Confessions of a treacherous mind

Szaranea

Rating: PG13
Genres: Humor
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 5
Published: 18/07/2004
Last Updated: 18/07/2004
Status: completed

Let me introduce myself: my name is Draco Malfoy, I am currently sixteen years old, and I am the most misunderstood person in the world – the ramblings of a boy who knows what he wants. Perhaps kinda absolutely.

Chapters

1. Confessions of a treacherous mind

1. Confessions of a treacherous mind

Confessions of a treacherous mind

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Summary: Let me introduce myself: my name is Draco Malfoy, I am currently sixteen years old, and I am the most misunderstood person in the world – the ramblings of a boy who knows what he wants. Perhaps kinda absolutely.

Author’s Notes: This story is a gift for the loffly Kristina, who is celebrating her first PK anniversary today. It is also un-betaed, and kinda rambled. I hope you enjoy it nevertheless.

Let me introduce myself: my name is Draco Malfoy, I am currently sixteen years old, and I am the most misunderstood person in the world. I feel alone and unaccepted as what I am. People get so intolerant once you wear green robes and torture the weak whenever you can. I mean, why can’t they just let me do my thing?

I have my priorities set straight, know what I want to do, what I want to be when I graduate. I want a townhouse, loads of money, servants at my command and at least two beautiful women in my bedroom each day. See? No indecisiveness there.

And yet I am doomed.

I’m stuck in a Kafka-esque father-son relationship. Which means that I am either bound to turn into a big, ugly beetle soonish, or that I will run out of the castle and jump into the lake and drown because my father said so. I doubt I could do what I would like to do with the two beautiful women if I were to become a beetle. I don’t want to be a fucking beetle.

And then there’s Miss-I’m-on-a-mission-to-save-lost-souls, buggering me every fecking day. Equality this, ‘good side’ that, racism, killing, innocent, political correctness, let’s make love to animals, blah, blah, blah. Can’t you see here, don’t you think that, are you even listening to me? I tell you, she’s a bloody nuisance. Bloody. Blood. Red. Hair. Haha, funny, no? Laugh, you morons. When Draco Malfoy makes a joke, no eye shall stay dry.

And you know what? She actually thinks that I am a good person, deep down. At this point I need to press something I said earlier again: I am misunderstood and unaccepted. Why can’t you just see that I am evil, and that I like being evil? I admit that the thing with torturing small, furry animals can get a bit messy from time to time – and boy, do they stink after a while – but it needs to be done in order to keep my image.

But the stupid chit won’t see it. I mean, I shoot her down with reason and sense, but she won’t budge an inch. I can’t believe how often I have told her that I am better than she is, because she is a filthy mudblood lover, and dirt poor to boot. I have also told her that as a Slytherin, I am her superior. And that I hate her freckles. But, once again reason and wit are naught but twigs when encountering a fool with a sharp blade of dumbness.

But I will not let her get the best of me, oh, no. I am Draco Malfoy, and I won’t let some goody two-shoes chit with red hair, freckles, and robes that are too small for her so they’re quite tight at the chest and give the observer a good idea of what’s hidden underneath them bother me.

See, actually I am so unaffected by the whole affair that I never really give it a thought. I have much more interesting and fascinating things to think about than lush pink lips talking about how I could be like Harry if I tr- what????? Is she out of her freaking mind?

Now listen sweetheart, I am a much better seeker than Scarhead will ever be, I am much more evil than he could be if he tried, and I am not going to save the world, and I am not going to fucking tell Dumbledore any Death Eater secrets in order to save the world which, as I already said, I am not going to do.

Jesus Christ, I know for a fact that my father won’t tell me about any of his business unless I turn into a beetle. (He’s waiting and counting the days until then, I can tell). But I’ve got my own mask and robes already. Well, kind of. But don’t tell anybody where I got them, or mum and dad would hit the roof. See, I found it in the window of this muggle shop once, and it was quite cheap anyway, so I though – hey, why not? I don’t quite get why there was “Scream” written in big bold letters on the wrapping, and why it also contained this ridiculous plastic knife, but all that matters is that I have a cool swishy robe and a mask too, now.

I’m quite sure that one day Voldemort will be tired of my father, cast him aside and pick me as his right-hand man. I’m not quite sure as to what a right-hand man does, but what I know is that my saviour wouldn’t approve of it. But if she insists, I shall pass her message along to the Dark Lord. Lets see how he will react if told that Muggles are really not all that bad, equality blah blah blah.

But she will not abort her mission. Mission, my arse. Only thing she needs is a change from missionary things, if you get my drift. But of course, such a thing requires a real man and not one of those ninnies up in their tower. I’m pretty sure that it is so stuffy up there, that there is too little space to get horizontal.

See, the dungeons are quite spacious, actually. Perfect for all sorts of amusements, save for bungee-jumping, perhaps. I have my own room, and nobody but me knows the password there.