FIC: The Twelve Days of Draco [Harry/Draco - R]
Title: The Twelve Days of Draco
Author: birdsofshore
Pairing: Harry / Draco
Word Count: ~3000
Rating: R for language and innuendo, although nothing explicit
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Thank you very much indeed to a certain person, both for the lovely cheerleading, and the comma.
Summary: Draco really deserves a better class of mystery admirer. Who on earth would be smitten enough to keep sending him all these ridiculous presents? And will he ever remember who he was kissing at Blaise's party?
Christmas Day
Dear Diary,
Spent a very pleasant Christmas at home with Mother and Father. They gave me some really quite amusing little gifts, including Fiji. I had to laugh, because I honestly had no idea we owned it. Life is full of surprises.
A number of presents arrived from fans and secret admirers, as usual. Most of them tedious rubbish and patently unworthy of me, but I suppose some people just can't help themselves. I pity them, really, but since they haven't a hope in Hades of actually being with me, this is the closest they can get.
Anyway, I indulged in a pear from the tree one of these tragic souls sent, but it was sour, so I cheered myself up by throwing it at a house-elf instead. I prefer apples, in any case, as they would have known, had they read my last interview in Witch Weekly. I deserve a better class of mystery admirer.
An attractive little bird was roosting in the tree when it was delivered; I had it pan-fried for supper with a celeriac purée. It was tolerably good.
I am now going to brush my hair one hundred times and go to bed.
Draco
Boxing Day
Dear Diary,
I am wearing the new silk dressing gown that Mother gave me. I couldn't help noticing in the mirror that it does bring out my eyes rather delightfully.
Mother had some people over this afternoon and I charmed them all with my witty impressions of people under the Cruciatus curse. Then we played Hunt the Snitch. I won, and Hecuba Carrow is a dirty liar to say that I cheated. I was just checking to make sure no-one else peeped when it was being hidden.
Another anonymous gift today: a pair of small, mottled birds. They were touching little things, making a sweet, soft cooing sound to each other. I don't know kind of bird they are, but I had Clunky wring their necks and they are now hanging in the larder.
Just going to check before I get into bed whether my eyes are still sparkling like limpid pools in the moonlight.
Draco
p.s. They are.
December 27th
Dear Diary,
Another delivery of birds today! This is really becoming quite tiresome. I hope I am not being stalked by some ornithological obsessive. I can see why people are driven to send me things, especially if they saw me out walking in my new robes last week. I had washed my hair in Veela milk again and it did look particularly nice, I must say.
At least I was able to identify today's gift with confidence, and as such, we all enjoyed an excellent dinner of roast chicken.
Blaise came by to discuss plans for his New Year's Eve celebrations. It all sounds terribly vulgar, especially the topless waiters and the erotic male dancing troupe, but I expect I shall force myself to attend, so as not to disappoint Blaise. One should always think of others.
Draco
December 28th
Dear Diary,
Shopping today with Pansy. Bought some new parchment made from Thestral skin, and a few little trinkets from Borgin and Burkes.
Bumped into Potter, who nearly knocked us over as we entered the Magical Menagerie. We were choosing a new Kneazle kitten for Pans, after she sat on the last one. Potter was leaving in a hurry and gave me the most peculiar look. I expect he was embarrassed to be seen out, with his hair looking the way it does.
When I returned to the Manor, four more birds had been delivered! By a co-incidence, I had spotted the same type earlier at the Magical Menagerie. I do wonder who is sending these things. I would be quite happy if I never saw another bird again.
Draco
December 29th
Dear Diary,
Well, I must say the mysterious presents have certainly taken a turn for the better. I was pleasantly surprised to unwrap five gold rings this morning. Obviously it would be ostentatious to wear them all at the same time, but in private I have been admiring the way they set off my tapering, and, some would say, unusually elegant, fingers.
I have chosen my robes for Blaise's party. I firecalled him just to check I had all the correct details about how sordid the erotic dancers will be. They really do sound quite dreadful; I certainly am not looking forward to seeing their act at all. Especially not the part with the whips and the ping pong balls.
I've ordered my Portkey for the party nice and early, just to make sure I don't miss any of it.
