Paint It Black

Chapter 2 - Draco Malfoy's Point of View

'It was a theme she had

On a scheme he had

Told in a foreign land'

The road to Hell was paved with good intentions. Yet it's the evil intentions that provide you with transportation to get you there. What constitutes as 'good' and 'evil' when there's no black and white to which everyone insists of placing their accusations, proportioning the blame? Everyone insists there's no justice in the world. The problem is, is that no one appears to as of yet have realized that morality has died. No one has to abide by your sanctimonious whining of 'How my life is unfair, and you should do as I say', a verbal dissertation of diarrhea anymore. What few individuals realize is that the world, your world, is what you make it. Once I overheard a conversation, or rather an accusation. The person commented, rather eloquently:

"The world owes me, so fuck you!"

Quite. Only when you've never provided the world with anything other than piteous spewing from your retarded, spittle covered mouth, enraged to your bitter sinews with hatred toward your fellow men; you'll have to forgive the rest of the world for not caring. The world owes you nothing. So sorry to disappoint.

'To take life on earth

To the second birth

And the man was in command'

Most believe me to be jealous of Potter, yet the dumb accusation flies hurtling at break-neck speed without thought, just venomous poison, aimed, yet fired incorrectly. I envy Potter in all his evangelical glory, this is true, and I envy him of his power. The way he could, without effort, manipulate those around him at the snap of his badly kept fingers, encrusted with crud after having to constantly remove his head from his arse. Not that he doesn't use tissue paper to attempt such a deed; after all, to scrupulously attempt to wipe his conscious (and buttocks) clean, that's the ultimate purpose of his faithful minions, Weasley and Granger. I can't be jealous, because he doesn't use the power correctly. Not to the effect I would. Then again, he has managed to amass a congregation full of maniacs, the Cinderella fairy tale creating a tear in the eye of even the hardest man.

"Thou shalt have no other gods before me."

Yet, knowledge is power. And Potter, for all his fame and glory, can't strip the peasants of that. That's a free for all, providing you have the intelligence to acquire it. Potter doesn't possess it. But I do. A child locked in limbo, observing from the glass cage of hardened ice; I sit on my guilt throne carved from gold and wait. I wait to ensnare the princeling with deeds yet to be discovered. Keep your friends close but your enemy's closer. Time is another important factor. Potter, for all his blundering impatience and Gryffindorian values doesn't possess. I have all the time in the world though. I can wait. Rash decisions get you nowhere. Good things come to those who wait.

As I slink briskly down the third floor corridor on prefect patrol, something draws my attention from the perverse wanderings of my inner mind and the old feeling of curious scrutiny arouses within the core of my being. The door of an old deserted classroom that has been left ajar is what alerts me to be precise. Most would ignore this with tiring disregard, likely with the same disregard felt by the perpetrator of such a deed in his sloth. Most likely. Yet I always believe in exploring everything, no matter how trivial. This may be seen as somewhat obsessively compulsive, yet I must question why the door of a deserted, long since used room, possessing no longer the shuffling feet, grubby ham-fisted hands and disrespectful minds of the student population, would have its door open. A student randomly opening a door to look inside a room that has nothing more then a few broken desks in? I think not. Most are too ignorant and obsessed in their avarice to even notice the secrets of the castle, let alone explore it. Especially if it's simply a classroom that eyes acknowledge everyday. So I take a look.

'It was a flight on the wings

Of a young girls dreams

That flew too far away'

Well tonight's discovery failed to disappoint. In fact, it was both the finest, intuitive discovery I had ever made; yet inconceivably the worst. The half-naked body of an abused girl lying on the hard, splintered floor of a deserted classroom drew my attention from the limp curtains and deteriorating furnishings of the room. The stench of fish and copper compound hits my nose as I kneel for closer examination. It appears to be the Bones child, a Hufflepuff, niece of that meddling Amelia Bones woman who's Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry. Father always disliked her. The plait of glossy red hair, entwined with crusted, dried blood wisps snake-like down her back. I draw my lit wand closer to her face. Experience left in innocents' place.

