The Sugar Quill
Author: The Morning Starr (Professors' Bookshelf)  Story: Draco Malfoy's Diary  Chapter: October: Ha! Girlfriend... Sort Of
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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: Still J.K. Rowling’s characters, Helen Fielding’s style.


Author’s Notes: This chapter is dedicated to Audz.  She knows why.


Abby Loomis appears in this chapter with permission from Katinka.  Audrey Fox appears with permission from Audz.  In this chapter, I have also paid homage to “Pirates of the Caribbean,” savvy?


As always, a huge thanks to Ara Kane, my lovely Beta Reader.


Draco’s Notes: My rant on fat comes from Bridget Jones Diary, paperback pages 64-65.  My conversation with the Smug Ravenclaws comes from pages 35-37, and my pre- and post-date thoughts come from pages 51-53.  And Hex Holmstrom wouldn’t know cool if it danced in front of him wearing nothing but Quidditch pads.  He’d do well to remember that *I* am canon, and he isn’t.  So, there!




-Ha! Girlfriend…Sort Of-





155 lbs. (disgusting, fat must be depositing itself during sleep), Butterbeers 0, sugar quills 10 (vanilla, yummy), Bertie Botts 14 (beans, not bags of beans), liquorice wands 5, pumpkin pasties 1, minutes in front of the mirror 733.


7:30 a.m.  Head hurts.  Don’t want to get out of bed.  Have been successfully depressed since Friday night.  Pansy’s attempts to cheer me up have been futile.  Have been stood up twice now and have thus descended to the bottom of the social ladder.  Okay, perhaps now that low, as she really did seem concerned about Daphne (who was still in hospital yesterday), and no one else knows that I was stood up.  But, attention from Pansy is enjoyable (for now) and must make Tracey think that I am upset.  Have not spoke to her or returned her notes since Friday.


Will just let her see what it feels like to be ignored.  Ha!


7:45 a.m.  Hair won’t lay right.  Curses.


7:50 a.m.  My face really is quite pointy, despite Pansy’s insistence to the contrary.  I mean, look at my chin.  It’s starting to look a bit like Father’s.  My eyes are still a nice steely grey, however.  I wonder if grey eyes can look warm, or if they are by their nature destined to look cold based solely on their colour.  Is there such a thing as warm grey?


7:53 a.m.  Skin is a bit on the pale side as well.  I wonder what I’d look like with a tan.  Father had a distant cousin living in California come to visit once, and he was really tan and his hair was more of a golden blonde than silver blonde.  Quite unbefitting a Malfoy, Father had remarked.  But still, am thinking that perhaps a little sun couldn’t hurt.  Will perhaps forget to use Sun Blocking charm next time I’m at Quidditch training session.


7:56 a.m.  I am repulsive and unsightly.  Why won’t hair lay right?


8:02 a.m.  Have tamed hair!  Am not destined to attend lessons looking like Potter!  Will just use some Exfoliating Charms and then head down to breakfast.


8:07 a.m.  Gah!  A stray eyebrow hair.  Will just use Hair Removal Charm and then go eat.


8:11 a.m.  Eyebrows are now nice and groomed.  Will just weigh self and walk down to Great Hall.


8:14 a.m.  153 lbs?!?  I’m fat!  How could this have happened?  Am not fit to eat breakfast, as apparently all food consumed goes straight to my arse.  Will never achieve optimal aerodynamic abilities at this rate.  Will just use some of Roy Rancid’s All Purpose Body Deodorant (not that I really need it) and go to Great Hall, though I’m skipping breakfast.


8:18 a.m.  Smell lovely.  Shall just use some De-Wrinkling Charms on robes and leave.


8:22 a.m.  Am going to be late for Owl Post.


8:25 a.m.  Am really leaving now.


8:30 a.m.  Care package from Mum!  Filled with sweets!  Will skip diet for today only, so that sweets may at least be enjoyed.  (Also, cannot resist box of vanilla sugar quills.)  Have also become quite skilled at selecting only the enjoyable Bertie Botts, unfortunately, only had 14 beans worth eating in this batch.  Will also eat Pumpkin Pasty for breakfast, as have decided to skip on diet today.  Besides, likelihood of losing three pounds just from skipping breakfast is slim and thus not worth effort.


Damn Potter for being able to eat whatever he wants and not gain any weight.  Must get down to most advantageous weight before Gryffindor match.


