The Secret Diary of Draco Malfoy: Aristocrat, Ne'er-do-Well, Rampant Homosexual

The Secret Diary of Draco Malfoy: Aristocrat, Ne'er-do-Well, Rampant Homosexual.

Chapter 13: May 1^st - May 15^th

Saturday 2^nd May.

Dear Diary,

Well, I've decided that if I'm ever going to win Harry back, I'm going to need a life makeover. I weighed myself when I got home last night, and was horrified to discover that I've put on two whole pounds since the break up. Can you believe it? I am disgusted with myself. It wouldn't be so bad if I thought that the additional pounds were through muscle build-up, but my exercise regime has been rather lax of late. Mostly through my reliance on sex to keep myself fit. But now, tragically, that is no longer an option.

So I have made myself a timetable for my new and improved lifestyle, which I intend to stick to religiously. I will get up at six-thirty every morning and work out for an hour. Then I will have some fruit for breakfast. Then I will study for two hours, because finals are looming and Harry wouldn't want a boyfriend who failed all his exams. After that, I will have exactly one hour to relax. Then I'll have chicken and steamed vegetables for lunch. After that, I'll study for three more hours. Then I'll read something impressive so that I can improve my mind and be able to leave everyone in awe of all the clever things I have to say. Then I'll spend the evening thinking about a) what kind of career I want after I leave Hogwarts, and b) what the hell Harry meant when he said I needed to figure out what I want from a relationship. I'll have a small, nutritious dinner, then I'll go to bed at half-ten. I can't see that I'll have any problem sticking to it. I've written the timetable up with coloured ink, and I've Spellotaped it to my bedroom door.

See, I think that if I just keep busy, it'll distract me from Harry. Busy, busy, busy.

Later that day.

Oh God, I'm so alone! Why the hell was I such an idiot? I miss Harry! I keep thinking that I should go to Weasley's house and refuse to leave until Harry talks to me. But then that would be a bit stalker-ish. Oh, what is wrong with me? Merlin, I could do with some ice cream. No, Draco! Be strong! Food is not love!

Later still.

Dad has just gone off to a Death Eater meeting. I really think that they should consider changing their image. I mean, the black robes are all very spooky and Grim Reaper-esque, but it's just a little predictable. Not to mention conspicuous. I mean, you couldn't just go down the shops like it, could you? Everybody knows that's what the Death Eaters wear. Anyway, this is like, Voldemort's second age or whatever. He should have an updated image.

Ooh, you know what would be spooky? Clown costumes! There is nothing more sinister than a clown. And if you were caught, you could always say that you were on your way to a children's party or something. It would be the perfect alibi! Ooh, and all the Death Eaters could travel around in one of those little clown cars, then all come spilling out to ambush unsuspecting Muggles! And they could wear big flowers that spray Bubotuber Pus. And I'm sorry, but there are few things more chill-inducing than circus music. People would hear that, and they'd be all 'Noooo! The Death Eaters are coming!' Clowns! I might suggest that to my dad in the morning, actually.

Tuesday 4^th May.

Dear Diary,

Grandma and Grandpa Black have come to stay for a few days. Poor Dad isn't very happy about it because Grandpa Ignatius still hasn't forgiven him for taking away his little girl. Mum and I find it rather amusing to watch the pair of them strutting around like peacocks, trying to outdo each other. Ah, poor Papa.

Sadly, Grandma Florentine had brought her photo album over, and I was subjected to pictures of my parents in their teens. Ooh, they had eighties hair! When she was my age, my mother wore blue eye-shadow up to her eyebrows and had a perm! Ugh. For some reason, I've always had this idealised view of my mother as someone who is eternally stylish. Oh God, the most horrific photo was the one of my parents at their engagement party. I was not ready to know that my dad used to have a mullet!

Oh, I've just had a really depressing conversation with my mother. She came up to see me while I was studying after lunch. "Sweetheart? I want to talk to you. May I come in?"

"Of course!" I replied, grateful to have an excuse to stop studying for a bit (I can already tell that this timetable is going to ruin my life).

She sat down on my bed. "Darling, don't you think it's about time you did something different with your hair?"

"I like my hair," I said defensively.

