Mon, Apr 26th, 2004
|darkness defied|Mon, Apr 26, 04
It's been so long since I've last written in here. So much has happened, so much has changed, and I haven't had time to record down all of the significant events in my life that have transpired over the course of the past few months. But even if I did have the time, I doubt I would've turned to this blasted book of empty pages for solace. How do you embody confusion, stress, frustration, pain, joy, relief, and uncertainty with mere words on faded parchment? Is it even possible? Is there a way to transfer all of this madness I feel from my mind onto the ink that shapes these meaningless letters which later morph into words and phrases?
Goodness, I sound like a mess. Pansy would be disappointed to find me so
wea distracted from my goals. This won't do.
I think I'm going to go back to the office tonight. Grimmauld is never anything but quiet, even now that Potter's back in good health, but it's not as though I would be able to get a decent night's rest here anyway. I've run out of Sleeping Draughts again, but for once I'm not too eager to replenish my supply of it. Insomnia does have it's advantages, as sorry as it sounds.
Wed, Dec 17th, 2003
|darkness defied|Wed, Dec 17, 03
The plan unfolds...
Everything is working out wonderfully.
Loony Lovegood has accepted my proposition, and I am now a hired staff of The Quibbler. This almost calls for a celebration. Who would've thought? Of course, I will be writing under a pen name, so no-one save for Lovegood and myself would ever be aware of my latest side job. Though, I must admit, Lovegood is not as foolish as I first deemed her to be. Still an odd character, but one that I definitely need to keep an eye on, if I'm going to carry my mission to success.
On other matters, Potter is just full of surprises. The wanker has decided to invest in Dragon Enterprises and while we've come to decent terms of agreement concerning his involvement in the business, I fear that he still keeps his true motive for wanting to be involved hidden. He claims that he does not trust me and hopes to keep an eye on me. What a fool. I'm not a Slytherin for nothing, and if I were really up to something, Potter could sleep in my bed for all I care and he still would not be on to me. What does he hope to achieve by investing in my firm? The only advantage I see out of this for him is to earn dividends at the end of the year, but Potter never occurred to me as one who was big on money-making.
In addition, he also requested that I give a certain Parvati Patil a job. Lucky for him, I remembered Patil (and her sister) was a pretty face and might be useful around the office as my secretary. Otherwise, I would've told Potter to fly to hell for even thinking he could boss me around like that. Anyway, I've sent Patil an owl informing her of my offer, and I've arranged for her to be interviewed on the 21st. I'm still hesitant on whether or not I should ask Pansy to conduct the interview with me. It would be fitting of her position, but I have a feeling she might not be so willing to hire Patil as I am, especially if she found out it was Potter's idea. Well, I've got a few days to contemplate my decision, thank Merlin.
Lastly, I had a run-in with an old classmate today, which could've turned out devastating but didn't. I was able to spare a couple of hours before coming home today to browse the shops of Diagon Alley for Christmas presents. Fortunately for me, I don't have many to give this year. I've basically severed all my connections with my old Slytherin acquaintances (though if things continue to go as planned this will be remedied) and at the moment I have only three living blood relations that I am aware of. Those three being Lucius and Aunt Bella, both in Azkaban, and my half-blood cousin Nymphadora who I never give presents to anyway. So that leaves me only some colleagues at Nimbus,
Professor Snape Severus, Pansy, and Hermione. Since Weasel and Lupin moved out, I highly doubt I'd be spending the holidays with them, so that's two less gifts to give. As for Potter...well, I do have something for him that didn't require any shopping on my part, but I daresay he may be pleased with it nonetheless.
Anyway, the person I ran into was Hannah Abbott from Hufflepuff. I didn't want to be seen by anyone today, and it was my horrible fortune indeed that I should have bumped into such an acquaintance and have my identity revealed. I mean, Merlin's beard, she caught me Christmas shopping! Needless to say, I was humiliated, especially since I was shopping for her gift. Bloody hell, I changed my mind, I don't want to write about this anymore. I'll end off by saying that I did end up getting her something rather lovely and pricey, with a little help from my unexpected former classmate, and I hope she likes it.