Draco
December 30th
Dear Diary,
It appears we are back to our avian friends again. Six blasted geese arrived on the doorstep this morning, and proceeded to fight viciously with the peacocks. When I opened the door, so many feathers were flying about that I thought it was snowing.
I tried to Vanish them, but after some experimentation, the anonymous gifts seem to be completely impervious to magic. It would be intriguing if it were not so irritating.
However, every cloud has a silver lining. I am fond of a soft-boiled goose egg with asparagus soldiers.
A pointless story in the Prophet about Potter, speculating about his love-life. Allegedly he is single at the moment and on the lookout for a new partner. As if anyone would be interested in such vacuous gossip. I clipped the article out and put it under my pillow so I could read it again later.
Draco
December 31st
Dear Diary,
The day of Blaise's party has arrived, and with it, seven swans. I have put them in the pond with the geese for now. I am not quite sure if we can get away with slaughtering and eating them there are laws pertaining to the protection of swans. I shall have to check.
I am busy getting ready for the party and will have no time to write any more until tomorrow. I have already bathed, exfoliated, depilated, and manicured, but I still have to moisturise, and attend to my hair. I will tell you all the tawdry details at length tomorrow.
Draco
January 1st
Dear Diary,
I feel abysmal. I think Blaise must have put something in the champagne, because I have been horribly ill all day, and can only recall brief snippets of last night. Potter had the cheek to be there, looking bloody hot a ruddy mess as always. I remember dancing on a table - someone grinding into me from behind - then pulling me down, and- Merlin, my head hurts. And I can't find my shirt.
As if I didn't have enough to cope with, the secret admirer has gone stark raving mad. Eight cows and accompanying milkmaids are roaming the grounds and refuse to leave. I can hear them outside my window, even when I get into bed and put the pillow over my head.
I wish I could remember more about last night. I just got another flash of something. A hot mouth on my neck, and my fists in someone's hair.
The mooing is intolerable.
Draco
January 2nd
Dear Diary,
I can now just about lift my head off the pillow without wanting to die. I had some very tormenting dreams last night. The taste of champagne on soft lips. The long line of someone's throat as they tip back their head to laugh. A hard, hot body pressed up against me. I wish I knew what was a dream and what was real. I am scared to ask Blaise what happened, in case - well, in case.
Since today's mystery delivery, there are nine female dancers cavorting all over the Manor in a lewd fashion. Their costumes are frankly obscene, and their writhing, tangled bodies remind me uncomfortably of something. Father is beside himself with glee.
I found Mother hiding in the East Wing with a bottle of gin. When I find out who is sending these things, I will make him pay. The stress is giving me split ends.
Draco
January 3rd
Dear Diary,
Ten lords turned up today, and are holding an athletics contest dangerously close to Mother's rose garden. I have drawn the curtains so I can't see them leaping about idiotically.
Father has found the dancing girls again, despite me hiding them in the dungeons, and is dividing his time between them and the milkmaids.
Mother has finished the gin and started on the brandy.
I owled Pansy to enquire after her health, and also to question her, very subtly, about the party. Her reply read as follows: "Oh, darling, ha ha! Don't tell me you were too pissed on cheap fizz to remember whose throat you had your tongue down half the night?"
Sometimes Pansy can be really quite annoying.
I saw Potter was in the paper again today, as usual: some photo of him at Blaise's party. His stupid laughing face made me feel sick.
Draco
January 4th
Dear Diary,
I think I may have to move out. The Aurors say they are not interested in stopping people from sending presents to one another, even when the gift is eleven - eleven - fucking bagpipers prancing all over their lawn and making a noise like a pack of crups being kicked. This is outrageous; it's a clear case of harrassment. I think the Aurors must be prejudiced against former Death Eaters. Just because we helped the Dark Lord carry out a reign of terror! Honestly, some people are so picky.
Pansy called round for tea and was very interested in all of my mystery gifts. She laughed her head off when I told her my theory that the sender could be Viktor Krum, whose eye I'm sure I caught last month at a gala we both attended. She left not long after that, looking thoughtful and, I think, muttering about someone being totally in the Nile. I can't see what Egypt has got to do with it.