She grimaced. "Hmm. You've had it like that for a couple of years now, you don't want to get stuck in a rut. Ugh, do you remember when you were little and you insisted on slicking it all back? Ghastly! It was like you were wearing a helmet!" She laughed, completely disregarding my hurt feelings. I was very mature about it and chose not to mention her terrifying Bonnie Tyler phase. "Really though," she continued, "have you ever thought about growing it long like Daddy?"

I pulled a face.

"Oh, but you would look so dashing! And you could wear a bow in it!"

"Mother," I replied patiently. "I'm camp enough as it is. If I did that, I think I'd come full circle and wind up straight."

"Oh, but you used to look so sweet when you had long hair when you were little. Do you remember, sweetie? And I used to dress you up in little sailor suits?"

In retrospect, I think my homosexuality was pretty much inevitable. "Mother!" I interrupted. "Did you only come up here to discuss my hair, or do you actually have something important to talk about?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. I wanted to ask you whether you were going to ask your little boyfriend over to stay. You're more than welcome, you know. I know that he and your father don't exactly have the best history, but you have my absolute assurance that I wouldn't let Daddy ruin anything."

"Oh, um... Harryandiaren'treallytogetheranymore," I mumbled hurriedly.

"What was that?"

I sighed. "We're... we're not really together right now. We're sort of on a break."

"You've broken up?"

"No!" I cried desperately. "No, no! Not broken up! It's only a temporary thing, we'll totally get back together. He... just needs a bit time to think, that's all."

Mum sighed. "Oh, Draco. What did you do?"

I don't know if I should be offended that she just assumed it was me who did something wrong. But then, she wasn't exactly off the ball. "Oh, Mum. I was such an idiot. We had this stupid argument and I went out, got really drunk and accidentally kissed someone else."

She tutted. "Oh, you silly billy. What did you go and do that for? What did Harry say?"

"He was pretty upset. He said that he still loved me, but that he needed some time to think and that we should spend some time apart."

"Hm. Do you think that he was just saying that because he actually wanted to break up, but wanted to let you down gently?"

I looked at her in horror. "Well, now I am!"

"Don't worry," she said, patting me on the knee. "Mummy will help you. Have you tried buying him a present?"

I sighed. "I don't think that'll work this time, Mum. I honestly don't think there's anything that I can do except wait. I screwed up. I don't know if I even deserve to be Harry's boyfriend any more."

"That's quite enough of that!" my mother said crossly. "I did not raise you to have that kind of defeatist attitude. We are Malfoys! If we don't deserve what we want, we scheme and plot and suck up to those in power until we damn well get it anyway! Now, if you're going to persuade Harry to give you another chance, I really think you should do something about your hair."

Sometimes I wonder what planet my mother came from.

Friday 7^th May.

Dear Diary,

Very bad. I completely blew off the timetable today to go shopping. I really am going to have to work on my self-control. Oh, and I should never be allowed to spend money when I'm depressed. I brought a cloak embroidered with flowers. Where the hell am I going to wear that?

Le sigh.

Nervous shopping. A sadly overlooked condition which claims thousands every year. Oh well, at least Pansy's coming over tomorrow. I'm sure she'll think of something that might cheer me up.

Saturday 8^th May.

Dear Diary,

Had a better day today. Pansy came over for a few hours, and she brought Dean with her. At first I was a bit pissed off because I thought it was very inconsiderate of her to rub the fact that she still had a boyfriend in my face. However, she quickly explained that she'd brought Dean because he was a Gryffindor and Harry's friend, and might be able to help us figure out how I could get him back. She's a good girl, really.

Dean needed a bit of persuading, though. "I dunno," he said awkwardly when we proposed that he help us. "Harry's my mate, I feel like I'd be betraying him."

"Oh, really," Pansy huffed. "You Gryffindors and your bloody ethical code. Let me put it this way: if you help us figure out how Draco can win Harry back, I'll agree to do that thing."

He gave a puzzled frown. "What thing?"

"You know, that thing you wanted to do the other night."

"Oh!" Dean's eyes widened in comprehension. "That thing!" He grinned at her in what can only be described as a lecherous way.

"Besides," I added, not wanting to dwell too long on what deviant acts Pansy might be getting up to in the bedroom. "You wouldn't be betraying Harry. He loves me, I love him, and we should be together. You'd be helping him on the way to happiness. I made a big mistake, and Harry deserves a boyfriend who will treat him well. The trouble is that I'm a Slytherin, and good behaviour isn't exactly my forte. So I need your help to become the man that Harry needs, that's all."

