The Sugar Quill
Author: The Morning Starr (Professors' Bookshelf)  Story: Draco Malfoy's Diary  Chapter: September: Let the Games Begin
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Author’s Notes: At this point in time, canon no longer fits well with an actual calendar for 1995

Author’s Notes: At this point in time, canon no longer fits well with an actual calendar for 1995.  For that reason, I have chosen to make use of The Lexicon’s OotP Day-by-Day calendar.  Likewise, I’m following the Lexicon’s version of Harry’s Time-Table, altered to make it fit for a Slytherin.


I was completely overwhelmed by the response to this story.  I want to thank everyone who has read and reviewed.  I hope this second instalment lives up to your expectations.


As always, many thanks to A.L. de Sauveterre, whose feedback is always invaluable during the writing process; Emma Dalrymple, whose laughter also inspires me to keep writing this; Ara Kane, my beloved SQ Beta Reader; and the wondrous ladies of the SQ Workshop 2.


Draco’s Notes: Just a reminder that this is a parody. I would NEVER act like this in canon.  Additionally, please note that the letters exchanged between Tracey and I are taken from Bridget Jones’s Diary, paperback edition, pages 20-25.  My complaints about getting ready for dates are lifted from page 27. There are also some words that I lifted from the book that I had The Morning Starr look up.  They are not, to our knowledge, actual words, but as they appeared in the original BJD, we’re keeping them in. 


Tracey also wishes to point out that her bloodline goes back a bit further than I claim in this chapter.


And Hex Holmstrom can go jump in the lake with the Giant Squid.  I’ll spell Hannah’s name however I please.  I am a Malfoy after all. 





-Let the Games Begin-






156 lbs. (disgusting), Butterbeers 0, Various Sweets 17 (the trolley was quite enticing), pastries 7, minutes on front of mirror 33 (it is the first day of term, after all).


7:30 a.m.  As usual, am ready to leave far before Mother and Father.  Mother is taking additional half hour to dress, while Father sends owls from study.  Decide to use extra moments to finish up the rest of the Dame Francesca book—not for me, of course, but to make sure I could spot the signals in case some of the girls are reading this.  We Malfoy men are perennial objects of female affection.  Must be prepared at all times.


8:00 a.m. Finally in coach for trip to London.  Tension can be cut with knife.  Father repeatedly wrings walking stick that conceals wand.  Mother sighs heavily at random intervals.  Hardly a word is said, which is hardly surprising.  They do not have much to talk about of late, as Father is always gone and Mother knows better than to ask about his day.  Why he’s even joining us is beyond the comprehension of any sane person, as it is more than clear he has somewhere else to be.


9:55 a.m. After what seemed like an eternity spent trapped in the coach with the happy couple, finally reach King’s Cross.  Coachman takes luggage, though I’m now convinced he does not take care in the handling of it, as there appears to be a scratch along the side. 


Note to self: Have him fired at first available opportunity. 


Once on the platform, catch Tracey’s eye just as she’s getting on the train, and she’s wearing the most amazing robes known to wizard kind.  Everette robes, surely, and fitted at the top.  Fitted quite adequately, I might add, a flesh-coloured, light-weight material.  And fitted at the top.  On first glance, appeared to not be wearing any robes at all.


Hmmmm, probably why she caught my eye.


Was about to cut farewells extremely short in order to follow her, but Pansy came along just then to remind me (again) that we were to report to the prefects’ carriage.  When I looked up at the entrance to the train where Tracey had been, she was already gone.




Shot Pansy most vicious look in my repertoire of facial expressions.  Not sure if she got point, but she excused herself nonetheless.


“Why look, Draco, your friend Potter has brought along his mongrel.”  Father’s statement interrupted my visions of Tracey’s fitted top.


“I beg your pardon, Father?”  Smashing.  Now I’ll be lectured for not paying attention.


“Draco, do take care to pay more attention to your surroundings.  It is not prudent to be day-dreaming in the midst of a crowd.  There,” he gestured towards Potter surrounded by the vast sea of red heads.  Accompanying them was the ugliest cur in the history of dogs.  The great black beast of a thing was up on his hind legs, with his front paws on Potter’s shoulders.  I was about to comment about the obvious non-pedigree status of the brute, when I noticed a gleam in Father’s eye.  It was the same gleam he had before second year when he was withholding information concerning the Chamber of Secrets.  Father knew something.