I spent the evening playing cards with Mother and trying to ignore the giggling and squealing from the dungeons. Several of the lords seem to have moved down there as well now: the ones who aren't chasing the milkmaids and making crude remarks about udders, that is. I kept Mother's spirits up by bringing out some old photograph albums for us to look at together. I really was a stunningly beautiful child.
The pipers have finally gone to sleep for the night. I wonder what time they wake up in the morning?
Draco
January 5th
Dear Diary,
Six a.m. Six. A. M. I didn't even know there was such an hour as six a.m. At least it meant that I was up and sipping Darjeeling in my favourite embroidered pyjamas when the twelve drummers drumming arrived at eight o'clock. I am not proud of the fact that I lost my temper and shouted a few choice words at them. They had the nerve to retaliate, although I am not sure to whom they were referring as a 'preening little ponce'.
The whole experience left me quite enervated and I spent the afternoon reclining on the chaise longue and reading Hot Quidditch Beefcakes an interesting piece of journalism about Oliver Wood. I dozed off at one point and had a most disturbing dream about Wood pressing me up against a wall. I could feel what I presume was his broomstick digging into my hip. I looked up at his face and realised he had Potter's green eyes, then woke up with a start, feeling oddly feverish. Perhaps I am coming down with something.
I think my cheeks are becoming interestingly hollow with the worry of it all. I had to spend quite a while looking in the mirror from different angles to make certain. I shut the curtains first, so the drummers wouldn't see.
Draco
January 6th
Dear Diary,
No mystery delivery today. I feel a strange sense of anti-climax. Perhaps the secret admirer has finally sought treatment for his or her tragic obsession, and is even now sobbing wildly on the arm of a Mind Healer, racked with tormented longing for my slender, pale body?
Yes, I expect that is it.
I wore my new fur-lined robes and went for a thoroughly enjoyable fly on my broomstick this afternoon. I could tell my hair was streaming back most becomingly in the wind, and my cheeks always turn a fascinating shade of pink when I'm out in the fresh air. I flew over the offices of the Daily Prophet seven or eight times, just in case one of their photographers happened to want to capture the moment, but they were probably all busy following Potter about.
I started to feel really rather irritated thinking about how the papers suck up to Potter and are always printing stupid photos of him. Another one today of him out dancing in those tight trousers looking a prat. I gave my broomstick a damn good polishing when I got home, to work off some of the frustration.
Draco
January 7th
Dear Diary,
It is no exaggeration to say that the Manor is in utter chaos. The once-pristine lawn is now besmirched with the droppings of wildfowl. The lords have installed themselves in the ballroom and are making free with the contents of the wine cellar. The milkmaids have abandoned their duties to play strip poker with Father in the morning room, while their bovine charges roam neglected through the corridors.
I was just applying body lotion after my bath earlier, when a cow wandered in to the bathroom and actually attempted to lick my... person. Malfoys are well-known for being adventurous, but I draw the line at bestiality.
I ended up grappling with the cow in a most undignified (and slippery) fashion before I could make my escape. When I discover where Clunky is hiding, I am going to have a pair of slippers made from her ears, for allowing my privacy to be violated like this.
One moment - an owl at the window....
It was from Pansy! She has discovered the identity of my lunatic admirer! She says she has convinced him to give up his anonymity and that he is going to call on me tomorrow. She writes "If you weren't completely clueless you would have worked it out yourself ages ago. However, I think you will be both surprised and pleased."
I was just about to slide between the sheets, but I think perhaps I had better go and apply more body lotion. Tomorrow looks like shaping up to be quite a day.
I do hope it is someone properly interesting, and not just some dullard Pansy happens to have the horn for, like Longbottom.
Draco
January 8th
Dear Diary,
I am writing this secretly in the lavatory, as I am all agog to inform you of the latest developments. You can imagine my horror to see Potter on the doorstep today, clutching a monstrous bouquet of roses and grinning like a halfwit. I asked him what he wanted and told him to be quick about it, as I was expecting an important visitor. He shuffled about in his infuriating manner and mumbled something inaudible. I told him to speak up, as I could not hear him over the drumming, piping and sounds of revelry emanating from the dungeons. He blushed and said "Yeah, sorry about that." A horrible suspicion began to dawn on me.
