The Fickle Diary of Tango!Draco

The Fickle Diary of Tango!Draco

17 January, 1991

Dear Diary. Journal. Perhaps I will have no title, as I do not want it obvious that this parchment book is a collection of my most precious thoughts and observations. Of course, the gold embossing in the corner that says "Draco Malfoy" may be somewhat of a dead give away. I simply don't want it to be published in the next issue of Teen Witch Weekly as "Draco's Diary". The prying eyes of Pansy Parkinson will no doubt catch sight of it during her daily expedition of my backside. Not that I mind- if I were as unfortunate to be someone other than me, I'd probably spend a fat lot of time staring at my bum too.

Life through Draco Malfoy's eyes during his first year was quite attractive, considering he often spent a majority of his time looking at himself- in mirrors, window reflections, and in Potter's oversized glasses. (How else do you think anyone could keep their hair that slick?) Of course, this didn't mean that he didn't see other people too.

Like Ron Weasley, for example.

Beastly hair. I often see him walking down the corridor and get the urge to just grab him and force-spread whatever remaining gel I have left in my Sleek Easy travel bottle onto his head. Then again, he probably gets hair-care tips from Potter.

By Draco's third year, however, he'd grown out of the habit, and was spending more and more time complaining, rather than bragging.

14 November, 1993

Spoke to Potter in Potions today. Basically gave him some words of wisdom. I don't' think he took it to heart, though. Pity he didn't. I'd like to see him go out there and try to be all heroic, for the third bloody year in a row.

Speaking of Potter, Mother performed a spell to clean the kitchen drain today, and retrieved a hairball from it's clutches. She felt the need to owl me about it's enormous size, smell, and color. Turns out it had an odor of lilacs, and was blonde. I'd told her time and time again that Father has been washing his hair in that sink, but she wouldn't listen. She said, "That's ridiculous, the pink bathroom in the master suite is perfectly suitable for such a thing". Obviously, Mother's awareness of things Father hates does not extend as far down the list to #1,337. The color pink.

Now, Draco kept these "collections of thought" all the way into seventh year, and was lucky enough to never have had them stolen. Until the day his seventh year started, and Crabbe found it while rummaging in Draco's underwear drawer...

Sitting on the edge of Draco Malfoy's four poster bed, Vincent Crabbe was reading. "Mother man-ip-u-lay-ted me into-"

"Crabbe! What're you doing in my underwear?" Draco shouted, appearing in the doorway of his dormitory and slamming shut the top drawer of his wardrobe. Freezing in place as his eyes trailed across the leather-bound journal that lay in his hands, he tried to stay calm. "Crabbe... what're you reading?"

Vincent Crabbe was obviously startled by the sudden abundance of questions. It seemed his brain could process only so many things at a time. He finally decided to go back to what he'd just read from Draco's leather bound notebook. "Your mum man played you!"

Looking furious, Draco snatched the journal out of his hands. "Don't be stupid. Or at least try. Just for one second."

Crabbe stood, "at least I don't keep a girly book," he said with a goofy smirk on his face.

"You choose now of all times to have the brain capacity to know it's my journal. Wonderful," he muttered, rubbing his temples with his free hand.

"It's a diary," he repeated, more insistent.

"It's a journal!" Draco yelled, storming out towards the door. "And if you tell anyone about my diary Crabbe, I'll make a parachute out of your boxer shorts and stick it to Potter's broomstick." And he slammed the door shut.

Crabbe sat stupidly on the edge of Draco's bed, his face twisted up in confusion. "Wait. I have brain cavities?"

***

It was the Monday of the start of Hermione's seventh year at Hogwarts, and although it wasn't completely unexpected, she'd been absolutely thrilled when it was announced at this morning's feast that she was the new Head Girl. Head Boy, to many people's surprise, was Neville Longbottom. On the way back to the commons, however, Ron and Harry seemed to care very little.
"Can you believe we've got Double Potions on Monday? What a great way to start the week! And with Slytherins, no less," Ron bellowed as they turned a corner on the second floor.

