Let me make one thing clear. I am a Malfoy. As such, I am not interested in Potions, Transfiguration, Arithmancy, or even the woolly crest of Divination.
Power and plotting; now, that is a form of magic that suits me. We Malfoys have conjured power for generations; I'm merely the consummation of its brightest and best. In the Wizarding world of the elite, I am without peer. I have a wife who worships at my feet; I have a son who promises to be almost as handsome and clever as I.
I'm entitled.
In reality, Lord Voldemort is nothing more than a jumped-up little half-breed, much like my friend Severus; eager, gauche, thirsting for fame. In terms of intelligence and charisma, nothing more than shit on my shoe.
But he has power and ego aplenty. That I can play with, massage, mold like putty. He wants to scourge the world; recreate a Pureblood's paradise, and rid it of Mudblood filth like, well, like himself.
I have read his diary. Compelling reading. To say the little scrote has ambition is like saying Severus needs a little shampoo. He's too ill-bred to realise that when you have connections, you don't need ambition. You just need an in.
I am that in. I am merely the Machiavellian serpent tempting Eve with the Wizarding world.
For so long, the Mudbloods and their craving for a bit of Pureblood trim have whittled us down to nothing. Traitors like Arthur Weasley and their ilk love cavorting with Mudbloods. Isn't it fitting, then, that Arthur's precious progeny will facilitate the rise of the Dark Lord again?
Merlin, I love being a Malfoy.