The Sugar Quill
Author: The Morning Starr (Professors' Bookshelf)  Story: Draco Malfoy's Diary  Chapter: August: An Exceptionally Good Start
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The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author.


Disclaimer: This parody is based equally on the universe created by J.K. Rowling and the style perfected by Helen Fielding.  I do not profit from writing this, unless laughter can now be exchanged for cold, hard cash.


Author’s Notes:  Am renaming my first-born “Axelle” in order to profess my gratitude to A.L. de Sauveterre for 1. Urging me to read Bridget Jones’s Diary  and 2. Acting as a Plot Confidante as this Plot Bunny attacked me.  Thanks is also due to Ara Kane, my wonderful Beta Reader.


This is a parody and should be read as such.  Any out of character bits are intentional.  Subtle pokes at fandom and at Draco himself can be found within.


Draco’s Notes: I have “gacked” the idea of having my own notes from Hex Holmstrom, who belongs to Ara Kane.  It’s not fair that he has all the fun.  That said, my rant about asking how my Father is comes from Bridget Jones’s Diary, page 10 (paperback edition), almost word for word.  Interestingly enough, my closet fascination with the Cannons also comes from Ara Kane.  Futhermore, references to both the Society of Orpheus and Bacchus and Dame Francesca are a result of A.L. de Sauveterre’s genius.




-An Exceptionally Good Start-





~Friday 11 August


155 lbs., Butterbeers 2 (but one was at lunch, thus not counting), Fizzing Whizbees 4, minutes in front of the mirror 13.


1:00 p.m. Mother thinks it wise to set some goals for myself this school year.  In her mind even perfection has room for improvement.  Since I’m being forced to set them, I might as well list them:


            Beat Potter at Quidditch

            Beat Granger the Mudblood at O.W.L.s

            Beat Weasley at everything   Have Weasley beaten

            Lose 20 lbs. as Father says all of the best Seekers weigh under 140 lbs.

            Win Quidditch Cup

            Win House Cup


Should probably cut back on sweets and Butterbeer to aid in weight loss process.  Perhaps that’s what gives Potter his advantage, the skinny twerp.


3:10 p.m. Post arrived.  Apparently have been made prefect.  Pansy Floo’d.  Apparently is prefect as well.  Must resist urge to retch at thought of extra time spent with her. 


Father is away "on business" again.  Right.  Apparently Mother thinks me an idiot.


4 p.m. Just realized that Potter is probably prefect.


4:05 p.m. Not that I care.


4:11 p.m.  But that is just like him to get everything.


4:13 p.m. At least it’s not Weasley.


~Saturday 12 August


154 lbs. 3 oz., Butterbeers 3 (not bad), Sugar Quills 1 (was pretending to work on History of Magic Essay), minutes in front of the mirror 23 (necessary, as am going to Diagon Alley).


10 a.m. Father is still away “on business.”  Mother is taking me shopping.  Excellent.  Shall pester her for lavish gifts as reward for prefect badge.


4 p.m. Received lavish gifts from mother for prefect badge.  May Floo Pansy to show off said gifts.  She usually simpers properly.  On the other hand, just ate.  Too much simpering might upset stomach.  Perhaps will look for House Elf to badger instead.  Will Floo Pansy tomorrow.


6 p.m.  Mrs. Parkinson Floo’d Mother.  Am having party hosted in my honour for making prefect.  It’s for Pansy too, but is inconsequential.  All of the important students will be there, of course, so it’s only natural that Mother and I make an appearance.  Wonder if Father will attend?


6:10 p.m. I bet Saint Potter isn’t having a party thrown in his honour.


~Wednesday 16 August

152 lbs., Butterbeers 0 (drank pumpkin juice), Licorice Wands 2 (but deserved it after flying practice around Manor grounds), minutes in front of the mirror 15 (adequate).


9 a.m. Just finished three laps around Manor grounds on broomstick.  Am all sweaty.  Interestingly, still smell good.


10 a.m. Father returned from “business.”  He was in foul mood, which I simply do not understand.  He spends 14 years practically mourning the loss of the Dark Lord.  Then the Dark Lord finally returns and Father’s mood seems uncannily like manticore with tooth ache.  Furthermore, he did not seem at all impressed by my prefect badge.  Of course, we all knew I’d get it.  Because let’s face it, who else? Crabbe? Goyle?  Zabini?   Don’t make me laugh.


Still.  At least Mother seemed pleased.  He didn’t even bring me anything back from his travels.




I do hope he doesn’t find this.


