The Journal

Chapter 1: A Night of Solitude

The weather that day had been unbearable, as large droplets of rain descended from the sky, causing the students to seek refuge in their respective common rooms. Down in the dungeons, past the portrait of Author the Plunderer - who was always on alert of any Slytherins who might be returning back late, so he could snitch on them - was the Slytherin common room. Although elegantly appointed with its tapestries of green and silver that honored the great Salazar Slytherin and flickering lanterns that cast an ethereal glow over the students, the room was still drafty and cold.

The temperature always remained the same in the dorms, no matter the weather outside: chilly. Some of the first years often walked around with their robes still on to help keep them warm; but the older students had all become accustomed to the coolness. Sitting in his favorite velvety chair, his body sinking into the soft cushions was Draco Malfoy. Dressed in a simple shirt and slacks, he didn’t feel the draft, although things were far different his first year.

He had heard tales of how the other three houses were warm and comfortable. It was said that Gryffindor’s common room was a magnificent sight to behold and the dorms had terrific views of the castle’s grounds. Draco had written home to his parents complaining as to why he had to suffer down in the dungeons while Harry Potter lived like a king.

His father had written back, telling him in short to tough it out and not act like a baby – "If generations of Malfoys could handle it," Lucius wrote, "so can you." But now, Draco barely even needed the self-heating blanket his mother had sent him, and kept it locked away in his trunk. He had received numerous requests from younger students who wanted to use the blanket, but he always greeted them with a hard stare and narrowed eyes.

And now he sat in front of the fire, his gray eyes steady on Crabbe and Goyle, who had become bored with playing a game of Exploding Snap, and now busied themselves with stealing treats from the younger students. Crabbe reached over without any hesitation and snatched a package of small cakes from a first year’s hands – the same cakes the youngster had been salivating over since his parents owled to say they would be sending it.

The spirited youngster bolted to his feet and looked the seventh year in the face. "Hey, what do you think you’re doing?" he asked, as he placed his hands on his hips.

The room grew silent as many of the students glanced up from game of wizard chess and other activities to watch the confrontation. They eyed the first year with admiration, as they were amazed at the amount of courage he was showing. Of course they also pitied him; they all knew too well - and many of them had the scars to prove it – what happened when anyone dared to confront either one of Draco’s bumbling henchmen. Everyone held their breath, as they anticipated the eventual blow that would knock the small boy to the floor.

Crabbe stood up straight, towering over the other boy. "What did you say?" He placed the cakes on a nearby table and smashed his fist into the palm of his hand.

The small youngster lowered his eyes and began to back away. He then headed to the corner of the room, where he sat amongst a group of first, second and third year students who had all been victims of Crabbe within the span of thirty minutes. They all huddled in a circle, as they exchanged ideas on how they would get even with the bully.

This competitive nature ran rampant in Slytherin House. Outside the dorms, they often banded together to terrorize an unsuspecting Hufflepuff. If the group was feeling extra rowdy, they would take on a Gryffindor, who were the feistiest of the other three houses. But when locked away together, the Slytherins often turned on one another. When squabbling took place, there was no authority figure from whom to seek advice from, as Snape often left the students to solve their own troubles - thus perpetuating the circle of aggression.

Crabbe triumphantly trotted towards Draco with the cakes in his hand, as if seeking his approval. "You want some?" he asked, spraying Draco in the process with bits of half chewed pastry.

Draco glared at him, causing the portly young man to slowly back away and join Goyle at the table. With his lip upturned, Draco watched as Crabbe sat down, his large pants hanging off his hips and exposing the crack of his ass in the process. Those two minions of his will probably remain at that table for another hour, Draco thought, gorging themselves on anything that had sugar in it.

Of course neither one of them dared to touch any of the sweets Draco’s mother sent him every other day from Malfoy Manor - most of which would go uneaten, as Draco did not have much of a sweet tooth. Instead, he placed the packages of cream puffs and other assorted bakery goods prominently on his nightstand, and watched with amusement as his two friends took nervous glances at the pastries, while licking their lips.

