For fun only. I make no profit off of this, everything in the Harry Potter franchise is J.K Rowlings and should stay her's for the better. I don't know what this is.

:Draco:

This in no way is a diary. I simply call it a creative memoir writing exercise. Father insists I go to a physical and mental therapist- a big waste of time if you ask me. Whatever. I go back to Hogwarts as a fourth-year student in a just about a week, and I would rather be caught making out with Professor Flitwick than being seen with this in the Slytherin common room. Course, I have never done that. I would hope I will never get to do that, either.

I don't dread going back to Hogwarts. Honestly, I think the thing I'm dreading is the people there. It's strange. Well, you can't just fight it. If I want a future, I might as go back. That and my mother insists on education. Apparently, the Malfoy line is dropping slowly and Potter's name is climbing up the stats. Well, I couldn't let that happen, could I? Though it is only one person that leads the entire name. I suppose that isn't his fault. I mean, brutally murdering everyone a child had ever loved and cared about is just sad and despicable. I suppose I pity him more than I should.

Mother bought me a dress robe to wear this year. It's a beautiful emerald green color, the fabric so soft it's insane. I'm tempted to sleep in the thing, but considering how expensive it was (Well, considering my other clothes anyways. It wasn't a too bad of a sacrifice.) It also came with a jet black ribbon to tie my hair back, but I honestly don't think it would be necessary. I like my hair down and free. Shoes were made of a flexible leather, much better than the school shoes that left merciless blisters at my feet. Faint silver vines and snakes crept from the hem of the robe. It looked rather feminine, but I looked presentable in it and it was really all that mattered. I couldn't care less about balls and dances anyways. Women in beautiful dresses and rings never pleased me strangely. I liked realistic women, not dainty fake laughs, smiling painted lips, perfect figures, and sturdy postures that could stand straighter than their sexualities.

Mother said it resembled Harry Potter. I said that she should shut her mouth before I burn it in the floo.

Apparently, mother was trying to marry me off to Pansy Parkinson. The family desperately agreed, Pansy extremely ecstatic, but I hadn't agreed to the marriage so far and it was held in a knot of uncertainty. Mother has been trying to show me how fitting Pansy was, how happy she made her, but honestly, I couldn't care less. Pansy could shove her ego up her ass. I was never up for the whole "damsel in distress" or "desperate maiden of riches and welfare" anyways.

Stellar died today. She was getting old anyways, but it still pained me to see the beauty cry in agony and rest her head on the grass forever. She was a good wolf, I suppose. I'd known her since she was a pup. I was four then. I only hope she's in a better place with her brother and soon, her children. The other wolves of the pack howled in distress, so much so that it drove Father insane and ordered all the house elves to cast silencing charms on the entire facility in which they were held in.

Vince just had 16 boxes of Every Flavored Beans. I feel bad about picking out all the horrible ones and putting them in the boxes now. He claims they were all good, but Crabby and I know the truth. I reckon he got a squid ink one and the frog dung, but maybe he just has messed up taste buds and thought they were Black Licorice and Caramel Apple.

Let me tell you, bean vomit does not smell good. Nor looks good for the matter, but really, the smell is so nauseating and horrible that the repulsive lumps and brown goo didn't look as bad.

He did get me back after that. I suppose. I assume Greg told Vincent, because that every evening, he had enchanted with his father's wand all the gobstones to root for his team when I was their player, and then all the chess pieces to attack each other so I would end up with nothing... It wasn't bad as vomit, I'll admit, but I reek of the smell of his throw-up as well and we were even.

By this point, I'm just trying to grab little parts of my day and cram them into this stupid book so I don't get scolded and yelled at. You can't blame me! I'm desperate to get these unnecessary sessions over.

This daily diary thing is just stupid. Apparently, I was supposed to pour my feelings into this, give it my love, share my deepest darkest feelings, thoughts, and whatever. Desires. That's just stupid. What if someone finds this diary- no. I refuse to call it that. This journal. What if someone finds this bloody thing? That would be mortifying (though would make some good gossip).

Besides, my "therapist" is going to read this. And to that I say, fuck this idea.

-Draconis Malfoy