DAY TWELVE IS A BOSS

Diary. Diary, Diary, Diary...

I have, at last, thought of the perfect plan to bring two perfect little angels of people together... Together, bonded by the strings of loving hearts and the souls of caring acquaintances. A most ingenious plan...

Except that neither Pansy nor I am either of the aforementioned perfect little angels, and no one gives a fuck about my brilliant plan. Well, you know what? Fuck them! They could go, I don't know, drown in the lake, for all I care. And have their brains sucked out by the giant squid! I bet Snape would go out and take samples from their bodies for his weird potions...

Hey, I've heard rumours!

A few minutes before this climactic scene shot through my oh-so-intelligent mind (kind of), all of us guys were just kind of chilling in our dormitory. I was doodling Pansy's name on the pages of some textbook, Draco was getting all emo about his life, Blaise was researching different poisons... just chilling, you know? Slytherin-style.

And, yeah, at the other end of the room there was some dork arranging flowers, someone asleep in his school trunk, and two other students (okay, Crabbe and Goyle) having a mini-buffet in the corner. But, other than that, Slytherin-style chilling is pretty boss.

Suddenly, a word passed through my mind. Not my brilliant plan- we're not quite there yet- but another word, an extremely insightful, powerful word... Well, a name. A nickname. Whatever.

"Draco!" I exclaimed, and a few wary heads lifted in reply. "I can insult your name, too!"

Draco just looked at me the flattest expression you could imagine, and after a moment said, "Well?"

"Huh?" I echoed.

"Well, have a go at it, then! Try me!"

By then everyone was pretty much looking at me, and it was very, very awkward. When I told them to stop staring, they just kind of rolled their eyes and kept on. So I closed my own eyes, then said it.

"Melonboy."

"I don't get it," Draco informed me, his eyebrows all wayside and confused-looking. After I had finally explained to him that it rhymed with Malfoy and sounded similar to it, he still looked rather dubious about it. "Alright, then," he said slowly, then went back to wall-staring.

Dammit.

"Epic fail," Blaise announced, appearing out of nowhere. Apparently.

"Whatever!" I huffed, turning back to my textbook. And everyone went silent again. Then-

"You know... If you were writing a romance about Zabini, you call it 'The Blaise Days'. Or 'Daze', I suppose." We all looked up then, and I think we were all pretty much thinking the same thing: Who the hell just said that? So you can imagine their- our- faces when we looked up to see Goyle, his hands free of food. And condiments. Of everything, really.

Which really was almost as much a shocker as what he'd just, apparently, said.

"It's kinda cheesy-" Goyle continued. Of course he would use "cheesy". "-but it works... You know?"

"Not really," Draco said slowly, and Goyle seemed to shrink back a little. It didn't help that Crabbe was giving him a look, that, roughly translated, said, "What the fuck, man?" So it was only natural that I decided to help my pal out a bit, you know?

"I think it'd make a great story!" I proclaimed, opening my arms like Dumbledore had yesterday. The Jesus-thing.

"Yeah, well, nobody gives a fuck about what you think, Theo," some kid said. Afronted, I walked over to where Goyle was and patted him on the shoulder.

"You're good," I told him. "They're all just being asses." I said the last part a little louder, of course. I mean, I am Slytherin. What would anyone else expect, a hug?

"You were talking about rhymes, and it just came to me..." Goyle said, his face all lit up. Well, I'm glad to make the world a little less of a fucked-up place than it usually is. Is there a job for that? My business card could say something catchy, like "You fuck up, I clean it up!" Or something else, something that doesn't make one think of intercourse... or human waste... or canine waste.

Anyway. A bit of throat-clearing here, just to clear the old thought cords...

"You like romance, Goyle?" I asked him, kind of curious now. I guess we all thought he just thought about food all day long... and then dreamed about it, too. "Do you harbor in your soul a secret love for something other than food?" I went on, the possibilities catching my mind's eye. "Or..." I elbowed the boy, "Someone?"

To everyone's utter amazement- okay, my amazement- Goyle turned red, and muttered something that sounded a lot like-

"I guess so."

Now a few more guys were looking at him, albeit curiously. They too had wondered. They too had the minds full of philosophy...

I've always wondered if the original great philosopher was named Phil. Is he why the word sprung about? Or is the world just full of fucking morons who make up stupid words?

"Who, Goyle? Who?" I asked, clinging to his arm a bit. I ignored the kid in the background that muttered something about me sounding like an owl. Well, I did turn, kind of, and whisper "Fuck you, too!" to him. But that doesn't count, because it was an eight-second exchange. Barely that.

Goyle closed his eyes just as I had a few minutes earlier- I guess we really are sort of alike. He took a quick breath- which was really more of a frightened gulp- and then it was out there. Words. A name.

My plan was already coming to me.

To be continued... ;)