If He Only Knew

What does that little snit want now? Look at his little smug smile, so like his father. On top of the world, are we? Not for long, little one.

"Sir," said Malfoy loudly. "Sir, why don't you apply for the headmaster's job?"

"Now, now, Malfoy," I said, holding a thin-lipped smile at the idea of killing him, or at least altering him so that there wouldn't be a threat of him producing any progeny. Especially with Pansy Parkinson. I shudder at the thought. I've seen the way she looks at him, how she covets the purported power that the Malfoys hold. Or maybe the smile is because he'll never be half the man Dumbledore is. Never.

C'est la vie.

I look into his smug face and answer, "Professor Dumbledore has only been suspended by the governors. I daresay he'll be back with us soon enough."

And hopefully expel you out of this school that you don't deserve to be in, and also out of this house to which you bring a bad name. You and your father, and you army of bratty cohorts.

I am trying to rebuild Slytherin. The reputation, tarnished after many years of abuse. I will see the day that it stands in the same light as the others, and not a dimmed spotlight next to Gryffindor. I just need more time. Time to flush out the Malfoys, Crabbes, and Goyles of the world. Time to flush out the evil. I can see Potter and Weasley looking at me in distaste. I must go along with this charade.

"Yeah, right," said Malfoy, smirking. "I expect you'd have Father's vote, sir, if you wanted to apply for the job- I'll tell Father you're the best teacher here, sir -"

Does the boy know any other words save 'sir'? Doubtfully. But that reference to the great Lucius Malfoy. What that child does not understand is that his father does not have ultimate control over everyone. Especially me. One day, they will be put in their Muggle-hating place. One day. Thank Merlin that he doesn't have half the intellect that she does. If he did, I fear what the world would become. Shadowed in fear and hate. But I am content, only she understands me. And only she needs to understand. And she is pure light.

"I'm quite surprised the Mudbloods haven't packed their bags by now," Malfoy went on. "Bet you five Galleons the next one dies. Pity it wasn't Granger--"

Luckily, the bell rang as I whipped around in rage, nearly dropping the beaker I was holding, and giving away my pure weakness for all to see. Surprisingly, I find that I don't care about anything except making that brat regret his words. I immediately looked towards Potter and Weasley, and sure enough- they're out for some too. I knew that they were good for something after all. Setting the beaker back on the lab table, I close my eyes- and hope that the woman I love will recover from her predicament.

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