9:45 a.m.  Successfully ignored Tracey during Defence.  I’ll show her!  Daphne is back from hospital, apparently, as is present for lessons.  Has nasty burn on her cheek.  I do hope her face won’t scar, as it is quite disgusting.  Would probably kill self if I had nasty scar like that.  Am surprised Potter is able to live with his deformity.


10:02 a.m.  These are the worst Defence lessons we’ve ever had.  I want to duel someone.  The best ones are when you actually have to learn a bit about the curses, hexes, and jinxes we’re trying to defend ourselves against.  They are sometimes quite useful.


10:15 a.m.  If I get lousy marks on my Defence O.W.L., this cow will pay!  Theodore and I know a number of hexes.  Perhaps we know enough that we could practice outside of class.  Shall bring up idea with him later.


11:20 a.m.  History of Magic.  Nap time.


Noon Stopped in dormitory to freshen up before lunch.  Found this on bed:




            I hadn’t heard from you since Friday.  How about rescheduling Robes Health Summit for this Saturday at three.  The Shrieking Shack, perhaps?




So, she thinks she win me over with notes dabbed in perfume, does she?  I shall not be set up for disappointment again!


Even if the letter does smell incredibly good.


No!  Focus, Malfoy, focus.  You shall stay calm and aloof.  Let her sweat it out a bit.  Keep her guessing.


It doesn’t matter that you know you’ll be there fifteen minutes before.  All that matters is that she doesn’t know that.




12:10 p.m. Lunch and sugar quills.


“Draco, what are your plans for Saturday?”  Is Pansy.  Hope she is just curious and that she hasn’t heard about Tracey’s asking to meet me.


Gladrags, Honeydukes, and the Three Broomsticks.  Oh, and I need to run and errand for Father.”  Good show, Draco!  Excellent cover.  Will use that time to run to Shrieking Shack.


“That works out perfectly.  I have to run to the Post Office while we’re in town.  My aunt in Australia is quite fond of Honeydukes chocolate, and it’s her birthday in three weeks.  I’ll go to the Post Office while you do what you have to for your father.”


Pansy is a smart girl.  Notice she did not ask what the errand was or to accompany me.  Very good Slytherin trait.


She took a polite sip of her orange juice, and eyed the group of girls a ways down the table.  “Did you see Daphne’s face?  It’s awful.  I’ve got a Potion that Mum’s always sworn by.  She says it prevents any scarring.  I’ll loan it to her, the poor thing.”


I wonder if Pansy would be willing to lend Tracey Scar Preventing Potion if she knew that Tracey stood me up.  Let’s hope that Tracey never needs such potion.


Time for Care of Magical Creatures (read: taunt Potter).


3:00 p.m.  Bah.  Potter wasn’t biting.  He’s no fun when he tries to ignore me.


6:00 p.m.  I. Hate. Homework.  Honestly, how is the top Slytherin supposed to stay abreast of all the gossip with all of this studying?


11:00 p.m.  Ignored Tracey all day long.  I’m good.




6:15 p.m.  As I was walking back to the Common Room with Blaise, Tracey stopped me.  I had nowhere to run.


“Draco, can I talk to you a moment?”  She was standing against the wall with her arms folded, but not defiantly or anything.  Sort of meek-looking.  V. sexy too.  I looked at Blaise pointedly.  He got my meaning straight away and went on without me.  I looked at Tracey and ran a hand through my hair, because Pansy had mentioned once that I’m cute when I do that.


“All right there, Davis?”


“You hadn’t returned my last note.  Is everything okay with you, Draco?  You haven’t spoken to me since Friday.”


“I’ve been busy is all.  I have Quidditch in a few moments tonight as well.  You understand.”  She sort of bit her lip, and had we not been in a high-traffic corridor, I might have been inclined to bite it for her. 


Inner poise.  Inner poise.  I do not live my life according to girls, but am content in myself.


But then she smiled sort of deviously, and I was gone.  Forget inner poise.  Shall live life according to Tracey Davis and only be content when snogging her.


Wait.  High-traffic corridor. 




“You’ll meet me at the Shrieking Shack on Saturday then?  I know you don’t have a training session then, right?”


I was going to tell her that I wasn’t sure yet, but seemed to have lost my voice.  “Erm, yes,” I managed.  Some Casanova I’ve turned out to be.


“Three on Saturday then?”


“Yes.  I’d make certain Daphne doesn’t try her hand at any more potions until after Hogsmeade though.”  She giggled and then leaned forward. 


Holy Snitch, she kissed my cheek!


