Chapter Text
It had been two days since what might have been the worst day of Draco's life. Punched by Harry bloody Potter -and in front of the whole school no less!
What had gotten into him? Malfoy's were worshipped, respected -perhaps even feared at times, but punched? No, never punched. The half-wit hadn't even the sense to use his wand. He didn't seem to need it- though that's beside the point.
From his skill, to default manners, Harry Potter hadn't a patch on him. They were both the perfect products of their own house, that way. Harry was reckless, stubborn and most definitely self-righteous, while Draco was resourceful, determined and cunning. When Godric and Salazar had a history of butting heads themselves (literally- as a special edition of Witch Weekly had claimed) then it wasn't really surprising that he and Potter were the same. History had a funny was of repeating itself like that, he supposed.
Point was; him and Potter withheld a certain balance at the school -see, it wasn't just his own dignity on the line; but the whole of Slytherin house, too.
If Draco were to be seen to be in any way inferior to Potter (by the unbiased population of Hogwarts), then Slytherin would immediately be secondary to Gryffindor when it comes to social ranks.
It was this that motivated him to do something that he hadn't necessarily had the backbone to do at any point previous (though he would be damned if anyone found out that particular detail).
Draco Malfoy, was going to steal.. Harry Potters diary.
Yes, the big courageous Gryffindor hero had a diary! Few knew of this, naturally, but Draco had his sources, and being as crafty as any Slytherin should pride themselves in being, he had deduced the location to Gryffindor house some time ago for when a situation may call for it, and so everything else slipped seamlessly into place.
He had been watching Harry for the better part of a week now (stalking- but he would never admit that) in order to pick up his routine. From doing this, he decided on dinner as the time to do it.
The last few lessons of the day went by slowly, but he managed to entertain himself by throwing smirks at the unknowing Gryffindor.
He looked around in amusem*nt. No one knew what he was about to do.
Once the class was dismissed, he was first out the door. He strode ahead of his friends, racing the mob of 2nd and 3rd years to the great hall.
Reaching the doors, Draco slowed, sitting down collectedly; pouring himself some pumpkin juice.
He watched Harry and his friends enter, happily chatting about something stupid -like how rich Weasley is, or what life was like for Granger growing up in a pureblood household.
They sat down, and Draco couldn't keep himself from thinking (not that he tried to) how satisfying it was to see the sickly smile of Harry Potter -knowing it was the last time it would graze his mouth.
He downed his juice and stood, strolling out the hall. Potters conversation was a light one, meaning that he would eat at the same time. He didn't have long.
The Slytherin made his way to the 7th floor, taking the stairs two at a time.
When he reached the 6th floor, he took out his wand, using Colovaria to change his green robes to red. He nearly retched at the steady stream of red pouring from his wand and splashing onto the green of his tie. The spell had took him a while to learn with it being fifth year level, but Draco had been determined.
He glanced about him before walking up to the portrait. Getting caught by an actual Gryffindor was probably the worse thing that could happen at that moment, after all.
He bowed his head as he stood in front of it. The jolly woman in the portrait was chatting to another mousey-haired woman he didn't recognise.
"Yes- yes, and then they snuck around the corner away from him, and I said I saw them -I did! But he went the other bludgering way! And then-"
"Fortuna Major"
She groaned, barely sparing him a glance. "Merlin, not a second to just talk without one of them coming and expecting me to.." Draco tuned her out as the portrait swung open.
Climbing though, the blonde brushed off the thought that scrambling through a portrait hole was not a proper way to enter a room.
Red. Everywhere. The room was drowning in the most nauseating shade of red he had ever seen. The gold accenting did nothing to help this; instead of making the room look more expensive- as the colour gold should always do- it made it took tacky. The walls were covered in portraits and various Gryffindor house crests or lions making the general room look far too busy.
The inner interior designer in Draco wanted to pause and mentally redo the Gryffindor room so it wasn't such an eyesore, but he had things to do.
He started up the nearest staircase, deciding on what he'd do if there were someone in the dormitory, before it promptly transfigured into a stone slide- leaving him to fall forward and hit the floor face-first.
He rolled his eyes, making his way to the boys stairs.
He entered the room labelled '3rd years' at the top of the tower.
It took great mental power to ignore the room that assaulted his vision the moment he opened the door, and instead he took to the circle of beds in the middle of the room, scanning each one. He new he had found Potter's when he saw the broom polishing kit on the bedside table, and scruffy muggle clothes laid unorganised on his unmade bed.
He immediately began his search. The draws were first, then his trunk, under his pillow and in the mess of sheets. Just as he was about to give up, he flicked his wand and the mattress hovered above the bed. And there, placed just beneath where the mattress had been, was a light brown notebook, the edges of the pages within, slightly crumpled from being handled so frequently. He smirked to himself. He had found it. Harry Potter's diary.
