Chapter Text
Disclaimer: All Characters belong to J. K. Rowling, Warner Bros, etc. I do not own anything and I am not making any money from this. Obviously, certain themes are adopted from the Bridget Jones books and films by Helen Fielding and Universal. No infringement of copyright is intended.
Sunday 1st September.
Dear Diary,
Ugh. Why is it that every year when I come back to this wretched school, my diet is ruined? I’ve spent all summer sticking religiously to my no-wheat, no-dairy regime; I have pretended to my mother that yes, I really would prefer to eat steamed vegetables and tuna fillet instead of lemon meringue pie. I went out running for an hour every morning before I even looked at my thoroughly unappetising fruit salad, and I’ve been looking really good! Really! I’m all svelte and I’ve developed abs. I’ve been so proud of my self-discipline and I’ve been looking forward to coming back to Hogwarts and showing off my hot new body… maybe even find an opportunity to oh-so-casually remove my shirt and reveal my rock hard torso in front of a certain someone…
But that was until I got here. Every bloody year! I always promise myself that I will not gorge myself at the start of term feast; that I will, at the very most, allow myself a couple of roast potatoes… but somehow something happens to make all my good intentions disappear. There’s that general atmosphere of nostalgia and camaraderie, and there’s Goyle over the other side of the table and he’s all, “Oh go on, Draco, it’s our last year, you have to make the most of it, blah blah blah…” And the next thing I know, all my hard work has gone out of the window and I feel bloated and nauseous and I look like I’m pregnant! Pregnant with roast beef, apple crumble and ice cream. Ugh. Peer pressure is a terrible thing.
And to make matters that much worse, when we got back to the dorms and I was moaning and clutching my stomach in agony, Vincent thought it was a good idea to say, “Don’t worry about it, Draco! It’s good to have a bit of flesh on your bones – something to grab onto!” He then lifted up his shirt to grab two healthy handfuls of his own considerable paunch. Lovely. I now have that hideous image burnt into my retinas for all eternity. Fabulous.
He and Greg are being very lovey-dovey tonight, mostly because Vince has only just got back from two weeks in Austria and they haven’t seen each other for a while. It’s all quite sweet in an unspeakably gross way. I mean, they’ve been together for ages and they kind of give me hope that I’ll find someone I really want to be with one day. On the other hand… they both sort of look like trolls. And that’s me being kind because they’re my friends.
As long as I don’t actually think about them being together in the physical sense, it’s not too bad. If I can pretend to myself that all they have ever done or will ever do is hold hands, I can cope. I still haven’t forgiven them for last year when they forgot to put a Silencing Charm on their bed. The rest of us were lying there in the darkness, frozen in terror, the sheets clutched up to our chins, until Theo finally screamed, “Use the charm! Oh, for the love of all that’s merciful, USE THE SODDING SILENCING CHARM!!!” Ugh. The memory still makes me shudder.
I feel a bit bad for Theo, as he’s the only straight man in our dorm. It must have been especially tough when Blaise and I had that thing going last year, what with all the rampant gay shagging going on around him. Mind you, I suppose it does mean that he has his pick of the Slytherin ladies. Such as they are…
So anyway, I’m back at Hogwarts for my last year, which of course meant yet another lecture from Dad over breakfast about living up to the honour of the Malfoy family name. I’m so over it. I can’t believe I used to think he was cool. He’s all talk with nothing to back it up. I mean, he goes on and on about being aloof and commanding the respect of others by never showing any emotion, yet he’s perfectly happy to get into a hair-pulling contest with Arthur Weasley at every opportunity. Ugh, talk about failing to live up to the family name – bloody hypocrite.
It kills me how Dad always tries to be so butch when we have these little talks as well. I don’t know who he thinks he’s trying to fool: I’ve seen him using my mother’s hair straighteners for crying out loud! He has to be the gayest straight man that ever lived. This morning he was giving me the don’t-mess-with-me voice he uses in public and calling my masculinity into question. Bloody cheek. “Draco, you’ve recently adopted the unfortunate habit of giving a high-pitched shriek whenever anyone gives you good news. It would be best if you at least attempted to convey a modicum of maturity and stoicism once you return to school. And… oh, do you have to wear that shirt today? It’s pink.” At that point my mother mercifully decided to take the heat off me, telling Dad that pink was in this season and that it complimented my skin tone. Dad said that it simply wasn’t a man’s colour, and Mum told him he was being archaic. They started glaring at each other and flicking their hair about, so I was able to conduct a stealthy exit.
