Standard disclaimers for Harry Potter apply. In other words, I own absolutely nothing other than my odd imagination; this wonderful world with wonderful characters is the property of Ms. J. K. Rowling, etc. etc. I’m just…trying something, which is something I do rather too well and too often. The title was inspired by October Project’s song of the same name; lovely band, lovely song. As a matter of fact, a lot of October Project’s music makes me think of HP….
Contents: An AU undertaking (though all HP fics are AU since the series isn’t complete) from after year four, picking up in sixth year. This story will contain Draco Malfoy in liberal doses, as well as Harry, Hermione, and Ron, plus subsequent other characters as I see fit. It will have foul language—teenagers tend to swear a bit, in my experience. It will have intimate/sexual situations—teenagers tend to end up in these situations whether they intend to or not, in my experience. As far as sexuality goes, why, people could be homosexual, heterosexual, bisexual, non-sexual, or closet hermaphrodites for all I know. Okay, seriously, I know where I intend to take the story, and if you know me, you probably know where I intend to take the story, but I’m tired of biased readers, so I’m not saying for now.
Overall Rating: R, of course—due to sexual situations, violence with people and creatures, and language. And because of the author, of course. My mere existence calls for an R rating.
P.S. The Journal Entry portions of this fic (which occur between every major chapter), are written over various points of the year. The first four years will only be one part apiece, whereas the new entries for fifth year will be broken up more.
17 April 1991
To Draco S. Malfoy, in honour of his eleventh birthday.
Use it well.
Love, Maman
18 April 1991
I think this journal is silly, but as Maman gave it to me, I’ll at least attempt to write in it.
My cousin came to visit today—Pansy Parkinson, that is. She wasn’t able to make it to my birthday party yesterday. Not that she missed much. It was mostly business acquaintances of Father’s that came. Crabbe and Goyle were there, but they don’t really count.
Dobby snuck me a present after I was supposed to be in bed. It’s a stuffed animal of some sort (I can’t tell if it’s a dog or a fox or what) with long silvery fur. I have to keep it hidden, or else Father might take it away. He says that boys—especially Malfoy boys—don’t need things as girly and sentimental as stuffed toys.
Well, it’s bedtime now. I guess I’d better pretend to sleep.
D. S. Malfoy
30 April 1991
Father took me with him to London today. It’s the first time I’ve been allowed to go with him there, and it was very noisy! Really, how can Muggles stand all that noise, all those smells, all those outrageous colours? I don’t understand how it is they think we dress funny. I thought that they looked much more odd than we did. Of course, Father made me wear Muggle clothes, but they looked much better than what I saw on other children there. Father always makes sure that I wear the best.
I think Father’s business friends are quite boring, though, always talking about dark and morbid things. I’m surprised that any of them know how to smile, what with the way they carry on about death and destruction and whatnot. Father says that I’m just too young to understand, but…well, I don’t know. Something just doesn’t seem quite right with Father lately. I even managed to brew the Polyjuice Potion that Uncle Snape suggested I try from the book he sent (he said that it’s a fairly hard potion for young wizards to brew), but Father didn’t seem to care.
I wish I knew why all of the adults were in such a pissy bad mood.
D. S. Malfoy
12 May 1991
I’m really surprised that I’ve managed to write in this thing so often. I guess it’s not really that bad.
Father and Maman got into another fight this morning; Maman even threw the porridge at him. Father looked really funny with porridge dripping down his face, but I think he was quite mad (his face was turning purple). Then they started shouting all over again. I ran from the room and hid so that I could listen, but now I’m really confused.
They were fighting over Harry Potter.
My first year of Hogwarts is due to start on September 1, and I’m rather excited about it. Well, as excited as a Malfoy is allowed to be, that is. But Maman and Father’s arguing this morning made me mad. Why Harry Potter? Why does everyone whisper about him? His name makes some people cringe in fear, others shout in joy.
But I’ve never met him, so who is he, exactly?
Oh, I know that he’s the Boy Who Lived, the one who defeated Volde—um, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (that looks rather silly to put, but his real name makes people act weird). But the Potters were once a prominent family, so why haven’t I met this kid? I asked Pansy the other day if she’d ever met him. She just looked at me funny and asked why she’d want to. (For the record, I think that Pansy’s gotten weird lately. I saw her kissing Crabbe, which is just gross. I mean, honestly!)
