A/N - Okay, so I wrote a sort of prequel to the first one. This one takes place during COS. Hope you like it - took a short break from writing Eden to finally get this done.
8th July, 1992 –
A rather difficult situation emerged this evening. I invited Fudge round for my monthly schmoozing meal, and after dinner he took a wrong turn on the way to the bathroom and ended up in my muggle torture chamber. I had to think very quickly, but I managed to avoid a scandal by convincing the senile old fool that it was actually some sort of modern art collection.
The incident got me thinking, though. I really have too many items hanging around here that could severely damage my precious reputation if discovered, and most of them I rarely use, anyway. Take that iron-maiden that currently resides in the parlour. I haven't used it for at least a year, ever since that incident with the Muggle that came to the door attempting to sell me raffle tickets. Perhaps the time is ripe for a clear out.
20th July, 1992 –
Hmmm. In the middle of looking through my mountains of possessions, trying to decide which ones to get the house-elves to throw out, I found a box labelled 'The Dark Lord'. Rifled through it to find some chains, some bottles of muggle blood, a couple of cutlasses, some quite frankly disturbing photographs of him and Bellatrix on holiday together, and a tatty old book with 'Tom Marvolo Riddle's diary – Private, do not read!' written on the cover. Naturally, I flicked through it. It began entertainingly enough, with a most amusing page reading; 'Avery never notices me, the tricky bastard. I spent the entire evening snuggling up to Rudolphus in an attempt to get his attention, but he didn't even look at me. Perhaps I should try a new style. This floppy black hair is so not me, I don't think. Mr Tom Avery, Mr Avery, Tom Marvolo Avery.' Entertaining enough, certainly, but the subject matter went downhill from there as he started to ramble on about 'the chamber' and 'the one true heir' and 'the removal of muggles and filth'. I assume he was going off on another of his tedious rants. I have wiped the pages blank to save anyone else from similar boredom. And people accuse me of being devoid of compassion!
30th July, 1992 –
I invited Nott round for drinks this evening so that we might aid each-other in the concoction of our own individual evil plans. He told me all about his idea to seduce his wife's younger sister by means of the Imperius curse. I told him about my plan to palm the Dark Lord's diary off on one of the Hogwarts children. The evening went swimmingly, except I had to crucio that bloody house elf for serving me my Martini with an onion instead of an olive. I mean honestly, how hard is it to serve a dark-wizarding family for all eternity, really?
31st July, 1992 –
A slightly awkward situation arose this evening when I walked in on the house elf waxing his legs. I was quite prepared to ignore the situation, but he was muttering something about how 'Dobby must punish himself'. I really can't be bothered to discover what he's talking about, and even if I could I don't want to give myself nightmares about elf fetishes.
5th August, 1992 –
I spoke to Macnair about how I might get rid of all the Dark memorabilia hanging around my house. He suggested that I go to something called a 'car-boot sale', which is apparently something that muggles go in for in a big way. After Crucio-ing him as punishment for suggesting that I go anywhere near muggles out of choice, I found myself reviewing the situation. After all, I do need to get rid of these Dark items, and beggars can't be choosers. Perhaps I shall visit one of these 'car-boot sales'.
8th August, 1992 –
A truly horrific day. I had no idea that muggles subjected themselves to such barbarity under the name of 'fun'!
I went along to this 'car-boot sale', and discovered that it was actually an event where muggles sell each other their useless rubbish from the backs of their cars. I was surrounded by sweating, disgusting, thoroughly over excited muggles all day long. I feel so unclean.
I tried to sell my wares on, but I had no luck. A very sweaty, old and chronically obese man offered me something called 'ten quid' for a statuette of Slytherin strangling a muggle. I have no idea what a 'ten quid' is, and nor do I wish to know. I told him I would accept no less than 1000 galleons for an item of such rarity. When he pretended not to know what galleons were I cast a silent Avada Kedavra at him. I will not be mocked by muggles, of all people.
