it so that a Malfoy would never have to bow their head to another.
Did the actions of Lucius Malfoy disgust me? They certainly did. I knew that he could - he would change for me. I could show him that blood need not be spilled, not that I'd let Muggle-borns like Granger stroll all over us. All I meant was that they could be used and disregarded when we needed, because why would we, who have known and practiced magic for generations, dirty our hands with menial tasks when people like Granger were there to do them for us? I am Draco Malfoy, an elite. An elite ruled over the common folk like Granger - that's how it was in the wizarding world, and that's how it was in the Muggle world. The rich lived a life of opulence and comfort, while the common folk struggled to make ends meet, living from day to day. I wasn't one of the common folk anymore; I was an elite, a Pureblood.
"Well? How was your year, dear?" Mother questioned me as Father, she, and I made our way to the opulent living room. It stood out to me vividly that the living room of this mansion was roughly the size of my entire apartment as a Muggle.
"The year went well, Mother. Though the business with the Chamber of Secrets did worry me," I admitted, and the truth was that Draco had felt scared, though he had blustered to hide it.
I carefully looked at Mother as the corners of her mouth curved downwards, and she shot a fleeting glance at Father with an expression I couldn't decipher - all of it was done within a split second. Father didn't meet her gaze at that moment, which he usually did.
"The Heir would have never—" Father began, but Mother cut him off, "You must be tired from the long journey from Hogwarts, Draco. Go to your room and rest; I'll send an elf to call you for dinner." Mother's tone was firm and brooked no argument, so I simply nodded and headed towards my room.
"In front of him!?" Mother hissed, her voice low and urgent, as I left the earshot of their conversation. They would likely discover me if I stood around attempting to listen, so I continued on my way. Though, as I left, I heard Father say, "He needs to know," before I couldn't hear anymore.
Soon, I made it to my room, and to call it a room would be a gross understatement - it was a veritable mansion within walls. I had a lavish living room, complete with plush dark-green velvet sofas and a roaring fireplace that was connected to the Floo, a couple of spacious bedrooms with soft queen-sized beds that felt as if I was laying on a cloud, and a bathroom that was a marvel in itself, featuring a pool, a sauna, and a separate shower area with jets of water that would adjust itself to be the perfect temperature for the one that was bathing.
As I lay down in the pool, all of my muscles loosened and relaxed as I breathed out a sigh of relief. The cool water enveloped me, and with it, all of my worries faded away. I would win... probably, and if I couldn't, I'd enjoy myself until I had to meet my demise.
Well, well! Your favourite author is here with a self-insert as Draco Malfoy! Depending on the support for this fic, I'll start working on advanced chapters. While you're here, why not check out "A Whirlpool's Rise", my other main story?
Do you want to support me? I have a ! (pat re on . com /spiderlite) Every dollar is appreciated. Supporters at the "Supporting Characters" level ($5) and above get access to an advanced chapter of "A Whirlpool's Rise".
Thanks to Bishop7053, Cesar Gonzalez, Nick, Revan009, and Louis Kasser for their support.
If you don't want to do that, I crave reviews, ideas, suggestions, and likes - all of these are like drugs to me and motivate me more than you can think.
Thanks for reading, Spider-Lite away!