The Chronicles of Draco Malfoy

For many people, journals have become the equivalent of a trusted confidante.

Ah. No truer words have been uttered. Which is why I, Draco Malfoy, have always kept within my bedside a small notebook that serves as a witness to my many hardships and failures, to my triumphs and conquests. It is an integral part of my existence, one that, if necessary, I will gladly trade a life for.

So long as that life isn't mine.

My quill quivers in my delicate grasp, the tip barely making an impression on the surface. I bite my lower lip in consternation, and my hesitation is evident by my reluctance to actually put my genius into words. No, I'm not suffering from writer's block, thank you - why, I just composed another proof of my brilliance, simply titled The Wonder of Me and... well, you can probably guess the essence of that work. Aptly titled, is it not? First version and it is ready to be printed. Behold my creativity and genuflect before me, mere slaves of the written word!

But I digress.

And put away my quill in disgust.

This is most vexing. The truth of the matter is, I simply cannot get myself to actually write down on the surface of my journal. Yes, I am aware that my handwriting will only enhance the beauty and elegance of the paper, my work will only mak the material more valuable, etc etc, but for the life of me... well. I just can't.

I have owned this journal for a long time, and yet I have not written a single word on it. A paradox it indeed is.

What? I'm sure all the other writers also own damn journals that collect dust somewhere in the vicinity of their own houses just because it is too precious to actually be used! We are writers, for Slytherin's sakes. We have every damn right to be quirky!

I sigh, and of their own volition my eyes stray towards the small stack of paper neatly arranged at my desk. If only I own some of the worthless pieces of trash paper Granger fondly refers to as 'temporary employment contract' - it will definitely make writing easier. One wrong word - nay, a simple mistake in punctuation! - and out the paper goes. Sadly, I cannot do the same with parchments. Or with journals. Or with everything else that is not cheap in the market. I mean, am I the only living wizard bothered by how expensive things are nowadays? It is ridiculous! Ludicrous! Obscene!

This is what I hate about being not as rich as I was before. These little things begin to nag at me, to taunt me with their beauty and mock me with their worth. These occurences that had absolutely no value to me whatsoever during my days of wealth and manly glory have become quite burdensome now that I am in my days of less wealth but still quite manly glory.

Yes, I am aware that I have become quite a sensitive soul with a poetic streak that will undoubtedly endear me to the rest of the female population.

Nay, they will be positively obsessed with me now.

How often does a person grace the planet with such humility and perfectness that I happen to possess?

But I digress. Again.

With Mugshots bribed with ridiculous amounts of food just to stay inside his mistress's flat, my own place feels empty, and yet this emptiness enables me to bask in my newfound sensitivity and concentrate on my art. And I am. Concentrating, that is. But I still can't get myself to write anything down.

I close my precious journal - just in time to hear a popping sound emanate within a few feet from me. Cue the rolling of my eyes. Truly, one does get quite used to the fact that some people - some people named Pansy, that is - are just ejected from the womb fully grown with no small amount of self-centeredness and selfishness and all around self-love.

I mean, some people are just too self-involved.

Why can't she be like... oh I don't know, me?

Haven't she heard of the term selflessness? I mean, who even cares if she's actually hurting - or possibly dying - inside? Who cares if she needs a companion now more than ever?

"I certainly don't care," I say aloud, even before she gets to open her mouth. "Today I am dedicating my time to myself, and I've no intention of sharing whatsoever with the likes of you, Parkinson. So go away, leave me be, bring your ugly self and be away from here, if you please."

There. That sounded a nice-enough sending.

She merely glares at me, her fangs sharpened and ready. "Shut up, you self-centered piece of egotistic arse. And no, I won't go away. Not yet." Pansy smiles, reminding me of blood-sucking newts spotting a bloody carcass somewhere off the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Ugh. "I have dinner plans for us."

My ears perk up. "You do?"

"Yes."

"Where?" I ask suspiciously. After all, she may well be planning to do something dastardly to me, and is taking me somewhere to - gasp! - ravish me.

What? Somebody tried that once already! I am just protecting my delectable dignity!

"Somewhere your current budget cannot afford," Pansy fairly sings while batting her fake eyelashes.

I curb my desire to throttle her - after all, we are talking about a free expensive meal here.

And just as that thought has crossed my mind, another follows closely in its wake.