Hermione, somewhat put off that neither of them congratulated her on her achievement, piped in somewhat icily, "but we always have Potions with the Slytherins, Ron. It's not like it's that big of a surprise."

He glared at her. "Knowing it's coming doesn't make it any less of a bad situation, Hermione."

"Yes well, look on the bright side. At least you haven't got Divination to worry about this year," and she paused, stopping in front of the Portrait of the Fat Lady and saying the password. "Oh yes, that's right, I forgot. Both of you signed up for it. Again," and she turned sharply on her heel and walked into the commons.

Ron was furious, and followed without stopping to exchange glances with Harry. "You've got to be joking, Hermione! It's an easy class! Just spoon-feed the old bag some Harry Potter sob stories and she eats it up! Especially when it has to do with his dying! Who in their right mind wouldn't take advantage of that?"

"Uh, thanks Ron," Harry said, scratching his head and looking from one friend to the other.

Hermione looked less than pleased. Her eyes flickered when Ron mentioned Harry and death, it was quite evident that the topic for her was sensitive. Understandable, they were close friends, and he'd almost died how many times now? "And what will you learn from taking a class you don't care about? What of your future Ronald Weasley?"

"Sorry, not all of us can go to medi-wizard school like you, Hermione. Hope it doesn't offend you. Some of us need to work for that kind of money."

That remark had sent her over the edge, and she stormed up the stairs to the girls Dormitory, slamming the door behind her. Ron, flushed and angry, slumped into the nearest overstuffed chair.

Harry was dumbfounded. "What was that all about?"

"Whole summer. A whole summer she spent with that hairy bastard," Ron muttered, his nose twitching.

Now at first, Harry thought Ron was talking about him. Then again, Hermione was in no way welcome at the Dursley's, so that couldn't be right. "Ron, what d'you mean 'whole summer'? How could she spend the whole summer at someone's house when she was at yours for two weeks?"

"Bulgaria. She went to bloody Bulgaria to visit bloody Viktor Krum for the entire bloody summer."

Harry stared. "Ron, she went to Bulgaria for one week."

He could see Ron's fingers digging into the armrests of the chair, "all summer."

"ONE WEEK," Harry repeated through gritted teeth.

"Look, the point is, she likes Viktor more than she likes you," he said, finally turning to face Harry, his body still stiff as cardboard, "doesn't that really piss you off?"

"I really don't think-"

"Couldn't stop talking to Ginny about how much fun she'd had... how it was a great 'cultural' experience, and how he taught her to dance."

Harry paused at Ron's words. "To... to... dance?" He stammered, suddenly apt with attention.

"Yeah," Ron replied, "The Tango."

***

4 September, 1997

Crabbe has apparently forgotten entire diary ordeal. To make sure it will never happen again I moved my hiding spot to beneath my mattress. I hope that Crabbe does not regularly spend time anywhere near my bed. After underwear rummaging, I believe that would put me over the edge.

In more important news, Longbottom got knocked off his broom by a wild bludger, nasty blow to the head. Apparently that makes him unable to perform his Head Boy duties and I'm next in line. Not quite sure how I feel about this, but no doubt when I leave this dorm I will have to act cocky and pleased about Longbottom's unfortunate accident. Really, I'd just like to go to sleep.

Somehow Mother got news of this faster than the bludger hit Longbottom, because she owled me the second I reached the commons. Enclosed is the letter... pretty much a bunch of blah blah about being absolutely thrilled and sending me a batch of celebratory cookies to share with all of my "little friends". It irritates me that she can't grasp the fact that I'm seventeen and most of my friends are six feet in both directions. We need at least three batches.

My Dearest Draco,

I'm more than thrilled to have received news of your latest promotion. The fact that you were picked second after the Longbottom boy is of no importance, and you will understand if I did not reveal this to your father. I'll trust you'll do the same?

The manor feels empty without you. Lucius has been busy with work more often than not, and I feel quite lonely all by myself. I made a batch of cookies to send to your little friends- do try not to eat them all at once!

I expect a return owl no later than tomorrow at noon.