He’d be our age, I think. And though his mother was from a Muggle family (Father said bad things about it this morning—that’s when Maman threw the porridge), and though she was in Gryffindor House, she was Maman’s friend so she couldn’t have been that bad. And, so, it only stands to reason that her son would be powerful too.
If I’ve never met him, I wonder…I wonder if he’s lonely. Crabbe and Goyle can’t seem to find a single thought between them, and Pansy’s more interested in makeup and dresses lately (Yuck!!). Maybe…maybe he would be powerful enough to be my wizarding partner. His mum was Maman’s wizarding partner their last two years of school—real good in charms, Mother said. I’m good at potions and herbology. Father says it’s nothing to brag about, but I haven’t really shown big talent in anything else (I don’t consider the Bad Spells a talent!)
Hmmm, this has gotten rather long. I suppose I should go to bed and write more later.
D. S. Malfoy
2 June 1991
Uncle Snape visited the Manor today. He was impressed with the Polyjuice Potion, as well as the Veritaserum that I made. At least someone other than Maman was impressed with me. I wish Father would be proud of my efforts…
I really like Uncle Snape. I want to get into Slytherin House, not just because it was Maman and Father’s House, but also because Uncle Snape is the head of it. It’d be so…um, cool to learn from Uncle Snape all the time. (Cool is such a Muggle word, but it’s kind of fun to use.)
Uncle Snape left before Father returned from the Governor’s meeting at the Ministry for Magic. He said that Father probably wouldn’t want to see him any time soon, and Maman frowned when the said that. Why is it that the adults all know what’s going on and I don’t? Even Uncle Snape and Maman were arguing about Harry Potter!
Where the bloody hell is Harry Potter?
…
It’s funny that this whole thing has me so worked up. Pansy said that I need to get out more, to meet more witches and wizards our age. Pansy’s parents take her everywhere with them, and she’s gotten to meet a lot more people than I have. I wish that Maman wasn’t so protective of me. I love her a lot, but…
But I’m lonely.
D. S. Malfoy
30 July 1991
I think that Maman has gone loopy.
She didn’t come down to breakfast, so I asked Dobby if she was still in her room. (Father is away in Paris, by the way.) He said that she was, so I went to her apartments to make sure she was all right (after stopping Dobby from ironing his hands—I told him that Maman wouldn’t be offended that breakfast had gone cold, unlike Father…) When I got up there, I found her looking through an old photo album and listening to some old Muggle record. She was kind of humming under her breath (it didn’t go with the record). And she was crying a bit, too.
I’ve never seen Maman cry before.
I hesitated at first going in. But then I grabbed courage from somewhere (I still don’t want to be in Gryffindor, though), and asked her if she was all right. She turned after a moment and laughed, wiping her eyes. All she said was, “It’s his birthday tomorrow.”
She ignored me after that, and I left her apartments really confused. Whose birthday is it tomorrow, I wonder? And why does thinking about it make her cry?
D. S. Malfoy
31 July 1991
Well, Father’s back from Paris and we went to London today to get my school supplies. We made a family trip out of it (Father had to get some things from Knockturn Alley as well), and I was both nervous and excited. I saw Pansy, of course, and recognised a few other associates of Father’s who seemed to have children in tow.
Anyway, I met this boy today. It was in Madam Malkin’s, a highly renowned seamstress’ shop, that I saw him. He was wearing Muggle clothes that were far too big for him (you probably could have fit half a Quidditch team in them), and glasses that were held together with something that looked like Spellotape but wasn’t. He had black hair that seemed to stick up in all directions, like he’d just pulled a hat off and hadn’t time to flatten his hair. But what was really interesting were his eyes. I’ve never really seen green eyes before, and his eyes were not only green, they were a colour that reminded me of an experiment I’d made with an acrylic paint set, years ago. I mixed Viridian Green with smaller amounts of Phthalocyanine Blue and Sap Green, throwing in the barest hints of Violet and Hansa Yellow. I hadn’t mixed in the latter two colours very well (they were kind of speckley), but the mixture had looked so beautiful that I’d simply pressed the pallet to paper and left it to dry. I still have it somewhere, I think.