The journey wasn’t too bad. I sat with Pansy on the train, and we spent the whole time bitching about whoever walked past our compartment. Ooh, that Hannah Abbot has got fat. Unfortunate for her, because she really wasn’t much to look at anyway. Oh, and Weasley had taken it upon himself to wear an orange Chudley Cannons sweater. Does he not own a mirror? I love Pansy. She’s the only person I know who really appreciates how fun it is to be materialistic.
Oh yeah, I saw him at dinner today. I think he may have gotten even taller, and he’s got a tan. He’s looking damn fine. Bloody hell. I’ve spent the summer trying to convince myself that he isn’t really that attractive, that I was just imagining it and that when I saw him again I’d wonder what I’d been thinking. No such luck. Still breathtakingly gorgeous. Still maddeningly heterosexual. Le sigh…
Monday 2nd September.
Dear Diary,
Well classes have started and it was double Transfiguration first thing, which nearly bloody killed me. Why the hell didn’t I do Charms instead? Charms, with dopey old Professor Flitwick, who believes you when you say that you honestly didn’t mean to set his beard on fire. Instead, I’m stuck in Transfiguration with McGonagall who has the uncanny ability to choose the exact moment your brain zones out to ask you a horribly difficult question.
We had double Potions last thing though, which was good. Not only did Snape give Slytherin five points because I told him his robes looked good (a lie), but it also gave me a chance to ogle a certain ravishing Boy Wonder. Not that there was much opportunity for said ogling, as he and his insufferable cronies chose seats at the back of the class as per usual; but he did get into a row with Snape. God, is he sexy when he’s angry! Boy Wonder, that is; Snape just starts glowering and spitting a lot. One of the disadvantages of a front row seat. I got some in the eye today.
Pansy and I decided to get our homework out of the way tonight so that we could feel all superior and lord it over everyone else later (not that we really need an excuse). However, Blaise decided that tonight would be the perfect time to join us by the fire and bore us to tears with his vapid stories about the spa holiday he took with his mother over the summer. If I have to listen to another sexual innuendo about the Latin American masseuse, I think I will scream.
I’m kind of starting to regret shagging Blaise last year. I mean, obviously he’s gorgeous, with his big dark eyes and his chocolaty skin, but he really is the most maddening bint I think I have ever met. Not to mention a slag. I suppose I just got desperate, really. I mean, I was only a couple of months off my seventeenth birthday and I was still technically a virgin. I had planned to wait until I met the perfect person. Yes, I know, that sounds disgustingly romantic, but to be honest it was a matter of self-respect. I am accustomed to only having the best, and I was hardly going to jump into bed with just anyone. Sadly, the only guy I was really interested in bats for the away team, and Blaise was just there. I thought that, you know, at least he’s good looking, and it’s not like I want him for conversation or anything. So yeah, I shagged him. It was alright I suppose. I mean, he’s quite flexible, but he always expected me to do all the work and then he’d just lie there. I wanted someone who was willing to worship me.
It could never have lasted, anyway. For one, I find it difficult to be in the same room as him for more than ten minutes without wanting to throttle him with his own man-scarf; and for another, he was demanding, narcissistic and self-involved. I feel that there is only room for one person like that in a relationship, and I like that person to be me. He was a bit pissed off when I ended it, but he seemed to move on pretty quickly: he keeps parading his other conquests in front of me, thinking that I’ll get jealous. I don’t. Stupid git.
Tuesday 3rd September.
Dear Diary,
You know what? I used to really enjoy Arithmancy back when we were doing our O.W.L.s. People always looked at me like I was really clever when I said I was studying it and… I was really clever! I was the best in the class! But now, now, because of reduced numbers, all the houses have been smooshed together which means that there is yet another class where I have to share oxygen with Hermione bloody Granger. And now I’m not top of the class any more. I still know all of the answers, but miss fancy-pants-know-it-all always gets in there first. Now Professor Vector is giving her that special smile that is reserved only for me. It’s too depressing.