"Well, okay," Dean said. "I'll do what I can to provide an insight into the Gryffindor mentality. But I'm not going to do anything to dupe Harry. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Pansy and I replied, before sharing a look that said, 'Bloody Gryffindors.'

We decided that if we were going to be scheming we should probably have some sort of snack food to keep us going, so we all trooped down to the kitchens. The house-elves quickly rustled up some canapés for us. Well, Pansy and Dean had canapés. I had cucumber on rice cakes. Sigh.

I think Dean was a bit in awe. "Bloody hell, Malfoy," he said. "This is a bit posh, isn't it? When you said we should have something to snack on, I thought you meant Pringles or something."

"What the hell are Pringles?" Pansy asked him.

"They're a type of Muggle crisp which are really good when they're dipped in salsa," I replied. "Harry... Harry really likes them." I suddenly became very depressed.

"Don't worry, darling," Pansy said, putting her arm around my shoulder. "We'll come up with something. You and Harry will be back together in no time at all."

Dean agreed with my theory that Harry wouldn't be lured back by any kind of expensive gift. You see? I did learn something after all. He asked me whether there were any common denominators in any of my arguments with Harry. I told him no - I'd only been thick enough to get drunk and kiss someone else once.

He shook his head. "The thing is, I don't know if Harry would end things just because of that. I mean, obviously he'd be upset, but I'd have thought he'd forgive you. I mean, it's not like you knew what you were doing. If what Pansy tells me is right, you were completely pissed. And it's not like you initiated the kissing, right?"

I shot Pansy an evil look for sharing the humiliating tale of my drunken escapades. "Right," I replied. "And I pushed the guy away as soon as I really realised what I was doing."

"Exactly," Dean frowned in bemusement. "See, I can get Harry being a bit pissed off, but I think that's pretty forgivable really. And it's not like you didn't tell him what had happened."

Pansy and I shared another look. "Um, well," I mumbled. "That... isn't strictly true. I was hoping that he would never find out, so I didn't say anything. But, as it turned out, Blaise was there that night and saw everything, and he told Harry."

"Ah," Dean said. "Bloody hell. Well, that explains everything. Harry didn't call things off because you drunkenly kissed someone else by mistake. He did it because you weren't honest with him, and then he had to go through the humiliation of finding out about it from Blaise Zabini of all people."

Everything fell into place. There had been a common factor in almost all of my rows with Harry - my inability to be honest with him and tell him what was bothering me. And he'd told me what the problem was each time, and each time I'd promised him faithfully that I would always be honest with him in the future. Dear Lord, I am the biggest fuckwit of all time!

"Harry's always has a problem finding people he can trust," Dean continued. "His aunt and uncle lied to him about who he was when he was growing up. There was all that confusion in third year when he thought Sirius Black had killed his parents. Then in fourth year, he put his trust in Mad Eye Moody, who turned out to be a Death Eater in disguise. Not to mention the amount of people who have only tried to befriend him because he's the Boy Who Lived. It's tough on the poor bloke."

"Oh, Harry," I said miserably. "I'm so sorry. How the hell am I ever going to make it up to him?"

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "I dunno. There's not much you can do except give him time. Make sure he knows that you understand what you did wrong. Really listen to him. Prove that you're someone he can depend on."

It was all really good advice. Still, even though I have realised where I went wrong, it doesn't mean that Harry is ever going to give our relationship a second chance. I mean, I betrayed his trust. I wish that this was the kind of thing that could be fixed with a present. Pansy made me some tea to cheer me up, and we talked about what we were going to do after we leave Hogwarts. Pansy wants to go into the world of wizard couture and start up her own robe shop, and Dean wants to make a go of it as an artist. He's just sent a cartoon into the Daily Prophet, and he's hoping it'll get published.

Things seen to be getting pretty serious between the two of them. Dean is taking Pansy to his parents' house for Sunday lunch tomorrow. Apparently, he lives somewhere called Brixton. I had no idea where that was, so I asked him.

"It's an area of London," he informed me.

"Ooh, is it near Harrods, then?"

Dean burst out laughing. Hmph. Still, it was really good to see them, and it's certainly given me some food for thought. From now on, I am going to be completely straightforward with Harry. I am going to show him that I can be someone he can trust. I will never, ever, ever let him down again.

