The Secret Diary of Lucius Malfoy

Sunday 28^th March, 1995-

Quite an alarming day. This damned tattoo that the Dark Lord insisted that all we Death-Eaters get has been burning all afternoon. Bella has been sending that useless woman my darling wife letters, ranting and raving about how this irritation somehow signals 'the Dark Lord's return' and 'the second rise of evil'. Bella can be so tedious when she gets herself worked up. I have, despite Narcissa's protestations, burned the letters. I am sure that this searing, scorching pain is no more than an infection of some kind, and that it is only a coincidence that it seems to be affecting all us former Death-Eaters at once.

Friday 4^th June 1995-

Bloody tattoo! One of my 'night-time visitors' asked me at a very crucial moment why I kept on wincing and gripping my arm. When I told her to get on her back and to stop asking damned foolish questions she got unreasonably angry, grabbed her clothes and walked out, making ridiculous declarations such as 'I am my own person', and 'I don't deserve to be treated like this'. Stupid girl.

If this tattoo is going to prevent me from getting laid then I really should consider Muggle laser surgery.

Thursday 24^th June 1995-

Bugger. Bugger Bugger BUGGER!

The tattoo has actually burned black. It seems that Bella is not, in fact, completely mad but was telling the truth after all. *Sigh*. I'm going to have to dig out those damn ugly robes again. I have a face that reduces grown women to steaming puddles on the floor, and yet I am forced to cover it up with a hideous, ridiculous mask. Some might call the concealment of this visage a crime against humanity. I would certainly subscribe to that view.

Friday 25^th June 1995-

Oh, how art the mighty fallen. The Dark Lord's plan to kill off 'The Boy Who Lived to Vex Me' went horribly awry when a small army of ghosts seemed to jump out of the end of his wand. Sometimes I do wonder why I choose to dedicate my life to a man who can't even dispose of a teenage boy.

The Dark Lord was practically spitting blood once Potter had managed to escape. I had to find him some muggles to maim, torture and murder in order to calm him down.

Saturday 3^rd July 1995-

That worthless son of mine has returned home to ruin my summer yet again. He's full of excitement about the Dark Lord's return. He's being most indiscreet. I wouldn't be surprised if he made up badges reading 'My father's a fully paid up Death-Eater - arrest him at your own convenience'.

Draco asked me if he might have his 'girlfriend' over for dinner next Wednesday. I was ready to refuse, but Narcissa started to witter on about how 'sweet' it would be.

Sweet. Yes. Three hours of my life, wasted. Three hours of putting up with my idiotic son and his dippy girlfriend making eyes at each other at the dinner table, putting me off my food. Puppy love is unbearable in any situation, but even more so when played out over a soup course. Sweet. Hah!

Wednesday 7^th July 1995-

A truly horrific evening.

When Draco's 'girlfriend' arrived for dinner, I was surprised to note that she was actually rather pretty. Patsy, I think her name was. Or was it Pansy? Anyway, I spent the entire dinner listening attentively to her quite frankly boring conversation, laughing at her jokes and continually plying her with wine, reminding myself that the end justifies the means.

When dinner had finished, the four of us retired to the parlour for coffee and mints, and she mentioned a certain book she has a wish to read. I informed her that I have the book in my library, and I offered to escort her there to show it to her. Once we were safely away from my wife and son, I decided to make my play. She declined my advances, however, squealing 'But you're so old, Mr. Malfoy.'

Old? Me? I'm forty... one. Anyway, the choosy little bitch was lucky to receive my attention. Such was my indignation that I momentarily froze, allowing her to make her escape. It was fortunate for her that she managed to get away, for nobody - nobody refuses a Malfoy.

Thursday 8^th July 1995-

Is that a grey hair?

Friday 9^th July 1995-

Having wasted an entire day in front of the mirror, looking closely for wrinkles, I have decided to abandon this absurd notion that I might be advancing in years.

Old? Pah!

Monday 16^th August 1995-

Another Death-Eaters' meeting today. All we seem to do these days is sit around, talking about 'the second war' and playing cards. It's so tedious. Nothing exciting or even the tiniest bit evil is happening.