Dammit, I can still feel my cheeks burn at today's turn of events. This will not do at all.
Sat, Dec 13th, 2003
|darkness defied|Sat, Dec 13, 03
So the worst is coming to pass. Sightings of the man himself, the bastard that is my father.
I can’t believe how ignorant the wizarding world aspires to be. The way that pathetic excuse for a magazine is reporting the whole charade makes it look as though they’ve spotted Voldemort himself parading around in knickers. Hell, they’re making a bigger deal out of glimpsing Lucius than they did back when Voldemort came back to power! What madness is this? Can’t they see that Lucius is just a man? Evil, yes, but he isn’t the fucking Dark Lord. He may be a highly skilled, well-trained, cold-blooded murderer, but he isn’t some sort of supernatural being. He isn’t about to go give an unsuspecting baby a lousy lightning-shaped scar on the forehead.
Why do they fear him so? Do they not know that the more they fear him, the more power they’re inadvertently bestowing him?
What’s worse, Lucius is supposed to be in Azkaban. Such sightings would mean that he has escaped, and believe me, I know for a fact he hasn’t. I’ve got more ears around that place than anybody. If he did break free, which he may some time in the future, I’m going to be the first to know. Even if he were prancing around the streets in broad daylight (which would be a feat far too imprudent for him to attempt), nobody could correctly identify him better than me. But then again, I can’t disregard these supposed sightings either. They may just be figments of people’s unstable imaginations, but
FathLucius’ old allies could easily use it to their advantage, if they’re not already the ones leaking the tales. They’ll feed off the false terror, the fake uproar. I’m sure the fugitives are out congregating somewhere, planning their next move this very minute. And thanking their lucky stars that a trashy good-for-nothing moronic magazine is making the type of headlines they need to further their cause.
Goodness, I can’t stand this idiocy. I must have a talk with that Loony Lovegood, the editor of The Quibbler. She may have taken over her father’s sad business, but I expected much more from a Ravenclaw. Even one on the nutty side of things. If those sodding Death Eaters are going to use the news to their advantage, I’m going to make sure I twist the future contents of that magazine so that it’ll blow in their sycophantic faces. Yes, Miss Lovegood can expect an
owl flame from me very shortly.
[Notes to self:
1.) Make sure Hermione doesn’t join the DA.
2.) Get Pansy out of her estate ASAP. Can’t take any risks.]
Thu, Nov 13th, 2003
|darkness defied|Thu, Nov 13, 03
THEY FUCKING STOLE IT!
I’m so fucking angry I can’t even
www rwr write this porrperly properly!
DAMN POTTER AND WEASLEY TO HELL!!!!!
They STOLE my portrait! The one with me in the
tradtsitional traditional Malfoy dress robes on my seventieth seventeenth birthday. The one I was going to hang up in my office. The one I lugged around with me all through Europe and Asia because it was Mother’s favorite portrait of me. The one that is dearest to me, and for once, not because of my own vanity.
GOD DAMN FUCKING ARSES! SCREW THEM TO HELL!
Potter’s agreed to bring it back but I don’t trust him one bit. Where did he even take it? What did he use it for? I am tempted to think blackmail, but
Grifindoors Gryffindors aren’t capable of that kind of demeaning ingenuity. Especially one that has a disgusting, ugly, tasteless SCAR on his fucking forehead. And that Weasley…god I could kill them and if Lupin hadn’t abruptly stopped me with the force of the beast that he is, then I might’ve gotten a good shot at it too. Nevertheless, I’m accompanying Potter to reclaim the picture. I swear, if anything happens to it, if there’s even the slightest hint of a scratch or a burn or any sodding mark that wasn’t there before, I’ll seriously have their heads! I don’t care what Hermione’ll say, they had no right, NONE at all to trespass into my room and steal my picture and then make me look the bad guy! Those bloody thieves!
