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

19^th Entry: September 14^th (Or thereabouts. I think I've lost count. There's a Christmas tree in here.)

Today has been inexplicably strange.

Firstly, Potter stole my diary, and got to the flyleaf (which read: DRACO'S DIARY (IT'S SECRET, YA KNOW, SO STAY THE F**K OUT!) before I beat seven shades of crap out of him.

He muttered darkly about me being warped through a fat lip, until I raised my fist threateningly and shut him up.

Then, Pansy declared that she no longer fancied me!

This is a horrible turn of events, as I had pencilled her in on my 'TO DO' list!

*Chuckles softly* And still, it's funny!

I was most miffed, because none of the girls were succumbing to my roguish charms.

'Hermione!' I called.

'What?' said she.

'Come over here and rub my arse, it's sore,' I pleaded.

'What, with sandpaper?' she scoffed, and flounced off.

I was incredibly pissed off. Although, it must be admitted that my request was rather crude. I had no idea that girls were offended by such forward stuff...I shall have to remember this.

And to top off the day, we met Bob.

Yes, that's right, the Fifth Horseman of the Apocalypse.

The one who left before they got famous.

We were pressing deeper (*chuckles dirtily*) into this weird cave thing, fully expecting Voldemort to jump out and Avada Kedavra us to death, when we came across a gingerbread house, with a middle-aged fatbag resting outside in a deckchair, burping and scratching and farting and grunting at his TV, generally all at once, and in a most alarming manner.

There was some weird TV programme playing.

At least, I've never heard of it. It involved an angel and a kid in a compromising situation, with a highly angry, shotgun-wielding father.

Possibly a made-for-TV movie, even more possibly for RTÉ in Ireland, or some backwater rural American province ...or even for the BBC, they do this kind of sentimental hogwash. Mother watches them in the afternoons, calls them soap operas. Sounds like the kind of tripe they'd broadcast during the day.

Anyways, it sounded something like this...

Voiceover: And now, back to Touched By An Angel

Father: Where'd that angel touch you?!

Kid: Here!

Angel: Ah, for Christ's sake! Who are you going to believe here? I have a HALO!

Sounds remarkable.

That is, the kind of remarks you pass while reading The Daily Prophet.

Remarks like, 'Jebus, there's nothing gonna shock me any more!' and 'I agree completely. Those bat-worshipping cults are getting weirder!' and even, 'I had no idea you could do that with an onion...'

'What's with the gingerbread house, fatty?' Lupin asked blithely, leaping into the old guy's lap and cuddling against him.

Yeah, remember how I said Lupin was cool?

Well, he's not cool any more.

Now he's just weird!

'Well?' Lupin demanded, shaking the guy by his ears.

'I lure kids into it,' the fatbag replied.

We all took a few paces backwards.

'You think I'm weird, don't you?' the rotund one asked.

'No, no!' Hermione lied.

'You'll just have to forgive us while we back away to what we deem to be a safe distance,' Potter finished lamely.

Thanks to Potter, I have a pair of Bridget Jones-style knickers on my head and I am trussed up on a spit, waiting to be roasted. (By the way, I'm writing this with my teeth. Quite an achievement, really, go me!)

The hot girls are tied up in a pot, while Bob is chopping up some carrots and onions to go with them.

And joy of joys, Potter and Pansy are being fattened up for the slaughter in a cramped cage in the corner!

The whole fact that I am going to be eaten as the main course does not perturb me.

As long as my body is found at least two metres away from Potter, I will die a happy, happy man.

But where's that scraggly wolf Lupin!? He's the arse who got us into this damnable mess! I swear, if I ever make it out of here alive I will kick him soundly in the teeth.

Tinkerty-Tonk,

Draco the Trussed-up (and not in a good way!)