My father is dead.

Lucius Christopher Malfoy the Second - is dead.

And I, strangely enough, am undergoing a strange revelation of character. It's an odd sensation, really, that feeling you get after visiting one of those muggle assylums. Not that I, Draco Malfoy, have ever been to one of those digusting wards.

I have merely observed them from afar. Very far.

Back to father. He was murdered, which isn't truly surprising since he was such a wretched man. Stingy, too. He never got me a Firebolt, despite my last six years of pining. Not to mention that when I was six years old, he flat out refused to buy me a pony.

I really wanted that pony. Not anymore, of course, but for a good year I had high hopes to ride around the manor estate on horse back, or in that case, the back of a small, plump pony.

And the amusing point to the whole story is that he was murdered by the ever wonderful, and I put my emphasis on the wonderful, Harry Potter.

I don't know whether to hate or love the boy. Or, by this point, man. I haven't seen him in what - three years? By God, I wasn't aware it has been that long. And I am truly surprised I haven't seen him around the Ministry.

Aunt Bellatrix supposedly saw him during her quick visit to Paris. He was shopping. With Ron. That stupid red-haired git has no idea how lucky he is.

Hmm. Mother keeps poking her head inside my room. After the fourth or so time I finally asked her what she wanted. Supposedly she was just checking up on me. Worried. Why I find to be strange, after all, I'm not the one who's been locked up in my room for a week. For a few hours, yes. Not nearly a week.

I sometimes wonder about the stability of my mother's sanity.

When she finally got around to leaving I decided I wanted to have a nice, soothing bath. Borrowed mother's bubble-bath without her knowledge. One of her newly acquired house elves, Howe, so happened to find me sneaking about Mother's bathroom.

Due to his odd expression, I assume he'll tell Mother nothing of it. At least, I hope he won't.

The last thing I need is her poking her head in more often than she usually does.

After my soak I continued my relaxations and read for a good deal of time, until Mother popped in again. Quite literally.

"Draco dear - dinner's ready,"

And pop, she was gone.

Goddamnit. I was just getting to the part where Timothy devotes his love to Regina. Oh right - dinner.

Twenty-three minutes later

Our butler, Jonathan, is not a people person. Or at least, he isn't anymore. I'll assume he was quite fond of my father, as he was working for him long before I was born.

I'm honestly surprised he's even alive to this day. He's at least seventy-odd years old. Poor bloke. I do, however, give him credit for still being as ravishing as he most likely was in his younger years. He even got Mother to smile.

I simply kept quiet. I know there is some sort of infatuation between the two, but I am trying to keep my mouth shut on the subject.

We had roasted ham and apple dumplings. I do believe Jonathan knows how to lift a man's spirits. Food. I didn't end up eating much, merely nibbled at the food while pushing it about my grandmother's fine china.

Jonathan took my plate after a rather loud scratching of my fork on porcelain.

I think I annoy him somewhat.

When I did get around to excusing myself, I retreated to my room. It was then I realized I had a maid. A maid who was retrieving my bedclothes as to wash them.

Pretty little thing.

Her name's Patricia. I'll have to remember that.

Once she left, after shagging, of course, and took my bedsheets with her - I went to my balcony and continued my revelations.

I've decided I need to get a telescope. Not a muggle one, by no means, but a high quality, very expensive, wizard telescope.

I wonder if I'll find one at Diagon Alley.