Bloody Glass

He makes me sick. Sauntering around Hogwarts with his scar and his little menagerie of friends like he owns the place.

Nobody ever seems to remember that what Harry Potter did was precisely nothing. All he did at most was lay there and scream like any baby would. A baby can't do anything against a great wizard like Voldemort! It's just pure dumb luck that Potter happened to be there with that stupid love charm or whatever the hell his Muggle mother put on him. Any baby could have managed that. It doesn't make Harry Potter special.

And, yeah, I did say Muggle. No one except my father and I apparently remembers that Lily Potter was Muggle-born. A Mudblood. That makes Harry a Mudblood, too. Everybody forgot that two years agoin all the fuss about the heir of Slytherin. I didn't forget.

Not that it was for lack of trying. I almost - sort of - hoped that Harry would turn out to be Slytherin's heir. It certainly looked that way, and it would have made certain . . . things . . . much more excusable, even a little understandable.

I hate Harry Potter. I do. Just like any intelligent wizard who hasn't been brainwashed by Dumbledore and that idiotic Ministry of Magic. In fact, I hate him more than anyone else because, unlike the others, I know him.

But when I see the way Harry looks at Cho Chang, it makes me want to rub her face into ground glass. Yes, I know, horribly mundane of me. There are magickal ways, more efficient ways, to steal her beauty and stop Harry from looking at her. But they're all so impersonal. I want hands-on. I want to punish her personally for taking part of Harry's attention from me. I want bloody glass to put at Harry's door, to make him see me again.

I'm right here, Harry. I'm right over here, hating you, spending energy on you, wasting my time plotting against you.

So see me, Harry. Stop gaping at Cho, stop messing around with Weasley, stop making faces behind Snape's back, and see me.