With love,

Mother

Classes start tomorrow, Potions right after breakfast. No doubt I will be paired with Pansy. Perhaps I will drink a bit beforehand to ease my suffering.

***

"All I'm saying Ron, is you should try being a little nicer to her is all."

"All summer!" He said for the thousandth time since they spoke in the Commons, standing from the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.

Harry swallowed a final sip of Pumpkin juice, "One week. You know it. And we've got Potions next, so there's no point in fighting. We'll be in the negative house points before you can say greaseball and the underclassmen will want your head."

Even in their last year at Hogwarts, Severus Snape still felt it necessary to treat his students with less respect than he did the year before. Last year, even the Slytherins felt the wrath of Snape when he threatened to kill Millicent Bulstrode's cat if she didn't get her potion right. She had, mind you, made nearly twenty three attempts, and wasted a majority of her ingredients throwing them at the back of Hermione's head.

Seamus Finnigan had claimed that this was a sign of affection. "We're his favorite students, is why," he'd said one morning, during their sixth year, "the closer to graduation, the more greasy and horrible he'll get. He doesn't want to see us go," he placed a hand to his heart dramatically and continued, "shall I compare the Gryffindors to a summers day? Thou are more lovely and more temperate..." All of the muggles in the Gryffindor commons snorted with laughter.

As Ron and Harry made their way to Potions, Hermione and Parvati Patil were already sitting in the second row of chairs in Snape's dungeons. Hermione, staring intently at her Potions notes, barely heard any of the words that spilled out of Parvati's mouth.

"And then Lavender said, 'don't be silly you are soooo prettier than her.' And I said 'oh I know I know, it's just'-" Parvati paused mid-sentence, and nudged Hermione lightly in the ribs, "don't look now, but Draco Malfoy just gave you a very serious look. The kind they give when they want you to turn around and flaunt."

Hermione had been paying attention enough to hear the words 'Draco Malfoy' and 'look'. Setting down her brown weathered quill, she looked up at where he sat beside Pansy Parkinson.

"I said don't look! Don't look!" Parvati wailed, in a loud enough whisper that professor Snape looked up and made a weird noise with his nose.

Hermione shook her head, "Parvati... he's probably just sizing me up. He's the new Head Boy, you know, since Neville's accident."

"Sizing you up, yeah," Parvati said, arching a brow, "but not for any kind of competition. I think he wants to play on your team."

Hermione nose crinkled and eyes narrowed, "if you're implying in any way shape or form that Draco Malfoy is-" but Parvati held up a hand to silence her, still watching Draco intently, "Shut up Hermione, and flip your hair."

"What?"

"Flip. Your. Bloody. Hair."

Her expression still seeming as if something extremely vile had been placed beneath her nose, Hermione finally rolled her eyes and brought up her hand, flipping the hair that lay on her shoulder backwards.

Draco Malfoy stared.

Now, Hermione Granger was not exactly the type of girl you would ever find an instant attraction to. Although she had certainly adopted a woman's figure in the past few years, she still had the same bushy eyebrows, hair that could often be confused with a Muggle Chia Pet, and wore clothes that covered the same amount of skin as an Eskimo. Even with her chaste way of living, Hermione Granger had, in a very sick in twisted way, developed some intense sex appeal. Even if her daft little boyfriends Potter and Weasley couldn't see it, the other boys in the school could.

Including Draco. Even if Hermione was hairy. And a mudblood. And a know-it-all. Come to think of it, she really wasn't all that attractive.

With that sudden realization, Draco shrugged, and went back to studying his notes.

Parvati gaped, and glanced back over at Hermione, who seemed to have returned to her notes as well. "Hermione!" She cried, just loud enough to spur yet another weird Snape nasal cavity to explode in disapproval.

She glared, "What? What now? I flipped my hair!"

"Yeah, you did!"

Hermione stared at Parvati, waiting for her point. "And......?"

"It was dreadful!"

Before Hermione could object, Ron and Harry burst through the Dungeon doors and took seats to the right of Hermione, she of course, giving them very stern looks. They just shrugged, and began to unload their notes and textbook.

