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….
Warnings: An AU undertaking from the end of Year Four: The Goblet of Fire—wait a minute, all fics after that point are AU; still three more books to come, after all. All sorts of warnings are needed, such as language (though to some people this is nothing more than everyday vocabulary ^_^…), dark themes (blood, death, torture, etc…your standard HP fare, really), mature content (kissing, cuddling, mention of sex, etc…), bits of slash and non-slash, and an author with way too much creativity on her hands.
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 entries for fifth year will be broken up more.
31 July 1992
Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November…
Hmmm, don’t quite know why I just thought of that. Must be because I haven’t slept in two days. The exhaustion’s making me loopier than I already was. I’m waiting for Dobby to return right now—he’s been missing since lunchtime, and I’m worried. I think all the stress of planning to keep Harry from Hogwarts finally made him crack. He knows he’s not supposed to leave the manor without permission. Well, anyway, I’m hoping that he’ll have a positive report when he comes back. ‘Course, a positive report means that Harry will most likely have been expelled from Hogwarts by the Ministry (breaking the Underage Wizard Restriction Act and all that, since I’m fairly sure that’s what Dobby’s use of house-elf magic will make the Ministry think—they’re not too bright some times), which means that Dobby will no doubt come home and promptly throw himself down the stairs, or shut his fingers in the oven door, or something else bizarrely painful and grossly masochistic that only a house-elf could think of as punishment! Gah, even my sentences on paper are becoming run-on…really must learn to sleep more.
I’m more convinced than ever that I’m being a perfect idiot. I mean, really, who sets themselves up to be the foil of the greatest wizarding hero since Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald in the Muggle World War II? Not that Harry’s that great of a wizard yet, mind you, but he does seem to have a certain…something.
…
I just praised Harry on paper. Yes, I really need to start sleeping more.
Um, in other news, I think I’m turning into a bit of a kleptomaniac. I was up until nearly midnight yesterday digging through some of Father’s spell books in the library, looking for something interesting to practise as a way to pass the time. I don’t consciously remember doing it, but apparently I tore the page containing information on Japanese water charms out and tucked it into my robe pocket. I also filched a pair of Maman’s earrings from her dresser this morning, and the gods alone know why I did that.
Grrr, I just wish that Dobby would hurry up!!!
I’ve never been very good with patience; Maman says it’s one of my worst habits, the fact that I fidget if forced to sit still for too long. It’s certainly the thing that’s earned me the most thumps from Father’s serpent-headed staff.
Maybe— Hold on, I think I just heard something fall down the stairs.
Well, two hours and a bump on the head later, I’m back in my room. Of course, Dobby would barely hold still long enough for me to patch him up from his tumble down the stairs—kept giving me the ‘Master Draco should not help foolish Dobby’ spiel. I was tempted to tie him up and leave him in one of the kitchen pantries so he wouldn’t try to hurt himself again, but I’m sure that such mundane measures would be useless against house-elf magic. What a bother…
He went exactly where I thought he had, and he did exactly what I thought he’d do. Well, I didn’t figure that he’d make a pudding explode in the kitchen, but I figured he’d try and get Harry expelled through the Restriction for Underage Wizards act. Dobby apparently waited around invisibly for the owl from the Ministry to show up. It seems that Harry’s relatives didn’t know that he wasn’t allowed to do magic outside of school. I feel a bit bad now…he’s probably going to be shut away in his room, all alone.
But at least he’s alive.
D. S. Malfoy
8 August 1992
It’s odd, how you can know exactly what’s going on, and, yet, you know absolutely nothing.
Dobby, I think, knows what Father is planning, but he refuses to tell me. Well, he started to tell me something, but then he ran into the kitchen and proceeded to shut his ears in the oven door, so I decided against asking him to finish his words. The smell of burnt flesh is awful at anytime of day, but especially in the morning, right after a bowl of porridge and honey…
It’s got something to do with the Dark Lord, I know that. Maybe Father has some artefact he plans on slipping in to Hogwarts, somehow. I’m not sure how exactly he’ll go about it, though. Father’s quite clever—and I’m not sure that I can be cleverer than him. I guess I’ll just have to rely on Dobby…and trust that he knows what he’s doing.