Note to self: Mention dog in front of Potter and wait for his reaction.


The appearance of Pansy’s figure in the entrance to the train led to the abrupt end of our goodbyes.  That is reason in itself to kiss Pansy, but is not likely to happen. 


Not with Tracey Davis wearing those robes, anyway.


11:30 a.m. Holy Mother of Merlin.  The Weasel King is a prefect!


11:33 a.m.  That means Potter is not prefect.


11:38 a.m.  I always knew Potter wouldn’t get the badge.


11:45 a.m.  First prefect meeting finally over.  Can only spend so much time in vicinity of the Mudblood before urge to kill self becomes too strong.  One can only take so much of her constant questions.  Why should we all have to suffer just because she needs to prove herself?


11:50 a.m.  Ah, so much to do, so little time.


Am just off to take Crabbe and Goyle along as I go look for Potter.  After all, what kind of proper rival would I be if I did not pay him visit during train ride?  But first, I must tend to more important things.


Using the parchment I made Crabbe take from a random second-year, I write:




            You appear to have forgotten your robes.  As I think is made perfectly clear in school rules, all students are expected to be dressed at all times.




Hah! Brilliance abounds.  Is perfect balance of flirtatious humour and wit.  Shall send Goyle to deliver message, as can’t have owls flying about train.


Now it’s time to find Potter.


Noon It would figure that Potter would have to be in the very back of the train.  Probably chose such seating to avoid visit from me, but no such luck today, Potter.  But after all that walking, must quickly make sure hair and robes are in place before entering.  After all, the better I look, the worse they’ll feel.


Apparently Potter’s made some new friends now that The Weasel King and the Mudblood are prefects without him (even though they apparently ran back to his side once meeting was over).  I bet he’s seething now that he can’t even measure up to Weasley.  I’ll have to make sure to point that out to him.  Idiot Longbottom is there as well as that weird Ravenclaw girl, and Weasley’s cute decent revolting sister.


Opened door.  Potter jerks around, and though his expression suggests that he was expecting this visit, he barks out the like the poor excuse for a wizard that he is, “What?”


Manners, Potter,” I politely remind the uncouth brat, “or I’ll have to give you a detention.”


Oh!  That’s right, remind him about lack of prefect badge.


“You see, I unlike you, have been made a prefect, which means I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments.”  Ha!  Score for Draco.


Potter, apparently taking lessons from The Weasel King in sarcasm, appears to be quick on the uptake today.  “Yeah, but you, unlike me, are a git, so get out and leave us alone.”


Already calling names.  Apparently have hit sore spot.  Continue in same line of insults.  “Tell me, how does it feel being second-best to Weasley, Potter?”


“Shut up, Malfoy.”  Awwwwe, look.  The Mudblood feels the need to rescue her friend.  It might be cute if it wasn’t so repulsive.


  “I seem to have touched a nerve.”  Oh, don’t forget the dog!  “Well, just watch yourself, Potter, because I’ll be dogging your footsteps in case you step out of line.” 


Just waiting for reaction when the Mudblood stands up as if supposed to be intimidating.  “Get out!” she says with that look in her eyes—that look she had before she lost her mind and slapped me in third year.  Am tempted to make her lose her cool, but decided that hand print on cheek is not becoming, and need to stop in to see Tracey on way back to own compartment.


Give Potter final glance to check for reaction about dog statement, but is staring blankly like idiot that he is.  Note to self: give Potter detention for being idiot.


12:07 p.m.  While visit to Potter was not complete waste of time, still did not garner desired results.  Father knows something about dog, but am still in dark.  Hate being in dark about things Father deems important.  Wish Father wasn’t so ruddy secretive.


12:10 p.m.  Reach Tracey’s compartment.  Daphne Greengrass is standing in doorway with parchment.  Unsure how to react.  Has she read my note to Tracey?  I do hope she hasn’t, as generally isn’t wise to hex Housemates on train. 


Instead, she hands me parchment.  “Tracey asked me to give this to you.”  Giggling ensues.


After she’s safely back inside compartment, I unfold parchment.