“Have a good practice, Draco.”


I’m sure it will be v. good now indeed.


8:30 p.m.  We are going to win the Cup.  I can feel it.  Crabbe and Goyle are the worst Beaters in all of Britain, but as long as the Weasel King keeps holding the Quaffle the way he was during their training session, we should outscore Gryffindor easily.  And I caught the Snitch within seven and a half minutes tonight, though it was fairly dark and hard to see.


Yes.  The Cup shall go to Slytherin this year.  Father ought to be proud.  Or at least pleased anyway.  Speaking of parents, ought to write Mum to thank her for sweets and tell her about amazing training session this evening.  At least she’ll gush properly.


9:30 p.m.  Am v. tired, but must finish Transfiguration homework.  Wish the bloody stupid mice would just vanish already.  I haven’t time for this.  I’ll bet The Mudblood is vanishing cows already. 


Too bad she won’t vanish herself. 


Must stay calm, however, as inner poise will lead me to beat Granger at O.W.L.s, while frustration and impatience will lead me nowhere.  I wonder how Father would benefit from finding inner poise.  Perhaps then he wouldn’t blow his top so frequently, and we might still have a full staff of house-elves.  Have sneaking suspicion that Father was duped by Potter in losing house-elf, though, as Father would never free one.  Father will never admit to that, however, because I’d never take his admonishments to heart if I knew for certain that Potter had made a fool out of him as well.  Ah, Father.  Never giving me quite enough credit.


9:33 p.m.  Smashing.  Pansy vanished her mouse before me.  I’d like to vanish that smirk on her face. 


Bloody Slytherins.


10:00 p.m.  Stupid fat mouse won’t vanish!  Am disgrace at magic!


10:17 p.m.  Seventh year Audrey Fox (the one who can paint those excellent wizard portraits) showed me trick to holding wand for Vanishing Charms.  If this works, I may kiss her.


10:22 p.m.  Success!  Rah!  Mouse is gone!


Am more tired than thought humanly possible.




156, 154, or 157 lbs.?? Butterbeers 0, sugar quills 2, liquorice wands 1, minutes in front of mirror 42.


8:30 a.m.  Aargh.  How can I have put on 3 lbs. since the middle of the night?  I was 156 when I went to bed, 154 at 4 a.m. and 157 when I got up.  I can understand weight coming off—it could have evaporated or passed out of the body into the toilet or been vanished in my sleep—but how could it be put on?  Could food react chemically with other food, sort of like in potions, double in density and volume, and solidify into even heavier and denser hard fat?  I don’t look fatter (and I should know as I’ve spent last 35 minutes in mirror).  I can fasten the button easily on my trousers.  So maybe my body is getting smaller but denser.  I mention to Pansy to complain about failure and she says to write down everything you’ve eaten, honestly, and see if you stuck to the diet.  Here is the list:


            Breakfast:  hot-cross bun (Josef Wronski diet—slight variation on specified piece of whole-wheat toast); liquorice wand (Wronski diet—slight variation on specified half grapefruit)

            Snack: two bananas, two pears (switched to Roderick Plumpton diet as starving and cannot face Wronski carrot snacks).  Goblet of orange juice (Anti-Cellulite Raw Food Diet)

            Lunch: potato (Wronski vegetarian diet) and hummus (Porskoff diet—fine with baked spuds as all starch, and breakfast and snack were all alkaline forming with the exception of hot-cross bun and liquorice wand: minor aberration)

            Dinner: three goblets of pumpkin juice, fish and chips (Wronski diet and Plumpton diet—protein forming)


Have realized how easy it is to find a diet to fit whatever your fancy at the time, thus allowing one to eat anything he likes throughout the day.  Perhaps diets are not meant to picked and mixed, but picked and stuck to, which is exactly what I shall begin to do once I’ve eaten these sugar quills.




154 lbs.  Butterbeers 5 (it was the first Hogsmeade weekend, so exceptions were made), bottles of Dragon Rum 1 (Satan’s urine!), sugar quills 12-17 (lost count), minutes in front of mirror 33.


7:21 a.m.  Ah, the beauty of Hogsmeade weekends.  Wonderful for strutting and shopping.