Snape, however, had stood the moment they came in, "put away all your things as I pass out the test. If I catch any wandering eyes, cheating incantations, pre-printed parchments, or nancy-boy love notes in your possession, I will personally make sure that you end up repeating your seventh year. Understood?"

Seamus grinned broadly and leaned over to Dean Thomas, "What'd I tell you?"

Harry and Ron stared in disbelief. It was Ron who spoke first, "A test? But Professor- you said we would have time to-"

"You would have had time to study had you arrived earlier. Not put away your things," he hissed, leaning in and slapping the test parchments in front of them. Hermione of course, quietly tutted, shaking her head.

"Begin"

***

"Can you believe that massive git? And when I say massive I mean enormous, greasy haired, big nosed, never-had-a-girlfriend-in-his-life, G-I-T," Ron cried as the three of them left the Dungeons. His anger towards the previously administered test seemed to deflate any nasty remarks he had reserved for Hermione. Having the right idea, she held her tongue for once, not wanting to start him up again.

Harry nodded. "I wasn't prepared for that one."

"Prepared? PREPARED? I was so far from prepared- and Boomslang? Monkswood? Who knows that stuff?"

Hermione quickly covered a wail with a sudden whooping cough.

5 September, 1997

Maybe it's the butterbeer talking, but Pansy's nose looked much less like a Pug today and more like a Golden Retriever's. I was quite pleased.

Granger was looking at me in Potions this morning. Not sure if she was just mesmerized by my dashing good looks or Pansy's. I've always wondered about her, really. Of course, she pulled one of those hair flip things, but she looked as if she just ate parchment or something while doing it. For her sake I hope Pansy didn't see... it was rather revolting.

***

Reaching the portrait of the fat lady, Ron muttered the password, obviously still extremely bothered by the likelihood that he'd just completely failed a Potions test. Adding to his dismay, Colin Creevey greeted them from a couch in front of the empty fireplace, with a broad grin that instantly faded.

"What's with the sad faces?"

Hermione smiled, "Potions te-"

He brought up a hand to silence her, "say no more. Dennis came out of Potions one day crying his eyes out, panties all in a twist, saying something about Snape and an extremely horrible wedgie. So really, I suppose that'd be the literal panties in a twist, wouldn't it?"

Ron and Harry stood there, sort of dumbstruck. They'd known Colin since his first year, but lately, they'd seen less and less of him. On purpose? Maybe. Hermione had obviously taken a keen liking to him ever since... well...

"Oh oh you guys, I didn't even get to tell you, I was telling Colin about Bulgaria-" Ron snorted, she ignored it, "and turns out he's a great dancer! We were practicing steps together just last night!" With rather random enthusiasm, Hermione set her satchel down on the ground and grabbed Harry's hand, pulling him towards an open space in the Commons. "Let me show you- oh come on Harry, it's so easy..."

While she got Harry to at least make some miniscule attempt at dancing behind the sofa, Ron was left sitting awkwardly with Colin in front of the fireplace. Colin watched him closely with a rather unnerving smile on his face, or at least, Ron thought so.

"You wanna dance?"

Ron coughed, "ah... dunno how, sorry."

"Well that's the idea! I could teach you!"

He seemed to be rather panicked by the situation, and at the same time was watching the smile widen on Hermione's face as she danced with Harry, counting aloud for him.

"One two three four, good Harry!"

Ron moved at least a foot away from Colin on the couch and shook his head, making no eye contact. "Um.. yeah... no thanks. I'm ah- allergic."

Colin, however, didn't seem to have heard him, as he had turned around with his oversized camera and was snapping pictures of Hermione and Harry dancing. "Turn him this way, Hermione, there we go! Beautiful."

***

That night, Ron didn't sleep much at all. Harry couldn't get any shuteye as long as the kid in the bed across from him kept rolling around. Finally, when the shifting paused, he said, "comfortable, Ron?"

"No. I think Hermione fancies the poofter."

"Colin is not a poofter."

"He likes taking pictures."

"Of girls."

"He asked me to dance."

"To teach you."

"Just yesterday he put a rose in his hair and called himself pretty."

"You win."