I saw a lot of things in his eyes, and I think I finally understand what Maman means when she says that eyes are the window to the soul. The boy was scared and nervous, and very, very lonely. But he was also excited, and despite all of those other emotions that flitted about like mad mail owls, he seemed happy in a way—like when you’ve done something bad, but you don’t really care because you’ve enjoyed yourself.
However, when I tried to talk to him, everything seemed to come out wrong. I sort of talked about it with Maman, and she said I’m just “socially stunted” because I haven’t had a lot of exposure to children my own age. I wanted to say bullocks to that, but I didn’t feel like getting my mouth washed out with soap.
To make matters worse, the Hogwarts’ groundskeeper (apparently his escort) scared me almost witless. I’d heard talk that he was big and wild-looking, but I’d thought it was just talk. And the boy seemed to get offended with every word I said, so eventually I mumbled the inane “I’ll see you at Hogwarts” and turned away.
I hope I see him on the train, though, so I can apologise. Maybe we could still be friends—he seems a lot like me in some ways.
Draco
D. S. Malfoy
1 September 1991
I’m learning to hate my father—and that doesn’t sit very well with me. How can you hate someone whose approval you crave so badly? He wants me to hate Harry Potter, and I want Harry Potter to be my friend.
Let me explain, since I’m sure this all seems very confusing. The boy that I saw in Diagon Alley a month ago, the one whose eyes seemed so…intriguing, is apparently Harry Potter. I was shocked when Pansy told me, unable, at first, to even think straight.
And, of course, I didn’t bother to wait for clear thought to return before I went charging off down the corridor with Crabbe and Goyle trailing dutifully at my heels (really, they’re better than the wolfhounds at keeping track of a person). If anything, I managed to botch things more than I did a month ago. It wasn’t entirely my fault, though. I just got so mad when that Weasley brat laughed at my name. I know that Malfoy is an odd sounding name in this part of the country, but I hadn’t thought it that funny. So, as usual, I let my temper get the best of me and did a spectacular job of opening my mouth and inserting my foot. Really, Maman would have smacked me, had she been there. But what really hurt was that Harry turned down my offer of friendship so coolly, so calmly—and in favour of a person who could wind up getting him killed. Oh, I’ve heard what Father’s said about the Weasleys; he’s out to get their father in a bad way.
I got into Slytherin House, and I’m happy about that. Uncle Snape congratulated me after the Welcoming Feast, which made me feel a little bit better. The Slytherin Ghost, the Bloody Baron, sat by me at dinner. He’s really disturbing, dripping silvery blood everywhere, but at least Peeves is afraid of him. Uncle Snape said the story of Peeves and the Bloody Baron is long and interesting, and that he’d tell it to me some day.
Harry ended up in Gryffindor (of course, both of his parents were in there). I was a little surprised, since I’ve heard rumour that he’s had family in Slytherin before Slytherin, but… Well, it might sound funny, but I think I heard him muttering that he didn’t want to be in Slytherin. I can only imagine what kind of things he’s been told about our House. I shudder to think what the other Houses say about us in their fireside conversations.
Things are stirring that I’m not sure I want to be a part of. Things are moving in ways I’m not sure I want them to. I feel as though I’m being drawn into something that’s going to change my life, and not necessarily for the better. As a matter of fact, I think I’m being pulled in to something that might kill me.
…Oh, hell, that’s a little too melodramatic, even for me. That’s it; I need to go to bed. I’ll try and write more later, when I’m thinking a bit more clearly.
D. S. Malfoy
17 September 1991
Looking back on my last entry, I’m starting to think I wasn’t as tired as I thought I was.
School’s in full session now, and my class load is weighing me down a bit. Herbology and Potions are a breeze, naturally, but Charms is a bit harder. The funny thing, though, is Harry. I watch him a lot (so far we’re only in Potions and Charms together), and I’ve begun to notice a disturbing trend: Harry has the ability to turn his magic off. I know that doesn’t make a lot of sense, but if he feels that he’s being pushed too far, if things aren’t quite going right, all sense of magic about him disappears. It’s a weird phenomenon that I’d like to know more about, but so far I’ve been unable to do any research. Wish Uncle would lay off the Potions’ homework for a bit…
I received a letter from Father as well, and his words made me uneasy. He wants me to alienate Harry from his friends and his House, to make him as isolated as possible. I’m not sure why, exactly, but Father made certain to paint a rather nasty picture of Harry and his deceased parents. Maman must not know that Father sent this to me, or she’d have chewed him out and sent a follow-up letter.
