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More Than Nothing	By : Qestral Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8583 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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More Than Nothing ch 5: Draco's Journal

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

19
June

5
pm

Bedroom

Keeping
a journal is one of those things a Malfoy does not do. Having one
would mean the Malfoy's life was not perfect, that things happened by
surprise that shook the veneer that clearly says everything is
completely under control. Malfoys are never so troubled.

Thus,
my defense for keeping a journal now is that I am young, and by
nature this means I have nothing under control. Even though I am very
mature for my age, I am still having too much trouble appearing
perfect to not express some concern to SOMEthing, even if it's just a
blank book I express it to. If I don't, then these thoughts are going
to loop through my head until I either go crazy or something worse
happens, and I'd really rather not think about that. That said...

I
said something I didn't mean.

To
Harry Potter, of all people, so you would think it doesn't matter,
especially given what I said. I told him “I hate you more than
anything,” and a year ago that would've been fine, but as soon
as I said it I knew that I was lying. Or at least that I hadn't meant
it like that.

Ugh.
How can you tell someone you hate them but 'not mean it like that?'
That's ridiculous.

That's
not the point, though. The point is that I said it and realized
afterwards that it was ~~the opposite~~ not
accurate. This time last year, I wouldn't have even cared if it was
true or not. Being around Potter so much has changed my perspective
on the way I think, and I really want to be mad at him for having
that effect on me but I'm actually kind of grateful.

Oh
God. Father would be sick if he ever heard I was grateful to Potter
for anything, even if it was something as useful as this.

It's
useful because this perspective helps prevent me from causing an
unnecessary scene, even if the scene would make me look good. Hanging
around Potter has been a lesson in karmic backlash. I found that once
I stopped picking on Granger and Weasley so much, I really did get in
less trouble. And it meant he wasn't angry with me so often, so on
the nights we met, he was less... vindictive. If he wasn't mad at me,
it was easier to enjoy getting off.

Though,
now that I think about it, not being mad at me anymore was one of his
reasons for ending our little game. How ironic. If I had known that
pissing him off would stop him from ending the game, I wonder if I
would've continued to do it?

Whatever.
That's not what I was talking about.

One
of the most apalling realizations that came with being around Potter
so much was learning just how much I lied. Constantly. I knew I lied
to people-- “No, Mum, I haven't eaten any sweets before
dinner”, “Of course I care about my homework, Professor
Trelawney”--but it never occurred to me that I lied to myself.
It was in little things such as getting angry in every situation I
didn't agree with instead of reacting with my true feelings. Like
when Potter beat me in Quidditch, I was angry instead of
disappointed. Or like when Moody turned me into a ferret, I was livid
instead of just embarrassed. Or like that day I insulted Weasley and
got hit, then insulted Granger and got detention, I was laying blame
instead of feeling guilty.

Like
when I found out Dad was going to Azkaban. I went into a rage, but I
was terrified. Really, honestly scared.

It's
no wonder I'm a Malfoy needing a journal to confide in. Malfoys
aren't supposed to have family wind up in prison.

7
pm

drawing
room

One
thing I am honestly angry about—or was—is that Dad got
caught at all. I couldn't believe, after every time he'd stressed the
importance of not getting found out in things that wouldn't look good
publicly, that he would do something that absolutely stupid. I didn't
even think of the effect it would have on Mum until I got home, and
when I saw how badly she was doing I was even angrier. He must've
known what it would do to her if he got caught; he couldn't be
completely oblivious to how she felt towards him.

My
stupid bastard of a father probably didn't think he could
be caught. Arrogant... He didn't even succeed at killing Potter in
the process. Useless of him. He could've at least saved me a lot of
trouble, if he was going to go get himself thrown in Azkaban anyway.
If he'd done that, I wouldn't be in the mess I'm in now. There would
be no Potter problem, and I wouldn't need this stupid journal in the
first place.

20
June

2:35
pm

bedroom

I
didn't mean that. I don't wish Potter was dead as penance for my
father being imprisoned. I don't hate Potter anymore. I really did,
right after it happened, and I really wished my father had killed
him. Now, I really want to hate Potter. I want to hate him more than
anything.

Maybe
that's what I wanted to say on the train.

God.
Or at least tell him not to look at me like that. That expression on
his face made me so mad!

...
I just reread that last sentence a few times. I don't want to admit
to that being anything other than anger. There's this trend, I've
noticed, where anger takes the place of either fear or hurt. I have
never been scared of Potter.

Ugh.
I don't want to think about it. Journaling is stupid.

