Confessions of an Ex-Death-Eater

7.

I do not need, dear Reader, to take you through the minutiae of my school days and the petty warfare that emerged between me and Harry Potter after he had rejected my offer of friendship.

Needless to say, I held on to my grudges with an iron fist and I swore I would make Potter rue the day he snubbed me. Of course, Harry never actually knew that was what drove me to be a little fiend to him, but that combined with the fact that Severus Snape was continually whispering in my ear that the 'arrogant boy needed bringing down a peg or two', that he 'revels in his fame', that he was 'just like his father', etcetera, etcetera, drove my animosity towards the boy. I should add, that Harry was never arrogant, he didn't even know he was famous before he came to Hogwarts and certainly hated the attention that seemed to seek him out, and I can't speak about his father but a slighted perspective tainted by anger easily changes perceptions so I went along with what they said. And despite the rumours that kept on emerging about his home life with his muggle relatives and despite the gossip circling around the school, I still didn't know him any better than I did before I came to Hogwarts.

I had, naturally, told my father about Harry snubbing me (in a version of events that came out in my favour). And then, to rub salt in my wounds, there was the 'Remembrall' incident.

Probably like every other enthusiastic eleven-year-old to start school, I had been so sure that everyone would see me for the natural master of the broomstick that I was and I would be picked for the team...

Like all the other little natural masters of the broomstick, I got to stand on the side-line and see Harry James Potter get on a broomstick for the first time in his life and fly like he played for the English Quidditch team. There is no other description other than I was jealous. And my jealousy increased when he was marched off by Professor McGonagall only to emerge as the youngest player, ever, to join a Hogwarts Quidditch team, as Seeker, to boot.

What's more, I had instigated the whole affair to try and cause trouble.

You see, dear Reader, Neville Longbottom received a Remembrall on the very first morning of school. He was carrying it on him when we went for our first flying lesson. Neville was not a natural when it came to broomstick and an incident meant Madame Hooch had to take him off to the infirmary. But he dropped his Remembrall in the process of being thrown from his broomstick and I picked it up. I decided it was a prime opportunity to cause a laugh at someone else's expense. Only Harry, being the Noble Gryffindor he was, demanded I give it back. I was able to turn the situation personal between him and me quicker than I imagined possible and decided to have some fun by throwing the Remembrall up amongst the rooftops of the school.

To see him fly after it and retrieve it with all the skill of a professional Seeker was something else, I think my jaw dropped along with the rest of our years' as we watched him soar away and catch it before it smashed to smithereens.

I was in awe. And, yes, I was definitely jealous.

Of course, my father heard about that too.

After which it was universally agreed that all strategies of becoming friends were ditched and I had permission to make the boy's life a living hell (so long as I didn't get expelled in the process).

I will categorically declare now that all that scheming and planning and all those thoughts of petty revenge only served to make me even more obsessed about the Boy who Lived. He positively dominated every waking hour of my life, and more than a few of my dreams too.

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