I’ll get to the bottom of this and they will be sorry they ever did this to me. They could show me some respect. Without me, they’d be dead. Do they want to be reminded of that? Do they? They’re lucky I’ve got the decency not to hold it over their heads. How dare they take advantage of me in my point of weakness? Of course, me, without a home, with a struggling business, without shit, can no longer be of harm to them. Well they’re wrong. One day I’ll be great again. I’ll get the Manor back, I’ll get everything back and they’ll grieve for the day they even thought of screwing with me.
The only person around here who doesn’t think I’m the dipshit spawn of Grindewald is Granger and she doesn’t know it but I’m grateful to her for that. What irony…me, grateful to a Mudblood! But it’s been so long since I’ve even thought of her as that. It’s strange, but lately I haven’t thought of her as anything but someone who I’d like to be around. Even during the war, after I’d turned, things weren’t like this. She’s still the same witch she is now as she was then, but something’s different. I don’t know if it’s me. I know I’ve changed. Who wouldn’t, after what I’ve been through? I’m far from a saint and for the most part still a sinner, but I’m not the disillusioned, abhorrent, spiteful boy I was a year ago. I’m my own man now, but nobody’s willing to see that. Nobody but Hermione, it seems. Perhaps that was what compelled me to ask her to dinner tomorrow. I don’t even know why. She’s a tolerable cook and we have dinner just fine in the kitchen. But one minute she was inviting me to tea and the next my mouth took over and I’d asked her to dinner! Not that I’m going to be making a big deal out of this. I don’t want to give her the wrong idea, especially when I’m unsure of it myself.
I suppose we’re closer acquaintances now and she’s told me she’d like us to be friends. I want to believe her. I want to believe that Hermione Granger can never be insincere, and that she truly wants to establish that sort of relationship with me, despite all the horrible things I’ve done to her growing up. But friendship is, and has always been, such a foreign concept. Lucius never approved of friends. Only allies. Like Crabbe and Goyle. With the exception of Pansy, who I believe is a “friend” and at one point, probably more, I’ve never had nor desired such close companionship. Even what I share with Pansy, as great as it is, is strained. We’ve always been wary and alert around each other, calculating our conversations and combing each other’s words for hidden meanings. Being around Granger lately though…well, it’s been different. Like dinner tonight, before my mood was spoiled by the whole ordeal with my portrait and those twats. Things just felt so simple. So easy. It’s sort of liberating, in a way. I’m not sure how to describe it and I won’t waste my time attempting to do so.
Merlin, I feel awkward admitting all of this, but thankfully no eyes would ever feast upon these words apart from mine.
Hermione. Hermione Granger. It’s really odd, writing about her so nicely in my journal, so devoid of my usual insults. I don’t know what’s changed between us, or even when. Granger is so unlike any other proper witch and I used to resent her for it, but in my place now, her company isn’t so dreadful. I could do with someone who isn’t so full of pretenses all the time.
I’ll know better tomorrow.
Writing about Hermione has calmed me deeply, much more than I expected. I’m ready to bury my fury for the night. It’ll unleash tomorrow, no doubt, and I hope it tears Potter to pieces.
Mon, Oct 27th, 2003
|darkness defied|Mon, Oct 27, 03
Back from Arabia
I’ve just returned from my business excursion, thank goodness. Goblins should be burned in hell, I swear. Perhaps I’m being too harsh. They should be stuck in purgatory for eternity, then. I don’t know how
FatherLucius can stand them long enough to have conducted decent dealings with them all those years. They are so vile, and coming from me, that’s saying something. One of the brutes refused to deliver my proposed broom shipments to China for our previously negotiated price unless I agreed to gamble with him on the outcome of the upcoming Quidditch game between the Tornadoes and the Wasps. After an hour of convincing him otherwise, I was prepared to punch the ugly creature to Satin’s arms myself, even though physical attacks have never been my style. That was how angry I was with him. But it all ended quite satisfactorily in the end, and I even managed to lower the delivery price that was previously agreed on. Of course, I promised them seats in the private box for the upcoming Quidditch World Cup, but that shouldn’t be a hard feat to accomplish. I am a Malfoy, after all.