27
June

12:26
pm

Library

What
I did over the last week:

(*)
Went with mother to Paris and watched her shop (went out to dinner,
too; fantastic filet mignon, and the Peach Melba was lovely)

(*)Tormented
the house elves (not as fun as it used to be)

(*)
Wandered the mansion's grounds (first time I've done that willingly
since I was little; I never realized how nice it felt to lay on the
lawn shirtless, and I had forgotten how easily I sunburn)

So
now I'm sunburnt and bored. That's the only reason I'm writing. That,
and this seemed like a better idea than hanging out with Crabbe and
Goyle.

When
I was writing my last entry, journaling seemed like a very stupid
idea. I think that's just because I was delving into a place I wasn't
sure I wanted to deal with, but not writing it down and sorting it
out just meant I was thinking about it obsessively, which was even
less enjoyable.

Now
that I've been thinking about it for a week and considering it along
with my newly discovered desire to never lie to myself again, I am
able to admit that I was hurt. That... look. The one in Potter's
eyes, like he expected me to do something horrible to him, that was
painful. It hurt so much that it made me defensive, and so I told him
I hated him. Which doesn't make any sense, but at the time it seemed
like a good idea.

Hell.
It didn't even seem like a good idea. It just happened. Then he left
and I realized I had tears in my eyes, which was horrifying because I
don't know if he saw that or not. I still can't believe I was
crying... How embarrassing.

28
June

2:03
am

bedroom

I
hope he did see me crying. I hope it made him feel guilty for
evrythinng. He's completely buggered mlife. He got me dad thrown in
~~prizzon~~ ~~prizzen~~ prizon, which made
Mum miserable, &he's completely run me over. Alot. Our first
year, on th train! I tried to be friends withim, and he insinuated I
wis the wrong kind of person! How dare he?! Then he made me feel
infeerior when he got on the quidditch team a year before he
should've, andhe humiliated me when he had mMoody turn me into a
ferrit. A sodding ferret, fergodsake!
stupidbloodygitpotterIhatehimmorethanalot.

this
last school year we were so... I dunno what we were, but itsnot jus
something I can forget!! Maybe he can, but notme. It meant something.
It meant something to me.

Fuck.
Oh Fuck. That's not right. It shoulnt have meant something. It
shouldve meant nothing. That was one of therules.

He
must've known. Fuck him, he mustve known it'd become something to me.
I bet he figured it out before i did and that's why he made us stop.

Fuck.
I am soooo buggered right now.

NeedanapnowZzzz.....

1:32
pm

bedroom

Note
to self.

After
all that stuff I wrote at about 2 a.m. this morning, there should be
plenty of evidence for why I should never, EVER drink when I'm upset
with someone. Or why I should never write letters drunk, for that
matter; I found a badly folded letter tucked between the cover and
the first page of this journal addressed to “HarRy”.
A lot of it doesn't make sense, and what does would embarrass
anyone. I'm just grateful the owls were all out hunting, or there
would've been a very big problem.

And
on a side note, apparently I swear a lot when I'm drunk and
~~angry~~ upset. And I'm more honest than
makes me comfortable to reread. I hadn't really thought of how much
Potter had upset me in years past; the more recent problem has been
much more obvious, but this really does go as far back as first year.

Though,
actually, it's probably better that
he and I didn't become friends back then. He'd probably be long since
dead by now if we were friends; I'd either be blackmailed into
killing him or handing him over to be killed, or I'd have been used
to blackmail him. Either way, I'd be a tool, and I don't like that
thought.

I
really don't like the last two and a half paragraphs of what I wrote
this morning, and it's frightening to be faced by my own drunken
honesty like that. That's just

Wait.
Maybe I touched on something there. Maybe he really DID realize I was
getting too ~~attached~~ comfortable with
our arrangement. That's intimidating, because it means he realized
something about me before I did, and Potter is not someone I've ever
wanted knowing me that well. Now, I guess I don't mind so much. Or I
wouldn't, if it didn't feel so one-sided. I don't really think I ever
paid that much attention to him. I know what color his eyes and hair
are, but so does everyone else. He's got light skin, but it's still
darker than mine. He's got a faint dimple on his left cheek, and a
small mole on the back of his right arm.

He
twitches when you touch his stomach. His hand twitches, and his
stomach muscles try to stay relaxed but keep tightening. And when you
get him all riled up on sex then just barely touch his groin, his
legs shiver.

I
bet I'm the only person in the world who knows that, but that doesn't
seem important right now. I don't know him.
I don't know his favorite color, or what position he sleeps in, or
where he wants to visit more than anywhere in the world. I don't know
what his family is like or what book he's reading or even if he likes
to read.

Not
even a year ago, I wouldn't have cared. Right now, though, it's all I
can think about.

