Draco's Very Secret Diary
Chapter One: Dangerous Liaisons
August 28, midnight, in my bedroom,
You are my best friend.
You would never abandon me, or betray me. You would never take me for granted, or leave me, or break my black little heart. Yeah, you're always here for me when I need you. And you love me for who am, don't you, Rum? You don't care if I'm drunk right now. No you don't. Because you know I love you. I don't even have to say it, and you know.
You're not like my stupid friends. Or "friends", I should say. Because do real friends forget to write you in the summer? Do real friends go off on vacations to the Mediterranean, or go visit their grandmothers in Normandy and just leave you to ROT in England with your parents? And even if real friends do go on vacation, don't you suppose they'd at least send you a post card? Or a letter saying 'Hey, Draco! I miss you a lot, you gorgeous hunk you. Desperately wishing you were here. P. S. Don't worry, I bought you presents!' You'd think a friend would do that, right? Right. But have I received one lousy post from Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy or Blaise? Noooooo.
But I don't need them. I don't need anyone. Because I've got you, Rum. Oi, you are so delicious.
August 29, morning, in the bathroom
Boy am I sick. I got a little drunk last night, needless to say. I tried to get rid of that last entry but this stupid journal Mum bought me is damage proof, which means by no conceivable way can you get rid of anything you write in one of these. And I should know. I tried erasing but the writing came back. Then I tried scribbling it out but the scribbles faded away. Finally I tore out the sheet and, what do you know, the entry showed up on the next page. Oh well, I'll just have to put a lot of curses on this thing to make sure no one gets a look at it.
Anyway, last night was interesting. I managed to drink every last bottle of rum that Mum and Dad got last winter on their trip to the Caribbean. Oopsy. I already know what I'm going to tell them though. I'm going to blame it on Terry, the house elf. They know he's got a drinking problem, so they'll believe it was him who drank the rum. They'll probably set him free but whatever. His problem, not mine.
Same day, early afternoon, my room again
Drat. Mum and Dad didn't believe my story about Terry the rum-stealing house elf. Turns out that last night I blacked out for a while some time around two in the morning. During that time I apparently fashioned a toga out of my bed sheets, covered myself in flour and stood on the lawn outside Mum and Dad's bedroom singing the French national anthem.
I didn't even know I knew the French national anthem.
Mum says if they find out about me drinking ever again that I'm going straight to rehab like Uncle Vlad.
School in two days. Ho hum.
August 30, Diagon Alley
Mum took me out school shopping today. Right now I'm at the Wayward Inn, having a bit of whiskey. I know Mum and Dad said no more drinking but seriously, I need it! I am in such a foul mood. Today was awful.
At the ungodly hour of six this morning, Mum came barreling into my room and proceeded to shake me out of my REM cycle. She completely ignored my protests of "No! Go away you cow!", lifted my mattress and dumped me onto the cold marble floor. Then she said, "What kind of son calls his own mother a cow?" And I said, "The kind of son you raised, Mum. It's all your fault that I'm a heinous human being." She threw me into the shower and used a spell to turn the water cold the entire time. Bitch.
She barely gave me enough time to properly mouse my hair to the side and put on a pair of trousers before dragging me through the fireplace into The Tasteful Wizard. Once there I went about my usual ritual of gathering up a horde of black sweaters, black pants, black silk shirts, black boxers, black socks and gray scarves. I was just about check out and steal some time for a nap in the dressing room when Mum came up and snatched away my clothes.
"Draco, look at this. All these clothes are black," she said and held them up for me to see.
"No they're not. I have two gray scarves, see?" I said.
"You know what I mean. Every year you buy practically the same things."
"So what," I said, grabbing my clothes back, "I just happen to know what I like."
"Well you look like the walking dead. It's not enough that you refuse to step foot outside all summer to keep your sickly complexion. You've also got to wear coal black to make it worse. You need some color in your wardrobe. What about this?"
Then she held up the most god-awful, hideous thing I've ever seen in my life. It was a purple, satin, button up shirt with ruffles down the center. Mum held it up to my chest and I got a glimpse of myself in a mirror across from us. I literally screamed and flung the shirt aside.
"Mother, do you want everyone to think I'm a flamboyant homosexual?" I screeched.