            Am appalled by message.  Whilst robes could reasonably be described as a little on the revealing side, consider it gross misrepresentation to describe said robes as missing, and considering telling Head of House.




Hah! Undeniably flirtatious.  Shall wait for brilliance to strike again before replying.


12:17 p.m.  Back in own compartment.  Am surrounded by Pansy, Millicent, Zabini, Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle.  Amusing, the way they all gossip about the Who’s Who of Hogwarts.  Is as if we all know there is something else to talk about, but no one wants to bring it up.  No matter, gossip is lighter subject anyway.


Millicent was hanging on Pansy’s every word, as she went on and on about how Hannah Abbott’s new hair style made her face look fat.  While the inability of most students to choose a flattering hairstyle makes for the occasionally interesting topic of conversation, guys outnumbered girls in this compartment, and I dare not talk hair with Pansy at this point.  Decide to listen in on Blaise and Theodore, the only other semi-intelligent conversation.


“Can’t believe Montague is Captain,” Theodore was saying to Blaise.  “We’ll never win the Cup with him in charge.”


While not happy with Snape’s choice of captain either, am a bit put off by this statement, as, after all, am the one who usually ensures Slytherin victory.


“That’s right,” agreed Blaise, “wasn’t he in agreement with Flint about using the biggest players, no matter how bad they might be?”


Theodore nodded.  “Except for Malfoy here, the team will be full of these great big idiots that can’t tell a Quaffle from a Bludger.  You’ll have to make sure to get the Snitch straight away in the matches, Malfoy, or else we’ll come in dead-last with Montague.”


Much better.  Admission that I am the saviour of Slytherin team.  Like that very much.


“I’ve been training all summer.  I assure you that the Snitch will not be in the air for long,” I say with authority.  Because between the three of us, I am the authority on Quidditch.


“I was thinking of trying out,” Theodore went on, “but with Montague in charge, I’m sure I’m not large or stupid enough to make the team.”


Blaise and I both laugh.  Is true.  As much respect as I have for Professor Snape’s abilities in Potion making, the man hasn’t a clue about how to pick a competent Quidditch captain.  Note to self: Have Father suggest to Snape that I am made Captain next year.


“Who do you think will make Beater?”  Blaise asks.  I however, am no longer listening, as just then Tracey, Daphne, and some Ravenclaws walk by compartment.  Tracey sneaks look at me and suppresses smile.  Aha!  Ahahahahahahaha.


Must write reply now.


12:45 p.m.  Am about to send this off with Crabbe and Goyle:




            If walking past compartment was attempt to demonstrate presence of robes can only say that it has failed parlously.  Robes are indisputably absent.  Are robes sick?  Perhaps can be found in Hospital Wing.





1:07 p.m.  Crabbe and Goyle return with sweets from trolley and this:




            Robes are demonstrably neither sick nor absent.  Appalled by your determination to ignore presence of robes.  Considering appeal to Daily Prophet to report outrage.




Wouldn’t that make an interesting headline?


Am at point now where flirting is ready to go to next level.  Must be discreet, however, as Pansy likely to hex Tracey should it get back to her.


1:30 p.m.  Just sent this with Crabbe and Goyle, under pretence that they are to fetch pumpkin pasty for me:




            Wish to send chocolates to ailing robes before lessons begin.  Please supply with best place to meet in order to give said chocolates.




This note is brilliant for several reasons.


§         Can ascertain her level of attraction to me by analyzing suggested meeting place.  Private area suggests high attraction.  Public area suggests minimal attraction.  No response suggests need to jump in lake with Giant Squid.

§         Was written by me, thus brilliant by default.


Yes.  Perfect.  Am marvellous.  Am irresistible Sex God.  Hurrah!


4:00 p.m.  Oh, Salazar, why am I so unattractive?  Cannot believe I convinced myself to send that last note to Tracey.  Two and a half hours and still no reply.  Was fooling self.  Hideous, have wasted two hours, glaring psycho pathetically at compartment door, and eating things.  Must look like Goyle by now.  Or Crabbe.  There is very little difference.


4:13 p.m. Why hasn’t she replied? Why?  I am a Malfoy, and she should be thrilled to be recipient of my attentions.


4:20 p.m.  Compartment door opening alert, which turned out to be Montague.  Not even worth recounting his feeble attempts at conversation.


