Tabula Rasa

"It's the same all over," said Mr. Borgin, in his oily voice. "Wizard blood is counting for less everywhere..."

"Just because a wizard doesn't use Dark Magic doesn't mean he can't, Miss Pennyfeather," snapped Professor Binns.

~*~

Chapter One [Part One] - Draco Malfoy

~*~

Things are different now that dad is in Azkaban. Even though the Dementors have left the place it is still as crowded as it ever was, with more than just brick walls keeping the prisoners inside. I know that he will not be able to escape any time soon.

And he is not important enough for Voldemort. My father created illusions for himself, that he was one of Voldemort's most loyal servants and so on, but in reality he was replaceable. Everyone is replaceable when you call yourself a Dark Lord and are feared throughout the world, I think, but I know that nobody else understands this.

My mother is devastated. When that low-life Kreacher came to her and told her everything about Sirius Black and the Order of the Phoenix she actually thought that the whole plan would work. I didn't get the importance of the Department of Mysteries then - and still don't, now that the thing is not important anymore - but I knew that it was important to Voldemort. But now that the plan has proved to be faulty she does nothing but cry and moan about my father's disappearance into the wizard prison.

I never shed a tear for him. Malfoys are not supposed to cry, anyway, but even if I was allowed to cry for my father... I wouldn't bother. There is simply no use in getting your eyes red and puffy for somebody you think you hardly knew. My father was a total stranger to me. When he was at home in the summer the only thing he said to me was that my grades should improve. It didn't matter to him that I got good marks for all subjects, you know, but the problem was that this Mudblood Granger always beat me to the top of the class. According to him pure-blood wizards were so much better than others with a Muggle or two in the family. Even Squibs, pure-blood wizards in some way, were not safe for his scorn and malice.

No, for my father I feel nothing but a certain sense of satisfaction because somewhere deep inside of me I know that he now gets what he deserved all along. But on the other hand, he is my father and should earn some respect from a young wizard like me. That respect is hidden in some place I can't reach right now because I look at him in the way everyone else sees him.

My father is a Death Eater. There, I said it. I first found it out when I was twelve or something and this whole thing was going on with a diary Voldemort had kept while he was in school. (This information was vital to me because it proved that even the most evil geniuses had a diary, and so I started to keep one myself. Praise yourself lucky for the fact that I am so sick and twisted.) After that I knew that my father was a Death Eater but - strangely enough - I couldn't care less.

This whole thing with Voldemort was not important to me. I had other matters to worry about, like how to win the Quidditch Cup and how to keep Pansy Parkinson's filthy paws off my body, and so I believe that I have certainly missed something in the last two or three years. But I'm catching up fast on everything that happened since Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban. I still can't believe that I was so stupid to not respond as Harry Potter and Ron Weasley accused my parents of being Death Eaters in the summer before our fourth year. It would have saved them a lot of hassle if I had agreed with them.

Then again, they are Gryffindors and we Slytherins don't support them. I don't know who started this whole argument about the students at Hogwarts - Godric or Salazar - but I know that it could have saved some lives if that whole thing had been solved before Voldemort decided to make an entry in the 'Who Is The Most Evil Wizard Of All Time?' competition. Gryffindors dislike Slytherins and that feeling is mutual. I think that we Slytherins are born with the idea to piss off as many Gryffindors as is remotely possible before you get expelled, and that the Gryffindors are born with the same idea. It is simply in our nature to argue and fight with each other over such little things as buckteeth and potions.

But you have to admit that those fights are really useless. The things that really count for me - friends, family, good grades, Quidditch - are hardly there to enjoy. I've got friends all right, but they would probably jump off a bridge if I told them to do that because they are just that stupid. I've got a family, but with a criminal father and a bawling mother the urge to have a nice family dinner is rudely spoilt. Good grades and Quidditch aren't there in the holidays so there is no escape possible from this horrible household.

Except for those times when I am allowed to go into town in order to make a few phone calls. I cherish those moments a lot because then I can talk to the four people who understand me. Three of them are Ashlans and one of them is a Liwellan. Dad once said that the Ashlans, though they are considerably richer than us Malfoys, are not as connected to the Dark Arts as we are. I think that's one of his illusions acting up again because the Ashlans - according to Malachi, Mirja and Baruch - are the most feared pure-blood family that still has members living across the globe. And the Liwellans are, if you have to believe father, more Slytherin-like than us even though they are not as rich and notorious. I agree with him on that one because Snow Liwellan, as much as I hate to admit it, sometimes beats me to the much-needed sarcasm.

So, to make a very long story short: the only four people I have a connection with are neck-deep into the Dark Arts. And I myself am in those too... way over my head. Everyone at school suspects it while the Slytherins all just know it. But I can't see the problem. So yes, I am able to perform Dark Magic. So what?