8:30 a.m.  Ugh.  Completely exhausted.  Surely it is not normal to be revising for a date as if were some sort of interview?  Since waking up, I have nearly slipped a disk, attacked my naked body with Exfoliating Charms, washed my hair, plucked some stray eyebrow hairs, skimmed the Daily Prophet and Dame Francesca’s book (I ended up bringing it with me), in an attempt to have something intelligent to say and to be aware of any moves she might put on me.  Wise people will say that Tracey should just like me for me, but I am a child of ritzy Pureblood culture, and know that neither my body nor my mind is up to it if left to its own devices.  I can’t take the pressure.  I’m going to cancel the date and spend the evening eating pumpkin pasties in a jumper with a serpent on it.


Or maybe not.


9:00 a.m.  Well, here goes nothing.  Down to breakfast.  Let’s face the day.


9:45 a.m.  Have just finalized Hogsmeade plans with Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, Blaise, and Theodore.  Gladrags with Pansy.  Then to Honeydukes so Pansy can buy chocolates.  From there will meet up with other Slytherins in the Three Broomsticks.  Then Pansy will go to the Post Office and I will run my “errand for Father.”


A more perfect day has never existed.


9:55 a.m.  Should go queue up with Filch now to ensure our place in front. 


Gladrags  Though I’d rather be in London, patronizing Madam Malkin, the Hogsmeade branch of Gladrags is not without its charm.  Took me only a moment to remember that Crabbe and Goyle weren’t around to get the door, so I held it open for Pansy because I am a wizard of refined manners.


To no one’s surprise, the witch at the front counter dropped what she was doing and immediately came to wait on me.  Too bad for her.


“I will be attended to by Miss Loomis,” I informed her, “not by some random clerk.”  After all, I do spend enough money here to demand the attentions of the general manager.  More importantly, Miss Loomis is the only one with decent taste around here.  And she’s somewhat pretty, if lacking in intelligence.  Maybe someday Potter will have an accident with the Whomping Willow and have to leave Hogwarts.  Perhaps such an ‘accident’ could be arranged.


Miss Loomis hurried from the back of the store.  One glance at her, and I was able to ascertain that her robes were custom made, and the colour expertly selected.  The intense blue made her eyes seem brighter.


Wonder if similar results can be achieved with grey eyes…


“Mr. Malfoy.  What a pleasant surprise.”  Funny.  She didn’t sound pleased.  Must be imagination.  “Will you be needing to have your measurements taken today?”


“No, Miss Loomis.  When I need to have my measurements done, I will inform you straight away.  Today I would like to see your newest line of boots and clasps for this season.”


“Of course, Mr. Malfoy, right this way.”  She led me to the back case, where she told me she keeps things for only her finest customers.  Pansy followed obediently, but paused at a pair of black leather trousers.  She lifted them up for me to see.


“You’re mad if you think I’d ever be caught dead in those,” I hissed at her.  I don’t understand.   Pansy usually has good taste. Hopefully this is a temporary lapse.


The Gladrags witch pulled out a case lined in black velvet full of silver and gold claps.  V. detailed.  V. expensive.  One should always have several clasps each season.  The ones I bought last year are just that—so last year.  The one I got from Mother is nice, but one can hardly consider a single clasp a complete set.  Should buy at least two today.


I wasn’t really listening as the witch described each one.  My eyes are quite adept at selecting the highest quality pieces without knowing who made them and where they came from.  For example, that ornate serpent clasp is the best piece in the box.  It’s platinum, not silver (though only a highly trained eye would catch such detail as quickly as I did), and each scale on the serpent was hand crafted.  The eyes are not onyx, but black diamonds, at least half a carat each. 


“I’ll take that one.”


“An excellent selection, Mr. Malfoy.  It’s actually our newest addition, just in from Belgium this morning.  The jeweller who crafted it is highly respected…”


Blah, blah, blah.  I do not recall asking any of that.  Bloody sales witches.  Always have to go on and on.  I’ve already said I’ll buy it.  Quit trying to clinch a sale you’ve already made.  Perhaps with less fortunate wizards, one must take extra care to ensure the sale.  But I am a Malfoy, and a clasp that costs 175 Galleons is hardly going to break the bank.


None of the other clasps interest me.  I’ll have to wait until her next shipment.  The boots did not take nearly as long.  I simply instructed her to bring me the most expensive pair of black boots in the store.  They were adequate.  Mother will have to get me some more at Christmas though.  Pansy purchased a clasp too, though hers was sterling silver and cost a mere fraction of what mine did.  Still better than The Weasel King could ever do.  And The Mudblood wouldn’t know quality wizard apparel if it were listed in her favourite spellbook.


Left behind about 200 Galleons, and a v. pleased saleswitch.  Must now find Crabbe and Goyle to carry these parcels for me.