Crabbe and Goyle were unable to hold back their appetites for very long, and would eventually beg Draco for a raspberry torte or some other chocolate concoction. Draco, of course, always denied their requests. For five years, Draco had been able to torture them in that manner, without them growing any wiser to what he was doing. Sometimes, instead of displaying his treats on a nightstand, he would eat them slowly in front of his two friends.

Not only were Crabbe and Goyle gullible, they were also extremely predictable. Draco knew their routine, as they did the same things almost on a regular basis. After a night of bullying other students in the house, the two would spend two hours gorging themselves on the stolen treats, before forcing one of the smarter kids to do their homework for them.

Draco surely did not need to have others do his homework, as he usually completed his assignments the minute he returned to the dorms from afternoon classes. His essays in both Potions and History were neatly rolled up and placed in his book bag at that moment. He knew he would get high marks on both assignments, as they were meticulously researched. Although he appeared to be mischievous and a bit of a troublemaker to the typical observer - and he surely was to some extent - he took great pride in doing well in his studies, and everything else in his life. This was probably brought on by pressure from his father to be and do better than all the other students, especially a certain Muggle-born young woman who always seemed to tie with him or exceed him in grades.

To help keep up his son's competitive edge, Lucius Malfoy always took it upon himself to send the young man newspaper articles detailing how Harry Potter, his poor red-headed friend and the Muggle-born were able to thwart one or another of Voldemort's plans. Although no notes would be accompanied with these articles, Draco always got the gist of what his father was trying to say: do something newsworthy.

All his life, Draco had gotten these messages from the man he always tried so hard to emulate and please. His mother pretty much saw him as perfect, much to his father's chagrin. Because of this, the blond had always pushed himself to be the best in everything he did, and to present an impressive appearance to the outside world. This craving for excellence propelled him to awake early each morning to groom himself, and make sure his hair and robes were in perfect condition.

This extra effort paid off for him, as he was the object of affection for many of the girls in his house and throughout the school. Some of the guys also took notice of him - especially Justin Fitch-Fletchley of Hufflepuff, who always seemed to stare at him a little too long. The eye contact always made Draco feel uncomfortable, and would eventually force him to sic Crabbe and Goyle on the young lad they all perceived was a pouf. One time Crabbe and Goyle chased Justin down the hall and dragged him into the bathroom with the intention of dunking his head into the toilet. However, Justin's high-pitched screams and pleas for help caused Draco to cave in and prevent his two goons from completing the act.

Draco got up from the chair he had been sitting in for nearly an hour and brushed the dried crumbs of cake from his shirt. He picked up his robes from the arm of his chair and draped them over his slender body.

"Where are you going?" asked Crabbe. He watched with alarm as Draco approached the portrait hole.

The blond continued to look down at his robes, reaching into interior pockets to make sure he had everything he needed. "I'm going out," he finally said to the two boys at the table.

Crabbe and Goyle both dropped their heads, and stared at the table with dejected expressions on their faces. Draco rolled his eyes, and glanced away; his two friends were always trying to trick him into allowing them to follow him around. But he needed his privacy from them and all others at that moment.

Draco had not taken one step, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Look," he snapped, not bothering to glance over his shoulder, "can't you idiots be left alone for two minutes? I'm sure you can find something to occupy your time while I'm awa--" He stopped talking when he noticed that the hand now resting on the crook of his neck was very light. The scent of roses soon wafted into his nostrils.

He turned around and found himself looking at Pansy. He forced a smile onto his lips; although, he was relieved it was not his minions, he was not entirely glad to see her either. "Sorry about that," he said rather flippantly. "I thought you were someone else."

He was about to say more, when he saw a glimmer of something glistening in her eyes, which were made more dazzling by the glow of the crackling fire. He began to back away, knowing far too well that she was going to question him about his whereabouts. He walked backwards until he felt his back pressing against the cold wall. He turned his head to the side when he saw her hand approach his face. His eyes closed as those long fingers grazed his cheek, her fingernails running down along his neck to his collarbone.

"Where are you off to?" she asked, her hot pumpkin juice drenched breath fanning against his skin.

Draco opened his eyes and pushed her fingers from his chin. "I'm going for a walk." He brought his hand to his face to flick the silvery strands that were now in his eyes, when he felt her hands venture into his robes.