19th August, 1992 –
I took my useless son to Diagon Alley for a 'treat' today. I was hoping to lose him among the hordes of shoppers, but no such luck. He would insist on sticking to me like slime, depriving me of the opportunity to finally be rid of the little brat. However, it's probably for the best. The last time I 'lost' him Narcissa threatened to tell the ministry about my collection of muggle prisoners if I wouldn't go and find him and bring him home.
Unfortunately, today Draco and I bumped into that family of red-headed vermin in Flourish and Blotts. Arthur Weasley still seems to be angry about the time I slept with his wife. Honestly, poor people can be so overly-sensitive! He worked himself up into a ridiculous rage and in the end he actually committed violence against me. And to add insult to serious injury, in the ensuing scuffle I'm pretty sure he tried to cop a feel. A Malfoy both physically and sexually assaulted by a Weasel! To think that I would live to see the day! In revenge for his disgustingly underhanded sexual activities, I slipped the Dark Lord's diary into the cauldron of one of his thousands of offspring. I don't think it will actually cause them any harm, but when it comes to evil deeds it's the thought that counts, is it not?
5th September, 1992 –
Draco is almost unbelievably irritating and spoilt. All summer I have had to put up with his demands – 'Daddy, buy me a pony! Daddy, throw me a party! Daddy, I want some torture instruments just like yours.' In the end I brought his Quidditch team some new shiny brooms to stop him from whining. What is1500 galleons to a man like me, after all?
17th September, 1992 –
Vaguely uncomfortable moment this evening when the whore I was entertaining realised that I couldn't remember her name. For some reason she got unreasonably angry about it and walked out on me. I don't understand how I am supposed to meet such ridiculous demands. Women can be so unreasonable and clingy.
8th November, 1992 –
Where is that bloody house-elf? Honestly, my hands don't manicure themselves, you know!
7th December, 1992 –
I have managed to bully Draco into staying at Hogwarts for Christmas. I didn't want him to turn up and ruin the festive season for me yet again. It's bad enough that I had to put up with him for eleven years of my life, but now he insists on coming home every six weeks to impose his company on me. I wouldn't have this problem if my original plan to send him to Durmstrang had been followed through, but Narcissa simply wouldn't shut up about how much she'd 'miss' him.
I tell you, not a day goes by when I don't regret marrying that bloody woman.
18th December, 1992 –
My useless son has been writing to me, telling me about incidences at Hogwarts where students and animals are being petrified by the 'heir of Slytherin'. Apparently only Mudbloods and squibs are being attacked. I have absolutely no idea what's going on, but I think I might throw a sexy party in celebration of Dumbledore's no doubt impending sacking. I'll send out the invitations now. Ooh, I'll have to hire in some caterers.
21st December, 1992 –
Although I say so myself, I throw an excellent party. Last night went very well indeed, although I am almost certain that I felt Severus' hands roam onto my backside as we danced the conga. A potentially alarming situation, but I don't think I'll mention it to him out of respect for his feelings. He is, after all, my friend. I mean, I don't like him or respect him and he's so hideously ugly that I don't even like to look at him, but still…
25th December, 1992 –
Ah, Christmas day without Draco hanging around, whining about the presents he hasn't got rather than thanking me for the mountains of gifts he has actually received from me in my quest to buy his adoration. To top off a rather enjoyable day, I ordered that useless house-elf to slip a drug into my wife's wine so that I can be free when this eve's whore turns up. I may have to 'punish' her when she arrives – she is almost quarter of an hour late, and as the whole world knows, Malfoys don't like to be kept waiting.
I can't believe it! I have been stood up! Me! A Malfoy! Stood up by a mere slut! All evening I have been sitting here, getting quietly drunk on the Christmas punch and all in all feeling needy and pathetic… ye gads, she's made me feel like some kind of… woman! Oh, I shall not spare her! I shall have my revenge for this insult, make no mistake about that!