Oh, even I know the prejudices against the Dark Arts. Trust me when I say that if you were born a Malfoy you would know all of those by heart, too, just like me. But in reality not everything that involves Dark Arts should be regarded as a bad thing. Séances, for example, are performed by some witches and wizards who despise everything that has to do with the Dark Arts even though these séances consist of Dark Magic only.

I regard those prejudices as a fear for the unknown. Once you get to know the Dark Arts they don't seem to be so bad anymore. Of course, you have to know the limits the magic imposes on you and you will also have to know what limits you yourself have in magic. But when you know all of that, you are relatively safe. Unless your name is Voldemort and you think that those rules don't apply to you. Then again: nobody ever said that Voldemort was so clever. He got top grades when he was in school, yes, and he was a Prefect and Head Boy in his days... but still. For somebody that smart he is remarkably stupid.

Saint Potter isn't worth a damn thing and still he has outwitted Voldemort every time. For somebody who calls himself a Gryffindor Potter is like a Slytherin in more ways than one. That's why I offered him my friendship many years ago on the Hogwarts Express, and that is why his Gryffindor nature prevented him from taking my offer. I could have helped him. But it is no good to beat myself up over these unimportant matters because now, things are different.

Now, I am a Death Eater.

I know what you're thinking as you read this. But be careful because not everything is what it seems to be at first sight. I have become a Death Eater out of my own free will. To show my parents that they've done something right after all. To show myself that even a Malfoy can fight on both fronts. To show everyone who knows me that they will have to look deeper than the surface in order to know me. I have become a Death Eater because it was what everyone expected of me. And how much I hate to be predictable does not matter anymore. Because this time: it matters.

If you think that there is still time left to form a front against the Dark Arts, you're wrong. If you think that there is still a way out of this mess, you're wrong. If you think that there is any chance of escaping the war that is coming, you're wrong. You're so wrong if you still think that things won't come that far.

Something wicked this way comes. I smile as I write this, even though I am aware of the seriousness of it all. My life seems to have become a bad fairytale, where good does not win, or a stupid poem written by those who are too blind to see the truth. I have to fight on both fronts because then we might stand a chance. I hate to admit that I have become one of those spies for the Order of the Phoenix, but it is as it is.

I don't think that anyone else knows about me being a spy. Nobody but Dumbledore, Professor Snape, Snow and Malachi know that I am a Death Eater. Dumbledore wanted to prevent me from becoming a spy because it is so dangerous. It is even more dangerous to be a true Death Eater. Snape knew that, and he supported me. He has done this before and he knows the risks of spying on Voldemort. Malachi is a Death Eater himself. I see the surprise upon your face. Hasn't he told you that trivial information in the records he keeps about his family and himself? I guess not. But it does not matter, for you know it now. Malachi did not want to become a spy at first because that would endanger his family and his own life, but he has come round. Ashlans always do if you decide to persuade them. But Snow is different because I recognize myself in her. She became a Death Eater out of her own free will too without caring about the possible risks of becoming a spy. She is reckless and that is what I like about her.

But I cannot care about her too much. If she betrays herself to Voldemort I cannot step in to help her. That is why I shut myself down every time she tries to become friends with me. I don't want her to see the real me for it is so different. I hide my true self behind my sarcasm, you know, and I have got a certain gift when it comes to lying. And yet sometimes I feel the urge to comfort her when she speaks to me of her family and her life. I have never felt that sort of thing before, and it scares me so much. But at the same time I want to feel more of it because that feeling seems to have become some kind of addiction.

The feeling that somebody might need me is so addicting. That little tingly feeling in my heart is so comforting. I have got nothing but that. Nobody seems to care a damn thing about me unless she starts to talk with me and seems to understand what I am really all about. Don't get me wrong: I'm not in love. That is different. Snow's like a sister. Nothing more than that.

But it is just enough...

***

"Voldemort shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies."

"Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don' reckon they could've done if he was comin' back."

~*~

Chapter One [Part Two] - Snow Liwellan

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Don't I just love the summer holidays. It is - after all - so much fun to see my sister fret about her homework and to see my brother making plans to wreck the whole household because Dad forbade him to come out of his room. My Mum's even more entertaining because she is constantly running around the house, driving everybody mad with her fanatic attempts to get us to act normally before her parents arrive here.

Mind you, I said attempts! Nobody ever told me that I should have good manners in order to get somewhere in life. My Dad's an obvious pig and he's still one of the most successful wizards around. But when I made that statement known to Mum she nearly hit me with one of her cauldrons (Mum's in the Potions business) and shouted at me to please respect my father. I snorted with laughter at the idea of respecting my father when I had returned to my room. He never had any respect for us, children of his flesh and blood, so why should we respect him?

