The Extremely Secret Secrets of a Malfoy

Dear diary,

I'm writing a diary because the summer holiday is really, really, really, really, really boring. And I can't think of anything else to do. Except I've just thought of a problem with this pathetic occupation - I won't have anything to write in it because nothing ever happens. My holiday is one big yawn. It always is. We used to go on holiday to one of our holiday homes, but even that's boring, I just get to be bored in the sun. But of course, now even that's not going to happen. Last year it didn't happen, because of Fathers' Death Eater meetings and such (Bugger not putting anything down on paper, what does it matter now?), and the year before was the Quidditch World Cup, and you'd have to be mad to miss that. And this year, daddy's in Azkaban, tra la la, isn't that good. No holiday. No nothing. And Potter will die for it. Hopefully by my hands, though I won't get too optimistic. Dad or the Dark Lord will probably get there first.

Actually, it's not too bad not having Father in the house. At least there's no one hitting me over the head and calling me an idiot, not that I minded particularly. You sort of shut off the constant criticism. I've heard it all before - your grades are useless...I didn't invest all that money in the Quidditch team so you could lose every time... you're a disgrace to the name Malfoy...your big mouth will get us all into trouble, so keep it shut! Yawn, yawn, yawn. I try bloody hard and he never changes his speeches, so I've realised this summer it's not worth it to bother. Anyhow, doesn't matter now, does it?

Mum has been seriously stressed, they want to freeze dad's assets, and take all our money, and we are suddenly public enemies, and things are generally not too good. Potter's fault. He is truly the bane of my existence; I can't wait 'til he dies, which will most likely be sooner rather than later. Oh, god he's an arsehole. Perfect Potter, Dumbledore's golden boy, Harry I-conquered-the-Dark-Lord-worship-me Potter. He didn't do a great job though, did he? Oh, it's been so funny, everyone thinking he was mad. Publicity not so good now, is it, Potty? The Daily Prophet is truly the best paper. Except now they've gone back to calling him a tragically misunderstood hero again. I bet he's loving that. At least now they're having a go at Fudge, which is mildly amusing to watch. The stupid idiot, I never did like him. He ruffled my hair, for god's sake! Do I look like a three-year-old? Not to mention the fact it was perfectly done until then. Mind you, I hope he stays in office, father always considered him to be the Dark Lord's greatest weapon. Stupid twerp. Oh, look, it's lunchtime. Probably the most interesting part of the day, which is ironic, as I don't ever eat much. Will write later. If I can get over the general lethargy of living.

Mother glaring at me all lunch. Hideous and scary, since I'm used to her simpering and giggling at Fudge or various other important ministry officials, or sneering and looking disdainfully down her nose at poor people and mudbloods. Or being sickmakingly adoring, and doing my hair and fussing with my robes and being creepy and motherly. Maybe I told her to cut it out and stop being pathetic a bit too much. I suppose I didn't mind it too much. Am generally feeling v. depressed and not really up to making grammatically correct and coherent sentences. Hell, I can't even spell grammatically correct. I have one of those self-correcting quills, but it corrected me as 'grandma tickly cornet'. I found this oddly hysterical and spent ten minutes laughing maniacally until I realised that I might be insane. Perhaps I'm going madder than Potter is. Or perhaps I'm being driven up the wall by this ridiculously dreary, tedious, depressing, vacuous, everlasting, monotonous, well - you get the picture. This is the picture, in case you don't get it:

I AM B-O-R-E-D.

Why the hell are there no Slytherins living in Wiltshire? I need the servants to have children, so I can play with them and force them to like me and tidy my room and be my slaves. Perhaps I should ask Father to buy me a slave child... oh, hang on; no I can't, because he's in Azkaban. Damn. Yawn...I might go to bed early. Or shut a house elf's ears in my bedroom door. But even that's lost its appeal. It used to be my favourite pastime. The squeals generally shut out Father's voice...yawn, yawn, yawn. I can't even do my homework. I've finished it. Oh well, sleep it is. Though I might have to nick mothers sleeping potions. Ha! She thinks I don't know...

Dear diary,

It is...Day number eight of the summer holidays in purgatory. It's funny, that, I always thought I'd go to hell straight away, and get the Devil to put me into a nice position of authority, like Lieutenant Demon. Hell sounds cool - heavy metal bands and Barney the Dinosaur. Oh, and burning effigies of Potter, essence of all things good and righteous that he is. Cue the puking sound effects. And on the subject of good and evil and which one rocks - consider heaven? Fluffy bunnies and flowers and nice little children, and a Dumbledore-like figure in white robes smiling at all his prize golden boys, and - and Weasleys. And Gryffindors. And - oh, no, the horror of it, I cannot utter the name...they are the Malfoy definition of evil - Hufflepuffs. I shudder at the thought. Yuck, yuck, yuck. Anyhow, I don't know why I'm saying this, since I don't actually believe in any of it.