5:00 p.m.   Yes!  Reply from Tracey!  Was about to slip into traumatized despair when Lisa Turpin motioned for me to come to the compartment door.




            The 1995 Annual Robes Health Summit will be held this year in the Astronomy Tower, tonight at 10:30.




Aha!  Suggestion of v. private meeting place means high level of attraction to me.  Genius, thy name is Draco.


5:07 p.m.  Am having major crisis.  What if Tracey wants to meet in Astronomy Tower because she’s embarrassed to be seen with me in public?  Not that I blame her, with my current state of fatness being what it is.  But I can’t even seek my usual reassurance from Pansy, as Pansy is possessive and cannot know about meeting with Tracey!


5:09 p.m.  Wonder how Zabini would react if I asked him whether or not I was fat.


5:11 p.m.  Perhaps should just continue sitting next to Crabbe and Goyle, whose sheer size will make me appear thin by default.


Hogsmeade Station Am famished.  Pumpkin pasties no longer filling.  No wonder am fat.


Led faithful followers from train to find coach.  Caught Tracey, Daphne, and Lisa getting into coach, and inadvertently sped up.  Would have caught their coach, too, if not for group of bats-for-brains second years that were in the way.  Tracey’s coach set off just before we reached it.  Opted to fill up empty coach instead, in successful attempt to save face.  Saw the Mudblood coming after us, face all red, but coach took off before we could hear what she was going on about.  Had good laugh with Pansy about it.  Leave it to the Mudblood to take prefect badge way too seriously.


Gossiped with Pansy on way to castle.  Her attention to detail sometimes surprises even me.  And she’s right.  The Weasel King does look taller.  More toned as well.  Perhaps from manual labour, as poor families cannot afford house-elves and must toil to keep house.


Still cannot believe he is prefect.


Hogwarts  Seems as Father was right, again.  That Umbridge woman who works for the Minister is seated at the staff table.  And she’s wearing the most horrid pink cardigan I’ve ever had the displeasure to look at.  Father said in his lecture last night that I am to do whatever this Umbridge person asks.  He did not, however, mention her inability to dress herself with anything resembling taste.


Excellent, that great oaf Hagrid isn’t here.  Perhaps all is not lost.


Heh.  Potter and the Weasel King look all sad that their favourite half-giant isn’t here to welcome them.  I almost feel pity.




The Sorting was incredibly boring as usual.  Stole glances at Tracey, whose cheeks went red each time.  Excellent.  Blushing is good sign.


Unless is blushing from embarrassment in case people find out.




Decide to bring up subject of weight with Pansy.  She assures me that I’m looking wonderful as usual.  Resist sudden urge to pat her head as if Crup.


Finally!  Food.


Help self to modest servings of roast potatoes and steak and kidney pie.  Not as good as food at home, but am starving.  Limit self to two helpings of treacle tart, as am trying to watch weight.  Decide it is grossly unfair that Potter can eat anything and remain skinny twit.


Dumbledore’s start-of-term notices.  Blah blah, can recite them by heart now.


Umbritch cow’s speech.  Blah, blah, blah, who cares?


Am tired.  Oh… have to take new batch of Slytherins up to dormitory.  Bloody prefect badge.


“First years!  This way.”  And don’t dawdle, I have important information to give you, and I’m only going to say it once.


Slytherin Common Room  Led ickle Slytherins to common room.  Note to self: Change password at first opportunity as “Machiavelli” was a Muggle.  Probably Dumbledore’s idea of joke.


Informed Slytherins that 1. We will win the House Cup this year so they’d best keep in line, 2. Lost points on their part will be followed by detention from me, and 3. Tormenting Gryffindors is perfectly acceptable and encouraged.


Quick stop in front of mirror to try new hair styling charm Pansy told me about.  And now, bed.  Would be bliss, only Crabbe snores like dragon with indigestion and Goyle mumbles in sleep.  Oh, wait.  Can use magic now.  Sound-blocking charm!


10:00 p.m.  Merlin’s beard!  I’m supposed to meet Tracey!  The Astronomy tower in 30 minutes!