My sister Raina thought that I was overreacting to something that was perfectly normal. I am seriously considering the action of asking my Mum to drop Raina on her head again so that she might retrieve her brain. I am sure of the fact that Mum would strike me with the largest cauldron she has in stock, but still... Raina seems to become more like Mum and less like me every day. She even smells like my grandmother's closet sometimes - I am half-expecting the fact that Raina uses Mum's perfume when she's not looking - and is becoming as keen on good manners as the largest female half of the family. (Though I am fervently hoping that she won't be anything like dear aunt Doreen, because that miserable old fraud mistook my Potions homework for a love letter and burned it until only ashes were left. I had worked four days on that particular love potion but aunt Doreen said that she'd consider killing me if I tried to lure my Potions Master into my bed again. It didn't matter to her that the guy was married and had children.)

My brother's a different story. Storm and I are close in a way that makes most people laugh but worries our own family to no end. Even now when I'm writing in this thing I'm supposed to call a diary - and secretly do, but in front of others it's called a notebook - Storm is in my room reading a book about the Dark Arts. It's impossible for him to go somewhere else in the house because he's grounded and has to stay within his bedroom. And seeing as his bedroom is also my bedroom we have no choice but to be locked up with only each other for company.

I've been grounded since I came home from school. It wasn't my fault that the Petrifying spell backfired and hit Madame Zanire instead of Gabrielle Delacour, who I had been aiming at in the first place. And, naturally, Madame Mallemour had to go and write my parents about it. I have tried to explain my actions to Mum and Dad but they wouldn't listen to me. I am only allowed to come out of the bedroom in order to go to the toilet at the end of the hallway. I even eat within my bedroom because that keeps me away from Mum most of the time who is still trying to teach me good manners if I ever come downstairs to ask her something.

But Dad finally got what he wanted and now says that Beauxbatons Academy is not the right place for me. I'm going to be moved to Hogwarts this year. I would have rather gone to Durmstrang with Baruch Ashlan but Mum wouldn't let me. But I guess that Hogwarts is better than Beauxbatons, don't you? And this way I'll be able to stay with Storm who will also go to Hogwarts. He didn't want to return to Crucice Academy For The Dark Arts this year because he feels that all the good stuff is happening in Britain. With the 'good stuff' he means Lord Voldemort and his followers.

Somehow I agree with him because Voldemort actually takes the time to listen to every pure-blood and not just those who think that they are older and wiser than their children. And somehow I don't agree with him because Voldemort is prepared to do anything in order to get power. I don't want the largest part of the wizarding community - Mudbloods and half-bloods - killed because some idiot had a weird idea. It doesn't matter that this large part is inferior to us pure-bloods (at least, not to me) because they leave us alone even though we make it clear that we don't want them anywhere near us.

Still I find myself serving this Lord as a Death Eater. It may not come as a surprise to you, because I fear that you have found and read Draco Malfoy's notes already, but I wanted to state it upon paper myself before somebody tells me that I'm running away from the truth. For somebody like me, a sixteen-year-old member of an ancient wizarding family, this being a Death Eater is a great honor. It's not that funny anymore if you start to realize what all of this means.

It means that sooner or later I'll have to kill somebody. It means that sooner or later I'll have to fight people my own age. It means that sooner or later I'll have to go to war. And that 'sooner or later' will probably be this year or the next year. Yes, Lord Voldemort has got big plans for Hogwarts and all the other wizarding schools... and I don't like them one bit.

Subconsciously I am rubbing the Dark Mark on my forearm as I write this down. Whenever I find myself doing this I am angry with myself for making my 'job' so very obvious. I think that you'll notice it in my writing, because it has become hastier and untidier than before. My writing is a reflection of my self-hatred sometimes, you know, and you can see it in my scribbles and notes from school as well as here in my diary. All of the psychiatrists I have been to in my relatively short life have said this until I started to believe it myself. Storm says that I'm crazy for listening to them but I feel that they've got a good point.

Mum's calling from downstairs now. It seems like my aunts, uncles, cousins and Merlin-knows-what-else have finally arrived. I look at Storm and see a mirror of my soul reflected within his eyes: doubt, restlessness, loneliness, and in a way also beauty. We don't want to be a part of that family anymore. I hear Mum call again, this time more impatient, and I sigh.

Storm gets up slowly and walks towards the door, beckoning me to come and join him in this misery. I shake my head - as to dismiss the painful memories - but know that I don't have a choice in this, just like I did not have a choice in becoming a spy for the Order of the Phoenix. So I get up from the bed and walk over to him, still writing these notes down as if my very life depends on them (even though that is certainly not true), and start to speak.

"It will be okay," he says to me when I have finished talking. "They can't do us any harm. Their visit will take weeks, I guess, but we still have the freedom of our own room. Everything we say to each other will stay within these walls."

It doesn't sound like he believes it. And neither do I, for we know what will come. We hear Mum call again, this time threatening, and I put this diary down.

I guess that it's no good taking notes about your life if you're dying from the inside.

~*~