Ever since I was a young boy, my father would tell me that I was to become a Death Eater. This was my destiny; I would not shun it. Every day, at least once, he would tell me about how great the Dark Lord was. How eventually He would return one day; the signs were everywhere. How as soon as He regained full power, we would cause terror to consume every heart, and screams to fill every mind, same as before. "First Harry Potter, then that muggle-lover Dumbledore, then the muggles and mudbloods", he would tell me, ticking each one off on his fingers and smiling gleefully.
I would smile back, believing that my father could never be wrong. I imagined that my father was in the right, that soon we would purge the world of impure blood; because, really, what good was it?
Years passed, and nothing happened. Despite what my father had told me, Voldemort hadn't come to power…and then I was eleven, and ready to attend Hogwarts, the same school my father had gone to.
Before I left, my father took me aside. "If at all possible, try to make friends with Harry Potter", he told me. "This will be his first year as well, and I want him to have no suspicion of this family."
I nodded. I would never dream of disobeying my father. And as soon as I got on the train, I, along with my friends Crabbe and Goyle, went to find this Potter, to offer my hand in false friendship to the boy I was raised to despise.
Things did not go well. My offer was refused, as Potter seemed to prefer that Weasley over me. My father had told me all about the Weasley's, and their love of muggles. Disgusting.
Perhaps that's why I wasn't at all surprised when they took up with that mudblood, Granger. She was such an insufferable, know-it-all, bushy haired mudblood, yet Potter seemed to prefer her company to the company of me-a pureblood.
When I spoke of this, my father told me that it was probably because of Potter's own muggle blood. Disgusting. From then on, it became okay to hate Potter, Weasley, and the mudblood.
Two years passed, and Potter delayed the Dark Lord both years. During these years, my father encouraged me to be as awful to Potter and his friends as I could without getting caught. We could not be seen as hating Potter, but as long as no one saw it was fine with him. I did my best; delighting in how furious I could make them, especially Weasley. Yet that mudblood bitch seemed to just shrug me off. And to make matters worse, she beat me in every subject, even Potions, when Snape so obviously favored me.
Needless to say, Father was not happy with me. After my second year he told me that he didn't feel that he could trust me with slipping Tom Riddle's diary to the youngest Weasley, given the fact that I couldn't even beat a mudblood in grades. My father has always been very good at speaking softly while making someone feel like shit. I'd seen him do it to many people, and suffice to say, I was thoroughly ashamed.
I returned to Hogwarts in third year with a new purpose. My purpose was to make that stupid mudblood pay for making me disappoint my father. Unfortunately, I had no new material to use on her, and honestly, it seemed to bother Weasley and Potter more than it bothered her. She dismissed me easily, and it bothered me to no end.
Then I came upon the means to annoy all of them splendidly: Hagrid and his stupid hippogriff. Of course I hadn't been paying attention when the big oaf was explaining about the hippogriff's temper, but who cared? The point was I ended up with a gash on my arm and the perfect way to piss off the so-called Dream Team. I played it for all it was worth, making Potter and Weasley do my potions work for me, telling anyone who would listen about how my father was going to make sure that the hippogriff was executed and the big oaf fired.
It also gave me a chance to taunt Potter about what I knew about Sirius Black, even though I knew it was untrue. My father had told me all about it when Black first escaped, and we had a good laugh, thinking about how Potter would react to the news that Black killed off his family. Father said that it would be great if Potter were to try to hunt down Black after he found out, and they ended up killing each other. "It would get rid of two of our biggest problems", he told me.
Of course, the best thing was my taunting about the hippogriff incident really got to Granger, pissed her off in a way my calling her 'mudblood' didn't. So pissed, in fact, that she slapped me when I made fun of Hagrid's disgusting sobbing over the beast. I barely felt the slap, so pleased was I that I had finally gotten under her skin.
It's safe to say that by third year I was completely obsessed with breaking Granger. I remembered being really disappointed when the Basilisk in second year didn't kill her, but now I was glad. I wanted to be the one to see her crack, to see her eyes fill with horror and despair when she realized that there was no escape from death…and the sick understanding she would feel when she realized that I was the one who would take her life from her.
In the end, I lost yet again, as both the hippogriff and Black managed to escape, and that Granger beat me in exams again. Needless to say, Father was not pleased. He never laid a hand on me, but one disappointed look from him always made me feel as horrible as if I had been beaten. Seeing his disappointment made my need to hurt Granger even stronger.
I entered my fourth year with that need burning through me, and I resolved to make Granger snap. I'd almost done it third year, how difficult could it be?