It doesn't take a genius to comprehend that she needs assistance. Nor does it take a Ravenclaw to understand that if I'm caught aiding the wretched creature I'll become the accused of the crime. I'll be thrown to the mercy of the dementors of Azkaban before I can even proclaim 'innocence' in the name of Saint Potter and all his hair-brained harpies, amen. The majority of the school perceives the Slytherin populace as possessing cowardice, ignoring blindly the small issue that it could also be construed as self-preserving. It would be only to easy and somewhat more enticing to embrace the harsh reality of metal door handle and stride briskly out of this nightmare I have manage to stumble into. Yet I decide against that course of action. After all, what are we but the sum of our choices? I elect this road not because I care more for her than my own sanity, but because of a feeling that raises the fine hairs on my neck, creates a shiver throughout my body. A familiar feeling is creeping up the fine hairs on my neck; I scent blood on the wind. Power's appetizing aroma. I gaze at the piteous nymph, and conjure aid. Wrapping her in swathes of blanket, I leave her with a few ointments and wrappings. I entwine a green ribbon through her hair. She's a Hufflepuff, but she'll understand. No Slytherin gives something for nothing; we will always be repaid. I saunter off quietly, closing the door behind me softly. I leave the deserted, eerily quiet corridor in haste, left to pick at the knowledge better left unknown.

'Don't push too far

Your dreams are china in your hand

Don't wish too hard

Because they may come true

And you can't help them

You don't know what you might

Have set upon yourself

China in your hand'

Sitting at breakfast the next morning, quietly contemplating idle musings while chewing hot buttered toast, the Bones urchin from the previous night sneaks in and settles herself at her table. It is no coincidence that she chose to sit precisely opposite myself I doubted. I gaze at her briefly; it would do no good to show an interest. In a fleeting instant she flashes a gruesome, lupine leer at me, acknowledging my gift no doubt from the previous night, then continued with her breakfast with a syrupy smile etched upon her face. Frowning, I study the child distantly. I'm mildly impressed to see she had effectively used a concealment charm to hide the abuse, yet remain interested to watch as she attempts poorly to effectively detach herself from the pain she feels. Her movements were stiff, yet scrupulous, calculated in every slight twitch so as not to arouse suspicion; not that she needed to. The Hufflepuffs may be enigmas, yet they're too busy preening themselves to observe fellow housemate's ailments. I was missing something here, something important; that inclination has once again returned to haunt me, yet this time more persistent. I turn to shake it off and by chance my eyes rest on Potter. There's something odd about him today, the chilling cockiness that had disappeared briefly after Diggory died, has once more returned I note with interest. I also duly note and file away for later dissection the predatory yearning toward which he observes Susan Bones.

'Come from greed

Never born of the seed

Took life from a barren land

Oh eyes wide

Like a child in the form of man

A prophecy for a fantasy

A castle in his mind'

A meeting must be arranged. People may perceive me to be a cocky idiot; brash in plans leading ultimately to my demise, yet I have never lost a battle of the wills once. Oh, there have been many minor scuffles, which have left me trailing away with my tail between my legs, but ultimately I have never misjudged anyone. I will always win in the end. If my thought is correct, the feeling that rocks the very core of my being, raising the fine hairs upon my neck, then Bones is the key to my ultimate succession to the guilt-carved throne that awaits me in the lofty heights of universal popularity. The King is dead; long live the King. Rising to my feet, I swiftly look to Crabbe and Goyle, and they too shift their bulk to stand beside me in the coming onslaught. Working my way around the hall, I lead them to the exit, a familiar burning scalding my back, following my every move, the wary eyes of the more watchful students brandishing their suspicion on my skin. My father is a lot more pedantic with planning, this is true. Forethought and preparation is something he prides himself at. True, the man is a master manipulator, for that I owe him everything he has ever taught me. My plans may lack his finesse, the delicate cruelty to which he weaves mere mortal's fates, seared with his stamp, signed, sealed and delivered. My plans however get the task required done quickly and swiftly. As I make my way towards Ancient Runes, I turn to see her quietly following, step toeing through the masses and Potter's gaggle of grotesque gargoyles to make her way to our lesson.

Sitting at my workbench, I observe Bones' progression through the work set before us as I continue to construct my origami, the irony of which is not lost upon my humble self. Ensuring the tutor is busy with some idiot claiming to deserve a place amongst the few remaining intelligent student populace of our N.E.W.T class, I send the tenacious Hufflepuff a note stamped with a seal of my own. Watching as she shivers under my scrutiny, as she comprehends my web, I smirk and rise as the bell shatters the calm before the storm and draws my attention to the completion of the lesson. She glances at me and while she beams in that idiot-serenity that only the Hufflepuff students can aspire to, I note that her eyes awash with green turn turbulent as she acknowledges my request and blinks in acceptance. She would have understood the consequences of her actions had she not chose to indulge in my wishes.