1
July

7
pm

bedroom
floor

I
walked in on Mum crying in the drawing room. When I got drunk a few
nights ago, I'd only done it to see what it was like, but seeing mum
like that made me want to get drunk and upset just so I didn't feel
so responsible for it. I know it's not my fault, but I hate seeing
her like that. I'd finally begun to think maybe she really was over
Dad being gone.

She
was crying because she'd bumped some glass bauble off of the shelf it
had been sitting on. It was replaceable, not even expensive, but she
was sobbing.

“Lucius
bought this for me in Milan before you were born,” she cried.
“We were on our two-year anniversary vacation.” She
smiled fondly and let out a sob at the same time, which wasn't very
attractive. “We always thought it was on that vacation that we
conceived you.”

I
almost told her just how disgusting it was to even consider my
parents ever did anything more than hug, fully dressed and somewhere
unobtrusive. But she looked so sad and... Broken. Like that little
decoration had been more than just a useless, pretty object, like it
had been part of her.

So
I didn't say anything. I just left the room.

If
Azkaban would let their prisoners take owl-post, I would write a
long, descriptive letter to Lucius right now and tell him how badly
he's hurt Mum, and how weird she's acting, and how much I will never,
EVER forgive him for getting caught.

5
July

10
am

bed

I
just had a strange dream.

Actually,
seeing as I haven't even had the will to wank off for almost a month
and a half, I guess dreaming about sex isn't that strange, especially
at my age. The dream itself was just... weird.

And
it was Harry Potter I was having sex with. After the last school
year, I guess it's not too surprising, but there was a time my sex
dreams involved hot girls. Lots of them. And Granger once. I think I
was nicer to her that following week than I'd ever been in my life,
just because she was so good in that dream.

In
this dream, the room kept shifting back and forth between my huge
bedroom with my big, comfortable bed, and this room that was only a
little bigger than my closet with almost no space to move for all the
junk in it and a tiny bed with springs in the mattress. Which didn't
really matter in the dream, since the main focus was on me being on
top of him with his breath falling hard and fast while I thrust into
him. Because it was a dream, I couldn't really feel exactly what it
was like, but the idea was there. As I mentioned earlier, I have a
pretty good working knowledge of Harry's body. I never had sex with
him, but it wasn't too hard to imagine how it would feel to be
pressed in between his thighs like that.

What
was weirder was the way we were looking at each other. I don't know
how to explain it. It was like I was in the act of
~~making~~ ~~sleeping~~ 'doing'
him, but I was also sitting off to the side watching, so I could see
both of our faces. I know what his face looks like when he's high on
lust, and his face looked like that, but there was something like
affection in his eyes. And he kept touching me in ways that were
really ... affectionate. Like touching my cheek.

I'm
embarrassed about the look on my face. If he looked affectionate, I
was downright adoring. I kept kissing him, and while yeah, we kissed
a lot too last year, this was different. This was more than just lust
manifested; it was Deep. It was connected.

I
woke up and was painfully disappointed it was only a dream, then woke
up properly and was horrified at my disappointment. Now I'm just
confused, because I'm more disappointed than I am horrified and this
is so... not me. It's not a Malfoy thing, to allow for confusion or
being emotionally damaged by the enemy.

But
then, Malfoys aren't supposed to fuck up so badly they end up in
Azkaban. At least I've got my youth as an excuse for acting stupid,
unlike my father.

8
July

10:42
pm

kitchen

I'm
about to drink myself silly again as an experiment. I got this idea
yesterday: Since drinking and writing proved to be so revealing last
time, why not try it again and see what comes up? I still don't feel
anymore clarified after the other morning's dream, and it occurred to
me that maybe I'll say something when I'm drunk that'll give me some
clue into what's going on in my head. My inhibitions towards talking
about my emotions are so much lower when I'm drunk, and I think I
need that right now.

Though
hopefully, I won't actually say it. I'll just write it.

11:23
pm

My
room!

I
am writing. Hahaha. I am a little drunk, too. I feel bubbly. I want
to laugh a lot right now.

As
disgusting as brandy tastes, it is very potent. Didn drink
firewhisky, my father lemme tryit once wen Mum wasn looking and I
thought my throat had been cauterized. My voice didn't sound right
for a mnth. Month.... mounth? Month.

Allllright.
My insane dream. It wasn't insane, acutally, jus'sexual. Mmmm. It
wasn't the sex that bothered me though; definitely old news. Way old.
Since uhmm.... October. When I kissed Harry and he kissed back
instead of freeking out. Of course, we were both veeery cranky, and I
think the only reson kissing came to mind was 'cause I could feel his
dick rubbing on mine through our clothes. Mmm.