I don’t know what to do, anymore. I feel so torn, between Maman and Father, between what they want and what I want. It all goes back to what I said the night after the Sorting Ceremony. I’m being pulled into something big, here, and I’ve got not control over it.
I just hope I figure out something quickly. Otherwise I might be doing poorly in more than Charms; I can’t remember the last time I had a decent night’s sleep.
D. S. Malfoy
4 October 1991
I think I’m beginning to get it.
I was reading my Defence Against the Dark Arts book when it dawned on me (Quirrell never uses the book, but it’s an interesting read) what exactly it is I have to do.
I have to be Harry’s foil.
It’s so simple, so brilliant, that I can’t believe it’s taken me a month to figure out. I’m perfect for the job, really. He already hates me, so no-one will even suspect what I’m doing, least of all him. I already tout my pureblood status, my Father’s connections in the Ministry and abroad, my talent in Potions… Really, it won’t take much more work to begin making Harry wish me dead. Well, he probably already does that (I’ve seen the look in his eyes), but at least now everyone else will know it as well.
Some days I wonder how he’s managed to make it this far alive. He’s reckless in his curiosity, too brave for his own good. Seriously, if anything kills him, it’s not going to be the Dark Lord, it’s going to be himself. I’ve seen him and Weasley, sneaking through the halls late at night…no wonder I have nightmares when I return to Slytherin House (when I manage to sleep, that is). He would make a saint pull their hair out in exasperation before too long.
Like I said, I know what I need to do, now. All I have left to figure out is how to go about doing it without being obvious.
D. S. Malfoy
17 October 1991
I received a message from Father today. Uriel was very distressed at having to bear the news (he knew it would upset me), so I made sure to tell him that it wasn’t his fault before having him return to the Owlery. This business Father’s in…that he and Maman are in… It’s bad, I know it is. And it’s related to Voldemort.
I wish I were older, wiser. Things would come to me easier, then. I’d know by now how to get Harry Potter to leave, if I was older and smarter. I have no-one to talk to, no-one to confide in: Pansy would tell me I was being stupid, and I can’t even begin to think what Uncle would say.
I wish I could talk to Maman about this, but I’m so afraid…so afraid that if I tell someone of my plans, I’ll only get him killed faster.
Life really, really sucks.
Draco
31 October 1991
Someone let a troll into Hogwarts tonight. I have a feeling that it has something to do with the business that Father’s involved in, but I have no way of proving it. And Crabbe and Goyle have been increasingly annoying of late. I think their watching me, but I’m not sure why. Hopefully Father hasn’t begun to suspect—I’d like to think I’m a much better actor than that.
Uncle Snape told me that Harry and Weasley managed to take out the troll. Apparently it had cornered a Gryffindor witch in the girls’ bathroom, and they’d rushed in to save her. How very Gryffindor of them; the bloody prats probably don’t even realise that they nearly lost their lives. I think that Uncle knows some of what’s going on as well; his leg was rather banged up with blood on his trousers, but he wouldn’t let me take care of it—said that it was business I was better off not getting involved in.
I wish that Maman would write back. I’m awfully lonely, and Uriel isn’t much for company. Dobby sent yet another box of sweets from home, but my stomach was too much in knots to eat. I gave it all to Pansy and her friends instead.
I don’t know what to do anymore. Father wants me to make Harry’s life a living hell. Of course, I seem to be unintentionally doing a remarkably good job at that. Maybe…maybe that’s the point. Maybe that’s my purpose in all of this, the ultimate goal of being his foil. I’m here to make sure that Harry Potter hates life at Hogwarts more than anything, so that he’ll leave.
So that he’ll live.
Fuck, l Life sucks.
Malfoy
6 November 1991
I think that Uncle might suspect something. Actually, I’m certain he suspects something, but he has yet to speak of it. And I don’t know what I’d say if he accused me. Could I be honest with him? Probably not; I can barely be honest with myself.
