Monday, September 2: Slytherin Common Room
Dead tired this morning. Spent half the night arguing with Nott. I'm sorry, but I need the middle bed! That way, Crabbe and Goyle are on either side of me and the door's right in front of me, so I can see if someone's sneaking in. Nott had the nerve to call me paranoid. He has obviously not grown up in a place akin Malfoy Mansion.
Lucius Malfoy Lesson #1: Trust no one. Sleep with one eye open and stash a dagger under your pillow.
I won by the way. I'm rooming with Nott, Crabbe and Goyle, and a boy named Forrest Angelo. He was the one who told Nott to "just let it go". I like him.
But this wasn't the real reason. I did eventually get to sleep, but I had this really creepy dream. You know Professor Quirrell, the Dark Arts teacher? Well, he wears this turban all the time and, in the dream, it was on my head. And Potter was standing opposite me, wearing Slytherin robes and the Sorting Hat. He was laughing at me except it couldn't have been his laugh, because it was high and cold and sent shivers down my spine.
Then the turban started tightening on my head; tighter and tighter. There was a roaring in my ears and I was seeing green spots all over. It was killing me!
I couldn't think, couldn't breath and, as everything started to fade into velvety, green blackness, all I could hear was Not-Potter's voice. I think it was actually coming from the turban. When I woke up, I could still hear it.
It was monstrously strange.
Still Monday
Pansy introduced me to her dorm mates. They are about as much of a scary combination as mine. I knew Millicent Bulstrode already, (She is like a female Crabbe and Goyle.) but the rest I hadn't met. One, Daphne Greengrass, doesn't strike me as too bright as she giggles constantly. Another, Aino Moon, wears only black and powders her face white. Whenever I see her, she gives me this glare that causes my very heart to freeze over.
Oh yes, and the last one introduced herself like this:
"Hi! My names Tracey Davis! I'm a Gemini, lookin' for a Scorpio. Blood type B, ya know."
To which Pansy replied that I am a Scorpio, but I'm looking for more of a Cancer. She also said that I was probably a Type A.
Umm… What?
Still Monday, Midnight: Slytherin Boys Dorm
I should have known. Crabbe and Goyle snore. I thought there was something evil in here! I have to get to sleep. Classes start tomorrow.
Tuesday, September 3: DADA Class
Feh. We should be learning about the Dark Arts, not how to defend against them! And Professor Quirrell's stutter unnerves me. He's all talk and smells like garlic. They say he's never been the same after he met up with those vampires.
This class is such a joke.
Wednesday, September 4: Potions
I have decided that I like Professor Snape. He's head of Slytherin and obviously hates Gryffindors. Thank ye gods that there is someone here who is not completely delusional. I believe I will enjoy this class.
Still Wednesday: Transfiguration
This class however… Merlin, how old is this woman? She's like the walking dead! When will the torture end?
Poured Pickle Paste down Nott's back during Potions. Got away with it, too, as Snape appears to favor me. Good. I need some help if I'm going to survive this hell. On second thought, no hell involves Theodore Nott turning green. Hah!
Thursday, September 5: History of Magic
This is the first day of class, how can it be this boring? It's just one droning, sleep-inducing lecture. Professor Bins really gives ghosts a bad name. He's even more decrepit than McGonagall!
Understandably so, Draco dear. He's dead, remember?
Shut up, Pansy. And don't write in here.
Why not? Does Ickle Draco love his bitty dairy to smidgens?
I'll kill you, Parkinson. And stop laughing, you're going to get us
Later on Tuesday: The Dorm Room
Caught. In trouble. Busted. I might have said any one of them. But no, it was too late for that. It is my first week and I have already lost points for Slytherin. Oh well. Professor Snape gave me ten, so losing two is no problem! Hah! I have once again escaped punishment… Yes.
I never did say how my sorting went. I guess I should write that down, shouldn't I:
"Well," said the hat, once it was placed on my head. "A Malfoy. I've had you lot before. You're Draco, then. Son of a Slytherin, son of a Slytherin, son of a Slytherin, son of a Slytherin, son of a Ravenclaw (Oh, my! A black sheep!), son of a Slytherin…."
"Oh, get on with it," I told him.
"Well, you might make a good Hufflepuff. Oh, I'm joking, boy! You Malfoys never could take a joke! Well, I guess you belong in SLYTHERIN."