He gave her a hard stare. His eyes then traveled to where Crabbe and Goyle were sitting. The two young men had stopped pouting and were now watching him and Pansy with great interest. Their eyes were fixed on Pansy's hands, and the way her fingers darted in and out of the folds of his robes. But they eventually glanced away and stared down at their candy wrapper covered tabletop when they caught the glare in his eyes.

"Do you want me to accompany you on your little walk?" Pansy asked. She reached for his hand and wrapped her fingers around his. "We can then go up to the Astronomy Tower."

Draco pulled his hand away. "I'm not going there. I have other plans."

Pansy remained quiet as the smile that was on her full lips slowly disappeared. Her hands soon drifted to her hips. "Are you going up there with another girl?" She tapped her foot on the floor while she waited for his answer; but Draco didn’t look her way and continued to fuss with his robes. "I thought you said you weren't going to go up there with anyone else but me," she said, this time unable to keep her voice neutral.

Draco moved to a nearby mirror and to check his appearance. "I never said anything of the sort." He observed the angry look she was now bestowing on him through her reflection. However, her glares they had lost the little effect they once had on him, and he glanced back at his own image. He took his time re-adjusting the buttons she had opened on his shirt, when her fingers were in pursuit of his hot skin. When he was satisfied with what he saw, he turned around and faced her. "What I do with my free time is my business. I thought I made that perfectly clear to you the last time we had this discussion." He kept his eyes on her and waited to see if she would make another public outburst in front of everyone in the common room, like last time; but she kept quiet. He walked past her and climbed out the portrait hole.

While he was in the hall, Draco gazed back at the man in the portrait. Author the Plunderer was a highly combative and feisty military general. Over the years, he had been able to intimidate most of the students who passed through Slytherin House, except one: Draco. He would have accosted any other young man or woman standing before him; but he said nothing to Draco, and patiently watched as the boy picked bits of lint off his robes.

"Be wary of Filch," Author finally said. "He just passed by here a few minutes ago."

Draco turned his head and gave the man a nasty look. "I don't need your help." His voice was even, but possessed that tinge of spite that he had expertly perfected over the years; the same tone that never ceased to put others in their place. He and Author stared at one another for a long time afterwards, but it was the old man who looked away first. Draco snorted; he knew Author’s little warning was only a lame attempt to get himself back into his good graces.

The tension between them had transpired during Draco’s fifth year, when he was denied access back to the dorms after returning late from an amorous tryst. Draco was then forced to sleep in the halls. Author had been proud of his actions, and smiled brightly at the fact that a Malfoy had finally gotten his comeuppance. He had been on the receiving end of Lucius' pranks during the man's time at the school, so it pleased him to be able to take out his revenge on the man's son.

But his happiness quickly disappeared the next morning, when he received a verbal lashing from Snape – Draco had apparently wasted no time in telling his father about the situation. Author was then placed in one of the castle's many abandoned and dusty rooms for over a year. The time spent in the company of cobwebs and spiders had taught the old man a lesson: Draco was to be given more leeway than other students. Ever since his return to his rightful place, Author had tried desperately - not too desperately, he still had his pride - to be on good footing with the young man, to no avail.

Draco glared at Author one last time, before he turned on his heels and headed down the hall. He continued walking down the semi lit corridor, when he saw the tall and lanky figure of the Potions Master approaching.

"Where are you going?" asked Snape.

“Just for a stroll.”

Snape pushed his dark and greasy hair from his brows and eyed Draco, his gaze observing every nuance of emotion on the young man’s face. "Whomever this girl is that you’re meeting, make sure you keep your time with her short. You have Quidditch practice tomorrow."

"Yes, sir." Draco then watched the man make his way down the hall, his dark robes billowing behind him.

On his way to his destination, Draco made a detour to the entrance leading up to the Astronomy Tower. Standing at the bottom of the steps, he could hear heavy breathing and giggling wafting down from the room. He shook his head, wondering how wanna-be Casanovas such as Gryffindor's Dean Thomas managed to keep from getting caught by the likes of Filch, since they were so careless about who heard them. Draco, of course, was never going to get caught; he was intoned to Filch's schedule, and knew many other destinations around the school where he could conduct a rendezvous or two with the young lady of his choice. He listened to the activities of the hormonal teens in the room above for a few more minutes, before making his way to the library.

