Day Nine
About one in one-hundred-and-forty-seven people in this world have the amazing ability to piss me off at will, and Blaise Zabini is one of them. Do you know anyone else who would write "Nott broken" on Draco's funny-looking (because it really does look stupid, ha) nose bandage when he was already more pissed than a... hmm... I suck at metaphors. Think Severus Snape, but less restrained.
And, since this is my life we're- well, I'm- talking about- writing, whichever- of course it was Pansy who walked into the room as soon as Blaise left. Naturally, that scum they call Draco didn't make any attempt to inform her that it was not, in fact, the boy who just picked the other guy's marker off the ground that vandalized his face (ha, vandalization of the face). He was totally content with just watching when she started to go off at me.
If I was feeling pessimistic- optimistic, whatever it is that you're supposed to say- I might comment that at least my dear Pansy was talking to me again. But I really don't think that "Why can't you ever act mature, for once in your life?" and "Damn you!" count, to be really honest. Maybe she was right, because the only thoughts that were coming to me were about how hot she was when she was angry, and how angry I was at Blaise, of course. And Draco. Come to think of it... I've got to get myself some new friends! They all turned out to be bastards... I knew I should have picked Ravenclaw. But that idea was mostly to piss Dad off. Anyway... I mean, what now?
Well, what happened next was something really rather strange... Her hand went up. Pansy's. As in, she looked for one short second as if she was about to... hurt me. Hurt me. Hurt me? And then- she ran away. Again. Only this time she left something behind, something I'd been all too aware of since she'd first walked in... her diary. Her diary. Her diary!
Isn't there some sort of charm that makes people say everything three times? Or a mental disorder? I think I might have that.
Since Draco- the bastard- had gone back to fiddling with his nose- I mean, no wonder he thinks it's crooked- no one noticed me casually slipping the leather-bound book into my bag. I felt like such a ninja, you know? A rock-star ninja. So I guess it was only natural that I looked up to see Draco watching me.
Guiltily, I backed away from the scene and called, "Your hair color isn't real!" And then fled.
Don't ask how I ended up here in Dumbledore's office again, this time alone. All I figure right now is that I'm so tired- and sick of all this shit going on- that I might just fall asleep holding two diaries in my arms.
Damn... I'd forgotten about the damn tree!
-Reluctantly, Theo. Who is almost wishing he is someone else at the moment, but not quite.