The Arab wizards were much better, though they were quite clever themselves. The ones I met in Cairo wanted me to open a subsidiary to sell flying carpets in England, and when I declined, another one attempted to persuade me to, at the very least, suggest the idea to Nimbus at the next stockholder’s meeting. How ludicrous. What would we do with flying carpets over here? They’re practically illegal, and even the black market in Knockturn won’t have use for such an industry, being that brooms are much more desired and convenient. But I must admit, they’re pretty nifty, and I even bought one myself. I’m sure Granger will give me one of her boring lectures on owning banned items when she finds out. I’m considering setting it loose in the house first thing in the morning. It’s midnight, and I’ve just Apparated into my room, so there’s no way anyone knows I’m back yet, but a runaway flying carpet soaring in their faces would be a rather hilarious alert of my return.
Overall, I guess the trip fared better than I anticipated. I even managed to stop by the Cottage as planned. Wingy-Mac is still an annoying, sorry fool, but at least he’s keeping the grounds of the Cottage in agreeable condition. It was very cold up in Scotland, especially because of the strong winds, and I think I might’ve gotten myself a little sick. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to spread the cold to Potter before the potion cures me. In any case, I managed to pack all of the things I needed from the Manor. The ones coming to Grimmauld should arrive by tomorrow morning and I sent the remainder to my new office.
Speaking of my things, I found an old journal in one of the trunks. It seems to be mine, but I don’t remember ever owning one before this one. It mustn’t have been very important, but I know I wouldn’t normally forget such an item. Personal journals are dangerous after all…what if somewhat had discovered it? I shudder to think of all the horrible blackmail in store for me if such a devastating event ever occurred. Which is why it bothers me that I’ve forgotten about it, especially since I don’t even know what has been written inside it. Are there any secrets in there worthy enough of being sold? How come I can’t recall a single thing about it?
This is most unnatural indeed, and I plan to get to the bottom of it soon. If I’ve forgotten about something so personal…what else have I forgotten? Why is my memory failing me like this, when it has never before?
My god, I sound like I’m going senile and I’m only eighteen. This will not do at all.
I suppose I oughta get some sleep now, even if I'm not very sleepy. My sense of time has been disoriented for the past couple of days due to the time difference in Arabia and I have to start setting it right again.
Mon, Oct 6th, 2003
|darkness defied|Mon, Oct 6, 03
I got covered in muck today. Yes, as if things couldn’t worsen, I had to come home and get swallowed in muck. Why? Because of those goddamn chores! I come home all stressed out from my torturous day with the designers and here comes Granger demanding I live up to my word and do some chores because Dobby, my former house-elf and supposed current servant at Grimmauld, took a sodding day off. What madness!
Just wait until I see that vermin again and I’ll show him Anyway, Granger told me to do this thing called unclogging the loo with this hideous, sorry-looking instrument called a plunger. Then she demonstrated how I was supposed to put it over the pipe hole in the loo in the downstairs w.c. and “pump up and down”. Very Muggle. Why couldn’t she have thought up a spell to do this maid’s work? Well, I did exactly as she showed me and guess what. This flood of murky water exploded from the hole and splashed all over me! I think Granger got some of it too, but she wasn’t nearly as filthy as I was (what irony). It was the most humiliating and disgusting moment of my life; having dirt thrown at my head by Potter back in third year didn’t even compare to it.
After cleaning up, I went down to the kitchen where I found that only Granger and I would be sharing the meal. For some reason, the notion unnerved me. Perhaps it’s because I don’t think I’ve ever properly shared a meal with a Gryffindor before, least of all a member of the Trio. Or a Mudblood before, for that matter. Anyway, Granger didn’t serve much – there was some stew and curried lamb that was definitely better than chicken at the Leaky Cauldron but by no means world-class. She wasn't as horrible a cook as I first perceived her to be, so that goes in her benefit.
Nothing much happened at dinner at first; we made some meaningless small talk in the beginning but after only a short while Granger began getting all strange on me. She asked me if I remembered something, but neglected to name it. When I pressed her further about it, she took it as though I had forgotten whatever it was that she was talking about and changed the subject. I guess this isn’t really important, but it was just odd. Not to mention, there was this look of disappointment on her face. What did she expect me to remember? And if it involves me, which I assume it does, why won’t she tell me? I don’t think I’ll ever understand that woman.