The room was almost empty, except for a scattering of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors. The librarian looked up from her thick book and stared at him, her eyes following his every movement. "I don't want any mischief,” said Madam Pince. "Do you hear?"

Draco shot her a glare from over his shoulder, before continuing on his way. He had been coming in there every night for the past couple of months, and had done nothing to disturb other students; but she still did not trust him. He walked past the tables of students, and made his way to the back of the library, where he could be alone. He ventured to the Religion Section and sat on the floor. He leaned against the shelves with his legs outstretched before him and took out his quill and journal. He folded his robes in a neat pile in front of him, before scribbling into the leather-bound journal.

That journal was now his most treasured possession; it replaced his Excalibur racing broom, which was a present from his father when he became the team captain. The broom had become tainted the year before, when he received a bitter letter from his father the day after a decisive match against Gryffindor for the Quidditch Cup. "It seems pathetic," his father had written, "that even with a world class and highly expensive broom you still can't beat Harry Potter just once."

He had received the journal as a gift from his mother some years ago. Narcissa had wanted him to be able to record his memories at Hogwarts for later recollections. Lucius looked down on the gift, and even scolded his wife for encouraging what he deemed to be "queer activity" in their son.

The journal had remained empty for nearly a year before one word was written into it. But now, it was almost filled to capacity, as he found himself scribbling in it almost non-stop. This habit had become an addiction for Draco. He even wrote in it during his classes; his teachers assumed he was taking notes on the lectures.

This fondness for writing had always been in his heart; as a child, he enjoyed writing short stories. The tales were usually very dark and violent, and centered around the Dark Lord regaining his power and ridding the world of Muggles. His father always loved hearing these stories when Draco was a small child; but the man now looked down on the practice.

Draco no longer dabbled with short stories, as his own life was much more exciting than any fiction he could think of. His quill steady in his hands, he lowered his head and quickly wrote onto the blank pages. He did not think of what he was writing, as the words jetted effortlessly through his fingers.

He had long sought out the empty rooms in the castle to conduct his activity; but he now favored the library, as it provided more light. Plus, the background noise of the other students’ whispers and the rustling of parchment were somewhat soothing and urged him to write. And the shelves of books provided him with something to look at if he ever became bored.

So engrossed was he in his own thoughts that he failed to notice that two girls had wandered to his section, and were now standing next to him. He glanced up at the girls, whom he assumed were second years, and scowled at them. After the icy reception, they retreated back to their table.

It always annoyed him when others disrupted his train of thought. No matter where he would seek refuge in the library, one or more people would always walk his way. He knew for a fact those girls had not suddenly become interested in religion just then; that he was writing so feverishly was intriguing enough for them to venture into his section. They were probably curious to find what was on those shelves that had enrapture him so greatly.

His writing always attracted stares from others, even if he wasn't in the library. In the dorms, fellow Slytherins would always approach him. Blaise - who had an innate interest in his private life to begin with - would always stand over him and ask what he was writing. Or else they would sit next to him and try to sneak a look at his journal. He remembered yelling at Pansy for doing this, when her eyes discreetly washed over a page he had just finished writing on.

Normally, any male who was seen with a journal would have been laughed out of Slytherin House or severely beaten, but Draco was the exception. Most of the students knew the Dark Lord spent much of his time at Malfoy Manor, and they assumed Draco was acting as the man’s eyes and ears at the school. Draco had long noticed how Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall would always stop talking whenever he would walk by; they surely believed he would send whatever information he overheard back to Voldemort.

When his hand started to feel tired, Draco looked up and eyed the other students in the room. His gaze darted to the group of first years who were giggling in the corner. He craned his neck to see what could be fascinating them to such an extent, when his eyes rested on a blue book that lay in the middle of their table.

He knew exactly what they were looking at, as he had discovered that same book when he was a first year. The Magic of Reproduction was a publication all youngsters glanced at one time or another during their years at Hogwarts. It was located in the Body and Soul Section of the library, which was near the librarian's desk - so she could regulate who wandered in there. It was forbidden for any first or second years to check out any of those books, and Draco wondered how the group of students got their hands on it. But he figured an older student must have gotten it for them, as was the case for him.