Blast it all, now I sound like a poor, pathetic, pitiful... Potter.

Ugh.

What a terrifying thought!

"You do realize that I can just say no," I tell her haughtily. "In fact, I am. For evil's sakes, Parkinson, I am a Malfoy! I have no right to be homely, desperate, and ugly like Potter! And I certainly won't degrade myself by going out with you like Weasley did!"

Take that, Parkinson! Take that, Parkinson's money!

"Oh Draco, truly you underestimate me." Pansy checks her fingernails. "You do realize that, if you say no, I can just tell the world about you - a Malfoy - actually writing down bits and pieces of... what do you call them? Drabbles, poetry... oh, whatever you writers call those bunch of words all mushed together." She shrugs delicately, then picks up the journal from my numbed hands. "I'm sure you have something written in here right now."

I sit perfectly still. The hair at the back of my fragile neck spring to alertness and naked fear.

This is not... I mean, I have been most discreet! I have been elusive and mysterious and secretive about my dastardly affair with the written language!

And then... it hits me.

A typical Slytherin ploy, this is. I cannot believe I actually-- to think I was the one who invented this strategy!

Leisurely taking my time, I walk to the window and take a peak at the outside world... one that still is blissfully unaware of my genius and manly glory. Then I glance at Pansy. "I don't know what you're talking about." I am quite proud of my innocent tone, really.

She grins, reminding me of flesh-eating salamanders seeing a wounded, snotty ickle first-year. "Oh, want some evidence, do you? 'Oh smelly rat, smelly rat, what furry feet you've got! To possess such feet as yours, must be the worst curse to a lot!"

My jaw drops to the floor. My masterpiece... An Ode to a Smelly Rat! On a mouth as big as hers!

"'And your tail so long and hairy, and ears triangular and itchy--"

"Twitchy you demented little--"

Pansy and I stare at one another in stunned silence.

No.

NO.

This is not happening.

This is NOT happening.

But as I watch Pansy collapse, guffawing quite obscenely, the reality of the situation nearly cripples me.

Someone knows my secret.

Someone knows my secret.

Someone knows my secret.

And that someone just has to be the person currently emitting inhuman laughter on my floor.

Oh, cruel, cruel world! Why do you always pick on kind-hearted, pure, eminently good people such as I? I am not ready yet! My works are not yet set for printing! And on a mouth as open and wide and vulgar as Pansy's, I may as well climb every mountain, flow on every stream, and follow every rainbow to shout out, "I am Malfoy! Hear me write!"

I sigh. Admittedly, I can recognize defeat when it nearly deafens me with its animalistic shrieks.

"All right, you ugly- I mean, Pansy. Pansy dearest. Pansy the most..." I grit my teeth lest I spout positive adjectives for her, "savage. All right! What the hell am I going to do - aside from murder, poison and maim, of course - to keep you and your big, vulgar mouth shut?"

She rises elegantly, and her face is lit with such a wide, hungry smile that reminds me of Crabbe when he beholds an uncooked, still-pecking-seeds-from-the-ground turkey.

Oh, cruel, cruel, cruel world.

I can just throttle you right now...

...If only you had a neck, damn it.

--

"Smile, Draco. Otherwise, the people around may think you're not enjoying yourself."

I stab my piece of tender, delicious meat with too much unnecessary vehemence. My small pile of creamed, luscious vegetables doesn't escape my murderous wrath. "What makes you think I am?"

Pansy's smile twitches. "Because I said so. Now smile for me, you writer you."

I smile, ergo, bare my perfect set of pearly whites, which has the effect of making the elderly witches on the far right of the room swoon with girlish, gigglish delight.

But Pansy is far from praising my perfect set of pearly whites. She seems to be looking for something, as her eyes always stray towards the door.

I am outraged. No person has any right to not bask in my presence! They cannot, for I am utterly delectable!

"Pansy, dear, are you waiting for someone?" I ask, as I smother my piece of tender, delicious meat with ranch sauce.

She flips her hair and says, quite unconvincingly, "Of course not."

Then it hits me.

Because the person who Pansy is not waiting for is currently walking towards the empty table beside ours.

And, look! Weasley actually has a date? Now, who in their right mind would actually--

Wait the bloody minute.

"Granger?" I utter aloud.