He stood there for a minute, letting himself really take it in, before remembering he had only a few minutes before dinner would be over. He again, flicked his wand so everything went back to its original place (as Draco's search had actually made it look somehow neater than prior to his entering), aside from the diary tucked neatly beneath his arm.
He walked out, the pride practically radiating off of him. He clambered out the portrait hole and strolled down the stairs.
When he made it to the Slytherin common room, there was only one thing on his mind. They are gonna love this.
...
It was gone.
Coming back from dinner, Harry reached under his mattress, only to feel nothing but the bed frame against his palm. Brows furrowing, he lifted it up. Nothing. He looked underneath. Nothing. His trunk. Nothing. Harry dug through his bedsheets and pillows, practically splitting the wood of his bedside table as he ragged open each draw. The raven then stood, eyeing the mess that was his corner of the room, wracking his brain for somewhere he hadn't already checked. No, there was nowhere else it could realistically be. His blood ran cold as the horror began to creep in.
It was missing. The Journal he had owned for 4 years was no longer in the safety of his dorm room. He combed his hair with his fingers. He had poured any and every private thought into those pages, and the reality of someone else flicking through them made him want to retch.
When Ron, Seamus and Dean came in, they were immediately bombarded with questions. After receiving no helpful replies, Harry went down to search the common room, and after that? Convinced Hermione to do a quick once-over the girls dorms.
Nothing.
At 10 to 1(am) Ron and Hermione had given up trying to convince Harry that it had simply been the innocent mistake of a house elf, and had instead ensured Harry that they would help him look in the morning.
Ron steered a reluctant Harry to his bed, "it's alright, mate. It's only us lot who knew where it was." He motioned around to their dorm mates, all sat up in their beds.
"Yea, and you know we wouldn't say anything" Seamus piped up, as nods and hums of agreement were shared between the other three.
Harry sighed, "yea, I know. It's just that-"
"We know, Harry" Neville said kindly.
Despite not knowing much about Harry's life before Hogwarts, they new it wasn't a good one. (excluding Ron, who didn't know the details, but still far more than anyone else)
They knew how much that Journal meant to Harry, so of course, none of them would have even dreamt of telling a soul.
"Night" Harry said, sitting heavily on his bed. Whispered reply's were the last thing he heard before a thick silence fogged the room.
...
Blaise, Pansy and Draco sat crossed leg on Draco's bed, circling a certain diary. "I can't believe you actually got it, dray..." breathed Pansy in awe.
"So. What does it say?" Whisper-yelled Blaise impatiently.
"I don't know" Draco shrugged as he stared at the book. The book that would soon solve all his problems. Blaise gave him a questioning look, "What? Why? Do you think it's Jinxed?"
"Pfft... no. That nitwit would never think to do that."
"He's as thick as they come" Pansy agreed, her bangs ruffling as she shook her head at the dopey sod.
"Well then what are you waiting for? Read it!" unable to contain his curiosity, Blaise nudged the book closer to the blond. Draco rolled his eyes before grabbing the diary. He opened it to the first page and began to read.
Harry J. Potter was printed in scruffy handwriting on the inside cover. He then looked over to the first entry.
_________________________________
Saturday 24th June 1989
It was Dudley's birthday yesterday and he said this notebook was boring, so I got given it. I guess this can count as an early birthday present because I know I won't get one otherwise. Sometimes I wonder if my parents would have gotten me presents, but I'm not allowed to talk about them. Uncle Vernon always tells me that they were bad people, and that my dads drunk driving was the reason for the car accident. Maybe that's why they don't like me. Because they're scared I'll do the same. But I don't think that's very fair, so maybe they're the bad ones. Aunt Petunia is going to turn the hallway light off soon, and Uncle Vernon took away my torch when he found out I was using it to read some of the books Dudley has never touched. Tomorrow they're all going out to dinner because they're spreading out Dudley's birthday over the week which means have to tell him Happy Birthday every day but if they forget to lock the cupboard then I'll be able to write Tomorrow.
_________________________________
They all sat in silence when Draco finished reading aloud. Who was Dudley? And Vernon? They were all confused. Surely famous Harry Potter got everything he wanted. Right?
They stared at each other, all thinking the same thing. "So, Uhm.. that was interesting" uttered Blaise, breaking a silence that could have easily lasted the rest of the night. "Yup" agreed Pansy, still staring at the book. They remained sat there, adding occasional comments as a weak attempt at understanding anything to do with the diary.
Draco didn't read anymore. He new he would, but not now. No. He needed to process this first. He new if he couldn't get through the first and probably most innocent entry, there was no way in hell he would be able to get through him writing about his little Weasley girlfriend.
He rolled his eyes at the thought... not only is Potter.. well... himself, but he hangs around with the homeless blood traitors. The Weasleys probably only hang around with him because they know his parents left him money because surely, even they wouldn't put up with him if they could help it.
After awhile, his friends left, ready to retire for the night. Draco ended his day laid in bed, still trying to wrap his head around the diary, as sleep slowly clouded his mind.