158 lbs. (ruddy welcoming feast), Butterbeers 0, sugar quills 87 (wallowing in self pity), minutes spent in front of mirror 20, but what’s the point as am doomed to be ugly forever.


7:00 a.m.  Am horrid and ugly.  Perhaps smell too.  Can be only explanation for previous night.


Woke up after sleeping for mere 15 minutes.  Hastily threw on robes, checked appearance, grabbed box of chocolate flavoured sugar quills, and ran (well, didn’t really run as would cause perspiration) to Astronomy Tower.  Originally thought I might walk there with Tracey, but as I was already late, assumed she was already there.


She wasn’t.


Nowhere to be found.


I, Draco Malfoy, sole heir to the Malfoy fortune, have been stood up by Tracey Davis, whose bloodline only goes back to the Renaissance.


Am torn between anger that burns with the fire of a thousand suns and temptation to crawl into wardrobe and live out rest of days there.


To make things worse, now have to face entire House at breakfast.  Must sit at same table as She-Who-Cannot-Be-Bothered-To-Cancel-Ahead-Of-Time and concentrate intently on meal to avoid eye contact.


And it seems like the day before yesterday was Thursday.  How is it Monday already?  And why must I endure Double Potions with Potter and The Weasel King on a Monday?  Apparently have done something to anger the Time Table gods.


Interesting.  Tracey is not at breakfast.


9:15 a.m.  Fortunately Herbology with Ravenclaws first.  Sometimes wish Herbology was with Hufflepuffs or Gryffindors as many of the plants are quite dangerous.  Could do serious damage and make it look like accident.


This is odd.  Tracey is not in class either.  Daphne and Lisa Turpin are sitting together (Lisa acting as honorary Slytherin) and looking rather worried about something.  Interesting.  Decide to sit near them just in case they talk about where Tracey is.  Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle follow obediently as usual.


9:45 a.m.  Yay!  Overheard Daphne and Lisa tell Morag McDougal that Tracey is in hospital wing after growing ill following the feast.  Apparently she’d eaten some Nougat and soon afterwards, her nose started bleeding and wouldn’t stop.  Was not stood up.  Am still sexy young pureblood, loved by those of the opposite sex.


9:47 a.m.  What is Professor Sprout on about?  O.W.L.s?  Will have to get notes from Pansy later.


10:00 a.m.  Tracey will find me irresistibly dashing if I send sweets to hospital wing.  Am out of sugar quills, so will have to send liquorice wands instead.


11:00 a.m.  Double Potions with Gryffindors.  Excellent. 


Snape taunting Harry.  Most excellent.


11:03 a.m.  Snape is giving usual warm start of term welcome to class.  Am pretending to pay attention, but am really thinking about what to write Tracey when I send liquorice wands.


12:21 p.m.   Ahhh, perfect.  Snape has us brewing a potion that emits silver vapour.  Nice subtle way to show House loyalty.  Mine, of course, is looking exactly as it should.


Hmmmm.  Apparently Potter is second best to me in more ways than I thought.  Snape is sure to give him low marks for that vile grey steam.


“Potter, what is this supposed to be?”  Score for Snape.


Potter’s mumbling something.


“Tell me, Potter, can you read?”  Extra points for sarcasm.  Knew there was reason Snape was favourite Professor.


Snape proceeded to make Potter look like idiot, though that in and of itself is no real accomplishment.  Potter often does that much on his own.  On other hand, will have something to gossip about with Pansy this evening.  Shame Tracey isn’t here to witness Snape’s show.  Perhaps will fill her in.  Will give excuse to visit her in hospital wing.


9:07 p.m.  Sometimes I wish I had smart friends, sort of like Granger but with a decent bloodline.  Then I could skive off homework and copy their notes later.  Unfortunately, am stuck with Crabbe and Goyle, who couldn’t string five words together between the two of them; Blaise, who waits even longer to start his assignments than I do; and Pansy, who would expect some sort of exchange for notes or answers.


“Draco?”  Who in the bleeding…


Tracey!  Ahhh, Davis.  Out of hospital, I see.  All right, there?”


“I wanted to thank you for the liquorice wands.  Crabbe brought them by.”


She’s cute when she blushes.  “He didn’t eat any of them, did he?”