I
still don't remember when the clothes came off, but being dry-fucked
like that was intense. Surprising too. HAHAHA! God that look on his
face when he realized what we done! (Did. Had done... What we had
done. There.) Brilliant. Though I bet I looked pretty funny. Ahahaha.

Thelook
on 'is face in ther dream was better, though. And the look on mine
was sooo loving. I've never been that tender with anyone, so it was
nice to see me look that happy.

God
that sounds weird. Like I'm my friend and worried about my wellbeing.
How silly.

I...
should get my own shotglass. I'm using a reglar glass right now, an'
it's only filled part way, so I have no idea how much I've had
todrink. I threatened the house elves with clothes if they breathed a
word to anyone about
this.

I
almost used one of Dad's shotglasses, out of sspite. But Mum keeps
wandering into the kitchen, and if she sees Dad's shotglass sitting
out, she'll either know I was drinking or seh'll break down crying. I
dun'wanna get caught and I don'want Mum to cry 'nymore.

Fucking
~~stoo~~ ~~stuu~~
stupid Lucius. This is all his fault. Every-thing. From my being so
prideful I could lie to myself to my being so in love with Harry
right now.

Actaully,
that last part is Harry's fault, but I can't really blame him for
existing.

Wait.
Ohfuck. I just said I love him. Or wrote I love him. Did I say it
too? ohfuck.

Oh
My Fuck.

No
NO Nonononono.

Fuck.
It's true. It's not even drunk affection, because if it were he'd
probly be here right now and we could both blow it off as me being
completely pissed out of my mind. But I didn't have that much brandy
and he's not here and oh fuck I am buggered and fucked.

OH
FUCK.

9
July

11:36
am

under
a tree

Not
drunk enough to get a hangover, but definitely enough to feel really
stupid and out of it today.

I
really don't want to pick over my drunken writing.

I
don't want to use the word Love again, either, but I can't deny that
I really do care about him.

When
the hell did that happen? And why didn't I notice?

Fuck.

13
July

4:42
pm

library

I
think I did notice. Just not in a really obvious way. I actually did
like teasing him sexually. I liked trying to make him feel like he
needed me to do what I did. I wanted to feel important to him, even
though what we were doing was just supposed to satisfy our baser
needs. When he said we had to stop, I felt like I wasn't needed
anymore, like I'd been tossed aside.

He'd
said that what we were doing had felt empty, and even at the time
he'd said it, I was ready to disagree with him. I didn't know why,
then, but I think I'm getting it now.

18
July

Noon

drawing
room

Went
on holiday with Mum to northern China and saw a fascinating exhibit
on dragons. I even got to touch a recently hatched dragon (a Chinese
Fireball, so it was about the length and width of my arm.)
It was bright purple, which is
apparently natural for one so young. By the time it's as long as I am
tall, its scales will have turned bright red and it will start
spitting fire.

The
trip was a nice distraction from my personal discoveries,and it
allowed Mum to get away from the house and all those memories of Dad.
She bought some amazing clothes. She bought some clothes for me, too,
but only because I didn't protest loudly enough. They're very nice;
one of them is a beautiful green silk robe that's light as air, with
an enchantment woven into it to keep the wearer warm. Another is a
black silk robe, also light as air, with silver embroidery and charms
to cool the wearer (I'm wearing that one right now.) They're
wonderful robes, and I might've gotten more, but I think all these
personal problems have affected my interest in everything. I didn't
bring home nearly as many souvenirs and exotic items as I ordinarily
would've, and I'm afraid Mum might've picked up on my disinterest. If
she did, she didn't say anything; she just tried harder to get me to
choose things to bring home. I tried to tell her it was all right, I
didn't have to fill all the extra space in my trunk.

She
asked me, in the middle of a shop, if she'd picked a bad place for
vacation and that's why I wasn't interested in getting things.

"No,
Mum! It's wonderful, I LIKE China, honestly."

"Then
why don't you seem interested?"

"I
am, I just don't feel like shopping."

She
paused and considered this for a few moments, a time during which I
found a crystal ball that shimmered a myriad of different colors and
seemed to glow from within. At the time, I was concerned she was
upset with me for not wanting to shop, so I said, "Here, how
about I get this? I like it, it's interesting."

"All
right," she said, and I was relieved that she sounded less
upset. She bought that and some pieces of jade jewelry for both of
us, then continued, "How about we go do something besides shop
for a while, then? Is there anything you'd like to do?"

That
would be why we went to the dragon exhibit.

