Draco's Journal

September 15, 1997

I'm doing it again. Starting a journal, that is. Well, true, in the past they have all been diaries chronicling my past and present. I still laugh at my childish diary entries... When I'm not embarrassed by them, that is. Some of them are marked or scribbled through. On the front and backs of the papers. With heavy black ink. Random things, things that I didn't want any one else to read. My first kiss. All crushes that I've ever had, even I don't remember who some of them where now. Random hateful thoughts about random people I hate... or, at least, hated.

So now you ask, "Why are you writing another? If all you are going to do is scribble it out, then why bother?" Ah, but you see, you're not a diary. I don't have to tell you my secrets, or describe my days. I might, you know. I tend to let things slip when I'm rambling, especially late at night. Or when I'm ranting and I'm really angry. Then, I can say things to you that would hurt others, without having to mean them, without having to say them to some one's face.

I can be really spiteful, and mean... And even a downright arse sometimes, but hopefully, if I write down what I feel, I won't be as bad. If I write what I feel down, instead of holding it in, then maybe I won't explode in random emotional outbursts. I'll still have to pretend... After all, I have a secret to protect. I have myself to protect. But I won't derive pleasure from it... I don't now. Hopefully, this will help me see things clearer.

So, you want to know what makes you different from a diary? Well, I won't be chronicling my days...Unless it is necessary to be able to describe how I felt, or feel. I'll just write down my random--or not so random--thoughts. Probably not any of my deepest, darkest thoughts, though. Those are private, and I don't trust mere paper to contain them, no matter how many locking and warding spells I put on you. Maybe soon, but you haven't earned my trust quite yet.

Is it weird that I'm talking to you like I would talk to a normal human being? Well, at least, how I assume I would talk to a normal human being. I don't hold many conversations... Not that you are much on holding a conversation... But at least we aren't simply snarking at each other, or planning on how to bully Potter and the famous trio.

But back to my point. I might write poetry in you... Not much. Sometimes poems pop into my head, when I'm feeling particularly troubled, and when that happens then I have to write it down as fast as possible, before I forget. If you are the nearest thing to me, then you are what I'll write it in. If you aren't, then don't worry. I'll transfer it over to you, so that you can get the full benefit of my writing genius (or lack there-of.)

School has started, we've been here for the past 15 days. It is certainly wonderful being a seventh year. The older students are gone from the common room... Now we are the oldest. No more torturing, no more slavery. We can do what ever we want. And no one to stop us.

Well, besides the Professors. I hope this is a difficult, time consuming year. I'm sure it will be, they always tell us that seventh year is the toughest, most important year of our Hogwarts' career. I know that I will beat Granger this year. I can feel it in my bones. As long as I concentrate hard... But I can do it. I hope.

Father might kill me if I don't. But I might kill him, first.

Ahh, but I don't trust you enough for that, yet. Not yet, not yet. What should happen if, despite my protective spells, you fell into the wrong hands? This dormitory is full of spies, full of evil people, full of DEITs... That is, Death Eaters In Training. I know! I'll keep you with me at all times. This way, I can be sure to have you when I need you... And I can be sure that no one else has you, as well.

Advanced Potions first thing in the morning. Since I have to deal with a mixture of Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws, as well as my "bloody brilliant" (note the sarcasm..) Slytherin pals, I need to get some sleep. I still can't believe there were that few Advanced Potions students, that Professor Snape would have to combine all of the houses. But, I will write in you some more tomorrow. I promise.

Pale white hands closed the book, caressing it lovingly. He wondered briefly if he should sign... No, better not. Harder to prove anything, that way. Well, if you didn't count the spells that could show you who's handwriting it was. He reached for his wand, and muttered a multitude of spells under his breath. He barely had time to hide the journal under his pillow before he was asleep, dreaming of feathered quills and jars of ink.