She’s laughing!  Score!  “No.  He was really professional.  I’m sorry I missed our da—erm, Health Summit.  But I’m still feeling a little dizzy, so I’m going go to bed early.  Madam Pomfrey says I lost quite a bit of blood.  And from my nose too.”  She paused and suddenly turned even redder.  “But I’m sure that was a spot too much information, so I’ll just go now.  Goodnight, Draco.”


Say something.  Ask to meet her again some other time.  Something suave and debonair.


“Erm, goodnight, Davis.”




Well done, Malfoy.  You could have at least called her by her first name!


9:12 p.m.  I do hope Pansy didn’t catch that exchange.





153 lbs.  (laughter is excellent exercise), Butterbeers 0 (Quidditch training regiment), Sugar Quills 13 (was finishing off box, can’t bloody waste them).


1:30 p.m.  Happy that great oaf Hagrid isn’t here for class.  Perhaps will learn something without being in mortal peril for once.


Said as much to Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle, much to their amusement.  Potter looked back at us (the nosy git).  Probably thinks we’re laughing about him.  Should inform him that world does not revolve around him, the self-important prat.


The Mudblood is being insufferable again… perhaps will entertain Pansy with genius impression.  Wish Tracey took this course, as could then impress her with my wit.


1:40 p.m.  “Where’s Hagrid?” Potter asked when he thought no one else was listening.  More proof at self-importance.  Just because he has some stupid ugly scar on his forehead does not mean that the professors will indulge him with information that they don’t give to the other students.


“Never you mind,” Professor Grubbly-Plank answered.  Ha!


Time to taunt Potter.  “Maybe,” I said lowly so that only he could hear me, “the stupid great oaf’s got himself badly injured.”  Perhaps with one of those bloody Skrewts.


“Maybe you will if you don’t shut up.”  Ah, Potter, won’t you ever grow a thick skin?  Well, hopefully not.  Taunting you is too much fun.


“Maybe he’s messing with stuff that’s too big for him, if you get my drift.”  As if that’s likely, as big as he is.  But knowing The Oaf, it’s certainly possible.


Returning to my faithful audience, I decide to get in one last dig at Potter when Pansy asked about Father.  “Yes,” I said so that my voice carried to Potter and his friend, “Father was talking to the Minister just a couple of days ago,” that was to display our obvious importance in the wizarding world, as opposed to Potter’s quickly diminishing status, “and it sounds as though the Ministry’s really determined to crack down on substandard teaching in this place.  So even if that overgrown moron does show up again, he’ll probably be sent packing straight away.”


“OUCH!”  A yelp from Potter’s direction caused Crabbe and Goyle to turn more quickly than I thought possible.  Then we all shared in a hearty laugh as Potter’s Bowtruckle ran into the forest, leaving Potter bleeding.   The bell rang just then as well, so I’d say class ended on a good note.


5:00 p.m.  Still no Tracey at dinner this evening.  Heard she was in library making up for yesterday’s missed work.  Daphne and Lisa (as usual) are with her.  Would make trip to library, but need Pansy’s notes from Herbology.





At what point in time did it seem like a good idea for Montague to make Crabbe and Goyle Beaters for Slytherin?  I suppose he is a proponent of Flint’s “Size Over Talent” campaign.  Sure, they’re strong enough to hit the Bludgers, but I’m not positive that their brains work fast enough to keep up with them.


Bah.  Now I’ll have to work extra hard to ensure the Cup goes to Slytherin.





150 lbs. (rah!), Butterbeers 0, Sweets 0, (excellent), minutes in front of mirror 20.


1:45 p.m.  Montague, in an unprecedented act of thinking, decided it wise to check out the Gryffindor’s new Keeper.


Guess who it is.


Wait for it.


The Weasel King.


This year just keeps getting better and better!  First prefect.  Now Keeper?  How much more ridicule does Gryffindor want to heap on this boy?  He’s obviously not suited for either position. 


And… he’s on a Cleansweep!


Oh!  Should bring that to everyone’s attention…


“What’s that Weasley’s riding?  Why would anyone put a Flying Charm on a mouldy old log like that?”  Pansy and company laughed obediently.  Still not sure why Pansy has accompanied us today.  It was supposed to be team members only.  Perhaps she suspects something concerning Tracey and I, and is feeling more possessive than usual.  Hmmm.  Will have to look into that, later.  In meantime, will continue to laugh at The Weasel King’s lack of decent flying ability.