He had first been introduced to the publication through Marcus Flint, who checked it out of the library for personal use several years before. Draco later discovered what "personal use" meant when he opened the pages. Although the writing was neither erotic nor tantalizing, as it described love making in the most bland and scientific way, it was the explicit moving pictures that drew generations of youngsters to the book. One could flip through page after page of couples engaged in different sexual romps. As a first year, those images provided many nights of masturbatory bliss, which only lasted a minute at the most. But now he had found other things and people to help him with that department in his life.

His gaze drifted away from the youngsters and traveled to another table, where Hermione sat. He wasn’t surprised to see her there, as the place had become a second home for her. She too had her head lowered, while her eyes concentrated on the parchment in front of her.

His lips curled into a grimace. He kept his eyes on her until she eventually turned her head and glanced at him. She tried to return the same disdain that was in his gaze; but she could not master that look of disgust as well as he, and ended up looking nervous. He kept an unblinking stare on her, until she was forced to look away. Draco snorted to himself; she never could hold his gaze for very long before retreating. But he did appreciate her gumption for even attempting to face off with him. He knew she was feisty, as the slap she gave him during their third year still stayed in his head all those years - courtesy of Blaise, who always took the opportunity to remind him of the incident.

By the look of the books scattered about her table, he could tell she was still working on her Potions assignment. Although she had finished it long ago, like himself, he assumed she was adding more material to her essay. However, Draco knew her extra efforts would not be rewarded with the highest marks in Potions - Snape would surely see to that. A smile crept to his lips as he recalled a past Potions class when Snape was announcing the grades for another assignment. Hermione sat on the edge of her seat, hoping that just that once the professor would put his dislike for Gryffindor aside and acknowledge she had done an exceptional job; but it never happened.

Draco soon grew tired of watching Hermione and decided to look at the books that were stored on his isle. He reached for a tattered book on the shelf called The Righteousness of Morality. But he nearly jumped when a high-pitched voice blared out of the pages the moment he opened it. The voice then preached on the values of living a clean life, never lying and abstaining from sex till marriage. After several minutes of listening to the man's shrill voice, Draco closed the book and tossed it onto the floor. He looked at several other books, but none of them held his interest for long.

"It's closing time," said the librarian, poking her head around the corner. "Please grab your things and go back to your dorm." Her eyes drifted to the large pile of books now lying on the floor near his feet. "And I expect you to put those books back where they belong."

Draco waited until she was gone before he scooped all of the books off the floor and haphazardly put them back on the shelf.

"Hey," yelled one of the books, "you put me back in the wrong place."

Draco stared at the red book for a moment, before walking away. He picked up his robes and draped them over his body. He placed his quill in his pocket and left the library.

~*~*~

Draco ventured around the castle after his abrupt departure from the library. When he returned to the dorms, he was relived to see that the common room was nearly deserted. But he drew in a sharp breath when his eyes rested on Pansy. Her gaze had been on him the moment he entered the room, like usual. She often waited up for him on nights like these when he preferred to go out alone - which had become more frequent over the past couple of months. Upon his return, she would accost him about a random girl she suspected him of seeing that night. One time, she even dared to yell at him about his unfaithfulness. Draco flew into a rage and eventually reduced her to tears. The few students who were present during that explosive night never repeated what they saw, lest they wanted a thrashing from Crabbe and Goyle.

Pansy had learned her lesson that night, and now sat quietly by the fireplace. Draco ignored the downcast look that was glowing in his eyes, and proceeded to the dorms. But as he walked by her, she began to lift her skirt up, exposing a shapely leg in the process. Draco stopped in the middle of his tracks to eye that well sculpted thigh, and drink in the view of the supple skin he had touched so many times before.