Honeydukes  Couldn’t resist the call of the chocolate.  Have decided to throw diet to the wind and enjoy day in Hogsmeade.  Argued with Pansy over selection for her aunt.  She was adamant about buying less than the best chocolates, much to my annoyance.  Why buy a gift for someone if it’s not going to be the best?  Is pointless.  She insisted that the Chocolat Spécial was her aunt’s favourite, despite my insistence on the Chocolat de Luxe.  Stupid Pansy.


Only realized afterwards that perhaps she could not afford more expensive package.  Hmmm.  Oh well.


The Three Broomsticks  Crowded, as usual.  Fortunately, other Slytherins saved us seats.  Was making way through the crowd when Pansy excused herself to the girls’ toilet.  Continued on my way through crowd when stopped by none other than Tracey Davis.


Promptly reminded heart to leave throat and travel back to chest where it belongs.


Tracey was surrounded by Daphne and their Smug Ravenclaw friends, Morag MacDougal, Lisa Turpin, Su Li, and Mandy Brocklehurst.  Entwhistle and Cornfoot were with them as well.


Oh, Circe.  It was me and six Ravenclaws.


“So,” bellowed Cornfoot, handing me a butterbeer.  “How’s your father?”


Oh no.  Why do they do this?  Why?  Maybe the Smug Ravenclaws only mix with other Smug Ravenclaws (Tracey and Daphne aside) and don’t know how to relate to others outside their House anymore.  Maybe they really do want to patronize us and put us on the spot.  Or maybe they are in a magical rut and they’re thinking, “There’s a whole other realm of magic out there,” and hoping for vicarious thrills by getting us to tell them the grim details of our parents’ lives in the Dark Lord’s service.


“He’s fine,” I mumbled.  Tracey looked at me apologetically.  Oh yes.  She will pay for getting me into this conversation.


I politely excused myself and made my way to the Slytherins Who Understand.


2:00 p.m.  Har har.  Just talked to Pansy about the incident.


“You should have said, “My father’s fine, you smug, highfalutin, narrow-minded, ostentatious, ill-bred excuses for a blood-line!’”  Pansy ranted away.  Sometimes she amazes me at how much she picks up on without me saying a word.


“Slytherins!” I shouted happily.  “Hurrah for the Slytherins!”


Everyone at our table raised their tankards, and Blaise leaned over towards me in a v. conspiratorial fashion.


“Take this,” he whispered as he thrust a large flask into my hand under the table.  “We’ll drink it on the walk home.”


Firewhisky?” I whispered back.


“Dragon Rum,” he answered, showing me his own concealed flask. “I lifted it from my brother’s flat down the road.”


Ah.  Makes sense.  Daniel Zabini always was a pisshead.  Still, was nice of Blaise to steal some of his brother’s rum for me.


2:45 p.m.  Pansy and I excused ourselves in order to run our “errands.”  Took time to note that Tracey had already left the Smug Ravenclaw table.  Good.  She spends too much time with them anyway.  Not that I blame her.  Pansy’s fun to gossip with, but there’s something else to Tracey.  Haven’t quite worked it out yet, but there’s something more there.


Maybe I’ll get to find out at the Shrieking Shack.  Rah!


2:50 p.m.  “And you’ll meet me here so that we can walk back up to the castle, yeah?”  Pansy’s always trying to get me to commit to something.




“I’ll see you later then.  Bye, Draco.”


Yes.  Freedom.  On to the Shrieking Shack!


Small sip of Dragon rum to give confidence boost shouldn’t hurt.


3:00 p.m.  On the dot.  V. proud of punctuality.


Tracey is already there, looking v. pretty.  Much prettier than she looked in the Three Broomsticks, even.  Think she may have restyled her hair before getting here, as it’s now swept up in a knot.  Perhaps should have redone own hair.  Perhaps am giving off vibe that interest in her is minimum and not enough to freshen up.


“I’m glad you could make it,” she said when I reached her.


“Me too.”


She sat down on a large boulder near the shack and I sort of stood in front of her.


 “Have you ever realized that we rarely talk, even though we’ve been in the same House for years now?  It’s odd, isn’t it?” 


No.  It would be odd if we used to talk and suddenly stopped.  Things are not odd when they continue in the same manner.  But I don’t tell her this.  Instead I say, “Well, you have your Smug Ravenclaw friends.”


“Smug Ravenclaws?”  She burst out giggling.  “Is that what you call them?”


