I was never the brightest crayon in the box. In fact, to be quite honest, I was nearly always the dullest. Even magic almost failed me; it was the pure blood that runs through my veins that ensured my place at Hogwarts, for I was neither talented nor intelligent enough to get in by any other means. For the longest time throughout my childhood, my family thought me to be a squib. Not that it mattered to them, the filthy blood traitors.

Yes, I, Pansy Parkinson, come from a disgusting, family of muggle loving blood traitors. My blood may be pure, but my family name has been betrayed, as has the name Weasley, however; my family was never quite so public about our muggle relations. It revolts me to even think of the family I come from. Its shocking, really, that we stayed pure of the blood after so many generations of contact with the filthy, dirty, disgusting muggles.

Yet the point of this little story, this memoir if you please, is not to show my disgust with my family. No, I write this to look for a reason, perhaps just a hint as to why I became this evil, wicked woman who I am today. For it wasn't meant for me to be like this, a life in darkness was never expected for me. So here I lay, in a hard lumpy cot in a small damp cottage, lover lying besides me snoring slightly, me; keeping watch for anyone who may approach the cabin. For we are being looked for right and left, nowhere we turn is completely safe. So I lay here and write this, searching for something that I might have missed. I, after all, have never been a very observant person.


I suppose I should start with my childhood. I was never abused, neglected, abandoned, or mistreated in any way, as is the case for most Slytherins. My childhood is what one could call happy, if one was one the outside looking in. But I was far from being happy. As a child, I always felt out of place with my family. For as long as I can remember, I'd disliked them. My parents were aurors, and so damned soft and sensitive when it came to children that it broke your heart. Therefore, although I was a very disobedient child, I was never punished justly, as I should have been. Naturally, growing up in a normal wizarding family, I'd spent a lot of my childhood hearing about the Dark Days. I'd heard terrible things about the Dark Lord, yet, I felt no reaction whatsoever to it. I know the difference between good and evil, however, I have never truly understood it. For example, were my parents good for never punishing me harshly when I deserved it? Or were they evil, for allowing an empty minded child to fill up her head with whatever she pleases?


The first day I laid eyes on Draco Malfoy, I knew I had to have him, in every sense that a woman could own a man, though I was hardly a woman. We were on the Hogwarts Express, on the first day of our first year of school. He had walked angrily past the compartment that I shared with another first year girl who I had just met, Millicent Bulstrode, who I liked because her dullness surpassed mine. Draco had stormed past, fully clothed in wizards robes, unlike most of the trash that was upon the train, who were dressed in muggle clothes. To a full grown wizard, he would have looked absurd, almost comical, as it was obvious that he was trying to look more important and mature then he really was. But to a stupid 11 year old girl, he looked angry, powerful, and, most importantly, magic. I didn't even think about it as I called out to him; I didn't think as he sat down beside me. As I sat there, small talking with him, it became clear to my unintelligent 11 year old mind, that he and I were meant to be together. With him, I no longer felt like inferior, second class, blood betraying garbage. With him, I was superior pure blooded royalty.

Later that day, I was placed into Slytherin, a first in my family. I was headed down my path to darkness


Near the end of our second year at Hogwarts, my reputation as the biggest whore in our year was established, but not without good reason. I discovered the only thing I've ever been good at—attracting boys. After only a few months, I'd had Draco completely wrapped around my fingers. Even to my pathetic, feeble mind, I knew that I liked that kind of power. I could control the people who could control everyone else. Of course there were a few who weren't attracted to me, namely, Harry Potter. I despised him because I couldn't control him, I couldn't use his lust against him, because it seemed he had none. I hated him for denying me the pleasure of owning him.

Of course, besides Millicent, who was stupider then any human being should be, the girls didn't like me. I didn't care. I wasn't looking for petty alliances, or friendship. I simply wanted control. Love meant nothing to me. Perhaps I am too dull for many emotions. However, like every teenager, I did experience some emotions.