Oh, and talking of insufferable womenfolk, I almost had to kill Pansy earlier. We were leaving the hall after dinner and, alright, I may have glanced over at the Gryffindor table a few times. I was being subtle about it though and I didn’t think anyone had noticed, but then Pansy came skipping up and threw her arm around my shoulder.
“Sooooo, how’s that hugely inappropriate crush on Potter working out for you?”
You know how she has that really penetrating voice? Argh! I seriously thought I was going to have to kill her. Fortunately we were the only ones leaving at that particular moment so I don’t think anyone heard. All the same, I really wish she didn’t know that particular snippet of information about me sometimes. She is annoyingly perceptive.
The thing is, I usually have no problem with people knowing about my crushes. I mean, obviously I’m gorgeous and I’ve always managed to get anyone I want in the past. The problem here is that Pansy is right. This particular crush is really inappropriate. And the most tragic thing is that I know Potter would turn me down if he ever found out. He likes girls. Oh yeah, and he hates me – through no fault of my own, I might add. I’m just a very honest person and I’m not afraid to give an opinion. My mum says that it’s a good thing. It’s hardly my problem if I’ve upset a few of his friends along the way. They shouldn’t be so sensitive.
Okay, okay, so if I’m completely honest I may have said a few mean things to him and tried to get him into detention a couple of times and gone out of my way to insult his friends in the hope of provoking them. Oh, and that one time I slipped a laxative in his pumpkin juice. But I only did that to get his attention; surely he can see that? Ugh, he can be so dense; I don’t know why I like him so much. But I do.
Anyway, it’s late. I have to go to bed. Hopefully tonight I’ll dream about a naked Harry Potter, and not about eating cubes of cheese with Pansy and Luna Lovegood whilst sitting in Hagrid’s vegetable garden. I don’t know where the hell that came from; I woke up feeling all dirty, and not in a good way.
Five minutes later
Remember when it was possible to walk into the Slytherin dorm room and not see Crabbe and Goyle tongue kissing and rolling around on the floor? Yeah, me too. Good times.
Wednesday 4th September.
Dear Diary,
I got a package from home today. Mum sent the usual supply of sweets and cake, despite me having told her I don’t know how many times that a) I’m seventeen now and that the novelty of Chocolate Frog cards wore off a long time ago, and b) I don’t eat sweets and cakes any more because they will make me fat!!!!! I’ve been going out running every morning since we got back here, and I think I’ve just about managed to make up for the disastrous start of term feast fiasco. I just wish that other people would be a bit more supportive. Even Pansy’s been telling me that I’m getting too obsessive about what I eat, which I’m totally not! Nobody understands. I gave all the stuff Mum sent to Crabbe and Goyle which they seemed pleased about. At least I can always rely on them.
Oh, the other thing is that the package contained a note from Dad. Apparently he wants to get me kitted out with a Death Eater uniform next time I’m home so that I can be initiated as soon as I leave school. It’s kind of something I’ve avoided thinking about until now. It’s always felt like the end of school was ages away and I had loads of time to come to a decision, but this has really made me realise that I’ve got less than a year left and I still haven’t made up my mind. It’s a really big decision, and I just don’t know if the life of a Death Eater is really for me. Maybe if I write a list it’ll help me figure it out.
Pros.
• The black swishy robes are pretty cool.
• It’s very exclusive which means I will have a lot of prestige.
• You Know Who is very powerful.
• I will probably attract lots of young men who want to rebel and think that dating a Death Eater will really piss their parents off.
• Dad will be happy with me and it was awkward enough telling him I was gay, so I really don’t know if he can take any more disappointment as far as I’m concerned.
Cons.
• I really don’t care what Dad thinks about me any more.
• You Know Who might be powerful, but he’s also pretty scary and there’s a good chance he’ll turn me into his bitch.
• Fugly masks.
• It would be the final nail in the coffin to my already miniscule chance of becoming Harry Potter’s boyfriend.
• There’s a fairly good chance I’d have to kill Harry Potter, which would be awkward.
• Tattoos are so over.