Mother arrived at the door to see who was calling on us. When Potter saw her, he handed her the roses and said he wanted to offer his sincere apologies for all the inconvenience. I was a bit taken aback, as I have never heard him use words of more than two syllables before. By the time I recovered from the shock, Mother had ushered him into the first room she could find which was not occupied by cows, and he was sitting drinking Earl Grey from the best china.
It turns out Potter is the deranged sender of the mystery gifts! Apparently he has been quite smitten with me for a while. He says he has never sought to be romantically involved with anyone from such a traditional family before, and in his ignorance, consulted an old etiquette guide which said that it is correct to send gifts before broaching the matter in person.
He does have a rather charming, shy smile and I can't deny he looks damnably good with his muscular thighs sprawling on the Sheraton. Shame he is such an unspeakable oik.
I may let him stay and explain to me some more about the smittenness. On balance, I can hardly blame him for trying to woo me, and it can't hurt to drink some more of the very fine whisky he produced as a token of his esteem, now that Mother has discreetly left us alone. I think I shall go back and ask him if he wants to retire to my private chambers, where we can discuss it further without being disturbed.
Draco
January 9th
Dear Diary,
Potter stayed, and apologised quite convincingly. At some considerable length. And in several rather interesting positions.
It would seem churlish not to forgive him, and Malfoys are nothing if not magnanimous.
He has sent all of the lords, ladies, livestock, and associated riff-raff away, and in the ensuing peace, I had the best night's sleep I can remember.
Probably because we spent the previous three hours rogering each other senseless, Malfoy.
It is the height of bad manners to read another person's diary, let alone add one's own ill-bred comments. But I would not expect an uncultured lout such as Potter to understand that. I shall go now and see if I can educate him as to the error of his ways.
I feel he may need to spend further time making it up to me preferably bent over my writing bureau. Don't worry, dear diary. I shall move you to a place of safety first.
Draco
Author: birdsofshore
Pairing: Harry / Draco
Word Count: ~3000
Rating: R for language and innuendo, although nothing explicit
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Thank you very much indeed to a certain person, both for the lovely cheerleading, and the comma.
Summary: Draco really deserves a better class of mystery admirer. Who on earth would be smitten enough to keep sending him all these ridiculous presents? And will he ever remember who he was kissing at Blaise's party?
Christmas Day
Dear Diary,
Spent a very pleasant Christmas at home with Mother and Father. They gave me some really quite amusing little gifts, including Fiji. I had to laugh, because I honestly had no idea we owned it. Life is full of surprises.
A number of presents arrived from fans and secret admirers, as usual. Most of them tedious rubbish and patently unworthy of me, but I suppose some people just can't help themselves. I pity them, really, but since they haven't a hope in Hades of actually being with me, this is the closest they can get.
Anyway, I indulged in a pear from the tree one of these tragic souls sent, but it was sour, so I cheered myself up by throwing it at a house-elf instead. I prefer apples, in any case, as they would have known, had they read my last interview in Witch Weekly. I deserve a better class of mystery admirer.
An attractive little bird was roosting in the tree when it was delivered; I had it pan-fried for supper with a celeriac purée. It was tolerably good.
I am now going to brush my hair one hundred times and go to bed.
Draco
Boxing Day
Dear Diary,
I am wearing the new silk dressing gown that Mother gave me. I couldn't help noticing in the mirror that it does bring out my eyes rather delightfully.
Mother had some people over this afternoon and I charmed them all with my witty impressions of people under the Cruciatus curse. Then we played Hunt the Snitch. I won, and Hecuba Carrow is a dirty liar to say that I cheated. I was just checking to make sure no-one else peeped when it was being hidden.
Another anonymous gift today: a pair of small, mottled birds. They were touching little things, making a sweet, soft cooing sound to each other. I don't know kind of bird they are, but I had Clunky wring their necks and they are now hanging in the larder.