Oh and I finally saw my former DADA professor again, though it was in the worst of circumstances. Lupin decided it was time to grace us with his presence today, and barged in the kitchen during dinner to get himself a cup of tea. Unfortunately,
HermioneGranger and I had been in the middle of a handshake (to signify a stupid deal about me not making any derisive comments about Potter and Weasley around her) and that werewolf got the wrong idea. Completely off-centre. That half-breed thought HermGranger and I were on a date! I was too horrorstruck to even retort back. First off, no mortal being would’ve thought it even close to conceivable that Hermione Granger and I were dating, and secondly, if I had really been on a date, it would not have taken place in the godforsaken kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place! It appears that Lupin needs a serious reality check. Although, I must admit, I was a bit unprepared for how I felt at his mistaken accusation. I expected I was angry, but I also felt a little…I’m not sure how to describe it. I’ve never been particularly knowledgeable where emotions were concerned, but I can compare my initial reaction on Lupin’s intruding comment to the times Mother caught me breaking the Manor rules.
It’s not a feeling I like, and I don’t like being reminded of Mother. I have yet to payback Lucius for what he did to her, but one day, I will.
Enough of this. I’m going to bed.
Sun, Oct 5th, 2003
|darkness defied|Sun, Oct 5, 03
Lunchtime Musings (at the LC)
The Manor’s old house-elves could do a better job than these twits who call themselves interior designers. Hell, they don’t even know the most basic spells! They couldn’t even use a proper Severing Charm to style the office curtains fashionably, and at the moment it looks like some dog has bitten off all the hems. Not to mention these wit-deficient excuses for wizards are too thick headed to follow proper instructions. I’ve asked for a cool-colored theme for my office and what do I find upon my arrival this morning? BRIGHT RED AND ORANGE furniture! I can’t believe I’m paying these prats for this. They are from the best interior design firm in Diagon Alley, and their older professionals used to do such a fine job at the Manor back in the day. I guess standards must be dropping, and catastrophically too, if I may add.
Fortunately, even after my morning delay, I had enough time to stop by the Daily Prophet and drop in an ad for the Classifieds before lunch. Hopefully some candidates with brains would show up for the job interviews; I can’t very well afford to hire replicas of Crabbe or Goyle for my company.
I’m eating lunch right now, and it’s quite boring. The Leaky Cauldron hardly serves gourmet dishes, but I couldn’t be bothered to eat elsewhere. Maybe sometime soon I can take Pansy out to a nice restaurant -- one more deserving of our status -- but then again, people might think we’re dating and false rumors about my love life are not what I need right now.
Speaking of Pansy, I’m going to meet her in a couple of days, and I can’t deny I’m looking forward to it more than anything. I’m in such dire need of Slytherin company I’d do anything just to even glimpse one. I haven’t a clue where the other snakes have gone except for Blaise, but we weren’t exactly friends back at Hogwarts, so it doesn’t make much difference. But Pansy…it would just feel so good to be around someone who actually likes me for a change. I’m not oblivious to the hate that follows my back everywhere I go; I know that I’m rather well-recognized here in England and not too many people are glad I’m a free man, despite my aid. Just this morning I walked past this child of probably seven or eight years of age, and her mother quickly pulled her out of my way like I was some menace. Granted, I had on a rather sour face because I was running late for my meeting with the horrid designers and that could easily have been interpreted as menacing, but that doesn’t change the fact that I — or rather, my name – is still feared. Years ago, this fear took on the form of reverence, but now it borders loathing and scorn. As Lucius’s son, I am the epitome of that evil which tore the wizarding world apart. Too bad Lucius would tell you otherwise and say that he has no son. Ha.
So much the better for me.