Am feeling a bit embarrassed now and the need to defend self is stirring inside.  “They are smug.  They all think they’re so special just because they were Sorted into the smart House and don’t have to share a room with dunderheads like Crabbe and Goyle.  But just because they’re bookish doesn’t make them better than us.  I’ve beaten the lot of them at almost every subject.  But they still act like they’re smarter than everyone else.”


“I’m not attacking you, Draco.  I’d just never heard anyone call them that.  Most of the other Houses think we’re smug.”


“Well, of course we are.  But we have a reason to be smug.  We have the longest bloodlines, the best Quidditch team, the most respected families, the most famous wizards and witches.”


She had an amused look on her face that sort of hit a nerve, though I couldn’t explain why.  “So, it’s okay to be smug as long as it’s over Quidditch and family names, but not if it’s over books and marks?”


“Exactly.”  Well, at least she’s getting it.


“Course work’s getting more difficult this year,” she said, obviously trying to change the subject.


“Except in Defence.  Father will have me on a platter if I don’t do well on that O.W.L., but she’s not teaching us anything that will be on the examination.”


“Do you suppose…never mind.  It’s stupid.”  She looked away.


“No.  Really.  What is it?”


“What if we sort of practiced Defence on our own?”


“Do you mean like duelling?”


“That’s a start.”


“We could duel now.”




“Why not?”


Devilish gleam in her eye.  Want to kiss her.


Tracey stood up and smiled.  “All right, then.  Let’s duel.”


We positioned ourselves about twenty feet from one another.  “Any spell?”  I asked.  Because I have a number up my sleeve that I doubt she’s even heard of.


“Any spell.  Now, on the count of three.”


Right.  Count of three.  She’s mad if she thinks I’m waiting any longer than two.


But I played along.  “One…”




Holy Circe!  My wand!  Tracey had it in her hands, and was wearing a smirk to rival any I could come up with.  She walked back towards me.


“You cheated!”  I shouted at her.


She shrugged.  “Slytherin.”


Bloody good point.  I was outwitted.  By Tracey Davis…who was now standing right in front of me and looking ravishing.  She’s so close now that I can see the sparkles in her eye shadow.  Oh.  That’s because her eyes are closed.  Is she going to… I think she is…



7:00 p.m.  Oh, joy.  Have spent the last two hours in a state that can only be described as post-snog drunkenness, mooning about the dormitory, smiling, picking things up, and putting them down again.  It was so lovely.  The only down points were 1) immediately after it was over Tracey said, “Damn.  I told Daphne I’d meet her back at the Three Broomsticks at five,” and 2) when I met up with Blaise I realized that Tracey still had my wand.


But as the rosy clouds begin to disperse, I begin to feel alarm.  What now?  No plans were made.  Suddenly, I realize I am waiting for another note.  How is it that the situation between the sexes after a first snog remains so agonizingly imbalanced?  Feel as if I have just sat an exam and must wait for my results.


Have also realized that perhaps this is not mere post-snog drunkenness, but real drunkenness, as half my flask of Dragon Rum has been consumed, and Zabini is suddenly v. funny.


7:30 p.m.  Oh no.  I forgot to meet Pansy.  I was supposed to walk back with her.  Oh, she’s going to be so mad.  I’d better go find her.


7:42 p.m.  “Draco, you’re pissed.  I’d rather not talk to you while you’re in this state.  What is that, Firewhisky?”


Pansy’s upset.  She’s standing v. straight and her arms are crossed and her nose is higher in the air than usual.  Damn.  I’m in so much trouble.


Noooooooo,” I said.  S’Dragon Rummm.”  I never realized how difficult it was to make an ‘mmmmm’ sound.  You really have to press your lips together.  It takes a great deal of concentration, actually.


“Fine.  Take your Dragon-Rum-soaked self back to Zabini and let him take care of you!”


Oh, great.  She stormed off.  Niiiiice.


9:00 p.m.  “Cuss’ ‘oo needs ‘em anyway!”  Zabini was shouting (well… slurring) about girls in general and Pansy in particular.


“No one!”  We clinked our flasks together and I made to take another swig, but my flask was empty.


“Why s’the rum gone?”  I dumped it upside down and shook it to show that it was empty.


“Because you drank it all, you great prat!”  That was Nott.  I didn’t ask him for his opinion.  Stupid git.  He’s just mad because Blaise only gave him mulled mead.