28th December, 1992 –
I have extracted swift vengeance on the whore that dared to stand me up. Whoever finds her body shall find a note attached to it reading – 'For the consideration of the victim's family: Anyone who stands up a Malfoy lives to regret it. I leave attached a dry cleaning bill to get the blood out of my robes, and I would be most grateful if you would make the payment in cash. Yours with the deepest sympathy, Malfoy (L).'
14th January, 1993 –
This morning I was very alarmed to find myself waking up in a state of undress in the same bed as Severus, who was in a similar state of disrobe. The trouble is I can't remember much about what happened last night, save that I invited him round to the manse for 'a few drinks'. He insists that I got plastered and that he just put me to bed, and I'm hoping to god that this is the case. But then, I wouldn't be surprised if he took advantage of me. He's always wanted me – not that I blame him, everybody does. He got very touchy when I suggested that he took advantage of me, though – to be precise, he called me a hemmaroid.
6th April, 1993 –
My idiotic wife has invited her niece Nymphadora Tonks round today in an attempt to bridge the gap that has evolved between her and Andromeda. Honestly. If anyone had asked me, which nobody ever does, they would discover that I don't want to put up with a snotty teenager all day, especially a half blood brat that insists on being known by her last name as a form of 'rebellion'.
What in the name of Slytherin happened to little Nymphadora? When she turned up at the mansion I was shocked to note that she's grown up into an extremely sexy little thing. She might be my niece, but that is of no real consequence. After all, my mother was also my aunt. Besides, young Nymphadora is a metamorphagus, and that aspect of her alone holds serious potential. She'll need a considerable amount of work, methinks. She carries a distinct lack of refinement. Her initial response to my advances went along the lines of 'You're my uncle, you dirty bastard!' The little tease. Nonetheless, I will have her – my ego shall allow nothing else.
8th May, 1993 –
Draco wrote to me today, informing me about how someone called 'Hermione Granger' has been petrified by the 'creature of the Chamber'. He was wittering on about how 'the time is right to force Dumbledore out of the school once and for all'. Sigh. Perhaps I should just have done with it and have the old idiot sacked. What harm could it do, after all?
21st May, 1993 –
Fudge is oh-so-tedious. He actually asked me for advice on how to get a woman today. It took all of my strength not to grab that bloody bowler hat of his and smack him round the face with it. I cannot stand bad fashion sense, especially in the old and the fat. They need to make an effort, seeing as they don't have anything else going for them.
30th May, 1993 –
Oh, for Merlin's sake! Apparently Dumbledore has been seen at Hogwarts again. Honestly, how am I supposed to carry out my evil schemes effectively if people won't play along with me? I'm going to have to go down there and remind the old idiot just who stokes the Hogwarts fire these days.
It is beyond comprehension. I, Lucius Malfoy, have been sacked from the Hogwarts Board of Governors. Not only that, but I was thrown down the stairs by my own house elf, whom that bloody Potter brat tricked me into freeing. It is a dark day for the Malfoys when one of our number is not only sacked from a position of power and privilege but is also publicly humiliated at the hands of a house-elf so irritating and hideously ugly that it should have been drowned at birth.
It is not to be borne.
Oh no, I shall have my revenge. I shall wreak terrible vengeance on not only the elf, but also Potter, that damned Dumbledore and every last member of the governing body who informed the senile old fool that I, ah, persuaded them to vote for his suspension. Anyone who makes it onto Lucius Malfoy's list of enemies lives to sorely regret it.
5th June, 1993 –
I don't know how I came to rely so heavily upon the house-elf. I shall just learn how to wash clothes myself. I mean, how hard can it be, really?
How in the name of Salazar's noble backside do muggles and the wizarding poor manage without servants? I have flooded the entire ground floor of the mansion and ruined half my wardrobe while trying to wash my own clothes. I find myself feeling a strange emotion deep within my chest. At first I put it down to indigestion, but now I have been forced to conclude that I might… miss the house-elf. I grew quite attached to it over the years, in a way – in the manner of how one might grow attached to a prisoner or someone who has abused you.