Gods, with my luck, he’ll be the one to get Harry killed.
D. S. Malfoy
P.S. Father just informed me that Harry managed to escape from his Muggle relatives through the aid of the Weasleys and a flying Ford Anglia. Wish I could’ve seen the Muggles faces when they saw the car… Father’s quite upset about the whole ordeal (he really doesn’t like the Weasleys, and apparently the office that Weasley Sr. works for has been raiding a lot of pureblood houses of late), but was pleased to hear that Harry will be going to Hogwarts for second year.
Dobby and I really need to make sure that the Barrier Sealing charm works. If Father’s pleased that Harry will be going…well, when Father’s pleased, it’s usually because someone else is in a lot of agony.
19 August 2002
Diagon Alley. It’s funny how last year I was so excited to go there, to get ready to attend Hogwarts, to finally meet people my own age and try and make friends. Now I just feel sick—especially since we ran into Harry, Granger, and the Weasleys. And it didn’t help that I went alone with Father. I really wish Maman had been able to come with us today, but apparently she had to attend some sort of Governors’ Wives meeting. Sounds rather boring to me…
Father was lot a more worried about the Ministry’s raids then he let on at home. He brought a list of things he wanted to sell off with us to Diagon Alley, but, of course, they weren’t the kind of things you can sell off in broad daylight. Which meant that I got to go into Knockturn Alley for the first time. And, I must say, it seems to bear a close resemblance to the Christian hell, in my opinion.
Borgin and Burkes was the store we went to (Father seems to do a lot of business with Mr. Borgin, given how familiar the man was with him), and it was creepy at the same time that it was intriguing. Shrunken heads, cursed rope, a Hand of Glory… That one looked particularly interesting, but Father managed to make me feel bad about my curiosity by saying that if my grades didn’t improve, I’d end up nothing better than a thief. It’s not my fault that Granger’s always ahead of me in the marks. And, besides, you’d think that being first in Potions and second in my other subjects would count for something.
Father promised to buy me a racing broom, which made me feel happy briefly. But then I had to start wondering if he had an ulterior motive. I mean, yes, my family is quite wealthy, and we can afford the best quite easily. But I still have to make it through Quidditch tryouts and hope that I make it onto the team. I’m fairly certain that it won’t be a problem, but even Slytherins have to abide by some rules.
I was trying to complain loudly about how much Harry annoys me—have to keep Father and everyone else fooled, after all. But then Father chastised me in Borgin and Burkes, telling me that it wouldn’t do to appear less than fond of Harry.
Being that ungrateful git’s foil is a pain.
We ran into Harry and his friends at Flourish and Blotts. There was soot on his shoes and robe hem, which made me wonder about something I’d noticed earlier. At Borgin and Burkes, there had been a cupboard in the back where an odd noise was coming from, and there had been soot trailing from the fireplace to the cupboard (it was over near the Hand of Glory). I almost went over to investigate, but Father was ready to leave. If… No, it all seems too coincidental, that on the day Father goes to sell off some of the more dangerous and questionable of his Dark Arts supplies that Harry Potter would be in a cupboard in that same store.
I watched the fiasco between Gilderoy Lockheart and Harry during the book signing. I was hard pressed not to laugh; the look of horror on Harry’s face was absolutely priceless. Can’t believe that that nattering boob is going to be the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for the next year, though; really, I’ll probably learn more from reading Quirrell’s old books than from him.
It also seems that a new Weasley will be starting school this year. Really, five Weasleys and Granger… I must have done something to anger the gods in a past life.
A lot.
Draco
P.S. Apparently filched a page from a book on Occamys, of all things. Really, what is it with me and stealing things lately…?
1 September 1992
I—hate—my—life. After all of my hard work, all of my careful planning and studying, the Barrier Sealing charm worked. Harry and Ron Weasley weren’t able to get through the King’s Cross barrier and they missed the Hogwarts Express.