Mum looked hurt so I said, "Ok, how about this. You let me get two sets of black clothes and I'll go look myself and get a few more things in…colors."
She agreed. I ended up with:
Two black wool sweaters
Two black silk dress shirts
Two pairs black pants
One pair gray pants
One pair grayish brown pants
One black and white pinstripe dress shirt
One dark green scarf, looks black
Five silver ties
Black and green boxers
One red sweater, never to be worn under any circumstances
So you see, Journal, that before ten thirty my day was already really awful. But the worst was yet to come. After clothes shopping, Mum decided we need a break to get something to eat. So we popped over to Diagon Alley and went into a little bistro on the corner across from Florish and Blotts. We sat outside at one of the tables and ordered breakfast- Italian espresso and toast for Mum, and chocolate crepes with extra whipped cream for me.
I was enjoying myself quite a bit because Mum actually wasn't talking for once. It was a beautiful morning as well. Golden sunlight was glittering off the smooth stone roads and buildings, as well as off of my milky complexion, no doubt giving my skin a ethereal appearance. Not to say what it was doing to the silver highlights in my hair. I was busy pondering all the beautiful things in life when a heard a sharp wolf whistle from behind me.
"Well look who it is. Draco Malfoy. And Mrs. Malfoy, how do you do?"
Mum look up and a huge grin spread over her face like the plague.
"Pansy! Why darling, you look terrific. Look how tan you are! And, goodness, have you colored your hair?"
I turned around slowly after I made sure I didn't have any whipped cream on my face. There stood my ex-girlfriend and ex-friend (remember how no one wrote me all summer?), Pansy Parkinson. For a girl that used to be short and pudgy and whose face always closely resembled that of a pugs, she was looking quite amazing all of the sudden. And it was suddenly clear to me why she hadn't written all summer.
"Pans, you had a nose job," I said.
Her hand immediately flung to her face.
"Wha…How did you know? Daddy said no one would know."
"It's easy. Your face doesn't look all smashed in any more."
"Draco!" Mum warned.
But honestly, I had to be truthful. Pansy blossoming into a little fox all of a sudden was no work of nature. Sure, her trip to the Mediterranean had turned her skin a gleaming bronze color. It'd also (with the help of a few potions, no doubt) turned her mousy brown curls golden. But all the nice weather in the world couldn't contribute to the biggest change- that her once squashed in nose was now tiny, upturned and cute as a button.
"Pansy, don't mind Draco. He's just a bit grumpy from getting up early. You look fantastic."
"Thanks Mrs. Malfoy! That means so much to me," Pansy said, then she shot me her famous death glare.
"Are you here with your family, Pansy?" Mum asked.
"No, just myself."
"Oh, well wonderful. You can join Draco and me. Lord knows he needs help picking out clothes. He only wants to wear black. Don't you think he needs a bit of color in his wardrobe?"
Pansy, of course, took up Mum's offer to join us and for the next hour both proceeded to give me fashion tips that I didn't want or need. They chattered on like that all day. It's no secret that Mum always wanted a daughter instead of me. Truthfully I think she wanted anybody but me. I sometimes think she'd rather have Harry Potter for a son then scrawny, wicked little Draco, but that is a subject I don't wish to expand on at the moment.
Where was I? Oh yes, Mum and Pansy were squawking like two chickens and poor old me was being drug around by the collar. I heard every bit of gossip that had gone on during the summer. For instance, did you know that Mrs. Zambini finally got tired of Mr. Zambini's trysts with the nanny and set him and his mistress a-packing? Now she and Blaise-y boy are living by themselves in the huge Zambini estate and it's rumored that Mrs. Zambini is seeing one of the professor at Hogwarts. Golly, I wonder who it is! Did you also know that little Weasley girl is currently dating none other than Zach Smith. Goodness, dating outside her own house, what WAS she thinking?
Honestly, it's more like what is HE thinking? She's a scraggly, red haired little bloodtraitor who's so poor that she probably has patches on her knickers.
I said that to Pansy but all she said was, "Draco, you're constant rudeness and lack of social graces is beginning to grate on my nerves."
"Yeah, well, your cute little fake nose is grating on my nerves," I said back.
Then she smacked me and Mum laughed really, really hard. She laughed so hard that she snorted! It was thoroughly disgusting and I had to walk away.