Sunday 9^th May.

Dear Diary,

It was Easter Day today. My mother has, of course, ignored everything I have said about being on a diet, and has given me the fanciest-looking chocolate egg she could find which is, I swear, bigger than my head. It's torture! She knows that I get the munchies when I'm depressed. Now it's just sitting there looking at me. Tempting me with its chocolaty charms. And there's the Timetable of Doom, hanging on my door, staring down at me.

I hate that bloody timetable! I have created a monster. See, when I said that I was confident that I'd be able to stick to the schedule I'd set out, I may have been... a little optimistic. I mean, I have been sticking to the diet, and I'm definitely working out more. But I've only actually got up at six-thirty twice. And, although I have done quite a bit of studying, it's nowhere near as much as I'd set out to do. If I think about it logically, I've actually done quite well. However, the timetable, with all of its unrealistic expectations, is making me feel really guilty. Every time I deviate from it, I get this horrible mental image of the timetable chasing after me and battering down the door as I cower in the corner. Then it will pull me out by my hair and force me to do stomach crunches while it watches over me, laughing mercilessly.

Oh, I miss Harry so much. I've been trying to write him a letter, but all that means is that I'm sitting here surrounded by screwed up bits of parchment. Hm. Maybe if I just have a tiny little bit of Easter egg...

One hour later.

I am covered in chocolate crumbs. My stomach is now egg-shaped. Very, very bad. The timetable is up there, judging me. That's it. Tomorrow I am eating nothing but salad.

Wednesday 12^th May.

Dear Diary,

This is the final version of the letter to Harry:

Dear Harry,

I know you said that you need some time, but I miss you so much and I had to write to you. I've been doing what you said and thinking about what I want and where I went wrong. I figured out that my real mistake was not being honest with you. I think I was so obsessed with not telling you anything that might make you think badly about me that I didn't realise that I was actually pushing you away. I am so sorry for not telling you about what happened at the gig. I promise that I'll never hide things from you again. Please tell me what I can do to make you trust me again.

Love Draco xxx

Oh, I'm so nervous. What if he's already decided that our relationship is over? What if I'm too late? You know what? If Harry tells me that we're finished for good, that's it for me. I don't think I'll ever find anyone else. Harry is so amazing that I don't think anyone else will ever live up to him. He's spoiled me for life. I'm going to become one of those people who grows old alone and lives with loads of cats. I'll end up in some ramshackle old mansion which everyone thinks is haunted. All the local kids will dare each other to run up the drive and touch my front porch, and I'll come rushing out in my slippers and chase them away with a ratty old broom. 'Stay away from old man Malfoy,' people will say. 'He pushes his cats around in a pram and shouts crazy things at trees.' So you see, an awful lot depends on the success of this letter.

Thursday 13^th May.

Dear Diary,

Very strange day today. All the Death Eaters came over to the manor for a meeting - including You Know Who himself. As you can imagine, I was pretty nervous about this, seeing as I've recently refused to join up with him and started dating his arch nemesis. I decided that it would be best if I stayed in my room for the duration of the meeting.

Dad was pretty frantic about the whole thing too, seeing as he's desperate to reclaim his place as You Know Who's favourite lackey. "Oh my God, oh my God!" he cried, rushing through the drawing room earlier in his dressing gown. "They are going to be here any minute, and the profiteroles aren't anywhere near ready yet! Ah! And I'm not even dressed! Draco, how's my hair? Is it shiny enough? IS IT SHINY ENOUGH? Oh God, I hope the Dark Lord likes how I've set out the morning room. He's so particular about things. NARCISSA! HAVE YOU SEEN MY MIDNIGHT BLUE ROBES WITH THE SILVER EDGING?"

Ugh. Unfortunately, my mother caught me as I was sneaking upstairs. "Draco? I hope you're not going to spend all of today hiding away in your room?"

"Well, I do have rather a lot of studying to do."

"Oh no, you don't! You're coming down with me and you're going to be hospitable!"

"But, Muuuum!" I whined. "I've just said that I don't want to join the Death Eaters, and You Know Who is going to be angry!"

"Don't be silly," she said. "I won't let anything bad happen to my baby. Please, Draco, come and help out. Your Auntie Bella always tries to show me up at these things, and I could use the moral support." She pouted and sniffed a bit, looking very pathetic.