Uriel brought back a reply from Maman. It seems I’ll be allowed to return home for Christmas, but I’m a little apprehensive. I want to see Maman and Father…but…
I hate these thoughts of mine. I’m a traitor to my family, to everything I was raised to believe in, but I can’t help it. Despite all my doubts, all my fears, I know that I’m doing what I’m supposed to, that I’m fulfilling my ultimately hellish destiny.
Hey, not everyone can say the Boy Who Lived loathes them, right? At least I’ll go down in history with some sort of infamous notoriety.
D. S. Malfoy
25 December 1991
Quiet Christmases frighten me more than the loud ones. Apparently Father and his friends decided to celebrate Christmas in Paris, at the Malfoy Gardens. Maman, Dobby, and I were left behind to have Christmas to ourselves. (I heard them arguing before he left, though; she wanted to go to her mother’s for Christmas, but Father forbade it. I’ve never met my grandmother before…)
I received the usual gifts from family friends: lavish clothing and outrageous accessories, bits and baubles that most likely have some sort of dark wizarding potential I’ve yet to figure out. Uncle sent a set of diamond phials for Potions, which will come in handy for more caustic mixes. Uriel brought me a mouse, silly bugger of an owl that he is. Dobby gave me a storybook, written in a foreign language I don’t know (looks like Chinese or some such), but the pictures are really pretty. Maman gave me a book as well, but I can’t figure out how it works. She said that it’s magic, and it might take me awhile to make it work; she said that she knows how, but it would be cheating if she told me.
All in all, it wasn’t too bad of a holiday. Maman was a bit distant during dinner, but Dobby told me she’s been like that for a while. Father and his associates have been meeting more and more often, and she doesn’t seem to like it. I don’t blame her, but I also know that she’s involved in it as well—probably more than I would care to know.
So the books sit hidden with my stuffed animal from my birthday (I’ve decided it’s definitely a fox). I’m going to have to start keeping them in my Hogwarts’ trunk, I think. I don’t trust Father not to search my room for such things.
Maybe at school I’ll figure things out better. All I know right now is that I’d rather be living with a Muggle family that hated me, than with one whose idea of love might kill me.
D. S. Malfoy
3 January 1992
Well, the new year has begun, and with it I have begun to feel the weight of the chains I’ve bound myself with.
Father, I think, wonders what it is I do at school. He wrote to tell me that I needed to watch myself with Harry Potter, that people have remarked on my cruelty towards the Boy Who Lived. What did he expect? He told me to alienate Harry, to make people hate him. Was I supposed to accomplish that by holding his hand and singing his praises? Really, some days I wonder about Father’s intelligence.
Anyway, I think I’m getting the hang of Charms. I hear that Granger (that’s the Gryffindor witch that nearly got her clock cleaned by the troll on Halloween) is still ahead of me in the grade standings (a fact which annoys me to no end), but at least I’m ahead of the other Houses.
Crabbe and Goyle have been looking at me funny, lately. Pansy said they think I’ve been too withdrawn, and maybe she’s right. If I can’t keep Crabbe and Goyle fooled, there’s no way I’ll keep my father fooled. I guess I’d better start letting them help me annoy Harry and his friends. Maybe that’ll get Father off my case.
D. S. Malfoy
22 January 1992
I wish that I could play Quidditch. Maybe I’ll make the House team next year. Flint said that he heard Madam Hooch say I was a good flyer, so maybe I’ve got a chance…
I just feel so…isolated. I know that I’ve done it to myself, but how else was I supposed to accomplish my goal? I watched him, today, on the Quidditch pitch, flying leisurely in the air as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He was so deep in thought that he never even noticed me, a lone speck of silver and black seated in the Slytherin stands. He’s a natural, I’ll give him that. He doesn’t have the grace and finesse of someone who’s been on a broom since before they could walk, but he has…something. Watching him fly…for a moment, a part of me was able to fly with him and I was able to forget all my worries.
But only for a moment.
Harry’s involved in something right now, something that I’ve yet to catch on to. I’ve seen him and Granger and Weasley closeted in the corner of the library, whispering conspiratorially. I just have to make sure that I figure it out before they get themselves killed.