Just going to check before I get into bed whether my eyes are still sparkling like limpid pools in the moonlight.
Draco
p.s. They are.
December 27th
Dear Diary,
Another delivery of birds today! This is really becoming quite tiresome. I hope I am not being stalked by some ornithological obsessive. I can see why people are driven to send me things, especially if they saw me out walking in my new robes last week. I had washed my hair in Veela milk again and it did look particularly nice, I must say.
At least I was able to identify today's gift with confidence, and as such, we all enjoyed an excellent dinner of roast chicken.
Blaise came by to discuss plans for his New Year's Eve celebrations. It all sounds terribly vulgar, especially the topless waiters and the erotic male dancing troupe, but I expect I shall force myself to attend, so as not to disappoint Blaise. One should always think of others.
Draco
December 28th
Dear Diary,
Shopping today with Pansy. Bought some new parchment made from Thestral skin, and a few little trinkets from Borgin and Burkes.
Bumped into Potter, who nearly knocked us over as we entered the Magical Menagerie. We were choosing a new Kneazle kitten for Pans, after she sat on the last one. Potter was leaving in a hurry and gave me the most peculiar look. I expect he was embarrassed to be seen out, with his hair looking the way it does.
When I returned to the Manor, four more birds had been delivered! By a co-incidence, I had spotted the same type earlier at the Magical Menagerie. I do wonder who is sending these things. I would be quite happy if I never saw another bird again.
Draco
December 29th
Dear Diary,
Well, I must say the mysterious presents have certainly taken a turn for the better. I was pleasantly surprised to unwrap five gold rings this morning. Obviously it would be ostentatious to wear them all at the same time, but in private I have been admiring the way they set off my tapering, and, some would say, unusually elegant, fingers.
I have chosen my robes for Blaise's party. I firecalled him just to check I had all the correct details about how sordid the erotic dancers will be. They really do sound quite dreadful; I certainly am not looking forward to seeing their act at all. Especially not the part with the whips and the ping pong balls.
I've ordered my Portkey for the party nice and early, just to make sure I don't miss any of it.
Draco
December 30th
Dear Diary,
It appears we are back to our avian friends again. Six blasted geese arrived on the doorstep this morning, and proceeded to fight viciously with the peacocks. When I opened the door, so many feathers were flying about that I thought it was snowing.
I tried to Vanish them, but after some experimentation, the anonymous gifts seem to be completely impervious to magic. It would be intriguing if it were not so irritating.
However, every cloud has a silver lining. I am fond of a soft-boiled goose egg with asparagus soldiers.
A pointless story in the Prophet about Potter, speculating about his love-life. Allegedly he is single at the moment and on the lookout for a new partner. As if anyone would be interested in such vacuous gossip. I clipped the article out and put it under my pillow so I could read it again later.
Draco
December 31st
Dear Diary,
The day of Blaise's party has arrived, and with it, seven swans. I have put them in the pond with the geese for now. I am not quite sure if we can get away with slaughtering and eating them there are laws pertaining to the protection of swans. I shall have to check.
I am busy getting ready for the party and will have no time to write any more until tomorrow. I have already bathed, exfoliated, depilated, and manicured, but I still have to moisturise, and attend to my hair. I will tell you all the tawdry details at length tomorrow.
Draco
January 1st
Dear Diary,
I feel abysmal. I think Blaise must have put something in the champagne, because I have been horribly ill all day, and can only recall brief snippets of last night. Potter had the cheek to be there, looking bloody hot a ruddy mess as always. I remember dancing on a table - someone grinding into me from behind - then pulling me down, and- Merlin, my head hurts. And I can't find my shirt.
As if I didn't have enough to cope with, the secret admirer has gone stark raving mad. Eight cows and accompanying milkmaids are roaming the grounds and refuse to leave. I can hear them outside my window, even when I get into bed and put the pillow over my head.
I wish I could remember more about last night. I just got another flash of something. A hot mouth on my neck, and my fists in someone's hair.
The mooing is intolerable.