So what did the two morons do? They got into that stupid flying Ford Anglia and flew it to school!!!
I nearly had a heart attack when Uncle Snape told me after the Welcoming Feast what had happened. Of course, I think that he thought I was choking on my water for a completely different reason… Flew it from London to mid-Scotland…straight into the Whomping Willow, of all things. They’re lucky the bloody tree didn’t kill them; Whomping Willows are one of the nastiest tree species in existence. McGonagall, it seems, isn’t going to suspend them, but gave them detention instead. I felt like crying at that moment, but Malfoys aren’t supposed to cry.
What am I going to do now? After that day in Diagon Alley, I’m more certain than ever that Father has started something here at the school, but I haven’t a clue what it is. And Dobby still refuses to talk.
I think I’m going to go to the dungeons and eviscerate toads. Maybe then I’ll feel a little better. Hope Uncle won’t mind the mess—I don’t feel like being careful about what goes where right now.
Malfoy
5 September 1992
Quidditch tryouts were held yesterday and I made the team. Beating Terrence Higgs was hard, seeing as how he’s 16 and has a bit more experience than me, but Flint, Snape, and Madam Hooch agreed that I was the better flyer. I was really excited at first (believe me, I was all set to write in here about it yesterday), but then I found out that Father had made a gift to the Slytherin team of seven Nimbus 2001 brooms. Now I’m not sure if my place on the team was bought or earned…
We also ran into a bit of a scuffle with the Gryffindor team. They had the pitch booked for the same time that Flint wanted to practise, so he simply got a signed note from Uncle saying that we could practise as well. Unfortunately, Granger and Weasley had to come over and see what all the fuss was about, and that when things turned sour.
Really, I’m not a fan of the term “mudblood,” but Granger… Well, she insinuated that I’d bought my way onto the team, which, of course, basically made the sinking pit in my stomach worse and I reacted out of anger. I called her mudblood, and I’m surprised that I didn’t get my face knocked in.
Weasley tried to curse me, but apparently his wand broke in the debacle with the car and the Whomping Willow and the curse backfired. Harry and Granger dragged him away towards Hagrid’s hut, puking slugs the whole while (creepy part about that is just this morning Weasley told me to eat slugs—guess it backfired). I also got my first glimpse of a Gryffindor first year that I’m probably going to quickly learn to hate. Creevey, I think his name is, and he’s a Muggle-born, as well as permanently attached to his camera.
Is anything going to go right for me this year?
D. S. Malfoy
22 September 1992
Granger is still doing much better than me in Charms, and I was appalled to find out that even Harry did better than me on the first exam. I mean, I know that he’s stronger in Charms than I am, but I usually do much better than him on the homework and exams. Flitwick held me after class the other day to talk to me about my wand. He thinks that, perhaps, my wand isn’t the correct one for me. But I got it at Ollivander’s, and I’m pretty sure that he wouldn’t have sold me the wand if it wasn’t the right one.
Hmph, what does Flitwick know anyway?
…
Defence Against the Dark Arts is proving to be as worthless as I feared. If Lockhart did even a fraction of the things he says he did, I’ll…I’ll…apologise to Granger in public. Well…maybe.
Father sent me a rather peculiar note. It simply said ‘Be ready’ and had the family seal beneath it. What’s he talking about? I’m almost afraid that it has to do with the business he’s begun here at school. If Dobby was here, I’d wring his neck for information…
Sent Maman a letter this morning, letting her know how things have gone so far. I hope she’ll write back soon.
I wonder if anyone else has noticed the spiders roaming the halls in packs? It’s creepy…
Draco
P.S. I think I might have kind of made a friend in Terrence Higgs. Well, as much as Slytherins befriend one another. I’ve been helping him with his Potions homework in return for help in Charms. Not than anyone knows about this, journal, so you’d better not go telling anyone, or I’ll use you for kindling.
…
I just threatened my journal. I really need to start sleeping more!
12 October 1992
Well, the extra Charms work seems to be paying off a bit, but I keep finding myself distracted. I almost forgot to do my Potions homework!
