"Did you hear that I'm getting married, Benjy?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry for the girl. Though if she picked you, I really shouldn't."

"She must have some serious problems for being interested in a
sleazebag like me."

"Saves me the time of saying it."

"Because I'm, you know, scum. Now that I think about it, there aren't
really any positive qualities about me at all."

"Yeah, pretty much."

"I'm selfish, violent, greedy, egotistical, rash, proud and arrogant. I
suppose the only good quality I have, is that I have a high tolerance to
pain."

"And don't forget unstable and psychotic."

"Right, right. Can't leave out dark, callous, domineering and possessive.
Short, don't forget short."

"I don't care about short, but the rest fits nicely."

"No go for short? You could say that because I'm short, I have to act big
to make up for it."

"You're short, so what. I hate you for other reasons."

"Yup, for all the other reasons we listed."

"So I'm guessing the 'lucky' woman went for the short and none of the
others?"

"Yeah, she must really like short men, to ignore the literally endless
amount of flaws I have. I guess you could throw in power hungry, self
centered, snobby, thick headed, stupid and unclean."

"Those could work as well. Do you know what -really- troubles me,
Priggo?"

"That I don't care? Or no, wait. That I seem to get away with it anyway?
I'll remind you I'm not smart."

"You acknowledge that you have those qualities and yet you don't care
and do nothing to be a better person. And the fact that you get away with
it is quite disturbing, too."

"Yes, I really am a sack of scum. But why stop there? You could talk about
my other mental faults. My obsessive compulsiveness. My attachment to
my umbrella. My ritual of handing out flowers. My insistence on keeping
my boots clean. My need to wear a hood. My refusal to shave. My pasty
skin. My light weight. My dirty fingernails. My inability to show empathy.
My long hair. I'm bow-legged. I take sadistic pleasure in fighting people
who I know have no chance of winning. My hatred of the Dutch. Can't
explain that one. My love of the smell of gasoline. I've taken drugs twice
in my life. I have to wear gloves. I get easily claustrophobic. My
unnatural relationship with my panther. My mistreatment of my house elf,
Saturn. I'm an alcoholic. I'm over confident."

"Are you getting to a point, Priggo?"

"Hm? Oh, no. I'm just trying to reinforce your point, about what a waste of
sluglike ooze I am. Did I mention that to this day, I'm mildly afraid of the
dark? My boggart would be something black, I think."

"Great, you have reinforced it further than I could have imagined. You
can stop now."

"I'm sure you hate the fact that Emily can stand me, too. Don't worry, I
promise you that she just isn't aware of what a filthy urchin I am. If she
was, I'm sure she'd refuse to be in the same room as me. But if you'd
like, we can continue this when she's here, and she can hear it for
herself."

"No, I don't think that would be quite satisfying enough."

"Oh? Then lets think of something suitably Priggo-ish that I could do to
satisfy you. I could rape a first year. I could mug a Muggle and torture
him to death."

"You will most certainly not."

"Right, right. Because we're forgetting about how incredibly incompetent
I am. You'd easily stop me."

"Priggo, that is enough. I have heard quite enough to know what a
despisable person you are."

"... and you can hand me over to McGonagall. I'll be on my way home this
time tomorrow."

"I'd enjoy that, but not at the expense of someone else's suffering."

"Then maybe I could just write up the list of everything we've said, and
toss myself off the Astronomy Tower. She knows what a pig I am, I'm
out of the picture, nobody hurt."

"You need some serious help."

"Hmm... then maybe I could turn myself into St. Mungo's. Perhaps they
have a cure for whatever sick disease I must have. If not, at least I'd
have a nice padded room."

"A great idea. But you can skip the theatrics, we know you aren't going to
do anything of the sort."

"Right. I'm too much of a coward for that. But just you wait, maybe one
of these days you'll be able to put me there for a reason."

"I look forward to that day."

"Now, if you'll excuse me. I'm going to go do the only thing a lousy blotch
of infested slime like me can do. Get drunk at the Hog's Head and pass
out in an alley."

