Draco's Diary (It's Secret, Ya Know)

Sixth Entry: September 4^th (Night)

Wrote to father last night re: Dumbledore's hallucinogen-induced speech about soggy potato chips and the such.

First thing this morning I received a very cagey response.

Draco,

I am a reformed Death Eater, not a frickin' super analyst! Dumbledore has clearly gone stark, raving mad.

And as to all those signs? They don't mean anything: nope, nothing at all, no, naught, nada, pas de meaning!!

Now, stop being a fathead and let me return to making gift baskets for less financially endowed wizards!

Hugs and kisses, sweetie, lots of love from,

Daddy.

P.S. Tell your little friend Ron to expect a package!

So, no information there. It's quite surprising actually, as normally father is not above spilling the beans, just as grass is not above the clouds.

Speaking of not spilling beans, I collared Ginny Weasley in the corridor today and begged her to stop sending me Whiners.

Honestly, the girl is slipperier than a Grindylow in a jar of Vaseline!

She said she didn't know what I was talking about, and when I pressed her further (which is something that both girls and guys like!) she hit me with a hex that had me talking like a Viennese choirboy for hours afterward.

Snape was most miffed by this; said I was trying to be the feminine one in the relationship, and has "dumped" me.

THANK YOU, SWEET GOD/GODDESS/DEMI-GOD/WHATEVER THAT HAS ANSWERED MY PRAYERS!!

Prior to this declaration, he had been making *pukes loudly* come-hither eyes at me all the way through Potions, staring affectedly at me through the shimmering haze of fog wafting above the cauldrons.

He toyed with his wand for a while and marvelled at my diabolical good looks, while I eyed all possible exits.

He realised this, and I'm positive he blew a kiss at me.

He purred, 'Cease your eyeing of all possible exits, Mr. Malfoy.'

I smirked and suggested, 'Cease toying with your wand and marvelling at my diabolical good looks, Professor Snape.'

He dropped his wand in amazement and had to crawl beneath the desks to retrieve it.

He tried to grab a feel as he crept past me, but fortunately for me he squeezed Pansy Parkinson's rear end (although it's quite disturbing that he took her lardy arse to be mine...) and is now facing a tribunal.

Speaking of Parkinson, she was sentenced to a fortnight's hard labour doing my homework, and giving Crabbe and Goyle pedicures.

Snape gave me detention for my cheek, or more accurately in my opinion, his embarrassment at having grabbed someone else's cheeks other than mine.

Stupid Snape.

I have to clean up the 1^st Years' dirty cauldrons...by hand!

I'm betting it's just an excuse to get me all wet and lathered up.

So, I traipsed into the Great Hall at lunchtime, much incensed and taking it out on others with random kicks to groins and breadbaskets. I paused only once, and that was to swipe some sweets from a couple of first year Hufflepuff girls.

They burst into tears and I soon returned the candies...but not out of the goodness of my heart, mind you (that's a good one) but because they emitted an aroma concurrent with the finding of cheese that has long since gone to it's reward.

Dumbledore got to his feet after a while to a chorus of groans and cries of 'Crackpot!' and from our table, a shower of Cockroach Clusters.

He said more about our impending doom, but then said he knew exactly who was behind it all.

'And,' he boomed, 'the perpetrator is...'

Drum roll, please, maestro...

'Voldemort!' I yelled. 'But I'm just guessing.'

A ripple of laughter swept around the room like a Mexican Wave.

Dumbledore's wrinkled old face fell, and carried on regardless. 'Voldemort!' he bellowed.

Oh, recoil in horror, scream in terror, run for cover, hide behind hands...

Honestly, he goes on about Voldemort crafting our doom so often that it's lost all meaning.

'We shall have to act swiftly,' Dumbledore said sternly, eyeballing me like a lioness that has spotted lunch, or at least like a fat man watching a cream cake.

'And, I shall send someone to face Voldemort, and thus (HOPEFULLY) vanquish him forever!'

We all noted the whispered "hopefully".

'And that person is...' Dumbledore intoned.

I rolled my eyes, and yelled, 'HARRY POTTER! But I'm just guessing.'

My words echoed around me, and I realised that Granger, Weasley, Potter, Blaise, Ginny Weasley and Pansy Parkinson had yelled out the exact same words.