…
I feel so silly right now. I’m so scared, so tired…I want to be at home in my room, surrounded by the scent of my mother’s perfume and the familiar childhood toys that I actually liked. Instead, I’m sitting on my bed with the curtains drawn shut, huddling under the covers with my wand lit and the stuffed animal Dobby gave me for my eleventh birthday. It’s a good thing I quickly established the reputation of being an instant-hexer last year; I can only imagine the kind of gossip fodder it would give the other Slytherins to know I’m afraid of the dark and I still sleep with a stuffed animal.
I hate being so helpless.
Malfoy
31 October 1992
Today was one of those days that, when I woke up, I was certain that I should just go back to bed. I really wish I’d listened to that whiny, inner voice of mine. Lately it’s been proving that it’s much smarter than the rest of me.
I must admit, I’m more than a little scared right now. And I hate admitting to fear, as you well know, you blasted journal.
I suppose I need to back up and explain things a bit. Today is Halloween, obviously (though, I think if I were to look at a clock it would technically be the first of November), one of the four Sabats of the year, also knows as Samhain, All Hallow’s Eve, what have you.
Today, incidentally, is also the day Harry survived the killing curse, eleven years ago. I wonder how many people actually know that little fact.
The Chamber of Secrets was opened today. It’s a myth that Slytherin children are taught from their cradle, a place that houses a monster of Salazar Slytherin’s that will, when released, rid Hogwarts of all students Muggle-born.
I expect Father will owl me some time tomorrow or the next day. This has to be what he was involved in—I’m sure of it. And I’m just as sure that he won’t be able to help bragging of it, at least a little. It’s a pride thing…and a family thing.
Right after the Halloween Feast, we were all on our way back to the common room. It was at the hall juncture that leads to Gryffindor, Slytherin, and Ravenclaw’s dormitories. Everyone saw it, of course: The half-metre high letters…Mrs. Norris hanging stiff as a board from one of the torch brackets…the pool of water on the floor (probably from the out-of-order girls’ loo)…the Gryffindor Trio in front of it all. Uncle told us later that she was just petrified, but I swear, at the time, I thought she was dead.
‘The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware.’ What a chilling message to have daubed on the wall.
What’s really chilling, though, is the murmur running through Slytherin House right now. They think that Harry is the Heir of Slytherin because he was found at the scene of the crime and Filch was howling for his blood. Filch is always howling for Harry’s blood; I mean, really, you’d think he and Uncle were related, the number of times they’ve tried to get Harry expelled for breathing too loud or some such.
Saint Potter, the Heir of Slytherin? What a load of bullocks.
Malfoy
17 November 1992
The Gryffindor Trio is up to something. They’ve been skulking around the library a lot lately, and I think I saw Granger get a book from Madam Pince that was taken from the Restricted Section. Probably trying to look up information on the Chamber of Secrets so they can defeat the beast and save the day. I’ve been working on a House mathematical equation, and it goes something like this:
Lions = pride + strength
Pride = naïveté + stubbornness
Strength = low intelligence + stubbornness
Therefore:
Gryffindor = 2(stubbornness) + naïveté + low intelligence
In other words, Gryffindors are morons!!!
Uncle’s been in a fouler mood than usual. I mean, he’s generally not a happy person by any means (I think I’d faint if I ever saw Uncle laugh in joy—and I mean real joy, not that demented cackle he uses when he’s working on outmanoeuvring his co-workers), but he almost took House points away from Slytherin in class today—and he’s never taken points away from Slytherin. Father always said that Uncle needed more, er…leisure time, and I’m beginning to agree.
D. S. Malfoy
25 November 1992
First Quidditch match of the season, and we ended up against Gryffindor. The match was actually supposed be held two weeks ago, but after the whole Chamber and Mrs. Norris scare, the teachers decided to postpone it for a bit. And, of course, we lost. I suppose I should probably be more upset about the loss, but I can’t find it in me. I mean, Harry did get his arm broken by that odd acting bludger…and then he got the bones removed by that blockheaded excuse for a teacher, Lockhart. Stupid ponce…hope the Slytherin monster eats him.
