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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
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.

Chapter
7: Harry's Journal

19
June

When
I sent Hedwig to pick up a journal, I wasn't really expecting it to
be a thousand-page blank book; what I had in mind was easier to fill
in a summer.

I
guess this is all right. It's not easy to carry around or hide, but
I'll have a hard time losing it, and I won't have to worry about
buying a new one anytime soon.

This
afternoon was the first time I've been at the Dursleys' since last
summer, and unlike usual, things were interesting even after getting
back. Not only was it just Aunt Petunia home, but she hosted tea for
Moody and Kingsley.

She
really, really didn't want to.

On
the way home, Moody and Kingsley followed us back to 4, Privet Drive
to make sure that nothing happened on the way, and if something did
that there was backup. I pointed out to Aunt Petunia that the
neighbors would be very suspicious if a car pulled up and watched us
go indoors and then simply drove off again—a thought which
usually wouldn't bother me (I don't care what the neighbors think),
but with Uncle Vernon and Dudley gone, I thought it might be fun.
It's an opportunity to make Aunt Petunia squirm a little before
dealing with another summer of doing chores and spending lots of time
in my room.

When
we pulled into the driveway and parked, Kingsley and Moody stopped on
the side of the road and got out of the ministry vehicle they were
using, then helped bring my trunk and Hedwig's cage inside. Aunt
Petunia looked horrified by the intrusion on her home and deeply
annoyed that she couldn't make me take care of my luggage on my own.
I showed them to my room—which was, after the warning given by
Moody the previous summer about sending people after the Dursleys for
any mistreatment towards me, much tidier and free of Dudley's broken
toys—and thanked them for bringing my things upstairs for me.
Moody looked about the room, probably checking for unforeseen hazards
and threats, and muttered something about needing a Foe-Glass before
we went back downstairs. Before we left the room, I opened the window
for when Hedwig arrived.

I
offered them tea when I got to the bottom of the stairs. Aunt Petunia
was standing nearby, and she shot me a horrible look, which I tried
to respond to with the most innocent expression I could.

Kingsley
thanked me and took me up on the offer immediately, and Moody
followed me into the kitchen to triple-check the tea leaves, water,
kettle, tea pot, and tea cups for anything that might have 'adverse
effects'. Aunt Petunia watched this process in a control-freakish,
annoyed, nervous way, obviously wanting to tell him to sod off but
afraid he'd aim his wand at her.

When
the tea was ready, we all sat around the kitchen table, sipping in
relative silence. When he came inside, Moody had—to Aunt
Petunia's dismay—taken off his bowler hat, leaving his magical
eye very visible, and it spun around and around in his head, taking
in every inch of the house. Aunt Petunia stared for several minutes,
obviously horrified, until she realized Moody's normal eye had
stopped squinting at his tea and was, instead, fixed on her. She
looked away quickly, bringing her tea cup to her mouth and taking a
long gulp.

Kingsley
asked me what I would do that summer in an effort to ease the
tension. I told him I planned to do some book-studying, since I'm
still not allowed to perform magic
outside of school.

“Do
you ever visit the Wizarding Library in London?” he asked.

I
tried not to laugh at the “Don't encourage him!”
expression that crossed Aunt Petunia's face before I told him I
hadn't heard of it.

“I'm
suprised,” he said. “It's a good place to go for some
extra-curricular reading.”

“Too
many places for enemies to hide,” Moody growled. “I never
visit the place.”

Kingsley
made a comment about Moody owning half the library's contents anyway,
and not having any need or interest for the other half. I was
surprised; for once, Moody actually looked smug, and for just a
second he reminded me a lot of Hermione. This was suprising, since
the pair of them have almost nothing in common.

Kingsley
pulled out a pad of paper and a quill (which was strange to see
together; I don't think of quills as going with anything besides
parchment and wizard-journals like this one) and wrote down a list of
books I should look into, especially if I want to be an Auror. Aunt
Petunia looked silently tempted to snatch the piece of paper away
from Kingsley as he handed it to me, probably trying to think of a
way to confiscate it later to discourage me from leaving the house at
all and attracting attention from the neighbors. I wonder how often
she's had to explain away where I've gone to? Like the summer Ron and
his brothers 'picked me up' in the Anglia. If she weren't so
horrible, I might actually feel bad for her.

Moody
glared at the kitchen clock and announced it was time to go pretty
shortly after that. Apparently, they had to have the Ministry car
back by a certain time and report what happened while escorting me
back to Privet Drive. They both told me to send them an owl if
anything strange happened, or just if Aunt Petunia was being too
overbearing. I said a thank you for helping me get my things inside
and, mostly just because Aunt Petunia was listening, told them to
stop in for tea again if they were ever in the neighborhood.

I
cleaned up the tea things without Aunt Petunia telling me to first,
though she did tell me half-way through that I'd better clean up all
of it since they were 'my guests'.

When
I got up to my room, Hedwig was sitting on her cage, staring in an
owlish, miffed fashion at a gigantic, square thing sitting on my bed.
I undid the brown paper packaging to find the journal, leather-bound
and magically warded against “Snoops, Spills, and Splots!”
according to the slim sheet of parchment that came with it. It
instructed me to write my name on the spine, and that would make it a
journal only I could read or write in. Anyone else would see the
words “Lorem Ipsum” written over and over in all the
pages I fill.

Other
stuff happened today besides tea this evening, of course. I probably
should've started from there, but the 'tea party' was much fresher in
my mind when I started writing, and on top of that, I'd kind of
rather forget what happened earlier.