As the evening wore on, Macnair 'suggested' that we pass the time by playing spin the bottle. I found myself bullied into going along with it. The situation was made all the worse when I was forced to kiss Macnair, as the 'ladies' playing with us suggested that my initial refusal meant I was 'uncomfortable with my sexuality.'

Stupid, childish game. I'm going to have nightmares about Macnair's moustache for weeks.

Wednesday 1^st September 1995-

Draco has finally gone back to school. I am most pleased - I had grown heartily sick of the brat hanging around, making the mansion look untidy. Narcissa performed her usual irritating ritual of crying her eyes out as our son got on to the train. I, on the other hand, performed my own usual ritual of secretly offering to pay him 100 Galleons in return for his not contacting us over the year. He, as usual, pretended to be distressed, but I know it to be a charade. If he is my son in any way, he will know that money is a wonderful substitute for affection. Did not my father teach me the exact same principle?

Thursday 10^th October 1995-

Why oh why did I ever choose to become a Death-Eater? Absolutely nothing is happening - I expected to be murdering, raping and pillaging by now, and instead all I have to do is listen to the Dark Lord's ramblings about a 'prophecy'.

Macnair keeps on sidling up to me, no doubt wanting a repeat performance of the other night. I had to Crucio him in the end out of sheer annoyance.

Tuesday 29^th October 1995-

Voldemort has asked me to attempt to get hold of a prophecy made about him and Potter. Apparently, the record of it is kept in the Department of Mysteries. When I pointed out to him that to pick it up would result in my going insane, he simply looked at me and said 'Why, so it would.'

If he expects me to give up my sanity just so that he can take over the world, he's got another thing coming. No, I shall just have to come up with something good. Something worthy of a Malfoy.

Friday 8^th November 1995-

Bumped into Fudge today at the ministry. Stupid old fool - it takes all of my patience to put up with him for more than two minutes. He introduced me to a man named Bode, who has some kind of job in the Department of Mysteries. Boring man, smelt a bit like cabbage. Honestly, the people I have to deal with...

Hang on... I think I may have a plan!

Monday 2^nd December 1995-

Followed Bode down into the Department of Mysteries today, and then cast the Imperius curse on him from behind. I watched from the shadows as he tried to pick up the prophecy, but as soon as he touched it he let go and fell to the floor, quacking and shouting something about his head being on back to front.

Damn stupid security measures, I don't have the time or the patience for this.

Friday 20^th December 1995-

That dim-witted boy My son returned home for Christmas today, but to be honest I barely noticed as I was still celebrating the fact that Arthur Weasley has been severely wounded while guarding the prophecies at the Ministry. Unfortunately he was not killed in the process, though I am sure that his being there after hours will result in his sacking. Perhaps I should post Fudge a Christmas hamper, and pin a note to the boiled ham hinting that there will be much more where that came from were he to deprive Weasley of his office.

By Merlin, it's so much fun being evil!

Tuesday 24^th December 1995-

There are so many presents for Draco and Narcissa under the small forest I call a Christmas tree in our Great Hall that I'm actually surprised at just how wealthy I remain. Whoever said money can't buy love? Those two drooling idiots would die for me, I am sure, and all I have to do is send the house-elves out with a shopping list and bags full of cash.

My Christmas cheer has been dampened, however, by the means I have had to use to dispose of Bode. I had it all worked out - Macnair was to go down to St. Mungo's dressed as an old crone and plant a Devil's Snare next to Bode's bed. However, he started to get all unreasonable and asked for 'payment' for his services. I offered him a considerable amount of money, but he responded to my generous offer by placing a gnarled hand on my arm and whispering 'Come on, Lucius, you know what I want from you.'

Feel very unclean due to the unspeakable things I had to do in order to get my way. However, it is a means to an end, is it not?

Hmm... I think a shower might be in order.

Wednesday 25^th December 1995-

Hurrah for Christmas! I slipped a sleeping draught into my wife's wine and my son's pumpkin juice at dinner, and now that they're out for the count it leaves me free to spend my evening with my harem of gorgeous concubines without worry.

Merry Christmas to all!