Funny but, when I took it off, no time had passed at all. Do you think the hat runs time differently? And who is this Ravenclaw chap? I need to look that up, someday.
Maybe.
Friday, September 6: The Great Hall
Someone stuffed Cockroach Clusters in my ears as I slept last night (Nott!). No one can prove who did it (Nott!) and nobody caught (Nott!) them. I did notice that Theodore looked remarkably cheerful this morning.
I hid Fizzing Wizbees in his mash potatoes and Filch had to get a rope to drag him down from the roof of the Entrance hallway. I am now watching my back. This could get ugly.
Later on Friday: The Dorm
I love Snape! Hah! That was fun…
Draco's Favorite Moment of the Day: Snape (to Potter): "Tut, tut- fame clearly isn't everything."
That Neville Longbottom melted someone's cauldron and ended up covered in boils. Another Gryffindor, a self-proclaimed genius (insert sneer appropriately), nearly had a seizure because Snape wouldn't call one her, and Snape used me as an example. Things are going my way again.
Monday, September 9: Common Room
Pansy says I should stop gloating over the sweets Mother sends me. She says that's the kind of thing that makes people want to slap me. I, however, think I have every right to gloat! Nothing says "I love you" like chocolate, right? Not that my mother would ever be caught dead uttering that sentence.
I was talking to Forrest Angelo about this, and he asked me why my mum only sent sweets and no letters. Well, I don't know. I suppose she doesn't want to spend time writing to me. She can just send a house elf to get sweets.
This is a bit depressing.
Forrest Angelo says that's probably her way of showing affection. He says I shouldn't be jealous of people whose mums write them. Ridiculous! I'm not jealous. I just like making people feel bad. Is that hereditary, do you think?
Gave the sweets to Crabbe and Goyle. Felt better almost instantaneously.
Tuesday, September 10: The Dorm
Spent the entire morning getting my books clean. Nott slipped an open inkwell into my bag. One that had been charmed to be permanent. The fool will die.
Lucius Malfoy Lesson #2: Don't fight like a man. Fight like a Malfoy.
Later Tuesday
I sent him a pack of blood-flavored lollypops and Acid Pops, disguised as harmless sweets from Tracey Davis. He is having his tongue regrown as I write. He kept pointing at me and screaming, "It was him! It was him!" only it came out like "Eh uh eeemh! Eh uh eeemh!" To this, I have only one response: Prove it!
Wednesday, September 11: Common Room
Have Flying lessons with the Gryffindors tomorrow. Can't wait to show up Potter. He's never rode before. Hah. He's going to fall on his rear is my bet.
Thursday, September 12: DADA Class
Somebody sent Longbottom a Remembrall. Goodness knows he needs it! That boy is a walking disaster.
Tried to sneak a peak, but Professor McGonagall caught me. Lucky probably, as Potter and his pet, Weasley, looked ready to jump me. Still, I want to see it! Doesn't chivalry involve sharing? No… maybe not.
Well, chivalry is for pansies anyway. I want a look! Just waiting for the opportune moment.
Later Thursday
He lied! Potter lied! That's the only way! No one flies like that their first time! There's no way! That rotten, little, muggle-loving liar! I hope they kill him!
Still Thursday: The Dorm
Alright, I'm calmer now. We had our Flying classes today, remember? Well, it didn't start of well at all. Madam Hooch began by telling me that I'd been holding my broom wrong since forever. Thanks a lot, Dad.
So anyway, Longbottom botched it up and fell. I won six Knuts from Forrest Angelo, who insisted that he was sure Longbottom would be okay. Longbottom was "a very nice boy, after all, if a little clumsy". How did Forrest Angelo end up in Slytherin? We may never know.
But I digress. The fall must have been thirty feet! He squealed like a pig all the way down. It was hilarious! Broke his wrist and Madam Hooch took him to the hospital wing. Leaving the innocent first years all alone. Right irresponsible if you ask me, but I was trying so hard not to laugh I didn't say a thing.
As soon as she was out of sight the Slytherins began to express their completely appropriate mirth at the situation. It all went downhill so quickly from there. I hardly know were to start. But this is basically it.
Me: Did you see his face, the great lump?
Parvati Patil: Shut up, Malfoy!
Pansy: Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom? Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati.