"Parkinson!" Weasley gasps. In three seconds, he is standing by our table - not surprising, considering his abnormal legs. His eyes stray from me to Pansy and back again. "Draco! What are you two doing here?" he bellows, his ears turning a sickening shade of purple.

Right, Weasley. I can see your tonsils, you freakishly-built brute.

"We're eating, in case your eyes are too stupid to notice it," Pansy fairly snarls.

"You're... you two are... eating together? Why? Why? Why?"

Granger taps him sharply on his arm. "Ron, shush!" she whispers fiercely, looking around. "People are staring!"

Pansy raises her brow, a sly smile spreading on her face. "What's this, Ronniekins? Having a date with dear Hermione, aren't we? Where are you going to get the money to pay for it, I wonder? Or, wait." She focuses her attention on Granger. "Ah, I know. You two are going to wash dishes after you eat. And, look! She's even dressed for it."

I curb the strong urge to kick her senseless. Instead I say, "Play fair, Pansy. They might not be staying here, anyway."

Granger regards me in surprise. Perhaps because my tone is not as evil as usual? Gasp! Horror of horrors! "Actually, we are."

"Yes," Weasley repeats unnecessarily. "We are."

And he plops messily down his chair, glaring evilly and doing little impressions of throttling necks with his hands.

Granger bites her lip, shakes her head, and sits down on the other chair.

So, there we are, the four of us having just the grandest time of our lives. I can actually hear the rusty, unused wheels turning in Weasley's head as he glares at me, unquestionably imagining the gruesome things he will do to my beautiful body. I can tell, because I've often seen that look on many people before.

I mean, one does get used to often being the object of obsession and grisly thoughts.

Pansy... well. There's no doubt she's also murdering Granger in her dirty, perverted little mind. In a more creative, bloodier way, of course.

So, instead of thinking such trivial things like life and death I focus my attention on my free, expensive food, sneaking glances every so often at Granger and Weasley, who have managed to order their food by now.

The sight of them together makes me sick. It should be outlawed! Prohibited! Banned from the public eye, for the sight of them together is an assault to all things bright and beautiful!

"Say aaaah, Drakie-drakie," Pansy suddenly shrieks, holding a spoon with an overflowing amount of soup on it.

I stare at the spoon, the dripping soup, then at her. "I beg your pardon," I say haughtily. "I am not an inf--mffllffff--!!"

By now she has pushed the spoon to my tightly closed lips. "Say aaahh, Drakie-love!" she repeats, this time with a matching killing glare.

Of their own volition, my eyes stray towards the other table. Weasley is nearly purplish with rage, and Granger...

Well.

Is she actually glaring at Pansy?

"Draco, if you don't open your freakin' lovely mouth I will shove this spoon up your delectable ar--"

"That's it!" Weasley shoots to his feet and grabs her arm. "You and I are going to talk!"

"What? No! Can't you see I'm feeding--"

"We. Will. Talk!" Cue his rapid shaking of her arm, and the soup flying everywhere.

Thankfully, napkins are quite handy in situations like this.

"Let me go, you stupid oversized-- what the hell are you--!!"

And so Weasley hauls her over his shoulder and marches away, with Pansy struggling and shrieking like a crazed banshee.

It's really quite entertaining, actually.

If one doesn't count the fact that people are now openly gawking at us.

But I'm not bothered by it, really. I mean, one does get used to often being the object of fascination and open ogling.

"Well," Granger comments, raising her brow, "that was quite a show."

I look at her, note the blush staining her cheeks. "Yes. It most certainly was."

She picks up her knife and starts cutting into her steak with too much unnecessary vehemence. "I mean, I go out on this dinner as a favor to Ron, and I end up up alone and humiliated by him. Who doesn't enjoy that?"

I have to chuckle at that. "Seems we're on the same boat, Granger."

And to both our eternal surprise, I stand and occupy the seat vacated by Weasley.

Granger gawks at me. "What are you doing?"

I arrange my coat. "Well, breathing, for one. Sitting, for another. Opening my mouth and talk--"

"I mean..." She indicates the chair I now sit on. "Why are you there?"

"Because... I'm not over there?"

She grips her knife, preparing to stab me with it.

I relax on my chair. "Personally, I do think it's a tad pathetic to be talking to you when we are on two different tables. I merely made things easier for us."

Granger snorts. Charming woman, really. "What makes you think I want to talk to you?"

"Because... you are?" I order another round of wine for both of us.