'Don't push too far

Your dreams are china in your hand

Don't wish too hard

Because they may come true

And you can't help them

You don't know what you might

Have set upon yourself'

"You requested to speak with me."

Her impertinent avaricious tones of boredom heighten the soft cadences to which she humbly utters with. Normally, I would punish such blatant disregard towards myself, a member of the Malfoy family, however I need the piteous whore something of which she comprehends quite acutely. For now I decide to let her indulge in the small intricate pleasure of knowledge, there will be ample time for her to pay for such disrespect later. It is, after all, rare for a Hufflepuff to possess knowledge of which could prove useful, so it is something held in precious regard therefore ultimately difficult to obtain. Something of which I am well aware, as is she.

"Indeed I did," I reply, politeness bordering contempt for the urchin to whom I hiss. Silence ensues. She may be a Hufflepuff, but I clearly have underestimated her slightly. The nymph clearly understands the game of which we have entered, and plays it well. It would not be a misjudgement that is made again. She waits and blinks slowly, the darkness partially ravishing her gaunt pale face as she prepares herself for my next move.

'China in your hand

In your hand, your hand'

I could act brashly, requesting forcefully that she indulges me in the secrets the previous night possesses; however something holds me back, notifying myself that it would not be that simple. She knows, or rather expects, that that will be my course of action. Surprise, however, is the best form of attack. Something of which I happen to believe and tonight will not change my perception of that statement. Instead of uttering a simplistic demand, I enquire:

"What charm did you use?"

She shifts her weight slightly, seemingly unnerved at the unexpected question.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

I sigh impatiently. This would prove to be a painfully long night; however I am beginning to revel in the task set before me.

"Displaying your aptitude for the house of Hufflepuff quite admirably tonight, I am inclined to believe, Bones," I congratulate with a resolutely smirk, "however, while you may have little to achieve tonight other than your house's disgusting homage to Saint Potter, I'm a busy man with an underworld to run. Your blatant stupidity at misconceiving a question is not merited here."

"Now do tell me," I drawl, "How you managed to achieve such abhorrent maladies yesterday evening before I discovered your pathetic self in the deserted class room on the third floor corridor."

'Don't push too far

Your dreams are china in your hand

Don't wish too hard

Because they may come true

And you can't help them

You don't know what you might

Have set upon yourself'

The game has twisted and is beyond both our spheres of comprehension now. I am in the realm of the unknown. The move was a dangerous, but necessary, one if I am to obtain the pearl of wisdom here for the taking. Although for once the Fates appear to have shone down upon my blessed self, the urchin seemingly paler and more terrified than before. The shutters come down over the windows to her soul, and I hear the distant click of a key being turned in a lock as she withdraws from the conversation and strives to hide from my relentless probing. Unfortunately for her I had my foot in the door before she tried to shut me off. I saw the fear in her eyes when I mentioned Potter.

"I can't." She speaks simply, brash yet not completely confident. I have scented the blood.

"Now Bones, lets do stop the frivolous camaraderie, and indulge me." I offer her a beatific smile, fangs bared and poised to pounce. "Remember," I shrug casually, aware of the silent ticking of relentless unceasing time in the background, "You owe me."

"I don't understand what you could want from me," Her face aglow with serenity, her tones offering honesty and compliance.

'You shouldn't push too far, no, no'

Oh, I rather think you do. A shiver runs down my spine. The writing's on the wall.

"I believe the question is more," I begin, smiling, ready for the kill, "What could Potter want from you?" I hear the resounding crash as her walls fall down around her and watch as she pales beyond comprehension and begins to shake. I'm too good for this game.

I'll never forget the image of vehemence she possessed within her eyes as she removed her wand from her robes and removed the well-placed charm from her visage. Having witnessed the extent of her injuries the previous night, I was still unprepared to the extent of bruising that had appeared to surface throughout the day. Yet it was the ageing lines, the experience that had touched her eyes, amongst other body parts, that had scarred the deepest. At this moment epiphany chooses to strike. So this is the embodiment of corruption. Power corrupts but absolute power corrupts absolutely.

'Don't push too far

Your dreams are china in your hand

Don't wish too hard

Because they may come true

And you can't help them

You don't know what you might

Have set upon yourself'

"Let them see the horror." I reply to the vision in front of me.

She smiles slightly and replaces the concealment charm. She turns on her heel and leaves. As I stalk out also, I begin to whistle. I once overheard the King of wrought and golden light trade to one of his whores not realizing the full implications of such a statement:

"My kingdom for what's under that dress,"

His kingdom indeed.