The first sign of division in the formally united Ranks of Pureblood Girls. I knew it couldn't last. Suddenly, I spotted something.
Me: Look! It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him.
Potter: Give that here, Malfoy.
Gods, Potter! Don't be a hero!
Me: I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find- how about- up in a tree.
Potter: Give it here!
Me: Come and get it Potter!
And with that, I grabbed the broom and zoomed up into the sky. I thought this was quite clever for about a split second. Then, Potter got on his broomstick and flew up to me! Perfectly! I just can't believe he's never flown before. No one's that good on their first try.
Potter: Give it here or I'll knock you off that broom!
Me: Oh, yeah?
He almost speared me with his broom then. I think he's unstable, personally.
Potter: No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy!
That could be a problem. My friends/bodyguards would be helpful in this situation. I thought about calling for them to come up, but then I had a better idea.
Me: Catch it if you can, then!
And with that, I heaved the Remembrall as far as I could and flew back to earth. It went up and then fast, streaking towards the ground.
And he caught it.
He dived and caught it.
It's unnatural, I tell you. I've never seen… It's not…
McGonagall caught him. I'm glad. I hope he's expelled and then I can have a decent time here! No more, "Like Harry Potter" and no more "THE Harry Potter" and Potter, Potter, Potter. Isn't he great? Isn't he grand? Harry Potter, that special boy! Wow!
It makes me want to retch!
Later Thursday: The Library
Pansy is right. I am way too rash. Sought out Potter at dinner, to find out what delicious punishment he had received.
Me: Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?
Potter: You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you.
Yes, I am! You would be too, if you had boys the size of hippogriph's on your side! He says it like it's a bad thing. Oh, wait. He's insulting me!
Me: I'd take you anytime on my own. Tonight if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only- no contact.
A voice that sounded suspiciously like Pansy hissed in the back of my mind, "Being rash again, Draco! Being too rash!" I ignored it. I always do.
Me: What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?
Weasley: Of course he has. I'm his second, who's yours?
I looked my bodyguards up and down. Crabbe is more intelligent, I think. I'm not sure Goyle even knows my name.
Me: Crabbe. Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked.
Unfortunately, it doesn't look likely that I'll be in attendance at this particular dual. I've failed, once again, to check for teachers before bragging about my evil schemes. This is, apparently, also rash. But, anyway, Filch rounded the corner while I was telling Blaise Zabini how I would turn Potter into a snail.
"I'll see you tonight, I hope, Mister Malfoy." He breathed.
Yeah, I'll bet you do. No way! I'm not getting expelled. I suppose the noble thing to do would be to warn Potter…
To bad Slytherin isn't known for its nobility! Luck to ya, Potter. You'll need it.
Friday, September 13: Entrance Hall
Gods, he's still here! I swear, Potter' luck is unnatural! He's a freak, I tell you! They'll all regret not listening to me when he finally snaps and kills everybody! You'll see.
Forrest Angelo says that it's Friday the 13th, and that's why I'm having such wretched luck. I had never heard this before; he says, yes, it's an old superstition. I told him that my luck is always wretched, but thanks anyway.
Thursday, September 19: Common Room
I'm so angry I think I might cry. It's an odd sensation, really, but I actually feel like bawling (something I haven't done since I was two).
Potter got a package this morning. So, I cornered him. Wanted to know what it was. Would you like to guess? Go on, guess!
Me: That's a broomstick. You'll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren't allowed them.
Weasley: It's not any old broomstick, it's a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty? Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus.
He was right, of course, but that only made me angrier.
Me: What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the handle. I suppose you and your brothers have to save up, twig by twig.
Professor Flitwick chose that moment to appear next to me.
Flitwick: Not arguing, I hope, boys?
Me: Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor.
Flitwick: Yes, yes, that's right. Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?
Potter: A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir. And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it.
I hate Harry Potter.
Potter has now been made the seeker for Gryffindor. First years aren't allowed to play Quidditch! They aren't allowed to have brooms! He's never even written a novel.
It took me years to become as good a flyer as I am. I've practiced 'till my hands bled (Okay, not really, but you get the gist, no?) and Harry Potter is better than me on his first day! And now he's got my position. My racing broom! My Nimbus 2000!
You know what makes it sting the most? It hurts because, you see, it's all my fault. I did it to myself. Mea culpa, mea culpa.
I truly, truly hate him.