"If Ron comes back and sees you there--"

"Silly girl," I admonish, noting with interest the way the lights and shadows cast by the candlelight play on her face. "Do you honestly think they will be coming back for us?"

She opens her mouth, closes it, then draws her brows together. "He better. He will."

I grin. "You want to bet on that?"

Granger glares at me quite haughtily. "No. I know I'm right."

"For a supposedly smart witch you can be so stupid sometimes." I roll my eyes upon seeing her knife hovering inches from my throat. "I meant, with the way he carried her out like that Weasley probably has Pansy shackled somewhere right now. Imagine whips and chains and teddy bears and..." I clear my throat. "No, no, I'd rather not." Pause, shudder, vomit at the gruesome mental picture.

She frowns and drops her fork loudly on her plate. "Well. That thought certainly ruined my appetite. Honestly, Malfoy. I know of no other person more disturbed than you are."

"Why, Granger! I do believe that's the single most positive thing you've ever said to me. I am truly flattered."

What? I am!

She shakes her head but I can tell that she's busy keeping a smile off her face.

I brush off the satisfied feeling fluttering in my stomach.

"I just have question, though," Granger mutters, sitting rigidly.

I raise my brow.

"Who's going to pay for this dinner?"

I blink. And blink again.

Pansy you conniving gruesome ugly creature, you!

I maintain my outward appearance of nonchalance. "Do not fret, I have everything covered."

Instantly, I get to my feet and walk towards her place. I offer my hand to her.

She looks at me, then at my hand.

"Take it," I say, smiling at her.

Granger frowns again, but grabs my hand.

I urge her to walk with me, keeping our pace unhurried. I nod and smile at the waiters, then at the guests, saluting and acting quite the polished, sophisticated gentleman that I am. At the door, I gently place my palm against the small of her back, and give her a tiny push.

"We're--"

"At the count of three."

"What? But we haven't--"

"One."

"--paid for--"

"Two."

"--our--"

"Three."

Pop!

"--dinner!" Granger gasps, then looks around her in alarm.

Yes, we're back in our tiny flat.

Draco you conniving genius, you.

She hits me on the arm. Me! "Stop that! If you should know, I do bruise quite easily and--"

Unheeding my words, she hits me again. "I can't believe we just did that! We left! Without paying! That's just--"

I heave a sigh. And protect my arm from her incessant attacks. "Do you have money to pay for that dinner?"

Granger blinks. "Well, no... but I'm sure we could have--"

"What? Bruised my delicate hands through washing dishes? Wasted magic? No, thank you." I pause. "But you can go back there and work off our debt, if you want to. Don't let me stop you."

For a few seconds, she stands there, staring at me open-mouthed. I show her my perfect set of pearly whites, for good measure. Snapping her mouth shut, Granger pivots on her heel and marches up to her flat, closing her door with such vehemence that the whole place rattles for a moment.

I scratch my nape. Why is it that I feel as though I just did something that eternally damned me in her eyes?

Oh, right. Because I did.

Gritting my teeth, I use my wand to pop right into the restaurant.

"Mr. Malfoy!" The waiter who served us appears quite flustered and surprised. "I... I... we thought--"

"What? That I intentionally left my bill unpaid? That I intended to let the lot of you suffer by having your wages halved to pay for our dinner? That I disappeared with the thought that I will never, ever, ever set foot on this place again lest you remember that, once upon a time I had dinner in this restaurant and then vanished afterwards? The nerve of you people," I scoff. "How much is the dinner?"

The amount that appears on the paper nearly cause me to faint.

Scratch that; Malfoys do not faint.

They just... manfully lose consciousness in completely appropriate moments.

I settle the bill - totally against everything I have in me, by the way - and just as I was to leave a person bumps into me.

Typical that I'll be seeing the person who caused me to lose about a third of a quarter of a fifth of my inheritance.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I... Malfoy?"

I smirk at Granger, noting that, again, she is staring at me open-mouthed. I can get used to this, you know. "If you're here to pay our bill... don't bother. I already did."

"But... but you... I thought..."

"Goodnight," I mutter, nodding at her, before pulling my second disappearing act for that evening.

--

Author's Notes: This chapter was verrrry slow in coming. It was weeks overdue, I know. But! Well... I just thought it's time for this story to head where it should be heading to, and... heh. This is the result ;D See you next chapter, I hope!