Hell Hath No Fury ...: The Diary of Pansy P.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned: The Diary of Pansy Parkinson

August 19 1998, right before bed, 11:56pm-

This is completely ridiculous. The only reason I'm writing in a stupid book is because of him. Apparently, the psychologist I have, Healer Therese Gandywise, insists that I write in a 'diary' to let out my inner feelings about a certain Draco Malfoy, instead of acting on said feelings. You see, Draco filed another restraining order against me, last week. Since it's the fifth time in eight weeks, the Wizengamot ordered me to seek mental help. Whatever. I so wasn't stalking him. I should know, because I specifically researched what is considered stalking, in the Great Big Book of What is Considered Stalking, and nowhere, does it say that standing outside said stalkee's bedroom window and reciting heartfelt, emotional poetry at 4:28am, is considered stalking. I was accused on a mere technicality, of trying to climb into his window, to recite more previously mentioned poetry.

Draco still loves me; I know he does. Deep, deep, very deep down inside he knows it too. At least, I hope he does.

Well, I should go now. It's time for my nightly ritual of writing lovesick poems to my darling Draco. And yes, these poems got me in trouble in the first place.

August 20 1998, middle of the day, 1:13pm-

Once again writing in this wretched diary. I am bored out of my mind; there is absolutely nothing to do in the Manor right now. I've already sent three owls to Draco, no response from him yet.

Still no response.

Mrs. Draco Malfoy

Mrs. Malfoy

Mrs. Pansy Vivienne Malfoy

Mrs. Pansy Malfoy

Draco and Pansy Malfoy

Still no response.

August 22 1998, after dinner, 7:51pm-

My life is officially over. I can barely write this, but Draco...my Draco...is dating Blaise Zabini! The horror of it all! Blaise Zabini, my now ex best friend. It's not like she's pretty, even. Well, I guess she is, but just a bit. Oh, who am I kidding? Blaise Zabini is the prettiest girl in Slytherin House, and she knows it. It's not my fault I wasn't born with worship-worthy hanging in perfect, slight ripples down to the waist, glossy, red-gold hair, or with a creamy complexion, no acne or freckles. It's not my fault that my eyes aren't that perfect shade of midnight blue.

Funny, I'd always thought that if it had been anybody else besides me, he would have gone for a blonde. But nooo...he has to go for red heads!

I am seriously considering entering a convent, and becoming a nun.

August 22 1998, 3:47am-

Just realized cannot become a nun; black isn't the most complimentary color on me. Will keep on thinking...

August 23 1998, breakfast, 9:39am-

On a hunger strike.

List of Possible options:

Clearly, I cannot do most of these for obvious reasons.

I can't do number one, because, then I'd be bald, and everyone knows I'm allergic to synthetic hair. Oh, and last time I tried carving words into wood, I broke my nail, and I couldn't go insane because the mental hospital gowns are seriously ugly. So that wouldn't work either.

Can't do number two, because like I said, black does not suit me, and I need to go outside to tan every week or so.

Number three I can't do, because I'm scared of heights.

I would do number four, except for the fact that my poems are really bad, and probably would never be considered heart wrenching.

Couldn't do number five, because then I'd miss my weekly subscription to Witch Weekly, and I have to find out if Nick Gorgoris has proposed to Venhisria Bourbond. Apparently, he was seen buying a huge diamond ring at a certain expensive jeweler in Paris...

Number six sounds fairly plausible...except that I can't get fat. The Parkinson's are known for their amazing metabolism.

As for number seven...I don't like bunnies.

I probably could do number eight, but I've seen Gladrags's latest fall collection, and it's almost all in colors that look completely awful on me.

I am doing number nine right now, so I guess that really doesn't count.

Going to hunt for caramel chocolate, hunger strike is officially over.

August 23 1998, after dinner, 8:05pm-

I ate three full boxes of assorted Honeydukes chocolate, eight Chocolate Frogs, two packs of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, one Cauldron cake, four Pumpkin Pasties, eleven Licorice Wands, and five Sugar Quills.