I
don't really know why I was so disinterested in shopping. Maybe
because I'm getting older, new 'toys' seem less important. At least
being able to go look at things and be somewhere besides home and
Great Britain and all those familiar places meant I was able to think
about something other than Harry Potter.

But
now we're home, and I'm left with my thoughts again.

I'm
going to go wander the grounds. It's sunny out, and I don't want to
be inside right now.

19
July

6:12
pm

hidden
room, third floor

I've
spent most of the day hiding from Mum, Crabbe, and Goyle. She seemed
to think I'd like their company, in spite of me having not mentioned
them beyond "They can be so impossibly stupid" all summer.
I think they had a bit of a tea party in the courtyard earlier this
afternoon, which was hilarious considering who was present (besides
my mother) until the house elves brought out the devil's food cake.
Even from a window three floors up, I could tell it was one of those
decadently rich cakes that seemed almost more like fudge than pastry,
and the frosting was creamy and beautifully decorated with sugar
lilies. This was, I think, my mother's attempt to draw me out as much
as it was an effort to please her (yes, hers; I didn't invite them)
guests.

Needless
to say, I'll be down in the kitchen later tonight looking for
leftovers; They did manage to leave half of the cake untouched, which
was shocking since Crabbe and Goyle probably could've decimated the
whole thing and asked for more. I imagine mother forced them to
restrain themselves. The cake might've just been a lure to drag me
out of hiding, but she wouldn't allow those two to eat it all and
leave none for me.

10:16
pm

kitchen

Chocolate
is wonderful. If this stuff weren't so rich, I'd eat all of what's
left right here and now.

21
July

5:18
pm

bedroom

Finished
the cake.

I
never thought I'd be the one to say it, but I miss Potter. Not just
because of the fooling around, though that was nice, too. I woke up
this morning and just started thinking about all those times we lay
on the floor of whatever room we were in and talked. It wasn't
anything important, mostly school related I guess, but I know we had
some good laughs.

He
always waited for me. I didn't recover as quickly as he usually did
from an orgasm, and so I would lay down and rest and Potter would sit
down not far off and talk about how much he hated this year's Defense
Against the Dark Arts teacher. It was one of those topics we agreed
on; that harmless, silly little twit should not be teaching a defense
class. No one took her seriously.

I
wish I remember more of what we said, if anything just to have
something else to hold onto. That sounds so pathetic, but I really do
wish I had a clearly good memory instead of several hazy good ones
and a few clearly foul ones. We spent so much time fighting, and now
I find I'm regretting it.

If
someone told me when I was eleven that someday, the one person in the
world I'd want good memories with more than anything would be the
famous Harry Potter, I wouldn't have believed them. I guess that's
the difference between eleven and seventeen, though, isn't it? Now I
feel like I should've taken up writing sooner. I wonder what else has
changed?

23
July

3:27
pm

somewhere
on the grounds

I've
done nothing but brood for the past couple days, and Mum's finally
noticed. She has no idea why, at least (thank God), but if she starts
to worry much more, she'll have me check in at St. Mungo's just to
make sure it's nothing serious. That said, I put on the most cheerful
smile I could manage and told her I was going to go take a walk about
the grounds for a little bit and enjoy the sunlight.

I
walked for about five minutes, found a sunny rock to sit on, stripped
down to my boxers and am writing in the sunlight. One of the things
I'm growing to love about the Malfoy property is that I can wander
off and not worry about someone seeing me almost naked. They'd have
to find me first, and intruders would be punished beyond the extent
of the law, assuming they could make it this far to begin with. Lots
of attack plants and nasty wards.

And
now I'm enjoying the sunlight and trying not to brood, but failing on
the second part.

I
keep thinking about everything that happened, and I find myself
wishing I could go back and do something different, but I don't know
what. Maybe realize what I know now a little sooner. That wouldn't
actually help anything, and might've, in fact, only made things
worse; it could've ended up an openly emotional drama instead of
skirting the emotional issue in favor of losing my sexual play thing
and going spare about it.

Then
I think “Maybe there's something I can do to change things
now,” but to do that would require the sort of courage
exhibited only by Gryffindors. I am not a Gryffindor. I am a
Slytherin; I look out for myself and avoid doing anything to put me
on the line. Anything I could do or say would jeopardize my way of
life. While my current way of life involves a lot of moodiness and
deep thought over things I can no longer effect, the possible changes
from talking to Harry would probably leave me wide open to far worse.
My current way of life is depressing, but the possibilities from
talking to Harry keep ending—in my mind—with
contemplating suicide, and I'd really rather not tempt that one.

AGH.
But living like this sucks!! Isn't there some way out of this?!
- 4
- 5
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