Even Flint’s lecturing me because the snitch was dancing right over my head wasn’t able to faze me though; I have too many other things to think about to let that bother me.
It’s becoming more difficult to balance what’s ‘expected’ and what’s ‘right.’ I mean, I’m doing this whole bloody Harry Potter’s foil thing because the git needs to be alive to keep Voldemort (screw the You-Know-Who bit—takes too long to write) away. But it seems I either manage to garner suspicion for being too nice, or I garner hatred for being an arrogant prat. Really, is there no middle ground—anywhere?
I’ll beat Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, they’ll see. I’m good at Quidditch…unfortunately, Harry might just be better. Bugger…
D. S. Malfoy
10 December 1992
A nose the size of a watermelon does not a Conniving Hero-Foil make. If I ever find out who threw the firecracker into Goyle’s cauldron, I’ll beat them into unconsciousness, Enneverate them, and beat them into unconsciousness again!!!
And, no, I’m not mad. I’m bloody speechless—apoplectic! Hope Uncle’s got something in the dungeon I can kill…
Malfoy
P.S. Spiders are being really odd. I just watched a bunch creeping through one of the cracked windowpanes out into the snow. Gah, need to wash the rat guts out from under my fingernails. And I don’t even want to know what’s in my hair.
17 December 1992
Well, today was supposed to be the first meeting of the Duelling Club, but I have a feeling that it will also be the last meeting. Really, I can’t remember the last time I saw so much chaos…was a part of so much chaos.
Uncle just had to suggest that I pair off against Potter. Sometimes I wonder if Uncle isn’t more than a bit starkers…pairing me off with my greatest enemy… I mean, everyone at school knows how much Harry loathes me. You’d think he’d know a recipe for disaster when he sees one. Unfortunately, duelling has a lot to do with Charms, which means that Harry could easily have wiped the floor with me, had I not pulled the Serpensorita charm out of my bag. I wasn’t expecting…no, no-one was expecting what happened, least of all me and Uncle.
Harry is a Parselmouth. Now even those dunderhead Hufflepuffs are going to think he’s the Heir of Slytherin (Voldemort was the last known Parselmouth, though no-one knew about that particular talent until after he became the nearly-all-powerful Dark Lord). Though…I have to wonder… No, Harry can’t possibly be the Heir of Slytherin. Father sent me an owl saying that the Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago, and hinted that I would do best to keep my mouth closed and let things run their course. There’s no way that Harry could be the Heir…
But venom runs deep in his veins… I don’t think he’s as well-behaving as everyone seems to think—I know he’s not as well-behaving as everyone seems to think.
Pride of a lion…courage of a lion…fangs of a serpent…
Draco
18 December 1992
Seems I was right about the Hufflepuffs. Not surprising, though, really. That lot are so annoyingly predictable. And it doesn’t help that this evening Justin Finch-Fletchley and Nearly-Headless Nick were found petrified in the hallway—by Harry. Now the staff’s in an uproar; I mean, what could petrify a ghost? The Hufflepuffs’ loss isn’t that great, but… Filch is out for blood over his cat, the Hufflepuffs are out for blood over Finch-Fletchley… Surprisingly, the Gryffindors don’t seem too bothered by Creevey’s petrification. Maybe it’s because they’re busy plotting how to catch the Heir (seems like the kind of completely idiotic thing they’d do). Or maybe… Maybe they have something to hide.
…
What am I saying? It looks like I’m beginning to buy that tripe about Harry being the Heir! Really, someone kick me now.
Still, it does look suspicious. And that Weasley girl’s been following the Gryffindor Trio around a lot with one of her books, making notes upon occasion. I wonder if it’s simple observation…or something else.
The way I’m jumping at shadows lately is frightening. Maybe I should ask Uncle for some sleeping draught. Really…Harry, the Heir of Slytherin…
Yeah, and I’m related to Helga Hufflepuff.
D. S. Malfoy
25 December 1992
Ah, Christmas. As a character in a Muggle book once said, bah, humbug!