Feelingly oddly bloated.

August 24 1998, 2:41am-

Couldn't sleep. Got up to go weigh myself. Gained absolutely no pounds since before Draco went out with Blaise. Told you about the amazing metabolism.

August 24 1998, 2:48am-

Still can't sleep.

August 24 1998, 4:57am-

Why doesn't he love me? Why??

August 24 1998, 5:04am-

It's because I have brown hair, isn't it? I knew he always wanted a blonde. All Malfoys are blond. Oh wait, Blaise is a red head...

August 24 1998, 5:29am-

I've got it! I know why he doesn't want me! It's because Blaise is prettier than me! I mean, not that much prettier, but she still is prettier than me. So, now all I have to do is become prettier than Blaise, and Draco will want me again! It's so simple, and yet, so perfectly brilliant! The question is, how?

Whatever. I'll figure it out tomorrow, way too tired right now to think of anything but Draco.

August 24 1998, 3:53pm-

I've been trying to come up with ideas all day. I need a makeover, but whom should I hire to do the actual makeover? I could hire a celebrity stylist, but I don't want to look like a celebrity. I just want to look better than Blaise. Is that so hard to accomplish? I would like to do it myself, but I always need a second opinion.

Oh! I just had the most genius idea ever! I know exactly whom I should ask to help me with this transformation...

August 24 1998, 6:41pm-

Well, I'm back. I just visited Gilderoy Lockhart's Image consulting firm. I know he was hospitalized a couple of years ago, but he's out now, and completely fine, though occasionally he will space out. This is basically what happened.

I walked into a large, bright white room, decorated with hints of aquamarine. Sitting primly at a modern, geometric desk was a thin blonde woman, wearing pristine white sequined robes. Her shiny hair was pulled back into a bun, and the glittery nametag she wore said: My Name is Jade.

I ventured over to her desk. " Um, hello Jade. My name is Pansy Parkinson, and I'd like to schedule an appointment with Gilderoy Lockhart."

Her ice blue eyes flickered over me for an instant. " Since this is an emergency, Gilderoy can see you now."

My mouth dropped open in shock. An emergency? Sure, I wasn't the prettiest person ever, but I wasn't completely hideous, was I? Apparently.

She led me through a frosted glass door, and gestured to a seat.

I sat down, and waited for Gilderoy Lockhart. I didn't have to wait long.

" Oh my gosh, Pansy Parkinson, is that you? Sweetie, I haven't seen you in forever!" A blond man in stylish aqua robes, whom I didn't recognize, kissed me on both cheeks.

Did I mention that Gilderoy Lockhart turned out to be gay?

I was thoroughly bewildered. But there was something about that smile that I had seen before... " Professor Lockhart? Is that you?"

Professor Lockhart beamed. " None of this Professor stuff. Call me Gilderoy, I insist. Now, Pansy, what did you want to see me about?"

I blushed. " I wanted an image consultant, because I have to win the love of my life back."

Gilderoy looked interested. " Oooo, who is it?"

My lip trembled. " Draco. Draco Malfoy." I looked down at the shiny white marble floor.

" Draco Malfoy, the blond Slytherin? Oh, he's was a cute little thing! No wonder you want him back. What happened?"

I really didn't mean to, but I found myself telling Gilderoy all about what happened; the stalking, the Blaise, and the inordinate amount of food I had consumed since then.

" And so, I really want him back, and to do that, I have to become prettier than Blaise, and that's no small accomplishment..." I said, wiping away tears with the scented pink tissue that Gilderoy had given me.

He patted me soothingly on the back. " Shh...it's okay. Gilderoy will make you so gorgeous, that Draco won't be able to resist you!"

I gestured at myself. " Are you sure you can make something out of this?"

Gilderoy nodded. " Gilderoy Lockhart is a miracle worker. He can do anything."

" If you say so." I said, doubtfully.

Gilderoy immediately began telling me about his six steps to a makeover success.

One of our house elves, Hinky or whatever her name is calling me for dinner. Will continue later!