But just then, he heard some snickering that drew his attention to the corner of the room. Sitting on the floor, half obscured by the darkness were Crabbe and Goyle, who were also waiting up for the blond. But their eyes were not on Draco - not anymore, anyway. Their dark gazes were now focused on Pansy, as they were within full view of her leg and much more - if they tilted their heads in the right angle. Hoping to catch their attention, Draco glared at the two young men for a moment; but they were too mesmerized by the sight before them to take notice of his frown. Since catering to Draco's needs and following him around took up most of their time, Crabbe and Goyle had few opportunities to be with girls; so they thoroughly enjoyed what they were seeing.

Draco glanced back at Pansy, who immediately pulled down her skirt. The glow of desire that was once in his eyes had immediately disappeared. He was suddenly turned off by the thought of other boys enjoying the view that was only meant for his eyes. He scowled at her, before he proceeded to the stairs.

Knowing that most of his dorm mates usually congregated in the sixth year boys' dorm to play cards, Draco hoped to find the room empty; but he was disappointed to see that he was not alone. He immediately lowered his head and sighed loudly when his gaze landed on Blaise. He made his way to his bed without saying a word to the other boy and began to get undressed.

He and Blaise had grown up together, as their parents were long time friends. The young man and his parents had been constant guests at Malfoy Manor throughout Draco's childhood. While the boys' fathers were in the den discussing the future of Death Eaters worldwide and their mothers chatting about charity events in the gardens, the boys would be up in Draco's bedroom fighting. The rivalry between them continued into their teenage years; but was not as intense as when they cursed each other with the measles when they were small children or sometimes forwent their wands and used their fists on one another.

But in Draco’s mind, he and Blaise did not have a rivalry because he considered himself better than the other boy; his family was wealthier, he was a much better Quidditch player and was far more popular. He only wished Blaise would come to grips with his subordination and not compete with him as if they were equals.

"Where were you?" asked Blaise.

Draco quickly gazed over his shoulder, as he wondered how Blaise could have the nerve to question his whereabouts. He then continued to take off his shoes, placing them under his bed. He jolted when he felt the warm touch of the other boy's fingers wrap around his neck.

"I guess you want to keep your girls a secret," said Blaise, as his breath blew against Draco's cheek. “Cause you know I'll steal them from you."

Draco winced and turned his head to the side when the other boy's fake laughter reached his ears. He then pushed Blaise's fingers away from his skin and moved towards his bed. He took a long hard look at the other lad; he always hated it when Blaise tried to be his friend.

As enemies, Mr. Zabini had proved to be useless, as he was unable to outsmart Draco. Whatever he did to Draco would be returned threefold the next day or maybe a week later; a man of much patience, Draco always abided his time when it came to dulling out revenge - probably to catch his victim off guard.

After numerous humiliating tricks and curses, Blaise had given up his war against Draco. By the end of their fifth year, however, he had developed a new tactic: forcing his way into Draco's inner circle of friends. But unlike Author the Plunderer, whose hatred could be detected in his voice while he talked to the blond, Blaise was a much better actor, and always managed to appear as if he wholeheartedly cared for Draco.

Deciding he would get undressed later, Draco climbed into his bed. Hoping Blaise would get the message and leave him in peace, he placed his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. But Blaise kept talking. After several minutes of unsuccessfully trying to ignore the other boy’s chatter, Draco finally gave in and opened his eyes. "I'm not in the mood to talk," he finally said, as he glanced up at Blaise through half closed lids. "I want to be left alone."

The other boy continued to stand near his bed for a few more minutes, before heading out the door with his shoulders slumped over.

When he was finally alone, he closed his eyes once more and allowed his mind to race with random thoughts of Voldemort, the Death Eater meetings that were taking place at his home, girls he had been with and much more. But he was pulled away from his daydreaming when he heard a creaking noise coming from the entryway. The person who was slinking ever so slowly towards his bed was not Blaise, but Pansy.

"Where were you tonight?" she asked, her voice sounding casual. She leaned against Goyle’s bedpost and stared down at him. "Was she at least pretty?"

Draco remained quiet. The round of questioning was a frequent in his interactions with her. She had grown more possessive of him over the past two years. In the beginning, he enjoyed her jealously, as it made him feel wanted. But he now disliked it more than anything.

"Was she the same girl as last time?” Pansy asked.

A smile curled onto his lips. He could have told her he did not do anything indecent, but he did not utter a word. It was not her business what he did with his time, he thought. Plus, he enjoyed torturing her.