“I think…you’ve ‘ad ‘nuff.”  Zabini was trying to take my flask, the bleeding hipocrite hippocrite hippo.


“But why’s the rum gone?”  I wanted to know.  Damn it.


“Jus’ give it ‘ere.”  Zabini was reaching for my flask now.  Never!  I shall keep it—oh look!  A box of sugar quills.


Midnight Room is spinning.  Head hurts.  Must.  Resist.  Urge.  To retch.







Too late.






9:00 a.m.  Am. Never. Drinking. Again.


9:15 a.m. Ever.


9:18 a.m.  Satan’s Urine.


9:25 a.m. Liquid Evil.


10:00 a.m. Somehow…this is Potter’s fault.


10:05 a.m.  And just where was precious Potty yesterday?  Surely he didn’t stay at Hogwarts.


10:09 a.m.  He’s up to something.


10:15 a.m.  Not that I care, mind you.


10:18 a.m.  Ouch.  Head hurts.  In desperate need of Sobering Charms.  Will just find Pansy and have her cast about 100 of them on me.


10:35 a.m.  Pansy’s not speaking to me.  What in the name of Salazar did I do?  I’d ask Zabini, but he hasn’t moved all morning.  Think he may be dead.  Serves him right, getting me pissed and all.  I’d have Crabbe or Goyle cast some Sobering Charms, but I’m afraid I’ll end up worse off.


10:45 a.m.  Head is pounding.  How do Muggles deal with hangovers?


11:03 a.m.  Glad Slytherin is underground.  Bright light might be enough to do me in right now.


11:08 a.m.  Just heard grunt from behind Zabini’s curtains.  Not dead after all.  I could fix that for him though.


11:45 a.m.  Showered, yet still reek of Dragon Rum.  It’s like the stuff is coming from my pores.  Can’t wear good robes smelling like this.  Will have to settle for Gladrags Signature Line.  Will be generous with cologne today as well.


Noon  Zabini really ought to wake up.  Want to know why Pansy’s not speaking to me.  Should also go to lunch, though thought of food is nauseating.  Could at least listen in on some post-Hogsmeade gossip.  Would be better from Pansy though.  She always has best gossip.


12:25 p.m.  The Great Hall: If there’s one thing a decent Slytherin can spot, it’s scheming.  We can feel it in the very air around us.  That’s why—for the most part—we don’t scheme against one another.


There is scheming in the air in the Great Hall this morning.  The other Houses are in on something.  Must find out what it is.


Whatever it is, Potter’s involved.  I just know it.  The Mudblood too—she’s looking too pleased with herself.


1:00 p.m.  Ought to do some studying if I’m going to beat Granger in O.W.L.s this year.  Just off to get History of Magic notes from Pan—


Never mind.  Will just work on Herbology essay.




150 lbs.  (Rah!), Butterbeers 0 (too close to alcohol), sweets 0, minutes in front of mirror 1,244 (admiring lost weight).


8:00 a.m.  Head feeling better.  Pansy still not speaking to me.  Feeling a void in my life.


Also starving, but have lost weight from lack of eating yesterday, so will continue on new weight-loss program.  Obviously key to ideal Quidditch weight is not eating.


8:30 a.m.  Oy!  Malfoy!”  It’s Montague.  What does he want?


“Look at this.”  He pointed to some parchment on the Slytherin notice board.  Something about clubs being disbanded.  As if I can be bothered to care if those Gobstones nerds can’t waste their time at club meetings.




Montague looked at me like I was the stupid one.  He should be hexed.  Now.


“She means Quidditch too.  We have to ask permission to reform the team,” he said.  He has an attitude.  Oh, how I loathe him.


But if our team was disbanded then that means…




“Are you mad?  What if she says no?”


“Don’t be a fool, Montague.  Father is very influential at the Ministry.  We’ll have no trouble reforming our team.  But Gryffindor on the other hand…”  Ahhhh.  Understanding dawns in his seedy little eyes.  Idiot.  “Let me deal with Umbridge.  We’ll get permission to reform a great deal faster that way.”  And the other team members will see that it was I who saved us.  That should secure my position as captain next year.


8:45 a.m.  Just left Umbrish’s office.  She is a fat cow.  I detest the very sound of her voice.  Fortunately, she agreed to reinstate the Slytherin team straight away, and I was not forced to suffer her simpering for long.  Glad to see she has proper respect for Father.  Either that or he’s threatened her.  That is certainly a possibility as well.


I doubt Gryffindor will have it this easy in reforming their team.  Ha!


