Title: The Villain of the Piece
Disclaimer: I don’t own them.
Spoilers: None really.
Summary: “Are you trying to tell me I should kill you, asking me to do it or forgiving me for going to do it?”
If I had ever written a diary I suspect it would have read like one of the worst kinds of soap operas. The ones muggles so like to watch, only muggles would think of something like soap operas.
What does it say about me then that I even know what a soap opera is?
I used to be so proud of being a pureblood, there was a time I would never have concerned myself with anything that was in any way related to muggles.
Things really do have a way of changing.
I suppose it’s a good thing I never did write a diary then, I really do not wish anyone to read about my life. To find it amusing, or even worse, pity me because of it. It is bad enough that I had to suffer through it.
That I believe is more than enough.
The thing about soap operas is that you can at least find some amusement in the absurdity of them and in the stupidity of the muggles that created them, but when you’re living through those events... there’s not much to be amused by then.
If someone did tell the story of the time in which I have led my life, I would probably be given only a small part in it. Maybe I should be happy that I have a part at all, there’s so many that get completely forgotten, but I was trying so hard to be one of the lead characters in the story...
Actually, I was trying to be the villain of the piece, the problem was that there were others much worse than me.
I couldn’t accept the fact that I wasn’t important. To a great part that might be blamed on my heritage and most of all my father.
From my very childhood I was always taught that I was better than everyone else. I never made a choice to be on the side of dark and by the time I would have been able to make a choice I believed that that was the side I should be on. I was proud of what I was and I found no reason to hide it.
I didn’t have a bad childhood by any means, no I loved my parents. There’s no troubled childhood to blame it all on, as if I would ever have been content with something so clichéd. I was something special, or so I had been taught.
It was quite a shock when I finally realized that in the story of that time I would barely qualify as a minor nuisance.
When I did realize it, I gave up even that. Rather I not be remembered at all, than be remembered as something so unimportant.
In the end I didn’t even join the side of dark, or at least not the dark that was so prominent back then, because I was always a dark wizard and I still am. In the end I found out I did not have a wish to kill and torture people, not even the ones I hated or the ones that were so far beneath me, I didn’t even want to do it to muggles, who in my opinion were barely people at all.
I left it all; the war, my family, my name... I went to live with muggles, the ones I so despised.
I couldn’t leave the magic completely, but mostly I am just like any other ordinary muggle. If a wizard or a witch saw me they might recognize me, my appearance is after all a bit special and thus I keep away from those places where such a thing might happen.
I don’t know what has happened in the magical world for the past five years. I’ve found out about the big things, like the war ending almost exactly a year after I left, since there has been nothing more heard since then it is obvious that the side of light won.
If you know what to look for you’ll find out something that big even from muggle news.
I don’t know if the people I went to school with are still alive or not, I don’t know if my family is alive or not, I don’t know if the Dark Lord is still alive or not. Most of the time I don’t even think about it.
I suppose I should be grateful I left when I did, if I had stayed I would have been on the losing side. I don’t expect they’d showed me mercy and if they had I believe their noble act would have been worse than complete and utter mercilessness.
Why is it that the side of good doesn’t seem to realize that there are quite a few things that are much worse than death.
They don’t realize that their mercy is something to be avoided, their mercy only prolongs suffering, if they wished to show mercy they should simply kill those they capture.
Death is merciful, especially when you consider the alternative.
No, that is not a place I would have wanted to end up in. Still I can’t find it in me to be grateful about the way things have turned out.
I don’t like my life.
Draco looks up as he finishes his story. The chains at his wrists and ankles rattle as he moves.
The woman he’s told his story to looks at him with an amused look on her face.
“Are you trying to tell me I should kill you, asking me to do it or forgiving me for going to do it?”
He sighs and looks back down. She isn’t one of the good guys and she most definitely doesn’t seem interested about showing mercy to anyone.
Draco is surprised to feel her hand at his cheek. He’s even more surprised at the gentleness of the touch. Draco won’t let himself be fooled though, it was after all this same woman who put him in chains.
“The story isn’t over yet.”
Draco can’t help but look back up when she says that.
“I could make sure history will remember you as the most powerful of dark wizards,” she tells him and the gentle smile on her face seems a stark contrast to what she is saying. “You wouldn’t even have to do any of the torturing and murdering.”
In despite of himself Draco finds the offer alluring. He could have everything he ever wanted...
“Why would you do that?”
The woman steps away from him and shrugs. “Because I can.”
“But why offer it to me, why not do it for yourself?”
“What would I do with the world? Sooner or later I’d get bored of it,” she shrugs casually. “So choose either I give you the wizarding world or I kill you. Either way you get what you want.”