Draco
January 2nd
Dear Diary,
I can now just about lift my head off the pillow without wanting to die. I had some very tormenting dreams last night. The taste of champagne on soft lips. The long line of someone's throat as they tip back their head to laugh. A hard, hot body pressed up against me. I wish I knew what was a dream and what was real. I am scared to ask Blaise what happened, in case - well, in case.
Since today's mystery delivery, there are nine female dancers cavorting all over the Manor in a lewd fashion. Their costumes are frankly obscene, and their writhing, tangled bodies remind me uncomfortably of something. Father is beside himself with glee.
I found Mother hiding in the East Wing with a bottle of gin. When I find out who is sending these things, I will make him pay. The stress is giving me split ends.
Draco
January 3rd
Dear Diary,
Ten lords turned up today, and are holding an athletics contest dangerously close to Mother's rose garden. I have drawn the curtains so I can't see them leaping about idiotically.
Father has found the dancing girls again, despite me hiding them in the dungeons, and is dividing his time between them and the milkmaids.
Mother has finished the gin and started on the brandy.
I owled Pansy to enquire after her health, and also to question her, very subtly, about the party. Her reply read as follows: "Oh, darling, ha ha! Don't tell me you were too pissed on cheap fizz to remember whose throat you had your tongue down half the night?"
Sometimes Pansy can be really quite annoying.
I saw Potter was in the paper again today, as usual: some photo of him at Blaise's party. His stupid laughing face made me feel sick.
Draco
January 4th
Dear Diary,
I think I may have to move out. The Aurors say they are not interested in stopping people from sending presents to one another, even when the gift is eleven - eleven - fucking bagpipers prancing all over their lawn and making a noise like a pack of crups being kicked. This is outrageous; it's a clear case of harrassment. I think the Aurors must be prejudiced against former Death Eaters. Just because we helped the Dark Lord carry out a reign of terror! Honestly, some people are so picky.
Pansy called round for tea and was very interested in all of my mystery gifts. She laughed her head off when I told her my theory that the sender could be Viktor Krum, whose eye I'm sure I caught last month at a gala we both attended. She left not long after that, looking thoughtful and, I think, muttering about someone being totally in the Nile. I can't see what Egypt has got to do with it.
I spent the evening playing cards with Mother and trying to ignore the giggling and squealing from the dungeons. Several of the lords seem to have moved down there as well now: the ones who aren't chasing the milkmaids and making crude remarks about udders, that is. I kept Mother's spirits up by bringing out some old photograph albums for us to look at together. I really was a stunningly beautiful child.
The pipers have finally gone to sleep for the night. I wonder what time they wake up in the morning?
Draco
January 5th
Dear Diary,
Six a.m. Six. A. M. I didn't even know there was such an hour as six a.m. At least it meant that I was up and sipping Darjeeling in my favourite embroidered pyjamas when the twelve drummers drumming arrived at eight o'clock. I am not proud of the fact that I lost my temper and shouted a few choice words at them. They had the nerve to retaliate, although I am not sure to whom they were referring as a 'preening little ponce'.
The whole experience left me quite enervated and I spent the afternoon reclining on the chaise longue and reading Hot Quidditch Beefcakes an interesting piece of journalism about Oliver Wood. I dozed off at one point and had a most disturbing dream about Wood pressing me up against a wall. I could feel what I presume was his broomstick digging into my hip. I looked up at his face and realised he had Potter's green eyes, then woke up with a start, feeling oddly feverish. Perhaps I am coming down with something.
I think my cheeks are becoming interestingly hollow with the worry of it all. I had to spend quite a while looking in the mirror from different angles to make certain. I shut the curtains first, so the drummers wouldn't see.
Draco
January 6th
Dear Diary,
No mystery delivery today. I feel a strange sense of anti-climax. Perhaps the secret admirer has finally sought treatment for his or her tragic obsession, and is even now sobbing wildly on the arm of a Mind Healer, racked with tormented longing for my slender, pale body?
Yes, I expect that is it.
I wore my new fur-lined robes and went for a thoroughly enjoyable fly on my broomstick this afternoon. I could tell my hair was streaming back most becomingly in the wind, and my cheeks always turn a fascinating shade of pink when I'm out in the fresh air. I flew over the offices of the Daily Prophet seven or eight times, just in case one of their photographers happened to want to capture the moment, but they were probably all busy following Potter about.