_________________

The tiny wizard sat on the nude witch's stomach, his boots planted
firmly in the sand on either side of her face.

"I can't hear you, Ms. Wilde. You'll have to speak up." He smirked as she
sputtered, barely able to see him through the bloated flesh around her
eyes.

Tracing the blade of his knife around an exposed nipple, he eyed her
curiously, his umbrella's tip still lodged in her throat. After a few moments
of meager resistance, he finally rose. Dropping a boot on her wrist, he
slipped his dagger's tip against her hand.

"Spread your fingers, Joki." As expected, she pulled them together in a
fist, defying him. With a slight smile, he went to work, caving his family
brand in the second woman in his life. An 'S' burned into her skin, he
arose again.

"Another mark of mine." Shaking his head irritably, he tossed her aside
again, his umbrella quivering as he poured magic into her.

The Sun lifted its heavy face into the pale sky. Burning light flooding
through the Valley, Priggo had to raise a gloved hand to shield his face
from the brilliant rays. The minutes, and eventually hours ticked by as
he made Joki pay for her crimes.

By the end of the day, her burnt, crippled and blood-soaked body lay in
a pathetic pile in the sand. He eyed her darkly, the tiniest bits of pity
playing with the strings of his heart.

But his mind kept going back to her words, "Whatever you do, Seville...
it was worth it." Roaring, he raced to her side, dropping his heavy boot
into her jaw, which slipped out of place with a muffled *click.* Walking
away, he turned his back on that foreboding scene, both of her wands
safely tucked away within the darkness of his sleeves.

"Your money's on the dresser." And he walked away.

_________________

"Is there something you need?"
"Yes, Snape wants to see you. In his office."
Priggo nods, opening his umbrella. Tapping the doorknob with its polished
tip, he turns on his heels, stalking away. "And don't let me catch you up
here in the Boys' Dormitory again." He said, to Serenity.

Returning a minute or two later, he saw Serenity dart around the corner of
the hall. She scampered off down through the Boys' Dormitory, running
from him.

He turned to the door, and stared at it, his eye twitching. He had locked
the door behind him. With a slight push, the door opened, unlocked.

Frowning, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Joki's wands
remaining safely tucked away in the dark confines of his billowing robes.

_________________

Idleness had filled his life. The fear of being hunted, the excitement that
came with the prolonged anticipation of a fight, all of it had left him.

Little could lift this sense of uselesness that had sunk into every pore and
pit of his body. As they say, boredom is the first step towards relapse.
Glancing at the knife in his hand, he could only smirk. Oh, how true that
was.

Gazing across the hall at Felien, his heart weighed heavy in his chest.
Besides her short spurts of activity in which she desperately attempted to
prove her worth, she did little to satisfy him. She too had grown bored of
him, and it showed.

Nina's absence had already worn him down. That clouded, paranoid core
of his mind could only imagine the twisted acts she performed with his
back turned, his watchful gaze averted.

He wasn't as depressed as is usual, following such a revalation; maybe he
didn't miss either of them? Maybe he had just learned to bottle it more
effectively. Maybe both.

Rose was the only consistant thing in his life, that only, unmovable,
unshakable foundation on which he could safely stand. If only the other
females were as devout, as religiously, fanatically driven to ensure his
safety and happiness.

Days would pass as he floated through this strange existence. He went to
classes, he ate, he had short conversations with students in the halls. But
he was never really there. He was somewhere else entirely. From curfew's
start to finish, he diligently sat in his room, alone, listening as every
second ticked by. It was maddening. A knock at the door, an owl with a
letter, anything would have helped break the monotony, let him
know someone actually misses him in the prolonged absences he's
provided.

He's not as depressed as is usual. He's older now; he knows better.

_________________

Mad laughter fills the Boys' Dormitory.

"She's been back for over a day."

He goes over his conversation with Drado a thousand times in his mind.
She'd been back a full day, lounged around in the Entrance Hall, chatted
with friends.

The one person she didn't bother to send a letter to, send a Slytherin to
fetch or attempt to visit... was her own fiance.