Dumbledore turned to me with a manic grin. 'You didn't let me finish, Mr. Malfoy. I was about to say that whoever interrupted me again would be going to face Voldemort alone. Although, it now looks to me as if you and Miss Granger, Master Weasley, Master Potter, Miss Zabini, Miss Parkinson and Miss Weasley will all die...I mean, vanquish together.'

Horrified silence greeted this announcement, broken only by Granger's hysterical sobs.

'I was going to refuse Harry, Hermione and Ron permission to battle Voldemort this year. It has become decidedly boring that they always save us. I thought a bit of variety would spice things up a bit.'

Potter and Weasley burst into tears at this.

Didn't realise that being Dumbledore's favourite boys meant so much to those two.

'I,' Dumbledore began, 'am forcing the seven of you to tackle the wizard that countless older, more experienced and doubtless more gifted witches and wizards have died trying to defeat! I'm sure, however, that you will do a stellar job and at least have your bodies returned to us, hopefully intact, for a proper burial!'

My fan club wailed, and Ron Weasley fainted.

That boy is such a bitch it's not funny.

'Oh, my God!' Snape sobbed into a second year's shoulder, 'Draco's gonna DIE!'

Dumbledore cried out, 'But wait! There is still hope! For within my hat...is a prophecy!'

And I wondered...if within his skull there is a brain?

He emptied the contents of his hat on the High Table.

It contained, amongst other oddities, a pair of fluffy handcuffs, the Holy Grail, the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, a jade statue of Buddha, a chipped mug saying "Hello From Fuerteventura!", the original Koran, a glass slipper, a chunk of the true cross and a signed copy of Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.

Dumbledore yelled 'AHA!' and seized a chunk of paper from the pile.

'I wondered where this gum had gone!' he crowed with delight, and happily chewed away.

He glanced casually at the wrapper, and said, 'Yes! This is it! The prophecy that emerged from the fabled Fortune Cookie of Truth! It has foretold the outcome of your quest, amongst other events, including the successful arrival of the Titanic in New York, the lucrative resurrection of Victoria Beckham's career and my analyst being paid!'

I was rapidly worried at this stage.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and intoned:

Your journey is long and hard.

You bear the burden of the future of the wizarding world on your shoulders.

Your enemies are powerful and merciless.

You have much to fear.

You leave at dawn.

Dumbledore smiled and said, 'Well, while they go and pack, how about we have a wake...I mean, a party for the definite passing...I mean, definite victory OF VOLDEMORT OVER our gallant heroes!'

He clapped his hands and a feast materialised before us.

I didn't feel like eating.

I wanted to whimper in some remote corner, clutching my bear until mummy comes over and offers me some cocoa and a cuddle.

'YAY!' Potter cried. 'We're going off on a hopeless quest!'

Granger and Miss Weasley yelled similar things.

I looked at it in a different light then.

Me, Ginny, Blaise and Granger off on a dangerous quest...with only Potter, Weasley and Parkinson on the sidelines...

Perhaps I should consider a career as a professional hero!

Give Potter some competition, what?

Sleep with lots of beautiful girls because we're only going to die in the morning, eh?

'I can't wait!' the male Weasley added, looking me up and down with what appeared to be lust.

Wait, let's back up. Of course it was lust.

Hang on...what if he...sent...

Nah.

Fate wouldn't be that cruel, would it?

Would it?

Although...from a certain angle, and in a particular kind of light, Ronald Weasley is not unattractive. (The angle being looking the opposite way, and the light being absent. Beauty is only a light switch away, that's father's motto!)

Oh, man...what's father going to say about this?

And mother?

And my shrink?

It's only a quest, though, right?

It can't kill me, right?

Right?

Ah, Goyle's calling. I hope he has some of those melt-in-the-brain candies, because I desperately need solace. Preferably in the arms of a beautiful woman, mind you, but you use what you have.

And what I have is a few ounces of weed.

SCORE!

Tinkerty-Tonk,

Draco the Long-Suffering, but still Deliciously Gorgeous.

P.S. I have often wondered where I picked up that phrase, "Tinkerty-Tonk"...
I think it is some upper-class way of saying goodbye, but I'm not sure.
Father always uses it...*shrugs* it beats me, anyway.
Goodnight!