From the Closet

                                   A Diary of

                                Draco Malfoy

A/N: This is the second journal/diary entry. In my fic, Draco has a somewhat…. Sentimental side. Not girly girly, but he's touchy about certain things. Which I think is OK since we don't know a whole lot about Draco from the books.

Insane Ramble: I literally HATE it when people call Hermione ''Mione' and 'Herm'. This has nothing to do with the fic, but I thought ya'll should know. It just bugs me!

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Draco once again picked up his quill, and dipped it in his fancy silver ink pot. He then scratched the following words onto paper:

                                                                              July 30 1994

 I hate Pansy Parkinson. She is an ugly pug faced idiot (A/N: seems to be Dracos word, eh? IDIOT!) and I hate her. She came over yesterday, and would NOT let go of my arm the entire time!

 "Oooh" she squealed over and over again. Stupid prat. I wish she'd just get a L-I-F-E! "Draco this, Draco that, DRACO DRACO DRACO!! It is all I ever hear! Luscius says, "Draco, you know you're a Death Eater, Mother says, "Draco! Wipe that smirk off your face, Pansy says, "Oooh, Draco, let's get married!". I hate it all! In fact, I wonder why I was even born. To act like a spoiled prat, to act like my 'parents'  'love' me? Well, whilst we're on the subject, there is no such thing as love!

 "Ha" Draco scoffed. 'Love' was the only thing he knew any REAL thing about. He had read silly love novels, books on love potions, anything! He often pondered how the beautiful, rich, smarmy man got the beautiful, poor, kind girl on the other side of the tracks. Draco was smarmy, rich, and to say the least, beautiful! But the only girl that liked him, only for his money, mind you, was Pansy the pug-nosed Parkinson. Ha! She was more like Parkinson's Disease!

The only person I know who even remotely knows about love is that stupid mudblood, Granger. Pottys parents are dead, and Weasels parents don't have enough money to love. But Granger comes from muggles. So they probably love their daughter, with simpering idiotic smiles. But it's not like she'll ever LOVE. Please, what guy, other than Weasel would love a fuzzy haired bookworm? Heck, maybe even Weasel wouldn't! It might just be a phase. So the mudblood probably is just destined to marry a book. But there are more pressing matters to be discussed.

My parents are just about to kill eac other. Or Narcissa is about to kill Luscius. I have decided to call 'Mother' Narcissa. Over the past two days, she no longer even deserves to be called 'Mum'. Dad put the Crutiatus curse on her, and ever since she has been raging mad! She shot the killing curse over and over again at him, put the unforgivable curses on him, did everything in her power except make him happy, and kill him. Which, at the way thing's are going now, he might just be happier dead. So I hope Narcissa keeps him alive. Besides, somebody has to make the money. It's not like Narcissa would ever get off he lazy butt and do something, whereas I clean. A LOT. I just act surprised when people tell me to do things at Hogwarts. Just to cover up. We have several House-Elves, but cleaning is punishment for me. I don't even care anymore. The House-Elves help me, because they pity me. And they don't make any effort to hide it. I hate it. I hate for people to think I'm weak. Because I'm not. I am several times stronger than Luscius, mentally, even physically. Luscius comes home every night so wore out, and beaten—HA! He deserves it!

Draco stared at his paper, a white-blonde strand of hair over his left eye. He pushed it away. Just like he pushed everything else away. Luscius had taught him never to get attached to anything, for happiness, like life, was sure to end, very soon. So Draco pushed everything away. Except Crabbe and Goyle. You couldn't shove those two away with crowbars. Besides, Draco hadn't listened completely to Luscius, he had to keep something around. He only wished he could shove Parkinsons Disease Pansy away. But that would be a miracle, and as Luscius tells it, miracles just don't happen. And, this was true, of the very few things that were that Luscius fed him. Most of it was lies. Lies, lies, lies.

Lies. They can be the only way to get by in this world sometimes. Most of the time.

Dracos mind involuntarily went back to Granger.

 Hermione Granger is the MUDBLOOD. And I probably hate her more than Potty or Weasel. She is the lucky one. She is the pure one.

As much as Draco hated to admit it, this was true. She was the lucky one. She had her large group of friends from all houses. She was pure, clean. He lived his life by means of cruelness and jealousy. Very opposite from Granger.

 I am dirty, a dirty ferret.

 Draco wrote miserably. He had made everybody hate him. He had even come to hate himself, and to bask in his own self pity.

 Draco lay down his quill, and immediately picked it up again. He looked to see how sharp it was. Then he drew a very tiny scratch onto his left hand. A small prick of blood showed up along the line of the scratch. Pleased, he wrote one more sentence in his journal:

 Until next time.

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Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

I own nothing here,

So please don't sue!

How did you all like it? Was he way too OOC? Please tell me! BTW, Draco is NOT going to be a self injurer, or slasher. I love reviews, and any advice! Don't hesitate!