Diary of the Lovelorn

Disclaimer: I do not in anyway, shape or form own the characters in this story. The lovely J.K. Rowling created Potterverse, I merely play with her toys.

I don't know what sort of rationale can come of putting any thoughts to paper. Am I to expect it to ease my mind? Even the most potent of Calming Droughts would fail to calm me in such situations. In fact, I fear that I am only adding to my worries. Merely thinking betrayal in present company is life-threatening. Imagine the leverage they now have over me with written proof of my machinations.

I don't belong here, this isn't my world and it sickens me deeply to think that this sort of life sates anyone. Even the most twisted of minds couldn't be happy here. After all, who could be happy about a Death Eater camp?

So maybe there is some sense to this journal after all. I found that I felt slightly better. Sure, it's incriminating, but being able to think feely to something, even inanimate, makes me feel better. Makes me hope.

Maybe this diary will fall into the right hands and then I can be whisked away on a horse...hell, I'd even settle for a bloody hippogriff right about now.

Yes, may this notebook be my message in a bottle.

The training here is rigorous. I would have never thought I could endure such torments. I guess war brings out the most unusual attributes.

I've never really seen myself as strong. Not when I'm hidden behind the lumbering shadows of Crabbe and Goyle.

Happy Birthday, Draco

This birthday was the first that I didn't spend alone, but also the first where I wasn't lavished in gifts. Today I became 18, and only now do I wish for the past.

Today the training ended, for me at least, because today I became an official Death Eater.

I feel disgusted. I want nothing more then to cut the flesh off my arm and get rid of that hideous black mark scarring up what used to be perfect alabaster.

I wonder if I can get Snape to brew me a strong numbing potion...

Nothing eventful happened to talk about the past week. I've been given the week to rest and I am grateful for it, but it's been dull. However, the Boy-Who-Won't-Die made an appearance. Apparently, he showed up with the whole motley crew. The Weasel and the Mudblood. I don't know what they were doing or what they were after. Father wouldn't say if he knew.

Curiosity peaks and I wonder what Harry is like. It's been a year. I wonder what outright war has done to him.

I suppose time will tell.

I saw Potter for myself today; I'm disgusted and intrigued all at once.

War has done nothing to him physically except make him fill out and into his features. Hair as unkempt as ever, but looking so shiny and touchably soft. Good thing I'm not a raccoon or that surely would have been my death trap. And my god those eyes...Do they have to be so brilliantly green? They're gorgeous, intense and soft, yet mysterious.

It disgusts me that in these times he can become some sort of Adonis, and I'm afraid that's the very thing that intrigues me as well. I've known for quite some time that I've preferred men, but Potter?!

I'm going crazy. I actually dreamt about that raggedly, four-eyed git.

I keep dreaming about him. This morning I actually had to take care of rising issues.

I saw him again, and it was just awkward for me. I became flustered and disoriented, shaming the Malfoy name, I'm sure. Needless to say, it landed me in a helpless situation.

The stupid git bound me with ropes from his wand, rather cool really, I'll have to look that spell up. Then he made me swallow, or choke rather, down a FULL bottle of Veritaserum.

Someone probably won't live the night if Harry uses the information I gave him.

I don't hate him for what he did; even it might cost me my life. Truth be told, I'd probably of told him anyway.

Happy Birthday, Harry.

I don't know what's happened to me the past months. For some reason I can't get Harry out of my head.

We're so close to winning the war.

And by we, I mean the Order. I'm still a Death Eater, still on the wrong side, but I belong over there and at least mentally I can lop myself in with them.

Voldemort is dead, my father and mother are incarcerated at Azkaban. For some reason, I've been let go. I'm told that Harry spoke up for me.

I can't explain the swelling of my heart at that thought.

Oh my god. I feel faint. I saw Harry; I was trying to wheedle an answer out of him about what strings he pulled. He lied; of course, he was always a bad liar. But there was something about him....the way he looked at me...as if he cared for me the way I care for him.

Our arms brushed momentarily before I left, but that was all I needed to feel the tingling shock that coursed my veins.

Perhaps there is hope.

HE'S MARRYING THE SHE-WEASEL! HOW COULD HE DO THIS?!?!?!?

How typical, getting married at the stroke of midnight so that you're "sort of" married not only on two different days, but two different years. As if confusion about your anniversary date is sexy or romantic.

I can't do this. Harry pulled that "You're one of my best mates, Draco" bit. I don't want to settle for that. I can't. I won't. It hurts, I feel like I'm enduring a crucio that's been put on repeat.

She's pregnant. After getting sick in the toilet, I decided that I just have to get away; I'm leaving for France tonight.

I can't believe I found this old thing. For the past two birthdays I've been alone. I'm not sure if I could bear another.

Harry birthday, Harry.

I love you.

Harry stared at the last entry of Draco's journal through a blur of salty tears. The last entry was splashed in what must have been dried blood. His dried blood.

Draco had committed suicide that night by muggle means of slashing the wrists and succeeded. There was no one there to find him in time....there was no one there for him.

It might have been one thing if Draco were the only one that had loved and lost, but he wasn't.

This was nothing more then another tragic story of not speaking your feelings soon enough. It was classic. And only one thing would do it justice.

"I'm so sorry, Draco. I had no idea. I was running to Ginny to try and mask my feelings. I didn't want to be rejected."

The only thing that would explain the sudden suicide of Harry Potter would be a rather worn diary, splattered in the blood of two lovers.

I'm so sorry, Draco.

I love you too. I'll be with you soon.

I promise.

Harry Malfoy