Oh God, I don’t know. I mean, it’s not like I stand the remotest chance with Harry anyway. And what else am I going to do with my life? What are my interests? Could I even handle a regular job? Why does everything have to be so confusing? I’ve been so stressed about it today that I ate five cookies after lunch. Now I’m going to have to do a load of stomach crunches to make up for it. Meh.
Thursday 5th September.
Dear Diary,
Well, I was still stressed about the whole Death Eater thing when I woke up this morning, but fortunately (and I use the word loosely) I had double Arithmancy first thing to take my mind off it. We were doing all this stuff about how numerology could be used for planning journeys, and had to do all these equations for times and dates, and then divide it by the arithmantic root of the place where we wanted to travel to. It made my brain hurt.
No classes with Harry today unfortunately. It’s going quite well so far between the two of us, at least in theory. We’re already four days into the school year and I haven’t had a single confrontation with him. Of course, this means that I haven’t spoken to him at all. I might have to pick a fight with him soon, just so he’ll pay some sort of attention to me. Yes, I realise that sounds a little desperate, but he never talks to me otherwise and he’s really sexy when he’s angry. He’s got the most beautiful eyes and they go really intense when he glares – it gives me butterflies every time. And he always clenches his jaw, and his voice goes all low and dangerous… Yeah, I’m definitely going to have to pick a fight soon.
I did see him going to Quidditch practice earlier with that idiot Weasley. He really does have a poor taste in friends; I don’t know what he sees in them. I love seeing him in his Quidditch uniform – everything else he owns is so baggy. I’d love to buy him a new wardrobe; I can only imagine how hot he’d look if he wore the right clothes. The Quidditch uniform is good though – he has amazing calf muscles. I think he’s got a pretty perfect figure overall, actually. He’s quite tall now, and he’s packing a bit of muscle, but not too much. He’s got that whole slender, toned thing going on which I really like. I don’t even mind the glasses any more if I’m perfectly honest. Though I think I’d have to change those too if I ever got the chance. I mean, it’s just a bit weird to wear the same glasses you’ve had since you were eleven. I’m just saying. Oh, and I was looking up photos of his dad in the trophy room when I was in a particularly stalker-ish mood, and he wore the exact same glasses. Or at least the same style. What is up with that?
Friday 6th September.
Dear Diary,
I sent a letter back home today. I carefully avoided saying anything about the whole Death Eater thing. I just need to keep Dad off my back for a bit until I decide what it is that I’m going to do. I think Mum will support me if I decide not to; she already disapproves of a lot of Dad’s friends. I suppose I’ll have to wait and see. Crabbe and Goyle have already decided that they’re not going to follow in their fathers’ footsteps. They want to move to Cornwall and start up a bakery.
Ooh, I had to partner Blaise in Herbology today. He is the living proof that looks are not everything. He is the most vapid, insensitive, manipulative person I have ever met, and I can’t believe I’ve let him see me naked. Today he spilled a load of spleenwort seeds all over the floor and Professor Sprout just let it go because he was doing that pouty fluttery-eyelash thing. Then as soon as her back was turned he gave me a really smug look, just because when I dropped that Venemous Tentacula the other day I got detention. It’s so unfair! I am just as pretty as Blaise is. Just because his mum was a famous model for, like, five minutes, he thinks he’s better than everyone. Smug git.
I need to find a new boyfriend. Is it bad that I’m seventeen and I’ve never actually been in a proper relationship? It’s not like I’ve ever had any problem attracting guys, it’s just that none of then have ever quite sparked enough interest for me to make a commitment. Oh, apart from my imaginary boyfriend I had when I was thirteen. His name was Juan and he was a Spanish exchange student. Wow… he was great, I really miss him. Apart from that, there was that Beauxbatons guy I fooled around with in fourth year. He was kind of cute, but a bit jumpy. He kept going on about how he’d never done anything like that before and that he was straight really. Yeah, right. I don’t have time for someone who’s clearly in the middle of a sexual identity crisis. Then there was the sexy brunet I met on holiday the summer before last. Didn’t amount to much though – he freaked out when he discovered I was only fifteen. And then there was Blaise. The less said about that the better really.
Oh, God, why couldn’t you have made Harry Potter gay? It’s not much to ask, is it?