Oh, incidentally...

Malfoy Definition of a Hufflepuff: any person (usually with a stupid name) who is deemed insane, clinically or by a qualified Malfoy, and shows signs of imbecilic tendencies, extreme incompetence and headlice/fleas/bad taste in fashion. Often pompous or self-important. Oh, and if they have pigtails, they're a Hufflepuff. Without question. Trust me, I have put this theory to the other Slytherins, and they all agree. For example:

Ernie Macmillan: what kind of a name is Ernie? And he likes Potter, which makes him mad, as deemed by a qualified Malfoy (myself). Um, imbecilic tendencies...well, we couldn't think of any examples, but he is generally an idiot - like I said, he likes Potter. Incompetence? Check, there for sure. He is Fudge at age sixteen. Fleas or bad fashion choices? Hmm...well, I once saw him with pink fluffy earmuffs on, I think that says it all. Oh, and as for pompousness: Is the sky blue? Is Granger a jumped up know-it-all?

Oh, this is fun, I'll have to do one more person...

Hannah Abbot: Pigtails. I could go on, but I think that's pretty conclusive.

Cedric Diggory: silly name, once again. Cedric? Cedric? And I say he was insane to enter into a deadly (literally, for him) tournament where you could be burnt, drowned or mauled by a Blast-Ended Screwt. Imbecilic tendencies - he was nice to Potter and, well, quite disregarding the fact that Potter is a self-righteous arrogant little pig, that has got to be pretty stupid. You were opponents! Rivals! Enemies! Incompetence - well, he was not particularly, but he did manage to set his head on fire. Pompousness - well, he made a fuss of being a good sport and all that, and was generally rather full of himself. I didn't really like him much, but better him than Potter. And I swear he had headlice. Or dandruff, either way...

Hmm, I love being bitchy. How about people who should be Hufflepuffs, and aren't?

Ron Weasley: Well, Ronald is a stupid name (and he laughed at my name!). And Weasley is a stupid name too, so the potential is there... and he must be mad to like Potter and Granger. Not to mention that madness runs in the family anyway, look at his father. Imbecilic tendencies- oh, hang on, he is one big imbecile. And incompetent, look at his Quidditch skills. Oh, and he's flea bitten, lice riddled and has no taste! (Frilly cuffs? I ask you? Perhaps he's a closet gay... Not that I want to contemplate Weasley's sexuality, it's bad enough watching him fawning round Granger) Pompousness - well, that runs in his family too, look at Percy Weasley. For god's sake, he is Helga Hufflepuff's descendant! He is the definition of a Hufflepuff! He is the personification of that accursed word! Oh, the Hat made a grievous mistake.

How about the rest of Potter's friends... ooh, I know...

Neville Longbottom: I don't think it needs to be said that he has a stupid name. And his stupidity and incompetence are pretty obvious too. And, well, he might as well be Weasley's brother. The personification of the word Hufflepuff, once again.

Rubeus Hagrid: oh, he had to be in Hufflepuff. Stupid name, mad enough to like deadly dangerous monsters, generally very stupid, an incompetent teacher, flea bitten from that stupid dog and has no taste for clothes (and here come our model, Hagrid the Half-giant! Today he's sporting the best in, er...hairy brown suits. Yeah.) And I saw him after an apparent attempt to put bunches in his hair. I shall have to make a point of finding out which house he was in. If he wasn't in Hufflepuff, I'll sleep with a Blast-Ended Screwt.

Oh, if the sorting hat had put me in Hufflepuff...mind you, the other houses aren't great.

Malfoy Definition of a Ravenclaw: Know-it-alls. Generally sharp, facetious and viciously satirical, nearly always picky and pedantic and usually bossy. To be found in libraries, bookshops, extra-curricular classes and anywhere academic. Think they are far superior to everyone because of their dazzling intellect.

If Granger does not fit this description, I am a Blast-Ended Screwt. Stuck up smart-ass mudblood. What the hell is this hat doing wrong?