10:12 a.m.  Have decided to keep this hidden from now on.  Just to be safe.


1 p.m. Father left again.  Mother is ball of angst.  Wish she would just admit to where he’s going instead of walking around as if nothing has changed.  On the other hand, she is taking me shopping for some new dress robes for my party on Saturday.  She and I agree on one thing.  I simply must be better dressed than Pansy, though that should not prove difficult.  I have pieces of furniture in my bedroom that are worth more than her entire house, but that is beside the point.


2 p.m. Was hounded by Mother until Potions assignment was complete.  Brewed Weight Loss Potion.  Will obtain optimum aerodynamics for Quidditch.  That ought to show Father.


~Saturday 19 August—*My* Party


150 lbs., Butterbeers 6 (it was a party!), various sweets 21 (it was a party!), minutes in front of the mirror 87 (it was a party!).


4 p.m.  Showered.  Changed hair style three different times.  Was unsatisfied with all three styles.  Despise styling hair by hand.  Longing to return to school where grooming charms can be used.


5 p.m. Showered again to fix uncooperative hair.  Is this what Potter goes through each day?  Perhaps—only he doesn’t care enough to keep at it until he’s presentable.


5:45 p.m. Decided on hair.  Now to choose dress robes.  Mother purchased seven new pairs, so I have quite a choice.  The Gladrags Signature Line is always impressive, but as they were having a sale, those two pairs are definitely out of the question.  Normally would’ve been given custom designed robes, but those take three weeks.  Pansy’s mother must have purposely planned the party so soon in a deliberate attempt to prevent me from looking my best.  No matter.  I’ll still look better than Pansy.  Even in the Signature line.


6:15 p.m. Chose the Aubergine De La Croix robes.  The purest black silk with platinum trim.  Real platinum.  Very expensive.  Normally worn only by dignitaries or the most famous wizards.  I fit both categories, I’m sure.


7 p.m. Am looking quite handsome if I do say so myself.


7:15 p.m. Am now waiting on Mother, who, of course, must show up Pansy’s mother.  Never mind the fact that she looks better than Pansy’s gauche mother, even when Mother is at her worst.  Which isn’t often, mind you.


7:20 p.m.  Need new mirror.  This one has run out of compliments and is now recycling old ones.  That’s the third one this year.  Apparently not made like they used to be.


8:20 p.m.  Made fashionably late entrance with Mother.  Smiled politely while doted upon by other adults.  Was met by Pansy in the foyer.  She was looking acceptable (Gladrags Signature Line robes in Slytherin green and silver).  Terribly predictable.  She immediately inquired about my robes, but Madam Malkin hardly keeps Aubergine De La Croix on the floor.  I informed her that such robes were kept in the back and only offered to her most respected customers (implying, of course, that she hadn’t a chance in Hades of wearing De La Croix in this lifetime).  I also made it clear that she should not hang on the sleeve, as even the natural oils in the skin might tarnish them (thus making it impossible for her to make her grand entrance on my arm).


Pansy’s mother had pulled out all the stops, however.  The entire dining room had been cleared out to make room for my party.  All of the important Slytherins in fourth year and above were there, as well as a few choice Ravenclaws.  They all lined up to congratulate us me.  After performing my social obligations, I made my way to the refreshments, where I knew I’d find Crabbe and Goyle.


Once I reached them, I sent Crabbe to retrieve a cold Butterbeer for me while Blaise Zabini sauntered up in his usual smug way.  I detected a trace of envy in his eyes, though I wasn’t sure if it was because of my badge (as if he would have been made prefect) or my robes.  Either way, indulged his desire to be in my presence while waiting on my Butterbeer.  The conversation soon turned to Quidditch, at which I was pleased.  Any topic of conversation that gives me the chance to demonstrate my superior knowledge is fair game with me.  Zabini went on and on about the Falcons as usual, and I argued in favour of Puddlemere, as was expected, since they are the oldest team in the league.  (None of them would ever suspect my closet obsession with the Cannons.  Until writing it here, I’ve never breathed a word of it to anyone.)


Our discussion became quite animated, as Zabini never misses a chance to be loud and obnoxious.  Needless to say, we eventually drew a crowd.  At some point, some unimportant sixth year who could only hope to aspire to a fifth of my talent on a broom, asked, “So, Malfoy, when are you finally going to beat Potter to the Snitch?”


Okay, Draco, breathe.  That’s it.  Good.


Had I snapped my head in his direction any faster, my hair might have fallen out of place.  Immediately striking fear into his heart with a mere glance in his direction, I wanted desperately to throw composure to the wind and hex him into next week.  After all, Father was usually a man of action rather than words, why couldn’t I be the same way?