God, I dread going back to Grimmauld Place tonight. There’s no-one worth talking to except maybe Granger, and that just tells you how desperate I am for a decent conversationalist. Well, I shouldn’t be saying such things about Granger. She did, after all, for a reason still unbeknownst to me, stick up for me this morning. I’ve done quite a few horrible things to her growing up; not as horrible as what I did to Potter and Weasley, of course, but I was nasty to her just the same. Perhaps she really is full of that Gryffindor compassion. It may not be a virtue I hold in particular esteem, but some people are just destined to have it. Anyway, she’s bound to hand me some chores the minute I get back, and if I don’t keep my word Potter will do more to me than just kick me out of the house, I’m sure. But to think that I, Draco Malfoy, will be doing...chores! How foreign is that? Although, I wonder…what happened to the house-elves? 12 Grimmauld Place was built to be maintained by such servants, as is customary of any Black home. I really must point this out to Granger some time. Later.
When she won’t be likely to get Potter or Weasley to injure me, or hex me herself, for that matter.
Bloody hell, this place needs a new cook. This is the worst chicken I’ve ever tasted in my life.
Time to get back to those designer idiots. I sure hope the office hasn’t been wrecked by their stupidity.
Tue, Sep 30th, 2003
|darkness defied|Tue, Sep 30, 03
the world is still against me
Last night was the absolute worse night I've had in months, and I daresay it was horrible enough to enter the ranks on my list of Reasons Why I Hate Being Back in Bloody Sodding England.
Let’s sum up my misery into as few words as possible because the mere memory of it makes me want to act like a juvenile brat and tear this room apart with my bare hands. Firstly, I finally returned to England yesterday morning from Eastern Europe and Asia, and as expected, I was homeless. Since the Manor (and many of my other beautiful assets) has been liquidized and I spent most of my funds starting Dragon Enterprises, I didn't exactly have enough money to buy my own place in town, and all the inhabitable flats worthy of housing a Malfoy were charging rent at over-inflated rates. Another option would've been this old cottage of Mother’s up near Loch Ness in Scotland, but don’t even get me started on that.
Anyway, I figured that I could rent out a room at the Leaky Cauldron for awhile, though that would look terrible for business – no one wants to sign contracts with a bloke who lives above a bar. So I came to my last resort, Professor Snape, who I’ve always trusted and who had mentioned on more than one occasion during the war, especially after my bastard father disowned me, that his doors will always be open to me if I was ever in need of his assistance. Snape Manor was likely to have extra rooms, and it wasn't as though I'd really be bothering him. It'd only be for a couple of weeks anyway, just until I get back on my feet. So you can imagine just about how rich I felt when Snape pointedly refused my simple request and instead forced me into a predicament I would never have dreamed to ever encounter. It is because of him that I give my great displeasure in announcing that I am now sharing a roof with Potter, Weasley, and Granger at 12 Grimmauld Place, and completely under their mercy. With neither my consultation nor consent, Snape went and merrily requested Granger to provide me temporary lodging, practically in front of my very own face. And Granger, despite her evident dislike for me, played the part of the noble Gryffindor, heroically agreeing to let me live with them.
I cannot begin to describe how disgraced, humiliated, and ashamed I felt for being placed in the position akin to that of a beggar, and I don't know if I can ever forgive Snape for it. I had experienced more than my fair share of disappointment and embarrassment during the war, and I definitely did not need this. I couldn’t refuse either; it was a deadlocked situation, and not even I am so foolish as to back down from the only better option available just because it would be unpleasant. I had learned that much from the war, at least.
Anyhow, when I returned to my room at the Leaky Cauldron, I was in for a mild surprise when I discovered that I had been invited to the Celebratory Ball. Of course, I had a mind that I would be -- after all, I did play my part in the war, and it is always nice to embellish a ball with the presence of a Malfoy. I also figured the ball would be a convenient opportunity for me to meet with old faces that I can perhaps forge some business ties with, but unfortunately that did not turn out to be the case, and I regretted attending the wretched event very much.