I realized I was in love with Draco in the middle of our fourth year. This realization hurt me more than I could ever have imagined, because the last thing I ever wanted was emotional attachment to anything at all, let alone a person. I was traumatized, realizing that I could control others emotions but couldn't control my own. I began to toy with my own feelings, trying to see how much pain and heartbreak I could take. Draco and I had been a couple since the end of our third year, and I had lost my virginity before then, so nothing any boy did to my body mattered to me. No kiss was special, because so many others had already placed their lips there. I cheated on Draco with his two best friends, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. I embarrassed him immensely, although it wasn't anything that no one expected of me. I was the school whore. He broke up with me. It hurt me beyond belief, but yet I yearned for more, more pain, because it was more intense then anything a stupid girl like me could ever dream of. I stalked him, watching his every move, experiencing something new altogether: jealousy. I watched him flirt with other girls as it was nothing. The pain grew to the point where it was unbearable. After three months of it, I seduced him back into my bed. We were together again, and I was once again void of emotions.


At the beginning of our sixth year, Draco told me about how he had become a death eater. The idea didn't appeal to me; however, it didn't repel me either, as I don't believe I ever had a conscience. He asked me to join him in service to the Dark Lord. I told him I would do whatever he wanted. I was just his whore.

On the night Dumbledore died, he fled with many Death Eaters. I thought it to be the last I ever saw of him. I was sure he would die. I was wrong. He owled me only but a month later, telling me he wanted to see me, telling me it was time for me to join him in service to the Dark Lord. I rejoiced at being able to see him again, but my happiness was short lived. The incompetence of my brain was unable to hold such a strong emotion for so long.

Draco arrived at my house noon the day after he sent the letter, escorted by two rather well known death eaters, Bellatrix Lestrange, and, none other than his very own father, Lucius Malfoy. My parents refused to give me up. They were murdered. It was a shame, but it didn't bother me the way it should. My brain could only register the shock that they'd just killed two powerful aurors. After that slipped away, there was time for nothing else.


I was branded with my dark mark only two hours after my parents' death. I felt the pain. I enjoyed it, sickly. It gave me the intensity I craved every moment of my exsistence. The Dark Lord himself touched his long, white finger to my new mark. It burned like nothing I've ever known. I wanted to scream. I kept it inside. It added to the burning agony of the moment.

You are only a child. Lord Voldemort said to me. Nearly worthless to me…though…I won't turn down followers. I agreed with him. I was nothing. I still am nothing.


The first assignment given to me? Go back to Hogwarts. The Dark Lord instructed me carefully on how to spy for him. I obeyed, like the whore and the servant that I truly am. I returned to Hogwarts, feigning grief at the death of my parents. I spyed on Harry Potter for the Dark Lord. I reported to him regularly. Then I messed it up. I allowed myself to be caught. I was stupidly showing off my mark to Crabbe and Goyle, as they'd asked to see and, since they would be receiving theirs soon. I obliged. I should have said wait until we get back to the common room. I should have said anything, anything but yes. I was caught, by Professer McGonagall herself. The wench. But I really am in no place to call anyone those kind of names…


I fled immediately. The Dark Lord punished me severely. The intensity of the pain was like nothing I ever felt before. I felt coils of hate wrap themselves inside of me. Hate for every living thing. Hate for myself. Hate even to my dead parents, for allowing me to become this way. Then it was gone, in a whirlwind of emotions, and it was like nothing ever happened.


The Dark Lord has no use for Draco and I at the time being. We were sent into a cottage deep inside the woods, where the Dark Lord himself lived after his downfall. We are to apparate to his side if we ever felt the mark burn. Other than that, we are to remain inside this cottage, day and night. Draco's angst has become almost unbearable, yet I eat it up like a starving man eats food. He pounds his fist to the wall, bruising himself every which way. Each time I'll come to him, I'll try to wrap my arms around him, I'll try to create passion. But we're so full of hate now, its impossible. If I do manage to seduce him, he'll end up hurting me, taking out his emotional pain on my body. He thrusts into me, hurting me, but nothing matters anymore. I may cry, but the pain doesn't last for long, as always. I'll threaten to leave, he'll threaten to kill me. Then he cries again and begs me not to leave, he tells me he loves me. I will soak up every minute of it, just to feel the emotion that he feels, that I find so hard to feel for myself.

I came from a family of good. I have become evil, I am the temptress, I am the snake in the apple tree. I am lying in a cold, damp cottage, lost inside a forest that I've never seen or heard of before. I am bruised, battered and abused. I'm a whore, I'm a slut, I'm a slave, I have no soul, just evil that resides inside of me. I'm alive only to serve the Dark Lord. It's what I'm meant for.

These are my true confessions.