Really, Gryffindor House should be known as the House of idiots rather than the House of the brave.
D. S. Malfoy
14 February 1992
Valentine’s Day is the worst holiday ever invented, and that’s all I have to say.
Draco
12 March 1992
Well, it’s official: Hogwarts is a completely and utterly nutters place to be. St. Mungo’s has to be more stable than this! I got in trouble (not surprising) for tattling on Harry and his friends. I was only doing it because the stupid git doesn’t value his own neck. He could have gotten killed, hanging out with Hagrid’s dragon, delivering it to Weasley’s friends at one o’clock in the morning from the Astronomy tower… Well, at least we’re all stuck serving detention together, Granger, Longbottom, Harry, and I. And they lost a lot of points for Gryffindor: I wouldn’t be surprised if Harry’s own House drove him away before I have a chance to.
What’s really odd is that no-one seems to have caught on. Maybe I really am a better actor than I thought. I’ve managed to convince the entire school that I hate Potter and will stop at nothing to get him expelled. Even Uncle’s pulled me aside to tell me that my vendetta against Harry is a little excessive, and perhaps I should set it to rest for awhile.
Really, people here are incompetent. All of them, fooled by an eleven-year-old boy… Make that two eleven-year-old boys. I can’t believe that the teachers have been fooled by Harry’s goody-goody exterior. There’s something not quite right with him, mark my words. I’ve seen the thoughts that cross behind those eyes. He’s not as innocent as everyone seems to believe. He’d like to hurt people, like to laugh at their troubles and pains. Somehow he manages to hold it back, but it’s there. Deep, dark waters stir in him, muddied with serpentic venom.
Hmph, how very Slytherin.
D. S. Malfoy
13 March 1992
In case I haven’t stated it before, the staff of Hogwarts is insane! You know what they made us do for detention? They put us under Hagrid and sent us into the Forbidden Forest. We were after something that was attacking and killing unicorns. If you ask me, something that could kill a unicorn wasn’t exactly something that eleven-year-old kids should be tackling. …Not that anyone wanted my opinion. No, instead I protested quite loudly about how when my father heard about this, he’d have words with Dumbledore. I’m very good at bandying Father’s name around when Harry’s involved; nothing seems to infuriate him faster.
At first Hagrid paired me up with Longbottom, but that didn’t last very long. Something didn’t seem right to me while we were walking, and it was more than the fact that the forest creeped the hell out of me. I kept hearing voices, whispers that almost seemed to come from the trees themselves: Evil stalks the forest, evil that wants Potter dead. So I played a prank that made Hagrid switch us around, pairing me up with Harry.
I admit, when I came face-to-face with the evil the trees warned of, I screamed and ran. I can’t believe what a coward I was, really. I wrote to Maman before writing in here, and I’m hoping she’ll have some words of wisdom that will ease my conscience. I ran to Hagrid and told him what happened, hoping that when we returned Harry would be all right. He was saved by a centaur, something that apparently the other centaurs considered in bad form. Their arguments didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me, but who am I to try and figure out centaur logic?
I’m the ruddy Boy-Who-Ran-Away.
Malfoy
17 April 1992
Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear Draco, happy birthday to me.
Birthdays suck. Friends suck. Harry hates me. Pansy’s being a pain. Granger’s kicking my arse in Charms. Professor Sprout whacked me with a tree limb. Maman says I need to learn to play nice and make friends. Uncle accidentally poured acid on me. And now I’m going to cry like the little prat I am and hope that tomorrow’s better.
Have I mentioned that Harry hates me?
Draco
28 May 1992
Secrets. It’s funny how something no-one is supposed to know can spread like wildfire until everyone knows it. Take, for instance, the fact that Harry took on Voldemort in the third-floor corridor last night. He nearly didn’t make it out alive, either, from all accounts. I snuck into the infirmary about an hour ago to look in on him (Madam Pomfrey almost caught me, but I managed to hide…somehow), and a part of me burst into tears. He broke his hand (A good thing wizard magic is faster and better than Muggle healing in some cases; it would break his heart if he couldn’t play Quidditch anymore.), and he was covered in bruises and cuts, terribly, terribly pale in his stripped pyjamas, lying underneath the infirmary sheets like a corpse.
