The Diary of Draco Malfoy

The Diary of Draco Malfoy: Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy and other characters property of JK Rowling. Ethan Zohn and Brandon Quinton considered property of Mark Burnett and their mothers.

A/N: Sorry if it took long! I had writer's block, too much homework, and I needed a vacation from both. If only I had a laptop...

December 10

Since I am nearing the official marriageable age of 14 and a month ( the church likes it approximate ), many are flocking to Northern England to offer their daughters' hands to me, not to mention large dowries to my parents.

I asked, Shouldn't I be the one who finds the lass and gives the dowry?

Father replied, My son, where else could they find a rich, handsome and intelligent man like you?

I must admit, point well said. We Malfoys do have a knack of delivery.

Nevertheless, the indignation. The outrage.

How could you think of selling me like a mere lass?!! I bellowed.

And so, The Whip, is brought out.

Whack! Whack!

Great, now I have the whole alphabet on my arse. Sure makes remembering them easier.

One rule, Draco, he said, before locking me in my chamber for the night. " Complain, whip. No complain, no whip. "

His sentence structure astounds me.

December 11

Lavender, along with her owners, as I like to call them, arrived early this afternoon, begging again for my approval and virginity.

She had only rose petals to cover her swollen breasts. She must think she looks very sweet.

Biases aside, I thought it to be the most revolting thing I have ever seen.

That is, until I saw her fanny.

Saints preserve us.

December 12

Johanna of Mayfair arrived with expensive gifts and a dowry to match Lavender's.

John of Mayfair, I believe, is a more appropriate term, for my, oh my, what muscles to flex. Sir Good Body would be terrified.

Besides that, I reckon I could very well shove Nielsen into her deep nostrils.

Her sense of smell must be excellent.

Father doesn't like her, and neither do I. Lavender is still in the running.

December 13

In comes Emma of Middlesex. Her father is Chancellor of Exchequer, who is by far considered as one of the many royalties in England. She is plain but presentable, has good table manners, and puts on marvelous clothes. Uncle Brandon is itching to buy her fur cloak.

One small predicament, though. They want US to pay the dowry.

He is the rare find, father said, and not her. Good day, Sir Robert, and also to you, Miss Emma.

They left hurriedly with scorns on their faces and with Uncle Brandon running after them.

Though all is lost and mores the self-pity, I sincerely hope he catches up with the carriage, for Emma's cute velvet sou'wester is just too wonderful for words.

December 14

Diana of Castile was the perfect bride-to-be with six thousand galleons. I was overjoyed, until we found out she is a cousin of mine.

Why haven't I thought of that?

The Archbishop of Canterbury, who is strongly against marrying relations, would be aghast, therefore making Lavender win by default.

We are to marry Christmas morning, and then head to Cumberland where we shall first rule together as lord and lady.

Lavender was in tears.

So was I.

December 15

Our wedding robes are of lavender (ugh ) and silver. I tried to sell the idea of black and red, but of to no avail. They said they don't want to summon the devils during our wedding day.

...that was the idea.

Uncle Brandon walked past me and laughed.

You... look... like a fluffy bunny, he chortled.

Why, thanks very much. You look great, too.

Anyways, Lavender is disgusted with my seaweed pie, and threw it outside without my permission.

She impolitely ordered Stalin to bake a crème-filled one. It screams of saturated fat.

As if that's not bad enough. For the wedding cake, I wanted German chocolate. But nooooo, she wants sugar frosted. Let's just hope her throat bleeds severely and sucks the life out of her.

The dance. She kept on insisting "Danse au lutin". I said I don't give a damn.

Whack!

My bum. My precious bum.

December 16

Harry just found out what happened. He is outraged as well. Too outraged, as a matter of fact.

" You can't let them do this to you!"

He almost mauled Lavender with his penknife. I, being of good moral conduct, tried to stop him.

A little.

" I'll think of something. Don't worry, that walking scandal shall not prevail! " he shouted, before slamming the front door on Camilla's nose.

Good boy.

December 17

Harry gathered all the lads into my sleeping chamber to discuss the situation.

They care. They truly care. Benjamin, kindly hand me some cloth to wipe my blurry eyes.

Anyhow, they unanimously suggested that I declare myself a shifter.

A shifter declaration. Such an impressive idea, dignity aside. Knowing them, I sort of thought they would be giving me a Westminster application.

Or at least, some crazy idea like smuggling me into a gypsy caravan, where I shall dance with tambourines strapped on my feet for eternity.

Damn it! Those childhood fantasies keep getting in the way!

Anyways, I better start practicing my line.

" Father, mother, if you really love me, then you have to accept me for who I am! "

I'm a born thespian, Benjamin. The theatre awaits me as much as St. Mungo's. I wonder if they fancy insane artistes?

Wait a cotton picking minute. Something is wrong.

The lads decided a little too fast. Neville even looked as if he doesn't know what he's talking about, for goodness sakes.

Harry didn't tell them to suggest the shifter declaration, did he?

I wish!

...whoops, that slipped.

Judging on what I have been thinking about these past few weeks, I reckon that my masculinity is dwindling by a thread, and my gender preference swinging on a balance.

December 18

I asked Harry if he trained the lads to suggest the idea.

" What idea? "

Don't play dumb, I snorted.

" Well, I did mention it once, but..."

I told him I wanted a direct answer.

"Are you a shifter and do you like me?"

His answer?

" Yes and yes? "

Oh lord. Here we go.