A/N: Literally wrote this today. Got bored, decided I miss writing. Also, Lucius needs parodying, especially in the last book.
As a side note, I don't care what J. K. Rowling and Emma Watson say – Ronmione forever!
Free at last. Thank god almighty, I am free at last.
I say, that's good. I should write that down.
I need a shower. Though I doubt the taint of Azkaban will ever wash.
July 13th 1997-
I cannot be dealing with Narcissa. Whenever I try to tell her about my plans for revenge, she just strokes my hair, saying 'shh, my poor darling'.
As I have told her about eight times, I am no-one's 'darling'. I am a Malfoy. I am the living incarnation of fear and authority.
July 15th 1997-
That bloody wife of mine is at it again.
'Lucius, you need to open up about your feelings.'
'I need to do no such thing. Feelings are the prerogative of women.'
'But darling, I saw you crying in the shower this morning.'
'I was not crying, I told you, I got soap in my eyes!'
'There now... would you like some ice-cream?'
'I swear, I'll strangle you one of these days.'
July 16th 1997-
The Dark Lord has informed us that he's going to be staying at the manse for a few months. He'll be arriving next week.
Due to this terrible turn of events, I eventually succumbed to Narcissa's offers of ice-cream. But afterwards I banished her to the west-wing for the evening, as I don't want her getting overly chummy with me.
July 18th 1997-
I hate everything and everyone.
That ugly bastard - I mean, All-Powerful Dark Lord – stole my wand in front of everybody. Bellatrix was sniggering at me the whole evening. I have been trying to make arrangements for someone to relieve themselves into her dinner, but none of the servants will do as I say any more.
July 20th 1997 -
Told one of the house elves to draw me a bath to ease this constant migraine. He just giggled and said, 'You have no power here.'
I was about to curse him into oblivion, but then remembered that, oh yes, THAT REPTILLIAN FREAK STOLE MY WAND THEN POTTER SNAPPED IT LIKE A TWIG, CHRIST.
It's like wading through a sea of humiliation. My life has become one long embarrassment.
Ye gads, this must be what Arthur Weasley feels like every day.
Snap! That's funny. I'm funny.
July 27th 1997 -
Oh look, everything's gone awry for the Dark Lord. Again. Who is surprised? Not I.
Apparently Potter cursed him out of the sky. He fell several thousand feet, before landing in a bush outside Suffolk. It took him ten minutes to detangle himself. Then he fell into a nearby puddle. Behold, our great Master of Darkness.
Narcissa has informed me that Draco is refusing to talk to me. I hadn't noticed, seeing as I try to make a point of never talking to him in the first place.
August 5th 1997 -
I told Draco not to slouch at dinner. He started to shout at me: 'Don't patronize me, you drunk, pathetic mess! This is ALL YOUR FAULT. You have FUCKED UP EVERYTHING. THOSE BLOODY DEATH EATERS HAVE BEEN PISSING IN THE POOL!''
How... how dare he? I hardly ever drink.
August 6th 1997 -
Where has my glass of wine gone? Seriously, I put in down right there...
September 15th 1997 -
What a day. Ordered about by the Dark Lord. Laughed at by the Death Eaters. Spat at by my son. Honestly, I would leave, but I have more dignity than that. I am a Malfoy. Admittedly, my new-found love for wine made me fall into the dining table the other day, but I still have my pride, damn it all!
October 16th 1997 -
The Dark Lord found me trying to escape out of my bedroom window this morning. He's now taken away my bedsheets so that I can't use them to create another rope ladder.
November 25th 1997 -
Horrible night. Narcissa found me in the pantry.
'Lucius, where has all the food gone?'
'Thieves, Narcissa. There are thieves in this house.'
'Why do you have chocolate smeared around your mouth?'
'I am testing it for poison, and I don't care for these accusations.'
'Is that cream on the front of your robes?'
'I spilt some earlier, think nothing of it.'
'Were you drinking cream straight out of the carton?'
'I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT, WOMAN!'
Christmas Eve 1997 -
Went downstairs at midnight, awoken by a rowdy party in my parlour. I politely asked the participants to quieten down and to be mindful of the tapestries, but Carrow just shouted 'Oh look, it's Princess Pansy', and then Macnair led everyone in a chorus of 'Who Ate All The Pies'.