He didn't blame her, nobody else had bothered to visit him, either. But
was it wrong of him to think that she'd be different from the others?
She was just the same as Emily, Felien, Cookie. All liars, their feigned
devotion painfully transparent.

With a roar he aimed his umbrella at the bookshelf.

His carefully organized tomes came crashing to the floor.

He sighs, rubbing his face as he scanned the mess of his room. He had
work to do.

_________________

He's never felt so happy, nor so alone, before.

Summer, drawing to a close, giving way to autumn. In his mind, it seems
a sick parody of his life. The house of cards he's so carefully constructed
has collapsed.

Convinced he's little more than a monster, the others avoid him like the
plague. Some have given up so much for him... but he doesn't care. He
can't appreciate the sacrifices of others. Not when he still lives in torment.

Little more than a cold, meaningless statistic now... he slips through the
cracks. A darkened fireplace, black ash covering the smoldering remains
of something once-beautiful.

_________________

"... beautiful dreamer, wake unto me..." Humming, the stooped wizard
grinds his knife against the stone balanced on his knee.

"... starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee..." He pauses to look up
at the door, swearing he heard something.

"... sounds of a rude world... heard in the day..." Looking back to his
work, he continues.

"... lull'd by the moonlight have all pass'd away..." Blows dust from the
blade's edge, closing one eye, appraising its sharpened face.

"... beautiful dreamer... queen of my song..." Sets it aside.

"... list while I woo thee with soft melody..." Laces up his boots.

"... gone are the cares of life's busy throng..."

He rises from his bed, stalking across the room. Checking the locks on his
door, he presses his ear against the wood, listening. His paranoia has
overwhelmed him, but he continues humming as he paces the room.

"Beautiful dreamer... awake unto me..."
"Beautiful dreamer... awake unto me."

_________________

The dried leaves on the ground swept out of the tiny wizard's path as he
walked. The muggle streetlamp above him flickered faintly in the
otherwise dark, silent, still night.

Pausing only to check the time on his pocketwatch, he frowned at the
golden antique, hurrying along down the cobbled street. The pitter patter
of rain was the only greeting he recieved as he turned into a lonely alley.
Opening his umbrella and taking shelter beneath it, Priggo's dark eyes
scanned the houses, stopping at each door.

With a grunt he continued on his route, quite unsure what he was looking
for, but determined to find it.

_________________

What's new in the life of Priggo?

Well, it seems he's become something of a legend around Hogwarts. His
constant disappearances have left the others to wonder what's truly
become of him.

Ocassionally, he makes an appearance, and never fails to surprise.

Sliver seemed to look for as many opportunities to insult him as possible.
But Priggo shut him up easily enough by casually informing him of the
lengths Cookie'd went to ensure his happiness. Oh, happy day.

Priggo'd fueled the fires of rivalry between two students, resulting in a
rather unspectacular fight between Adrian and Doree.

And, most importantly, the rumors. Priggo's been hearing that in his
absence, even people he's never met are fanning the flames of the myth
of Priggo Seville.

Even younger year girls were reportedly babbling about him in the
Slytherin commons! Priggo could hardly contain his delight, hopping nearly
his entire height into the air, clapping his hands in glee.

His fangirls had dissipated. His group of hunters, in shambles. His name
lives on. But he's back, and he's decided to show the newer students that
whatever horrible things they heard about him...

... he's worse.

_________________

In his room,
playing knife games.

_________________

In his room,
cross-stitching kittens into his socks.

_________________

"It was hardly random, Ravenclaw."

"I wasn't exactly there... but then why?"

"My pride is a sensitive beast. He shouldn't have needlessly prodded at
it. I've yet to meet someone so humble that their pride couldn't be stirred
to anger so shortly after defeat. You don't provoke a beast of the forest
and become soured when it turns its attention on you."

"So you're a beast of the forest? Or simply your pride?"

"My pride can be. I won't apologize for it."

"Some people won't care for an apology... starting fights in the halls...
could get you expelled."

"I wouldn't start fights if I thought I couldn't get away with it."