I gave in. My mother is the queen of emotional blackmail. That was how, half-an-hour later, I found myself going into the morning room wearing a little white apron and a chef's hat, asking the Death Eaters if they'd like some raspberry pavlova.

"Ah, young Malfoy," You Know Who said, looking very sinister. "I hear that you have refused to join my Death Eaters and have become romantically involved with Harry Potter."

I blanched. "Um, well, um, that is, um, I um--"

"Just be honest," he said. "It's because I haven't got a proper nose, isn't it?"

"What?"

"You know, I think it's a little unfair that so much is judged on looks these days. I'll have you know that when I was a young man, I was quite the stud. Way better looking than Potter. I could have had anyone I wanted. But now, it's all about bloody Potter with his hair and his nasal cartilage."

"Oh no!" cried one of the Death Eaters. "Bald is sexy, my Lord!"

"Oh, sod off, Wormtail," You Know Who huffed. "Nobody asked you." He turned his attention back to me. "It's a shame. You would have made a very attractive addition to my team. Such lovely hair. But I see that you have made up your mind. I see that you only care about Potter, with his pretty green eyes and his tight arse. Very well, go to him. But just let him know that the next time we face each other might be a little sooner than he thinks. Oh, and this time he isn't going to walk away. This time, I will smash him to smithereens. Very well, run along. Oh, but give me a bit of that pavlova first. Just a small slice, I'm trying to watch my weight."

I was so glad to get out of there. You Know Who is completely bat-shit insane! The scariest thing is that he'll be talking about something completely idiotic, like the fact that he doesn't have a nose, and then out of the blue, he'll say something to remind you of how evil he really is. Oh, poor Harry. I wish that Dad could quit the Death Eaters, but I guess that isn't really an option for him. I hope that Harry beats You Know Who for good soon, then we can all get on with our lives.

No reply from Harry yet.

Friday 14^th May.

Dear Diary,

Harry has written back! I got his owl just as I was finishing lunch and it made me so nervous that I started choking and orange juice came out of my nose. Nice. I quickly ran up to my room where I dithered around for a bit, wanting to read the letter but scared that it might tell me that Harry wanted to end things for good.

Eventually, I shakily undid the seal and opened the parchment. This is what it said:

Dear Draco,

I was really glad when you wrote to me. I've wanted to get in touch for days, but I knew that I shouldn't, so now you've made the first move I have a great excuse to write back. First off, I should probably say that you are spot on with your guess about why I was so upset. If you had just told me straight away when you remembered kissing that guy (about whom I have had several murderous fantasies, I should add), I would have been upset, but I think I could have got over it. It was horrible, having to hear about it from Blaise. He was so smug about the whole thing. And I defended you because I really believed that, even if you had kissed someone else, you would have been honest about it. Then I had to go through the humiliation of finding out that he was right. I really do miss you so much, but I can't honestly say right now whether I think we should be together. The thing is, even though you know what I need now, this isn't the first time that you've promised to be honest with me, is it? How can I trust that you're not going to do the same thing all over again? I need to know that I can really rely on you. There is so much in my life that is confusing and scary that I just need a bit of stability, and I don't know if we have that. I suppose it would be easier if I could just stop loving you, but I can't. I'm so sorry that I can't give you a proper answer right now. In other news, Hermione is giving us all hell about revising for our finals. She's made us all a timetable which we have to stick to, which is the worst thing ever. I keep having these irrational fears that it's going to come chasing after me if I deviate from it, and drag me back to work. Knowing bloody Hermione, she's probably charmed it so that it does just that, so maybe my fears aren't that irrational after all. Haven't really done much else - didn't feel like socialising. I guess I'll see you on Monday.

Love Harry.

Well, I just feel like the worst human being ever. How could I have screwed it all up? Argh! This is horrible! Harry and I still love each other; how can it not be right for us to be together? Right, from now on I am going to be completely honest at all times. I am going to tell Harry about each and every one of my faults. I am going to really listen to everything he has to say, and I won't make promises and then immediately forget them. Harry and I are meant to be together - all I have to do is barrage him with trustworthiness, adoration and attentiveness until he is forced to realise it. That won't be complicated at all. Nothing could go wrong there. Sigh. Think I might go drown my sorrows in a big tub of ice cream...