Returned to bed, downing a bottle of wine on the way. In my delirious, exhausted state, I may have accidentally accepted a hug off of Narcissa. I'll make sure to banish her from my presence tomorrow.
February 4th 1998 -
Answered the door today to two distinctly unsavoury characters: a cockney layabout with personal hygiene issues, and a tramp who I'm fairly certain had whiskers and fangs. I can't be sure, though – I'd had quite a bit to drink at that point. I will try to recreate the following conversation as phonetically as possible.
'Awwight? Is this Malfoy's joint?'
'…..No. No, zis is French muggle restaurant. Malfoy's 'ouse iz round zee corner-'
'Ere, aint you Lushius Malfoy? That tosser who lost 'is wand?'
'Non, like I say, zis is French bistro, ça va?'
Bellatrix interrupted at that point, telling me to make myself useful and go and feed the peacocks.
March 23rd 1998 -
WHY? Why do these things keep on happening to me?
Those two previously mentioned plebeians came to the manse today, bringing with them those bloody children who seem to have made it their mission to ruin my life. Draco kept dithering about as to whether one of them was Potter. I mean, for god's sake, it's not as if I could properly identify him – it's getting increasingly difficult for me to string coherent sentences together, for crying out loud. Draco is so selfish and stupid.
Bella, of course, decided to take the 'sensible' option – lock the one who might be of use to us in the cellar with his ginger friend, while we torture the mudblood in the parlour. It was unbearable – the girl's screams did nothing to aid my migraine. Draco was quietly vomiting in the corner. This bloody place has become like the court of Caligula.
Anyway. The next thing I knew, that bloody house elf Dibby or Dabby or whatever his name was burst into the room, shouting something about being a 'free elf'. It's then that I passed out.
When I came to, I could hear the following conversation:
'Oh no, he's been knocked out!'
'Don't be stupid, mother, he's pissed again. Look, he's drooled all over the rug.'
March 24th 1998-
The Dark Lord is miffed. I assume that is the case, anyway, seeing as he's cursing people left and right, and spent about an hour screaming at me, shouting about how he's 'surrounded by idiots'. Narcissa then asked him whether he thought he might be the problem.
Foolish woman. Foolish, brave, surprisingly sexy woman.
March 26th 1998-
Asked Narcissa if she'd like to share my bed tonight. She told me to get back to her when I can stop crying and vomiting at every opportunity, and when I've stopped sneaking packets of biscuits and pints of ice-cream and bottles of whiskey into bed with me.
It's a sad day when even my wife refuses to sleep with me.
May 13th 1998-
Potter has been sighted at Hogwarts. All the forces of darkness have been summoned to eradicate him once and for all, ensuring victory for our sacred quest.
We are all going to DIE.
For God's sake. Politely asked the Dark Lord for permission to find Draco in the castle. He just spat at me, then taunted me by saying 'Whaddya gonna do, fat boy, huh? HUH?' while doing some kind of invasive jig.
Oh, fuck this. I'm getting out of here.
Told Narcissa I was leaving. She said she won't go without Draco. When I told her I'll go alone and reclaim the mansion, she informed me that she coerced me into signing the place over to her while I was catatonic a few months ago.
My god. I think I might love that woman.
The Dark Lord just tried to curse Potter. Both of them have now fallen down embarrassingly, showing no signs of life.
Really hope the Dark Lord is dead.
Dark Lord is not dead.
Home again, home again, jiggidy jig!
The Dark Lord is dead. Hallelujah. I have broken out a bottle of champagne to celebrate.
Draco has gone to bed. On his way upstairs, he told me he was moving out, and to never contact him again. Hurrah!
Hmm. Victory seems hollow, somehow. Still, am sure that alcohol will improve the situation. And Narcissa says that we can buy me a new wand in a few years, when it's safe to show our faces in public again. Am sure she's right – that angry mob outside doesn't seem to be diminishing in size, and they've been throwing eggs and rotten food at our windows for about an hour now. But am sure things will get better. After all, tomorrow is another day!
I say, that's good. I really should start writing these things down.