"You talked openly about fighting someone, and wanting to bury him alive."

"I wouldn't cause serious harm to another student."

"An ego can make a person do many things..."

"I wouldn't let it get so far out of control that it causes real harm. Only
a few students can pride themselves with the knowledge that I've
seriously tried to hurt them."

"It's not always you can control your ego, now is it?"

"I have enough control."

"Control? Pride? Should I take pride in that you once attacked me?"

"I don't remember attacking you."

"It's been a while..."

"If I'd been seriously after you, I think I'd remember it."

"I take no pride in it."

"Good. But don't lie to me and say you've no pride. There are things
that could make Roi tick."

"Of course. But a lot less than Priggo, I'm sure."

"Maybe I have more to be proud of."

"Maybe you just enjoy fighting."

"Maybe? I do."

"Fighting for no reason? What pride is there in that?"

"Why shouldn't I take pride in my strength? As any chess player takes
pride in his skill, or any professor takes pride in his students."

"Pride in a fight? Rather pride in a reason for a fight."

"I don't need a reason to fight."

"My point exactly."

"Do chess players play for any reason other than the game? I've yet to
attack anyone who's yielded to me."

"Maybe because anyone you attacked had more reason to fight back other
than simply the fight."

"That's their business. I know that I'm hated. I know that being Priggo is
as good a reason as any to get involved in a squabble with me. "

Priggo shrugs casually, glancing around the room.

"I don't concern myself with the reasoning of my opposition."

_________________

A very curious young boy, Rolliander Rose. Priggo doesn't know his last
name of course, but observes him darkly from the Great Hall during
meals, across the corridor when classes get out.

He's afraid of Priggo. That much is clear. He isn't stupid... but there always
seems to be something about him. Something different, mentally, than the
other children of his year. Priggo can't quite put his finger on it.

The others call him a "tool" of Priggo's. Maybe they're right. That isn't how
Priggo sees him, anyway. Rolliander doesn't occupy much of Priggo's
thoughts, certainly not enough to warrant a post of his own within a thread
dedicated to the thoughts of our Slytherin protagonist. But the Seville and
Rose lines have become twisted, their paths overlaid atop one another, as
if by fate.

Rolliander seems to suspect little of Priggo's dark intentions. Just eager to
please, eager to serve. Qualities Priggo finds most beneficial.

_________________

Priggo had spent hours... countless hours... working.
Finally, his labor would be at its end.
Finally, results.

He surveys the thousands of dominos lining the walls of his room. He'd
lit candles and incense, his romantic Soul Cauldron album by the
Sinister Sisters playing. This would be a night to remember.

He pushes the first domino.
Ecstacy.

_________________

Priggo held the little glass bottle to his nose, inhaling sharply. His mind
reeled as he stumbled back against the chest of drawers, books and
alchemical tools falling to the stone floor with a clatter. The room was
swirling in great, arching circles, the colors becoming vibrant and hazy.

Above him he saw the clouded reflection of his life, zooming by quickly,
lacking sound, taste, feeling. His eyes became glassy and unresponsive.
He groaned and slipped to the floor against the oak cabinet. His arms and
legs went limp, the glass vial rolling across the room as he gave in to his
own memories.

He was young again. He wasn't thin. Maybe even a little overweight. He
was happier then; everyone was.

He was a teenager. He was starting to favor gothic, emo styles. He studied
endlessly, racing towards a finish line that was always just out of reach.

He was a young man. He was powerful, confident and twisted beyond
repair. Things were bitter now, devoid of meaning and always
accompanied with a sharp, icy bite.

The memories of the day flooded out of Priggo's mind, entering the potion
to mix and mingle with what was already there. Him dueling Drado for a
fourth time. In the past, he'd looked up to him. Now he was a mere
shadow of what he could be.

Their positions were delightfully reversed. A year ago, it had been Priggo
demanding that Drado try harder, fight more powerfully. Now Drado was
demanding blood of Seville. Drado was pathetic and weak. If only he
could come to terms with his own limitations... maybe he could be more.

But no.

_________________