Oh.  Mother.  That’s right.


She’d kill me if I embarrassed her.


Clearing my throat loudly (and successfully gaining everyone’s attention), I strode over to Mr. Nobody (my robes billowing dramatically in my wake—an added touch), and looked him up and down.  He was wearing Gladrags Formals, for Merlin’s sake!  Tell me no one actually thought he should be listened to.


“I’m sorry, who are you, again?”


Silence.  He looked down at his under-polished boots.


Score for Draco.


In the world of Slytherin politics, unknowns such as yourself should never match wits with one of -- no -- the top- name Slytherin since the Dark Lord himself.  I might have even given him such generous advice had he not already ticked me off.


And where in Hades was Goyle with my Butterbeer?


Simply smashing.  A crowd was gathering, my body temperature was still rising, my patience was diminishing, and all I wanted was a bloody Butterbeer! 


At least disaster was averted.  And I was doing well not letting thoughts of Potter ruin my night.




10 p.m.  Being the ladies’ magnet that I am (though I haven’t yet sorted out whether they are attracted to my influence, power, money, or general good looks), I entertain Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis with stories of me.  They laugh at all the right times, and I notice Pansy out of the corner of my eye looking murderous.




I decide to be a gentleman and invite Daphne and Tracey for a visit to the Manor any time.


10:30 p.m.  Am bored.  On third Butterbeer now.  More mingling.


I bump into Lisa Turpin (who is there only because her family knows Pansy’s), who asks (much too loudly), “Oh, hello, Draco.  How is your father these days?”


Oh Salazar.  Why can’t non-Slytherins understand that this is no longer a polite question to ask?  We wouldn’t rush up to them and ask, “Hi, whose side are your parents on?  Has the Dark Lord contacted them yet?”  Everyone was at the leaving feast a few months back to hear Dumbledore’s speech, and they can understand that everything is not happy-go-lucky as it was when we were fourth-years and that the honest answer is more likely to be, “Well, Father’s brushing up on his Cruciatus, because despite popular opinion, I am not abused, so he’s a bit out of practice and has to prepare for torturing Mudbloods with the other Death Eaters,” than, “Super, thanks.”


Not feeling up to lying, however, I shoot daggers at her with my eyes and mumble, “Fine,” at which point she winks at me.


Damn tart.


1 a.m. Sixth Butterbeer.  I think someone spiked this last one with Firewhisky.  Zabini tries to acquire details about some supposed relationship I have with Pansy.  Note to self: find out who started this rumour and torture them mercilessly.


1:07 a.m. Has Tracey Davis always flirted with me like this?  And at what point did she achieve a sense of fashion?  Not just any witch could pull off a set of Delia Everette robes.


1:30 a.m. Mother was ready to retire early, thank all that is just in the world.


2 a.m. Decide to shower once more before bed.


~Wednesday 23 August


154 lbs. (am destined to crack racing broom in half from weight), Butterbeers 2 (v. good), sweets 0 (all right, half a Fizzing Whizbee, but because it was not completely consumed, it doesn’t count), minutes in front of the mirror 10 (perfection came quickly today).


9 a.m.  Ugh.  Cannot face thought of getting out of bed.  Only thing that makes it tolerable is trip to Diagon Alley for school things.  Because in addition to the usual pleasure of buying new supplies, I heard from Blaise Zabini that Tracey Davis’ parents were taking her to Diagon Alley today as well.


10:30 a.m.  Can’t decide on robes to wear.  Perhaps there’s an advantage in being poor like Weasley where you can only afford one pair of robes per child.


Then again, perhaps not.


10:33 a.m.  One of the disadvantages to having skin as fair as mine is that not every colour suits me.  True, those are normally the garish colours anyway.  Decide on slate grey robes with hunter green trim.  Flattering.  Brings out my eyes.


10:45 a.m. Oh, who am I kidding?  I’m hideous!  I’m pale, and I’ve just realized that my face is damn near pointy!  Girls are only attracted to me for my money and power, and I’m going to go to Diagon Alley and make a fool of myself in front of Tracey because I’ve lived my life under the delusion that I am attractive.


I know!  I’ll Floo the one person who always makes me feel better.


11:45 a.m.  It’s good to know Pansy serves some use in life.  Just got out of the fire, confidence restored to maximum levels.  She’s actually quite adept at sensing my moods and catering to my emotional needs.  Perhaps I should let her know that I appreciate her.  I could even buy her a gift. 