Seeing that he was not going to volunteer any more information to her, she sat down on his bed and gazed down at his face. "Well, I don't care whom you were with," she uttered, her voice dark and husky, "because I know you will always come back to me." She reached out her hand and curled her fingers around his long locks. She couldn't help but let her fingers glide down the side of his face and trickle along the slopes of his cheeks, before landing on his mouth.

She climbed on top of his body like she had always done in the past. Normally, he would have been the aggressor, but on rare moments like this, Draco liked to have her do most of the work. His eyes stayed placid, as he dared her to seduce him.

She lowered her head and placed her lips against his. Draco remained unresponsive; his lips were pursed in a tight line that would not allow her tongue to enter his mouth. Her mouth flittered along his cheek until they found their way to his ear. Draco closed his eyes when he his earlobe was suddenly enveloped by moist heat. His fingers curled around her waist, as he tried to encourage her to continue with her actions. He let a moan escape his mouth when her warm tongue flickered in and out of his ear; she had apparently found his vulnerable spot.

She sat up again, and looked deep into the eyes. Draco held her gaze for a moment, before he looked away. His brows began to narrow as she continued to stare down at him, her eyes beckoning to him to make eye contact. But she was fairly well at reading his expressions and stopped staring at him; they both knew that trying too hard to draw an emotional connection from him was futile, as it usually resulted in him growing colder.

Pansy abandoned the eye contact and kissed the side of his face to ease his budding anger. The tactic worked; he turned his head and met her lips in a cooperative union. The kiss started slow, but eventually grew frantic. And soon, the smacking of their lips against one another could be heard throughout the room.

Draco was unaware of his surroundings, as he was now thoroughly entrenched in sensual pleasure. But his enjoyment was suddenly interrupted when he heard talking coming from the door. He pulled away from Pansy and turned his head towards the direction of the noise. His eyes landed on Crabbe and Goyle, who were perched at the entryway.

"Get out," Draco bellowed. He then watched as they trotted down the stairs. In reality, they should have known better than to come up in the dorms during that time. All of Draco's other dorm mates were well aware and often obeyed the carnal rule - even Blaise, although reluctantly - that the dorms were off limits when he was in there with a guest. His dorm mates often had to sleep in the common room during those times, or even bully their way into some of the younger students' rooms.

Without missing a beat, Pansy lowered her head, and proceeded to kiss him again. But Draco turned his head to the side. The excitement he was feeling earlier had waned since the appearance to the other two lads. Pansy then began kissing his neck, hoping somehow to recapture the passion that had transpired between them. She pulled up his shirt to reveal the taunt skin underneath. Her fingers danced up and down his chest before sinking into his robes.

Draco’s eyes widened, as a sudden panic overtook him. "Get off," he said.

Pansy moved away from his bed and gave him a puzzled look. “What’s wrong with you?”

Draco didn’t register her question as his hands drove into his robes, and plunged into the pockets. The only article he was able to pull out was his quill. He finally got off of his bed and glared at her. "What did take from my pockets?" he asked, standing only inches away from her face.

"I didn't take anything. I didn't even feel anything in your pockets." She moved towards him again, and placed her hands firmly on his chest. "Why don't we continue what we started? I could see and feel that you were really enjoying it."

Draco pushed her hands away. "I'm in no mood for this. Just leave me alone." He didn't even watch her walk out of the room, as he got down on his hands and knees and began to comb the floor for his personal treasure. He reached under his bed, but only felt the usual shoes that he stashed down there. He got to his feet when he imagined Blaise snatching his journal when he wasn't looking. But he never remembered taking it out of his robes. He held his breath just then as he thought back to his time in the library. He clearly remembered placing it on the floor next to his robes when he grew tired of writing. And he picked it up when he was told the library was closing.

"What a minute," he said out loud. He squeezed his eyes shut when he thought he had accidentally placed his journal on the shelves with the other books. He threw his head back and let a tortured moan escape his lips. He fell onto his bed and stared up at his ceiling. Horrible thoughts of someone finding the journal and then reading it echoed through his mind. It was possible, since he never bothered to place a spell on it.