I started to feel really rather irritated thinking about how the papers suck up to Potter and are always printing stupid photos of him. Another one today of him out dancing in those tight trousers looking a prat. I gave my broomstick a damn good polishing when I got home, to work off some of the frustration.
Draco
January 7th
Dear Diary,
It is no exaggeration to say that the Manor is in utter chaos. The once-pristine lawn is now besmirched with the droppings of wildfowl. The lords have installed themselves in the ballroom and are making free with the contents of the wine cellar. The milkmaids have abandoned their duties to play strip poker with Father in the morning room, while their bovine charges roam neglected through the corridors.
I was just applying body lotion after my bath earlier, when a cow wandered in to the bathroom and actually attempted to lick my... person. Malfoys are well-known for being adventurous, but I draw the line at bestiality.
I ended up grappling with the cow in a most undignified (and slippery) fashion before I could make my escape. When I discover where Clunky is hiding, I am going to have a pair of slippers made from her ears, for allowing my privacy to be violated like this.
One moment - an owl at the window....
It was from Pansy! She has discovered the identity of my lunatic admirer! She says she has convinced him to give up his anonymity and that he is going to call on me tomorrow. She writes "If you weren't completely clueless you would have worked it out yourself ages ago. However, I think you will be both surprised and pleased."
I was just about to slide between the sheets, but I think perhaps I had better go and apply more body lotion. Tomorrow looks like shaping up to be quite a day.
I do hope it is someone properly interesting, and not just some dullard Pansy happens to have the horn for, like Longbottom.
Draco
January 8th
Dear Diary,
I am writing this secretly in the lavatory, as I am all agog to inform you of the latest developments. You can imagine my horror to see Potter on the doorstep today, clutching a monstrous bouquet of roses and grinning like a halfwit. I asked him what he wanted and told him to be quick about it, as I was expecting an important visitor. He shuffled about in his infuriating manner and mumbled something inaudible. I told him to speak up, as I could not hear him over the drumming, piping and sounds of revelry emanating from the dungeons. He blushed and said "Yeah, sorry about that." A horrible suspicion began to dawn on me.
Mother arrived at the door to see who was calling on us. When Potter saw her, he handed her the roses and said he wanted to offer his sincere apologies for all the inconvenience. I was a bit taken aback, as I have never heard him use words of more than two syllables before. By the time I recovered from the shock, Mother had ushered him into the first room she could find which was not occupied by cows, and he was sitting drinking Earl Grey from the best china.
It turns out Potter is the deranged sender of the mystery gifts! Apparently he has been quite smitten with me for a while. He says he has never sought to be romantically involved with anyone from such a traditional family before, and in his ignorance, consulted an old etiquette guide which said that it is correct to send gifts before broaching the matter in person.
He does have a rather charming, shy smile and I can't deny he looks damnably good with his muscular thighs sprawling on the Sheraton. Shame he is such an unspeakable oik.
I may let him stay and explain to me some more about the smittenness. On balance, I can hardly blame him for trying to woo me, and it can't hurt to drink some more of the very fine whisky he produced as a token of his esteem, now that Mother has discreetly left us alone. I think I shall go back and ask him if he wants to retire to my private chambers, where we can discuss it further without being disturbed.
Draco
January 9th
Dear Diary,
Potter stayed, and apologised quite convincingly. At some considerable length. And in several rather interesting positions.
It would seem churlish not to forgive him, and Malfoys are nothing if not magnanimous.
He has sent all of the lords, ladies, livestock, and associated riff-raff away, and in the ensuing peace, I had the best night's sleep I can remember.
Probably because we spent the previous three hours rogering each other senseless, Malfoy.
It is the height of bad manners to read another person's diary, let alone add one's own ill-bred comments. But I would not expect an uncultured lout such as Potter to understand that. I shall go now and see if I can educate him as to the error of his ways.
I feel he may need to spend further time making it up to me preferably bent over my writing bureau. Don't worry, dear diary. I shall move you to a place of safety first.
Draco