Diary of a Teenage Stud-Muffin
Author's Note: Please know that this is COMPLETELY and TOTALLY random. I couldn't sleep one night and voila! Crazy Draco appeared. I'm sorry if it's confusing at times. That's pretty much all I have to say… hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: As lovely Draco will undoubtedly tell you, I own nothing of his perfection. :-)
Summary: Draco Malfoy is just another confused teenager with a crazy diary. He's a bit more… interesting… than other boys, however. A quirky story based on Draco's true, but wacky feelings.
Tuesday, September 17th: 4:17 P.M. -
Confound it all.
Who gets a diary for their 17th birthday? Honestly, who does he think I am? A bloody poet? Am I supposed to start expressing my feelings and weep in adolescent agony over flowers?
Must all Death Eaters be insured with a stupidity license?
Oh. Just realized that I am a Death Eater. But I don't fall under that particular category! You don't see me coaxing Voldemort into playing spin the bottle when his latest plan to murder Potter was foiled…. Or giving a perfectly sane student a diary because he believes that I, Draco Malfoy, am not in touch with my emotions?
I am perfectly in touch with my emotions, thank you very much. For one thing, I am feeling an emotion that hints quite strongly that SEVERUS SNAPE IS A BLOOMING IDIOT!
I suppose you'll want to know what happened then.
Well, TOO BAD! I'm much too busy moaning with teenage angst at this insult to my self-esteem. And my perfectly pale hand is going cramped. Poor me.
5:57 P.M. –
After making Pansy and two other hot Slytherin girls soak my aching hand and listen to me complain, I have regained some of my dignity.
STOP READING OVER MY SHOULDER PANSY!
(Writer abandons station to quarrel with pug-faced girl)
And people say I'm stupid. Pansy just yelled that she wasn't reading over my shoulder, thus proving my point. The flies in her head must be going crazy at that amount of work. I say, reading! Most difficult for her.
Had to satisfy the girl with a kiss before she would leave me alone. Jeez. Girls are getting harder and harder to please these days. They should feel lucky that my gorgeous frame even acknowledges their presence.
In case you haven't noticed, diary, my features are perfection itself.
Oh, Merlin. I'm talking to a piece of paper.
STOP MESMORIZING ME, OH OFFSPRING OF TREEES, WITH YOUR GLISTENING WHITENESS AND TEMPTING PAGES –
(I did not just say that)
That's it; I'm chucking you into the fire. Farewell, evil temptress.
6:15 P.M. -
Curse Snape! If he wasn't already a Leglimens, I'd say he could read minds! He put an inflammability jinx on you! Prick.
I should've expected as much out of him. Surprising as anything, though the golden trio would never believe the scandals he's taken part in.
I mean to say – him and McGonagall! Who'd have thunk it? No one would believe it unless seen from first hand experience, as I had the ill fortune to oversee.
Seeing Snape's tongue in someone's mouth is not an easily forgotten sight, let me tell you, It's all coming back to me – this was third year, mind you – Snape taking off that disgusting red blouse, and –
OH MY GOD! HOW COULD I HAVE PUSHED THIS FROM MY MIND! I CAN NEVER FACE MINERVA MCGONAGALL AGAIN!
…I AM GOING TO PERISH IF THIS IMAGE DOESN'T REMOVE ITSELF FROM MY HEAD!
6:25 P.M.
Dumped head in toilet. Oddly refreshing. Of course, Nott had to walk in and tell me to move my plastered head because he had to piss.
Attempted to explain the trauma in which I was experiencing. Was given the advice to find some girl to replace McGonagall images. Though I kindly explained that was beyond the point, Nott only accused me of being gay.
Good friends are so hard to find nowadays.
Wednesday, September 18th: 10:05 A.M.
Crabbe and Goyle snore louder than giants. I politely inquired if I could slap them when this process began, but only received confused stares in return.
That's what I get for having friends with a lower IQ than a stuffed rabbit. Then again, if the standards were set above my intelligence, no one would make it. Alas, someday. Patience is a virtue.
Ate breakfast in the Great Hall. Was the object of Potter and Weasley's stares. I thought it was simply my good looks, but Goyle informed me that the gay rumor has reached Gryffindor house.
If anyone tells Voldy (The Dark Lord, that is) about this, I will poison their pumpkin juice. That's all I need is to have a plan to seduce Potter for Voldemort.
Although Potter's eyes are quite a turn-on. And his chest is quite muscular; I've seen him through the looking glass in the prefect bathroom –
THIS DIARY IS TURNING ME GAY! It's the association! They have a plan to make me gay; it's a plot, I tell you, a plot! It's because I'm so sexy and irresistible that all the male specimens became jealous of the attention I was giving to females! They then hatched this plan to turn me gay so they could have me all to themselves!
…was Snape a part of this?
1:45 P.M. In Potions –
Renewed heterosexuality by snogging random Ravenclaw 5th year. She was desperate for more, but I politely reclined; going to third base without knowing the girl's name is something gentlemen such as myself do not do.
Anyhow, the child is hopelessly annoying; follows me everywhere. Good looks never come without a price, it seems. Sigh.
I'm avoiding the eyes of Severus Snape. After last night's vision and today's revelation, my stomach is quite weak; wouldn't want to set if off again. My organs are very delicate. Actually, anything of mine should be treated with special care.