I suppose being stuck at Hogwarts during the Christmas holidays wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the fact that Crabbe and Goyle decided to stay as well. I’d so been hoping that they would go home…then, maybe, I could have spent time with someone intelligent, like Uncle.
Dobby sent a package of sweets. I hid them away before Crabbe and Goyle noticed and then checked the rest of my presents. Maman sent a book on fascinating creatures of Asia. Father sent a book called Practical Hexes and How to Use Them (looks rather boring, actually). And I’m more convinced than ever that Uncle’s lost it since he got me a book as well—How to Poison Like a Pro in Ten Easy Lessons. I wonder whom Uncle has in mind…
As if to make the already hellish day worse, Crabbe and Goyle seemed to be even more clingy—and insufferable stupid—than usual. First they followed me everywhere as soon as I rose from bed, then they disappeared to the feast for hours (no doubt cramming their porkish faces with more cakes than even I could imagine), and then they started acting all weird after I found them.
I just… I just feel so tired right now. It’s so hard to maintain appearances, and given Crabbe and Goyle’s behaviour… Am I slipping? Have they begun to notice? They were asking some awfully odd questions, and then Goyle seemed to get angry anytime I insulted the Muggle-borns. Usually he’s the one doling out the insults!
On another note, my kleptomania continues. I’ve taken to pocketing the oddest things lately, not the least of which was a barrette of Pansy’s before holidays, and then a present of someone’s this evening. There was no name on it, and it was in done up in non-descript Slytherin coloured paper and ribbon. When I opened it (right before Crabbe and Goyle got all weird again and dashed from the room, grunting something about a stomach ache and medicine), it turned out to be a jewelled-serpent cloak pin. I kept it…can’t quite figure out why, since I don’t really feel guilty about stealing those things. It’s funny. I should feel at least a little guilty, but I almost feel as if I was supposed to take those things. I know it’s weird.
But, then again, this whole school is weird—people included.
D. S. Malfoy
P.S. I just noticed an odd trend. Maman’s earrings, Pansy’s barrette, the jewelled cloak pin… I seem to have a jewellery fetish. Either I was a girl in a past life, or my subconscious is preparing me for a future life as a queen. Neither thought is particularly reassuring.
14 February 1993
Okay, top of my “Things To Do” list today is kill Pansy. Why? Because the silly bint (Maman would smack me for calling my cousin that, but it’s true!) gave the prank Valentine Higgs and I made to one of those stupid singing dwarves. And the stupid singing dwarf found Harry Potter and sang the stupid Valentine to him in front of the entire school! Well, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit, but there were a lot of people in the hallway at the time. Believe me, it was a ruddy awful poem—it was a joke, after all. Higgs caught me doodling on my Potion’s essay outline a couple of days ago, and decided that since I was apparently “pining for Potter,” I should get all of the romance out of my system by writing him a poem expressing my love.
Yes, journal, you may insert random hysterical laughter here.
I think that Higgs is a bad influence on me, really. Well, as much as anyone can really be a bad influence on a Malfoy. He’s…nicer than most of the other Slytherins, and even though he’s a sixth year, he recognises my intelligence, which makes for interesting conversation. It’s definitely better conversation than what I usually get with Crabbe or Goyle. It makes me feel a bit bad about beating him out of the Seeker position on the Quidditch team. Almost. I’m a much better flyer than Higgs, so it wasn’t all that surprising, but…
Huh, stupid conscience.
Anyway, back on track. I managed to cover up my embarrassment rather well by blaming the entire incident on that first year Weasley girl (I heard rumour that she has quite the crush on the Gryffindor boy wonder…creepy, if you ask me, wandering around with her notebook and quill, all glassy eyed and such), which everyone seemed to buy. Well, except for Pansy and Higgs, and Pansy knows I’ll kill her if she says anything, and Higgs won’t say anything for fear of incriminating himself. I always knew that Valentine’s Day was the most disastrous holiday ever invented.
I’m going to go drown myself in the baths now.
