Okay, here's the thing: I already wrote the first eight chapters of this thing. And they're really short. Yeah. So, I can't make it any longer. But, I'd just like to say first, before I seem insensitive:

Whoa! People like this story! That's so exciting! Yay!

Okay. And . . . I'm done.

From the, ahem, journal of Draco Malfoy (and if you tell anyone about this . . .):

8:00 AM

Dammit.

I just snogged the Weasel in front of the entire school. So, let me repeat myself: dammit.

I mean, yes, it was rather . . . pleasant. But, Weasels and Malfoys just don't mix. Although that just may have been true because previously the only Weasleys present were of the male variety. But female Weasels do not belong either. It's like the eleventh commandment: Thou shalt not allowest a Malfoy and a Weasley to intermingle—eth.

Or, if we do, we don't tell anyone.

I mean, yeah, I guess we have been "intermingling" for a few weeks now, but just for a few snogs now and then. Just to pacify our random teenage hormones. If we had gotten in a fight a week ago, I wouldn't have tried to apologize and calm her down. I wouldn't have snogged her in the front of the Great Hall at breakfast time.

It's like I'm her, I shudder to write this, boyfriend.

Shuddershudder.

And Malfoys are not boyfriend material.

I was just trying to shut her up. It's not my fault that it was a very boyfriend-y thing to do.

Shuddershudder.

And now I have to go find Weasley and apologize for being "an evil wanker." Seriously. She knows I'm an evil wanker. That didn't stop her before. I don't know why she's finally bringing it up now.

But now she's probably hiding out in the library like she always does whenever her great lumbering lout of a brother embarrasses her. It happens a lot. I'll have to go stop her from reading some stupid book about flobberworms or something. Honestly, if she doesn't watch out, she's going to morph into the Mudblood Granger.

I'm going go find her now. Soon. It's just, those redheads have terrible tempers. No control over them, either. No wonder the Weasel house always looks like it's about to collapse. If they can do that to an entire house, what do you think a Weasel can do to a single person?

Completely volatile, the lot of them. I mean, just look at her Lout, er, I mean, brother. He was about ready to murder me. Although, I must say, that was definitely a plus to the situation—pissing off the Lout. The only plus, though.

Oh, shut it, I'm a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor. Gryffindors are the ones who fight it out at the center of the battle. Slytherins are the ones who sit on the sidelines and laugh at everyone else. And I'm good at that. Laughing, sneering, smirking, all of that is second nature to a Slytherin.

That's why I don't want to go. It's not because I'm scared. I just don't want to turn into another Potter. The world has one too many of those already.

Damn you, Potter.

8:13 AM

Er, right. Sorry.

Anyway. Stupid Weasel. Making me act like a Gryffindor.

Maybe I'll torture a few Hufflepuffs on the way to build up my strength.

8:16 AM

Wait a second. Why was she yelling at me in the first place?