No.  That would be horribly misconstrued.  Actually, any sign of affection directed towards her would be horribly misconstrued.  Besides, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.


Time to go shopping!


6:15 p.m.  Have returned from shopping.  Thank Salazar for house-elves.  Wasn’t sure how I’d carry all those packages without using magic.  Wouldn’t want to strain back before Quidditch season, after all.


Trip to Diagon Alley was heaven-sent.  Tracey was there (Note to Self: Be polite to Blaise on train as reward).  She was looking very cute in her Malkin’s Everyday robes, which is more than can be said for most girls.  Was immensely glad to realize that she was indeed good-looking and that it hadn’t simply been a Butterbeer-spiked-with-Firewhisky-induced hallucination at my party the other night.  Unfortunately, we only caught each other in one store, so flirtatious smiles were at a minimum.  Why haven’t I ever noticed her before?  Oh, right.  Last year, Hogwarts was crawling with French girls.  And I suppose she did develop a bit over the summer as well.


Anyway, aside from gratifying wordless flirt session, the trip into London was not wasted.  Managed to procure the following new items: a new platinum telescope; premium, hand-picked potions ingredients; new gloves made in part with Demiguise hairs, so that they shimmer in the same colour as my cloak (v. nice); new cloak as well, black crushed velvet with satin lining and built-in warming charms (much more luxurious than basic black cloaks of other students); new fastenings for new cloak; new leather case for wand; and the Official Nimbus 2001 broom servicing kit.  Bought boring school things as well, but those were not the highlight of the day, for obvious reasons.


Father is due back soon.  He plans to accompany us to Kings Cross next week.  Help me contain my joy.




152 lbs., (am convinced this is from daily Quidditch training), Butterbeers 4 (trying to drown out Father’s criticism), Sweets 0 (excellent), minutes in front of mirror 11 (not bad).


Noon Have taken to revising History of Magic essay at the last minute in an attempt to avoid Father.  Amazingly, it turns out that bits of history are bloody fascinating, and it’s just Binns that makes it painfully tiresome.  For example, before Dumbledore came along to make things frightfully dull at Hogwarts, there used to be a cultural association of sorts called the Society of Orpheus and Bacchus.  Apparently only the best students were invited to this inner circle thing, and made a “Sentinel.”  Was both intrigued and annoyed at learning this.  Intrigued because it actually sounded worthwhile.  Annoyed because, of course Dumbledore would have managed to rid the school of anything remotely fun other than Quidditch.


But at least it was gone before Father was at school.  He most certainly would have been a Sentinel, thus giving him one more reason to list all of my shortcomings on a regular basis.


King’s Cross tomorrow.  Am torn between the dread of returning to those deplorably bulky mattresses on the four posters (though I suspect they are the most comfortable things Weasley has ever slept on) and utter delight in the chance to put my prefect privileges to use.  Speaking of Weasley, I’m sure I could think of several humiliating detentions for him.


12:22 p.m.  Several possible humiliating detentions for the Weasel:


§         Cleaning my shoes (though I could never wear them again afterwards)

§         Carrying my books

§         Sprucing up school brooms (as time with said brooms would remind him that 1. He doesn’t play Quidditch and 2. He could never afford a real broom) (though the school brooms hardly qualify as “real brooms”)

§         Preparing my potions ingredients (again)

§         Shining all of the Slytherin trophies

§         Polishing my prefect badge


3:10 p.m. Pansy Floo’d.  Said she wanted to remind me to go directly to the prefects’ carriage.




She really just wanted to 1. See my face (not that I blame her) or 2. Ensure that she can sit with me tomorrow on the train to school.


7:45 p.m.  Am packed.  Only took 6 hours (v. good).  Was browsing around the library in the East Wing of the Manor.  Came across book by a certain Dame Francesca.  It chronicles the many ways witches can “woo that wayward wizard.”  Note to Self: Ensure that Pansy never comes across this book.  Still, v. amusing.  Perhaps the Weasel could use some of these tips to snag the Mudblood.


Hmmmm.  Too soon after eating for such thoughts.


8:00 p.m.  Time for Father’s yearly “Uphold the Family Honour” speech.  I don’t know why he bothers.  It’s not as if I ever manage to uphold said honour, according to him.  (Though it’s a bit rude of him to lecture me in front of Mother, when we all know what happened to both of her sisters and cousins.)  Will stand there, nod occasionally, and appease him with the usual “Yes, Father.”  Then will return to room and enjoy last night’s sleep in decent bed. 


Will also plot ways to annoy Potter and company.



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