Monday 13^th January 1996-

Finally, something exciting has happened! About twenty Death-Eaters (including Bella) have escaped from prison, and the Dark Lord has decided to throw a huge, sexy party in celebration. I made sure that Narcissa came down with a sudden migraine and so shall be unable to attend. I don't want her cramping my style.

What am I going to wear?

*Later*

Fgor, blurry brilliant partay! The Dark shall triumfffff once more! Everyone sho nishe! Bella sho pretty and sexshay - insane, of coursh, but still. Oooops *falls over*

Tuesday 14^th January 1996-

Oh Merlin - Where the hell am I?

Friday 17^th January 1996-

Got so paralytic at the 'Welcome back' party that I ended up in bed with my wife's sister. Now things are really awkward whenever we see one another. She keeps on trying to get hold of me to discuss 'our relationship'. What with her and Macnair both trailing after me, I can never get a moment's peace.

Thursday 4^th June 1996-

The Dark Lord called round today. I wish he wouldn't do that. I don't know what the neighbours would say if they were to see a hairless, red eyed, reptilian man stalking into our mansion in a big, black cloak.

He spent about an hour flouncing around in my parlour, drinking all of my Port and shouting about how he's got something 'BIG' planned, which, of course, he wants me to be involved with. I just hope it's not like the last 'BIG' plan he had which required my participation - Dolohov and I had to dress up in a horse costume in order to infiltrate a horse show to dispose of a high-society witch. You don't know what pain is until you've felt Dolohov's hooked nose in your backside as you try to 'neigh' convincingly.

Wednesday 10^th June 1996-

It is the last straw. It is the last bloody straw!

The Dark Lord wants me to lead a group of Death-Eaters into the Department of Mysteries and wait for Potter to pick up the Prophecy. He's going to play some kind of mind-game with Potter to make the boy believe that his God-father/cousin/sugar daddy is dying in the Ministry. Something like that anyway, I don't know, I wasn't really listening.

And get this... we have to wait there (in full Death-Eater garb, just for effect) in the vain hope that Potter might pick the bloody thing up. Then we have to somehow wrestle it off of him despite the fact that, as a baby, he managed to almost destroy the most powerful wizard in the world.

One of these days, I might just get sick of this and hand in my bloody notice, and then the Dark Lord would be sorry, oh wouldn't he just?

Thursday 18^th June 1996-

Right. I'll just go and put on my robes and my mask, and then head off to the Ministry for my suicide mission great and honourable quest in the Dark Lord's name. Quite a large group is coming with me. I didn't want to ask either Bella or Macnair along, but both of them started to cling to my legs, screaming 'I'll go wherever you go!'

Why do people always insist on falling in love with me? It does so get boring after a while.

Friday 19^th June 1996-

Right, that's it. It has all gone too far. The shit has, officially, hit the fan.

We went along to the Ministry, and we found ourselves confronted by Potter, the Weasel boy, a fat dwarf, a beaver whose hair gave the impression that she'd been struck by lightening, a blonde junkie, and a rather attractive, nubile little red-head. Somewhat understandably, I didn't think that this bunch of idiots could be any threat to us, and so they managed to catch me with my guard down and slip away. We had just about got them back under our control when the Order turned up with Dumbledore. Everything went downhill from there.

I am now writing this from prison. I think, if I ever get out, I might make quite a sizable amount of money by selling this Diary. 'An insider's account of Azkaban.'

Serving the Dark Lord proved to so not be worth it in the end.

Saturday 20^th June 1996-

I have sent an owl to Narcissa with strict instructions as to how she is to conduct herself in my absence. She is to don some widow's weeds, and to lock herself away in the mansion, giving herself over to copious weeping. I have also sent a message to Draco, telling him that he must follow in my footsteps, and continue in the sacred Malfoy quest of ridding the world of Mudbloods and muggles, while at the same time retaining our famous air of mystery combined with stylish élan. I trust that they shall follow my commands to the letter... or else face my righteous anger.

Wednesday 24^th June 1996-

I'm settling down quite well in here, actually. A rather violent inmate named 'Big Chaz' seems very intent on me getting hold of some 'stash' for him, but another inmate named Binky has promised to protect me in return for my becoming his 'bitch'. Not quite sure what that will entail, but he's promised that if I visit his cell later on he'll give me a demonstration.