In fact, I walked right out of the store and over to The Wayward Inn, where I am now enjoying my third shot of whisky. Oi, I need a chocolate croissant.
Later, Diagon Alley still
Oh my God! Oh my God! What just happened must remain a secret. (The sad part of this is I'm not even drunk right now, I just did this all of my own accord. What is wrong with me???)
Just to be sure it does stay secret I went down to Knockturn Alley and bought a round of cursed locks that put anyone who opens my journal into a coma for at least ten years, and when they finally come to, they have no memory of the last five years of their life. So I'm safe to write this in here…I think. Maybe I should buy the death-curse lock???
What happened was (deep breaths, deep breaths) I was walking back to the bistro to get a chocolate croissant. As I was passing by the alley between Florish and Blotts and the bank I heard voices arguing. Naturally, I was curious as to what was taking place, so I slunk over into the shadows and had a peek.
What I saw completely caught me off guard. There was the most gorgeous women I'd ever seen. Long red hair turning and glimmering in the breeze, with pale brownish skin, and thin body wrapped up in a red and pink fabric tube like contraption on the top, and jeans on the bottom. She was talking animatedly to a tall blonde boy I recognized to be Zacharias Smith. He raised his hand to silence her.
"I'm sorry, it's over. I don't want to get too serious with anyone right now," he said.
The girl started to tremble and said, "I knew it. You used me, you disgusting…pig. Goddamn it, I should have listened to everyone. They told me you were the type to get what you want and then take off."
"No, that's not true…"
"Yes, it is! Just shut up and get away from me."
"No, listen. Just because we're broken up doesn't mean I don't still want to see you. I just don't want to be tied down to a relationship. But that doesn't mean we can't still…" he broke off and began to saunter towards her. He wrapped one hand around her tiny waist and leaned in.
"No, get off! Zach, let go of me. Don't touch me!" she shouted.
Zach wasn't really listening- he was still trying to pull her in. Then (oh God, I have no clue what got into me) I stomped out of the shadows and marched right up to Zach.
I said, "Excuse me, I think she wants you to let her go."
Then I smacked my fist right in to his jaw. He stumbled back, and I turned to her. I caught sight of her blazing chocolate eyes and suddenly realized who it was that I'd just saved from certain ex-boyfriend peril.
"How dare you hit him!" Ginny Weasley screamed. Then she took the heel of her hand and shoved it into my nose.
In a second, tears were screaming down my cheeks, and blood was gushing from my nose.
"God damn it, women, I was trying to help you!" I wailed. Blood was getting all over my shirt, and it's one of my favorites!
"Well you can help by minding your own business," she said.
She walked over to Zach, who was holding his face and moaning.
"As for you, I never want to see your face again. If you ever approach me again, or even so much as look at my from across a room, you'll have a bloody nose like Malfoy here. Got it?"
Zach just nodded.
"My nose might be broken!" I shouted. "What if it doesn't heal into the same shape again?"
Ginny was walking away, but she paused and swung back around. Her eyes burned as she looked at me, but she spoke calmly.
"Then that would be a shame," she said quietly. And she turned and walked away, swinging her little hips.
Did she mean that about my nose? Or was she being sarcastic? Does she think my nose is pretty? Would she be upset if it got messed up?
Erm…not that I care what she thinks. That stupid broad hurt my nose and my pride very badly. What's worse is I can't even complain to anyone about it because I'd have to explain my fall from wickedness to attempt to save fair maiden from harm. Really, I can't figure out why on earth I did that. Unless it was an attack of hormones. But even that explanation is less than satisfactory, as it reveals that I did, even if just for a minute, think that Ginny Weasley was exceptionally beautiful.
That was just a lapse in judgment, I swear. It happens to the best of us, right? Right?!?
When I saw Mum and Pansy again they asked why there was toilet tissue shoved up my nose. I calmly explained that I'd simply walked into a wall and caused my nose to bleed. They thought that was extremely funny. Bitches.
Anyway, no one had better ever find out about what happened today. I'd be laughed right out of Sytherin. Oh, I can't even bare to think of the shame it would cause if anyone found out that I attempted to do something…nice.
Urg, yuck. I need a shower.