There was one other thing.  On her desk was a goblet.  Not just any goblet.  It was silver, and unusually shiny.  And though I was not able to check the bottom to see if there was an ‘M’ engraved into it… I know it was my goblet.  I’d grown particularly fond of the goblet over the years.  I think it had been charmed not to tarnish.  Regardless, that stubby wench has it now.  But I will have it back.  Oh yes.  I will have it back.


9:30 p.m.  The day has improved immensely from this morning.  First, during Herbology, Pansy got over whatever she was mad about and she agrees that the other Houses are up to something.  If we work the gossip circuit together, I’m certain we’ll find out what it is in no time.  But apparently there were a number of Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and even some Ravenclaws who were nowhere to be found in Hogsmeade on Saturday.  This is odd.  Pansy’s going to ask Morag MacDougal if she’s heard anything.  Meanwhile, I’ll ask Tracey (though Pansy doesn’t know that) if she’s heard anything from Lisa and Mandy.


Then, just before Potions, Longbottom nearly lost his mind and tried to attack me (which was funnier than I will ever be able to describe).  From what I’ve heard from Father, my aunt Bellatrix tortured Longbottom’s parents until they went insane.  But, according to Father, Bellatrix was already a few bricks short of the full load herself.  So, while I can understand Longbottom’s distress, it was still v. amusing to see him flailing his arms about while Potty and The Weasel King tried to hold him back.


Just when I thought things couldn’t bet better, they did.  Potter messed up his potion again and received no marks for the day.  Then he got extra homework.  All of that more than made up for the fact that the cow was in Potions.


Pansy and I gossiped all through lunch, until she remembered that she’d left her Ancient Runes text book in her dormitory.  Then, once she was gone, Tracey came and sat with me and laughed at all my jokes.  And, as I was so wrapped up in gossip and Tracey, I forgot how hungry I was, and didn’t eat a thing!  This was followed by no homework in Ancient Runes, a successful Silencing Charm on my toad in Flitwick’s class (Note to Self: Try this on Pansy), and Tracey’s ingenious plot to sit next to me at dinner.  (She had Daphne sit down next to Pansy, who was sitting across from me, and then Tracey sat across from Daphne.)  Could’ve sworn she brushed her hand against my leg.  Flirt.


Best.  Day.  Ever.




147 lbs., Butterbeers 0, sweets 0, minutes in front of the mirror 11.


10:30 p.m.  Haven’t been updating lately, as Snape has booked the pitch for Slytherin as often as possible.  Have been completely bogged down with Quidditch, homework, and sneaking off with Tracey whenever the opportunity presents itself.  We have a pretty good system in place.  She found a Charm that makes the other person’s wand buzz when you need to contact them.  So, whenever we can slip away, we just ‘buzz’ each other.  Then we don’t even have to leave together.  I think she’s my girlfriend now, but we haven’t told anyone (though I’m almost certain Zabini knows).  She understands about Pansy and also realizes that if Pansy finds out, she’ll make certain that I don’t have time to “slip away.”


And speaking of slipping away…




8:30 p.m.  Pansy and I are flipping brilliant!  We were lounging around the common room and laughing at The Weasel King’s Quidditch skills.  Then Pansy says, “If he keeps on playing like that, he’ll make sure we win.”  And I answered, “It’s almost like he’s playing for our side.  We should even cheer for him.”


Then it hit me.  A song.


Pansy and got to work straight away on the lyrics.  They’re very witty and we’ve already taught the words to some other Slytherins.  They think it’s great.  (Because it is.)  We couldn’t find anything to rhyme with stupid and ugly, but were able to fit in that he was born in a bin (my contribution—and my favourite part as well).  I’d say that it was certainly a success.


We even had a lovely idea to make matching badges.  We’ll have to work more on those tomorrow, but I’m sure that once people see how great they are, they’ll start to make their own as well.


Sometimes I astound even myself.




145 lbs (only 5 pounds away from optimum weight), butterbeers 0, sweets 14 (in spirit of Halloween), minutes in front of mirror 36.


9:45 p.m.  Life at all time high at present.  Slytherins have been taught Weasel King song, Daphne thinks I’m clever, Pansy will lead our House in verse on Saturday, weight is down, and confidence level is high.  Perhaps my song will distract Potter as well, and then I’ll really beat him to the Snitch.


Slytherin is going to beat Gryffindor this year.  I can feel it.  I should just go cross “Beat Potter at Quidditch” off my list of goals now.




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