But another part of me cheered at the sight of him. The Boy Who Lived Again. Twice now he’s managed to walk away from Voldemort alive. Twice!
But he won’t always be so lucky. Voldemort is probably more determined than ever to make sure that he dies.
I wonder why he went after Harry in the first place, all those years ago. Why try to kill a one-year-old child?
All I know is that I have to try harder than ever to keep Harry away from Hogwarts. He can’t come back here next year—he can’t.
…Because I don’t know what I’d do if he died.
Draco
24 June 1992
The ride home was relatively uneventful. Crabbe and Goyle wanted to go and pick on Harry and his friends, but I was too tired to go with them, so they gave up. Really, I’ve been so exhausted lately. Right now I want to curl up and sleep for a week.
Maybe I’ll be able to sleep better at home. I doubt it, but I’m hoping. Maman hugged me when I got off the train, and Father said (grudgingly, I’m sure) that he was proud of my marks. Well, at least I managed to get a semi-pleased remark from him.
Hell, I wish I didn’t feel so confused! When I’m away from Harry, I just want to be like any other boy who wants to please his parents. I wish my father would be proud of me all the time, like Pansy’s parents are with her. But, I also know the truth about my parents. I don’t love Maman any less for it, for I know she does the things she does out of love for Father.
I need to regain focus. I can’t lose sight of the fact that I have a purpose, a goal to accomplish. I only have a few weeks to think of a way to keep Harry from returning to Hogwarts next year.
Draco
26 June 1992
If Father finds out what I’ve done… Well, let’s just say that I don’t relish being me if he does.
It took me a few days to come up with the first part of my plan, but it’s fairly sound. At least, I think it is. I wish I were more clever, more creative when it came to things like this, but my nature in that respect seems to be more Gryffindor than Slytherin—a fact that disturbs me to no end.
I’ve had Dobby intercept Harry’s mail. It’s not hard for a house elf to do; their magics, when they’re allowed to use them, are much stronger than ours. I know he doesn’t like hurting Harry (the house elves practically worship Harry Potter), but it needs to be done. Maybe if Harry thinks his friends don’t like him enough to write, he won’t want to return to Hogwarts.
I don’t think it’s going to work, to be honest. I need to come up with something a little more drastic, just in case.
Just in case…
D. S. Malfoy
29 June 1992
I took out that book that Maman gave me for Christmas, today, to try and figure it out. I think it’s some sort of old recording journal, but I can’t say for sure. Really, it’s hard to figure out… Standard revealing charms don’t work on it, and it’s impervious to all other forms of magic that I’ve tried, so far. I can’t even transfigure it, which is interesting.
Father’s up to something. I’m not sure, yet, what it is, but I know that it’s not good. And I know that he’s keeping it from Maman, somehow. Dobby’s the one who told me what he’s been doing, but he knows even less than I do. Hopefully we’ll be able to figure out what Father’s plans are before they get too far.
On a strange note, I told Maman I was going to dye my hair black, and she told me that it wouldn’t work. In the mood to spite someone, I went ahead anyway and tried it. She was right; the colour wouldn’t hold at all. I wonder, why, exactly…
D. S. Malfoy
16 July 1992
I hate to put Dobby in this position, but something needs to be done. I don’t trust Harry to be completely deterred by the lack of mail from his friends, nor do I trust the Weasleys to let things lie so easily. I’m going to send Dobby to Harry’s House to cause trouble. If I’m lucky, it’ll be enough to get him in trouble with the Ministry so he can’t return.
Not that I’m counting on being lucky. The gods know that my luck of late has been awful. No, Dobby and I have been working on a way to make the barrier to Platform 9 ¾ impermeable, so that on September 1, Harry will be unable to get through.
I think that Maman and Father have made up, for now. I heard Father tell her that she could take a week to go and see her sister. I didn’t know that Maman had a sister. Of course, I barely know anything about Maman’s family, since Father doesn’t want me seeing them. I wonder why, exactly.
Lately, I’ve been wondering a lot of things, haven’t I? Maybe, some day, I’ll actually have time to figure out the truth. Right now, though, I’m a little too busy being a backstabbing Slytherin to do anything about it. Priorities, priorities…
D. S. Malfoy
[Part I]
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