3:30 p.m.  All in all, was fun day.  Weasel King made good show of Quaffle dropping, was able to taunt Potter, hopes for winning Cup have been restored.


Life is good.


7:45 p.m.  As if Gryffindor training session weren’t enough to make my day, returned to dormitory to find note from Tracey.




            Sorry I’ve been so busy of late.  Have been trying to make up missed work, and it piled up very quickly.  Should we reschedule our Health Summit?




Now, this poses a dilemma as she is now asking to meet me.  If I agree, I might appear desperate for her attentions.  If I disagree straightaway, she might want nothing to do with me afterward.  Was going to write, Please don’t bother me.  I am very busy and important, but that might turn her off as well.  On other hand, can’t put meeting off too long, as she then might want to accompany me to Hogsmeade, and that will cause conflict with Pansy.


8:35 p.m.  On way to sit with Pansy in common room, dropped this off with Tracey.




            Amount of work sounds hellish.  Think you will be caught up by Friday, 28 September at 8:00?  Quidditch will be taking most of my time until then.  You know, trying to win the Cup for Slytherin and all.




Decided to make her wait.  Interested, but not too desperate.  Deliverance of letter was very innocent looking as well.  Passed by and pretended to knock her books off table.  Picked them up and put note on top of book. 


“Clumsy tonight, aren’t we, Draco,” said Pansy when I sat down.  Ha!  Blind cow!


8:39 p.m.  Should ask Pansy how my hair looks.  Think it may be ready for a trim.





150 lbs., Butterbeers 0, Sweets 0, minutes in front of mirror 28.


3:00 p.m.  That horrid Umbrish woman was in Care of Magical Creatures today.  Her very voice grates on my nerves.  Found self wishing to implode at sound of it.


All was not last, however.  She’d asked about injuries in the class under The Great Oaf.  Immediately offered insight there.


“That was me.  I was slashed by a hippogriff.”  I left out the part about me purposely antagonizing the stupid beast.


And then Potter said something rude and idiotic and landed himself another night of detention.


I could dance.





Quidditch and homework piling up! ARGH!





Will homework ever end?


Have realized Pansy can be witty when she wants to be.  Story not worth telling, but she made several funny comments about Potter at dinner, and some were even semi-original.





153 lbs. (hate), Butterbeers 0 (only because there were none to have), sugar quills 17 (self pity).


6:30 p.m.  Completely knackered after two hours of date-preparation.  Being a Malfoy is worse than  almost as bad as just better than being a poor Muggle farmer.  There is so much hard labor to be done: Waxing Charms on legs, Skin Exfoliation Charms, Eyebrow Removal Charms, Moisturizing Potions, hair to be washed and styled, Filing Charms on nails.  The whole performance is so highly tuned that you only need to neglect it for a few days for the whole thing to go to seed.  Like Potter.  Sometimes I wonder what I would be like if left to revert to nature—with a full beard and handlebar moustache, eyebrows looking like Potter’s hair, face a graveyard of dead skin cells, spots erupting, long curly fingernails, flabby body flobbering around.  Ugh, ugh.  Is it any wonder I have no confidence?


7:30 p.m. Cannot believe this has happened.  On the way to the bathroom, to complete final farming touches, ran into Davis, who looked anything but ready to meet me in the Astronomy Tower.


“Listen, Draco, I’m really sorry.  I’m going to have to give tonight a miss.  Daphne and I were working on a potion and her cauldron exploded.  She’s in the hospital wing, and I’m going to stay with her until Madam Pomfrey makes me leave.”  She grabbed my hand and gave it a quick squeeze.  “I’m really sorry.”


Cannot believe it.  Am stood up.  Entire waste of several hours’ bloody effort.  However one must not live life through girls, but must be complete in oneself as man of substance.


8:00 p.m.  Still.  Am Malfoy while she is a Davis.  She should not presume to stand me up twice.  Madam Pomfrey is fairly competent matron after all.


11 p.m.  What’s wrong with me?  Am sitting on four poster completely alone.  Hate Tracey Davis.  Am going to have nothing more to do with her. 


Am just going to weigh self and find Pansy.


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