I arrived at Jekyll Square where the ball was being held just in time to bear witness to Potter's profound speech and for some reason, it took the entire mood out of me. I suppose some of the things he said were true, though I’ll be damned before I admit it to his face. Truth be told, I was more appalled at his disheveled state; he was the victor after all, and definitely fared better than a lot of the other guests who attended. In any case, he spoke of how the real heroes of the war were everyone else involved in it but him, and that we should all honor them instead.
We’re all heroes. Whether or not we wanted to be, our part in helping the fight made us one.
That may be true for every one else, but it can never be true for me, despite my efforts in aiding the Order. So as touching as the speech was for others, I couldn’t very well share their tears. I did feel something though, and it scared me halfway to hell. It was such a foreign feeling too, so I can’t exactly name it, but maybe it was
overwhelming remor guil sadne pity. Pity for Potter? Pity for the rest of us? Pity for myself?
Anyway, I found Snape soon enough and we engaged in a rather short conversation before I ran into Blaise Zabini and gave him my business card. Hiding in the shadows as usual, that one, but I guess some things never change. After that, the ball sort of lost its appeal to me and I scanned around briefly for any signs of Pansy but if she was there, then I must’ve missed her. I would’ve stayed longer and perhaps treated myself to a few new acquaintances when I saw Granger deep in conversation with Weasley and was instantly reminded of how neither Weasley nor Potter were aware of my newfound residence in their humble abode (which technically, I should have a right to reside in anyway, being that apart from my half-blood cousin Nymphadora, I am the last to carry the blood of the Blacks). I felt it was wiser to take my leave of the festivities then, and returned to Grimmauld Place to await the arrival of its owners.
And that is where the worst part of my night came about. I, for one, had been decent enough to wait for Potter, Weasley, and Granger to return, but that didn’t happen until the early hours of the morning. I had been making some tea then, and when I heard them enter, I thought I’d give Potter a bit of a heart attack by offering the sod some tea. It was all supposed to be a joke – after my horrible day I was finding myself in an actually tolerable mood, and merely wanted to exercise it to the fullest. But no, that too was not to last, because Potter, being the dimwit that he was, thought Granger and Weasley had hired me as a servant!
The nerve of such an idea! It was all I could do to restrain myself from shoving my tea tray into his bespectacled face.
And Granger, to top it off, had the audacity to confirm Potter’s ill-founded assumption, before stomping up the stairs as if she had been the one to be insulted. I was the offended party here, but no, I don’t suppose they felt they could ever offend such an evil prat like myself. If Granger knew Potter would have a complete cow about it, then she should’ve refused Snape in the first place, and that would have saved us all a lot of unnecessary mortification. I mean, honestly, did they know how much willpower it took for me to compromise my pride and ask Snape for lodging, not to mention how much more it took for me to actually acquiesce to his offer of staying at Grimmauld? After all my losses in the war, my pride was one of the few things I had left that was intact, and here they were, tearing it into pieces all over again. If I had known that my uncharacteristic display of civility would lead to such an outcome, I wouldn’t have bothered.
Naturally, I plan to spend the least amount of time possible at Grimmauld. Most likely I’ll only use the place for sleeping and cleansing purposes. I have no desire to spend my meal times chatting away at the dining table with the likes of them, and they probably would prefer I not intrude into their happy family moments.
It is rather strange how things have played out, isn’t it? My life, as I’ve never planned it to be…
Who would’ve thought that I’d become the Judas of the Dark side? And that months later, I’d be boarding with my worst enemy, no less?
I often wonder where I’d be now, if I hadn’t turned turncoat. My business excursion the last months helped to free my mind from such questions, but being back also brings with it the reminders of my actions.
So, where would I be? Tagging along with my father like his favorite puppet, to whichever hellhole he decides to drop us in and whichever lord he wants us to serve next? Hiding like vermin in some forlorn forest, far away from civilized life? Plotting another war, bound for defeat?
No, I think not.
I’d be dead.
And I hate death.
It is my worst fear.
I'm glad to still be living, but it'd be much better if reality quit kicking me down and lent a helping hand once in awhile.
Mon, Sep 29th, 2003
|darkness defied|Mon, Sep 29, 03
Testing the feel of my brand new journal...