In a word: extremely. Damned near impossible, in fact. Now that she wasn't taking so many classes, she was much more composed, and was back to looking at me as though I were dirt. I was livid. How dare she look at me like that? How dare she?
And the worst of it was, not even the taunts of the other Slytherins, nor Rita Skeeter's untrue articles about her seemed to bother Granger. She seemed to live by the philosophy 'ignore it and it'll go away'. Either that or she thought she was superior. Ha! The day that a mudblood is superior to a pureblood I'll become a Gryffindor.
Thankfully, Potter and Weasley were as easy to piss off as usual, and I let some of my frustration out on them. Unfortunately, I was caught venting my frustration by none other than Professor Moody, or at least the man that we believed to be Moody, who decided that it would be fun to turn me into a ferret, right in front of the oh-so-famous Trio.
After that, it was even harder for my insults to bother the mudblood. She simply looked like she was remembering the ferret incident, and gave me my smirk right back. Bitch.
Then there was the matter of the Yule Ball. Stupid bitch went with Viktor Krum, who had been my favorite Quidditch player until he walked in with that filth on his arm. The worst part was that she looked so gorgeous my breath stopped, and I couldn't get it back long enough to insult her, bring her down, make her pay for looking so beautiful.
Later, when she had that row with Weasley and stormed off, tears sparkling in her eyes, I felt jealousy rip through me. The fact that I wasn't supposed to be jealous of Weasley didn't stop it. He shouldn't be able to make her cry when I couldn't. He shouldn't have that power, when he was poorer than I, and a disgrace to purebloods everywhere.
After the ball, my insults toward her tuned down slightly, as I tried to figure out what power Weasley had over her that I didn't. I became more obsessed than ever, not just with breaking her, but also with everything that had to do with her. I even checked out Hogwarts: A History from the library to see what she found so fascinating. I still hated her, and the fact that I was obsessed with her as well made me sick to my stomach. I knew that hurting her was the only way to end it.
Diggory's death and the return of Voldemort were my new chance to get to the mudblood, to make her eyes flash in anger, or even better, make her cry. I would savor those tears, devour them with my eyes and delight in them like any normal man would delight in the smile of a lover.
But no, I was once again thwarted as all of her stupid friends hexed me. Bastards. And to top it all off, Granger once again passed me in every class.
On the bright side, Father was in a much better mood, seeing as his master was now back, thanks to Barty Crouch, Jr., who had posed as Professor Moody to infiltrate Hogwarts. When my father had first heard of what Moody had done to me, he was furious, but after he found out it was never Moody at all, and had in fact been Barty Jr. trying to gain Potter's trust, he was elated. "Clever man, he was", he told me countless times, along with "We must all make sacrifices for our Lord, that was simply one of yours."
Fifth year wasn't highly eventful. I toned down my insulting of the mudblood, seeing as she would be killed once Voldemort had enough supporters to make himself known. Of course, I still tried to thwart the trio at every turn, and even managed with the help of my fellow Slytherins and Professor Umbridge, the toad who taught Defense Against the Dark Arts and hated Potter. All I had to do was pretend that I gave a shit about her 'cause', and bam! I was in a position to torture Potter and co. anytime I wanted.
For a while, it was like Christmas year round. Potter was treated like scum, and so was anyone associated with him. Our meddling got old Dumbledore fired. Oh, the joy that I felt during this time was indescribable…I think I even smiled once or twice.
But with all the success, came a downfall. Voldemort got rather careless, which resulted in several Death Eaters, my father included, getting caught and sent to Azkaban. The Minister of Magic was forced to believe Voldemort's return, since he saw him firsthand. Now the whole wizarding world knows that He's back, before he was ready fro them to find out. Dumbledore was reinstated as Headmaster, destroying all the work put into getting him fired, and Umbridge wound up in St. Mungo's, having been driven insane inside of the Forbidden Forest.
All in all, my hard work over the year amounted to nothing, but its okay. Because Voldemort is back, and he will make them pay. All of them. And I will help. As soon as Father gets out of Azkaban-and he will, for the dementors have deserted it in favor of Voldemort-I will be initiated as a Death Eater, and I will help destroy those who almost destroyed my father.
I will start with Potter. I will torture him to the point of death for landing my father in Azkaban, then I will turn him over for Voldemort to kill, for he had wanted to kill Potter for fifteen years.
Then, I will go for the mudblood. She will be mine, to torture, to kill, to destroy. I will torture her not only with the Cruciatus curse, but with muggle forms of torture as well. I will pull out her fingernails, one by one; I will break her arms and legs. I will see her cry and hear her beg for death. I will heal her, and then do it all over again, until her mind breaks and I become bored, then I will kill her, finally freed of my twisted obsession.