Malfoy Definition of a Gryffindor: anyone who has an obsession with morals to the point of disregarding rational thought and practicality. These people are impulsive, rash, and never see the sense in making plans or having back up. Have no comprehension of playing dirty, even if it is a life-or-death situation. In fact, they seem to be totally lacking in any kind of survival instinct. They glory in people's (usually Hufflepuffs') hero worship, thinking that being incapable of recognising a dangerous situation they'd do better to avoid makes them special. They also tend to be very susceptible to ideas such as love, friendship, trust, honour, chivalry, and fair treatment of inferior beings such as mudbloods and house elves.

Idiots. They...are...inferior! It doesn't matter how you treat them, as they are not actually worth anything. Um - Duh, I think is the phrase.

Well, I think the hat at least put Potter in the right place. I can't think of a better description of him, apart from arrogant and attention seeking. And a stupid little git - no, worse word than that - a stupid little... bastard? Nope, not offensive enough...um... nope, that one isn't bad enough either...nor that one...or that...argh, even the strongest swear words I know can't express it! I shall have to make up a new word for his nastiness. Only I can't think of anything appropriate, and people might start looking at me funny if I go round calling people nonsense words. Which would be quite funny to watch their expressions as they pretended to know what it meant. Oh, that's it, I'm going to try that at school...but it's got to be a word that sounds real...like shampestering or ignoropanous. Oh, isn't that Potter kid so ignoropanous? Yeah, that sounds real. That is my new word. And if anyone asks what it means I can say oh, you know, shampestering, obnorable, that kind of thing. Surely everyone knows that! I can't wait to see Crabbe and Goyle's faces. They have enough trouble with 'immature' and 'comprehension' and 'drivel'. Oh, that is going to be so fun. Anyway, now I have ranted about the uselessness of our schools houses, and plotted my latest scheme in making people feel stupid and inadequate (which they are) I think I will go outside and see the light of day. I haven't been out much; it's been far too warm and sunny.

Dear diary,

Day nine in purgatory...

Am fed up. Have done nothing all day except hex flies. I have a pile of about twenty here, gross, I know. I'm BORED, BORED, BORED, BORED, BORED, BORED, BORED, BORED, BORED, BORED, BORED, BORED, BORED, BORED, BORED, BORED, BORED.

I just realised I haven't written the Malfoy description of a Slytherin. Well, I shall. But I think I should rename it...

The Correct Definition of a Slytherin: Decisive, they know exactly what they want and know how to engineer things so they get it, resourceful, inventive and creative, not so obsessed with honour that they can never get through a door without offering the three million females behind them through first, not so stupid as to refuse a good deal of any kind because of impractical and useless "Principles", smart, (mostly - Crabbe and Goyle are exceptions), cunning, wily, devious, sharp, crafty and generally underhand. (Nothing wrong with twisting the rules a little bit, is there?) And Slytherins actually make plans instead of jumping in headfirst and getting themselves killed. (Not naming names, I can think of a few people who should bear that in mind sometimes, cough Potter cough).

I think I fit that perfectly. Time for lunch...

Mother was talking about going to live with her sister at lunch. Which is a terrifying thought, because unless she means Bellatrix, which I seriously doubt since she's on the run, we would be living in the house of a mudblood, a blood traitor and their spawn. God, that's only just sunk in. I think I better ask her what the hell she's thinking...

She was (thank god!) being melodramatic, saying that's what we may be reduced to. I hope not. I have never seen my aunt, and I've only seen my mother's niece, my cousin, once. She had curly pink hair. That's all I can remember.

Mother did say that she wanted to move out, but she got fed up with my questions and told me to shut up. She doesn't usually do that. She usually listens and agrees with whatever I say. God, this is crap. I want some slave children to play with. Why don't the servants have children? We have a butler, as a treat, it's nice to have a few human servants. We have ten house-elves, too. But mum was talking about dismissing him, the butler, that is, as a waste of money. She never did approve.

I've never seen Mum like this. She used to prattle on about who did what today and so-and-so's affair with what's-his-name, and fuss over me, but now all she does is glare and snap and tell me to stop bothering her, and I've seen her crying though she thinks I haven't. So now I'm sitting in my study writing in this stupid diary I got for Christmas. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why is my life so crap?

I think I need some fresh air. Will probably write more tomorrow, if I can be bothered. I'm approaching total apathy, and I may just sit here forever not caring about life but not really having the motivation to end it, if I don't get up now. Mind you, if I move, I'll start pacing the room and getting a headache and generally getting very cross at the world for leaving me here all alone for six weeks and kicking things and messing up my room then calling a house elf and watching them in amusement as they try to tidy my room as quickly as possible before I get bored and throw them out. It's always the same. Either I do all that or stare at the ceiling for hours on end. God, this is crap...

Will write more!

Nighty night...