D. S. Malfoy
12 March 1993
Flattened Hufflepuff today. Feel quite relieved that I was able to prove myself capable at Quidditch. Of course, Father’s still upset that I lost to Gryffindor… Oh, well, at least Maman and Uncle were happy.
D. S. Malfoy
26 March 1993
Our last game of the Quidditch season, and we managed to beat Ravenclaw as well. Father said the only reason I caught the snitch was because Ravenclaw’s Seeker, Cho something-or-other, was playing with an injury.
…
I’m never going to do anything right in his eyes, am I?
Draco
1 April 1993
I hate April Fool’s Day. I hate the Weasley twins. And I hate Uncle’s weird sense of humour since he painted my fingernails neon-green somehow and I can’t get it off!!!
Malfoy
17 April 1993
Today I’m thirteen, and I’ve just decided that that’s the world’s unluckiest number. Ever.
Malfoy
1 May 1993
Today we had to sign up for our new classes for third year. Of course, I had to keep boring old History of Magic, as well as DADA, Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, and Astronomy. We’re only supposed to sign up for two new classes, but I managed to wrangle and independent class out of Uncle, so I get three for next year: Care of Magical Creatures, Study of Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy. Wonder what Harry chose?
D. S. Malfoy
8 May 1993
Granger and a Ravenclaw prefect were found petrified today, in the hall outside of the library. Trust Granger to be in the library on the day of the last Quidditch game of the season (Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff—Hufflepuff would have gotten flattened). Unfortunately, it seems that these new attacks have made the teachers and the Headmaster so nervous that they cancelled Quidditch and the Cup. What a bother…
Things are really heating up now, though. Father owled me yesterday to remind me not to interfere with the Heir’s work; said I’d be handsomely rewarded by keeping my head down and mouth shut. Really, how am I going to be rewarded if the bloody monster of Slytherin decides it doesn’t care how pure my blood is? I mean, I’m sure I look quite appetising.
…
You know, if anyone were to read my journal, they’d throw me in St. Mungos. Or Azkaban; I can’t tell if this makes me dangerous or loony.
Or both.
D. S. Malfoy
29 May 1993
The Headmaster’s been suspended by the school Governors. I know that Father had something to do with it—he had to have. Things are building now…I’m certain that they’ll climax either today or tomorrow, which means that Harry will no doubt have thrown himself headlong into danger once again! Gah, I wish that Dobby would show up and tell me what’s going on!
Draco
P.S. Just heard through the snake-vine that Ginny Weasley’s been taken into the Chamber of Secrets by the Heir. Am now going to have to sit up all night chewing my fingernails and mangling my wand with worry since I know that Harry will be a moron and go after her. Will force self to stay awake until I’ve heard good news by reading Quidditch Through the Ages…looks like Harry doodled in the margins. Prat…
30 May 1993
Harry’s alive. The Weasley’s are alive. The Heir and his monster are dead. I am now going to collapse and sleep for a week. Oh, and Father got sacked from the Governors’ Board.
Draco
9 June 1993
End of the year, once again. It’s odd, now that I’ve heard the whole story about what happened, I think I knew all along what was going on. Or, at least I had a very strong inkling. All of those times I saw Ginny Weasley with her diary, staring after Harry…the roosters being killed, the rattling in the pipes, the weird way the spiders were running from the castle, even in the middle of winter…
Harry freed Dobby, too, apparently; Dobby stopped by this morning while I was finishing my packing. He’s wearing clothes now, which looks a bit odd, but he seems happy. He told me that he had promised Harry never to try and save his life again (apparently the rogue bludger that broke Harry’s arm was his doing…), but he confided in me that he would break his promise if he had to. I’m going to miss him. He was one of my only…well, I can’t say friends. One of my only comforts, then, at Malfoy Manor. But he deserves better than the cold and callous treatment he got from Father. I wished him well and made my way down the hallway to the coaches.
Alone.
Harry is alive again, and Father’s attempt to resurrect the Dark Lord was foiled. I should be happy—floating on a bleeding cloud of elation!—but I’m not. I’m tired…and I’m lonely.
D. S. Malfoy
[Part II]
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