Does Snape ever shut up? Just because I'm his favorite (and sexiest, if I do say so myself) student, doesn't mean I have to listen to him blabber on about love potions. He may need them, but I have no use for such things; my own skills far surpass any bloody poti –
2:04 P.M. –
Now, really. Just because he snogged McGonagall does not mean he has the right to reprimand me for writing in a diary he gave me.
Which I reminded him of.
Hmm. Maybe that's why he gave me detention.
Whatever. Like I don't have much more important things to worry about. Like my quidditch practice tonight. And girls. And… actually, that's it.
Maybe I'm missing something.
Homework? Hah.
Friends? … Need I answer that? Although their intelligence level is a bit unnerving.
Oh, but of course! The biggest problem of all!
My bunny slipper has a hole in it. Sniff.
What? Like you've never had that problem.
7:07 P.M. –
Apparently, I have more to worry about than I thought. The main bit being my teams' sanity. Rather, everyone's' sanity.
I was innocently making my way to the quidditch pitch, kicking first years on the way (I said innocent, not saintly), when someone yelled my name. Being the patient chap that I am, I turned to face my caller.
Guess who it was?
No, not the Jolly Green Giant. (I was disappointed as well)
No need to guess, though, seeing as I'm none too patient now. That midget who always carries a camera around in Gryffindor house. What was his name, again? Corry? Clankton? Colin? No, that's not it. Well, we'll call him "Mr. Fluff's," ok?
(Don't give me that look)
So Mr. Fluff's (that has a nice ring to it – much too nice for him) catches up with me and then – you won't believe this – says, "Hey, Malfoy."
I gave him a look that should have sent him running. When that didn't work, I asked, "Do I know you?"
The little twit continued grinning and went, "No. But I've heard all about you. I sometimes send in anonymous stuff – pictures and interviews and such – for the Daily Prophet."
Abandoning all pretenses, I stared at the kid. "And what," I glowered, "Is your point?"
"I was wondering if I could do an article on you."
Now, as any normal person would be, I was flattered. "What about?" I asked, maybe a bit too eagerly.
Okay, so maybe I was picturing a shirtless picture of me surrounded by Baywatch babes. Bite me.
Anyway.
And that bas – I mean, MR. FLUFF'S, responded, "Well, see, I've heard these rumors, and -"
Do you see where this is going?
To wrap it up, I screamed, "I AM NOT GAY!" kicked a tree (ouch), and slugged Mr. Fluff's before running down to the quidditch pitch.
I'm sure many of you are undoubtedly saying "Oh, poor Draco. How on earth could anyone practice under such devastating emotional blows?" I'm sorry, ladies, for the result with sorely disappoint you. But back to the poor, innocent me bit.
To which I heartily agree! Urquhart, my captain, was of a different mind. The annoying bloke merely told me to suck up my homophobic issues and get on a broom.
I swear the people around here. Their sensitivity is about that of a teacup. If they want to lose to the Gryffindors, that's their prerogative.
The entire practice was completely pointless. Crabbe and Goyle swung at anything remotely the size of a ball (a few heads were bashed – no harm done. Most of the Slytherins don't share my habit of beauty and brains).
Urquhart was practically in tears, which didn't help. A guy crying was, in no way, encouraging, even to the dimmer players. Our chasers ran into each other about three times each. The keeper was sent off early after banging his head against one of the goal posts (I personally voted for him to forget the blood gushing – there's nothing else inside there anyway).
I kindly told Urquhart that this practice might be better to end sooner than later, but he only scowled at me and asked me where the damn snitch was. When I told him there was no need for profanity, he threw the quaffle at me. Really.
It is not at all easy to be good at everything in this world; people hate you for it.
I proceeded back to the common room with Crabbe and Goyle, who were quite proud of themselves for not swinging the bat at their own heads (I suppose they're improving). I'm heading down the prefects' bathroom for a bath. I'd better camouflage myself, or Pansy will want to join me. Even as a straight guy, that is just gross.
10:57 P.M. –
OH, MERLIN, I swear to anything, there must be some kind of curse on me. Some kind of sick curse.
I'll get this over with.
I was walking down the hallways to the statue on the third floor where the prefects' bathroom is located, as innocently as possible. I met no one on the way.
Then a cloud of doom lurked over my head. Why can't the cloud of doom, just once, be a girl?
A live girl, that is.
Yes. So. Moving on.
I muttered the password, and began to undress (there was no one else in there, keep your shirt on). Humming softly in hopes of a soothing bath, I strolled to the edge of the pool and sat down the test the water.
Strangely enough, my humming seemed to grow louder, though I wasn't humming anymore. I thought there must be some sort of enchantment, so I jumped up to investigate.
"Sweet death, swweeeet deeeeattth, claim me in thy cold flesh, take me to the depths of the U-beeeeeenddd…."
I almost fell over in my haste to find the towel, but before I could fully cover myself, Moaning Myrtle appeared at the doorway.
She screeched at the sight of me and sped over, fast as anything. Of course, I tripped over the blasted towel, and fall on my back. She giggled noisily and made to help me up; I, however, was already bolting out the door.
As if the situation could not have gotten any MORE mortifying, I sprinted out in the hallway, towel hanging open, hoping to meet no one.
But didn't I mention that Merlin hates me?
Who did I run into, but Albus Dumbledore.
It didn't take him long to figure out what had happened. He looked at me, chuckled, and said, "Do check the toilets before undressing next time," before shaking his head and walking away.
I must be the only sane person in this entire school.
Now, where the hell did my bunny slippers get to?
Author's Note: Yes, well, that's it. If it's completely crappy, I'm sorry. Late at night, you know. Anyway, leave a review, please!