Draco—who
I have mostly hated from the start—accidentally became a sort
of crush, only more than a crush, but not like the love of my life or
something, sometime during this last school year. We discovered that
we could dislike each other and still use each other to get off, but
I started to enjoy it for more than the sex. Well, not sex,
but...sexual stuff. We didn't do 'it', but we did a lot of other
things. And somehow, I started to really like other things about him,
even his personality, which probably means Hell froze over and is
being used as the Ministry's personal ice rink.

Which
sounds really funny, but it's not. Liking him at all is a very, very
bad thing.

Draco
is arrogant, self-centered, rude, spiteful, and several other
unpleasant things. But he's also that sort of handsome that makes me
wish I could draw; his angles and curves and these facial expressions
that are very hard to put to words. When he's honest—which
isn't too often, but still happens—he looks even more
incredible, and he says and does these things that made me want to be
with him daily instead of a couple times a week when we were horny.

Today,
on the train, he said he hates me more than anything.

He
was more beautiful and frightening than I've ever seen him, and part
of that was because he wasn't lying. His face was flushed, and his
eyes were lit in a way I have never seen on anyone, especially not
him. He wasn't that close to me, and he spoke quietly, but I felt
like he was standing in my personal space and screaming in my ear.

I
surprised myself. I just let it go. I don't even remember what went
through my head when it happened. Instead, I went to get drinks from
the tea-cart witch (which was why I wasn't in my own compartment and
ended up talking to Draco in the first place) and went back to the
compartment with Ron and Hermione. I went on like it didn't even
happen.

I
think it's starting to sink in, and I really wish it would stop. My
heart is starting to hurt, and every now and then the memory of him
saying "I think I hate you more than anything" hits me,
wipes out everything else that I was thinking about, and after a few
moments I realize I've forgotten to breathe.

Hand
is cramping. Stopping for the night.

21
June

...Or
two nights.

Aunt
Petunia invited several of her friends and the neighbors over for tea
yesterday afternoon, I think to give herself an excuse to reason away
the visitors. Apparently, after the first two calls from the
neighbors asking what those strange men were here for, she started
announcing a tea party that she'd supposedly had planned for a few
friends, but decided to make it a neighborhood get-together.

Then,
of course, there was a lot of running through her personal phone
book, looking up friends' numbers and inviting them to tea that
afternoon so no one would take it personally if they weren't invited
and heard about this get-together through someone else.

Apparently,
Moody and Kingsley are authorities from my school (which everyone
else knows as St. Brutus' School for Criminally Insane Boys) making
sure I got home and noting where I lived just in case I had an
episode during the summer while Vernon and Dudley were overseas. Then
Petunia agonized over how terrible it was to have such a person
sharing a house with her, and her friends and the neighbors told her
she was such a compassionate person for taking me in at all.

If
Aunt Petunia knew the meaning of the word “compassion”, I
think she would have felt at least a little guilty for saying such
horrible things about me.

Either
way, I had to clean up after them once they had left, which took most
of the evening. For a bunch of women whose sole jobs in life are to
be housewives, they are very, very messy. They might've been so
inconsiderate because they knew they wouldn't have to do the cleaning
up, and Aunt Petunia didn't encourage them to be any nicer because
she knew she wouldn't be cleaning up either. I bet she helped them
make a mess, too.

Today's
been quieter, and this has been both very good and very bad. It's
good because it means Petunia's not being overly spiteful, or even
bothering me at all. It's bad because I can feel, very clearly, just
how much that initial numbness from Draco's words has worn off.

I
really miss feeling as numb as I did for the first few hours after it
happened. Now all I can feel is this sharp pain in my chest every
time I think about Draco, which is basically all the time.

Part
of me really wants to take back what I said, and tell him to forget
that I'd stopped our game with it's unwritten, unspoken rules. I want
to go back to what we were and what we had, even if that was just
short of being fuck-buddies. At least then we were something better
than total enemies. I almost think the way we are now is worse; we're
not only enemies, but we're enemies with a history, even if we're the
only ones who know it.

At
the same time, though, I know that if we'd gone on like that, I
would've grown more and more miserable. We weren't a couple, and he
didn't love me. It didn't matter when we were in the act of...well,
whatever we were in the act of at the time. At those times, I felt
truly cared for. Later on, after coming down from that sex-high, I'd
pass him in the hallways and remember that he'd done it because his
turn was next.

For
a while, I thought, “I can live with that.” I thought I'd
get over those feelings, and when I did it wouldn't be a problem
anymore. Instead, the feelings got stronger, and I started to feel
worse and worse after every round of the game, and then every time I
saw him. It's too depressing to live like that, and while it would've
been easy to not change, to let things keep going that way, I think
it would've ended up much worse. I don't really know how much worse,
but the thought of seeing him and becoming visibly upset in front of
our classmates was a possibility. Or crying in front of him, which
would have been a blow to my pride.

I
still felt (feel?) horrible every time I saw him, but now it's
because I can't be with any part of him instead of being miserable
over having so little of him.

23
June

I
woke up thinking about this, today. I had this sex dream about me and
Draco, and it kind of came from this.

One
of the other reasons I was afraid to end the game was this
self-indulgent thought that I was the only reason he hadn't joined
Voldemort yet. In my imagination, he really did care about me, and
that was why he hadn't gotten the Dark Mark yet. When I was
entertaining the thought of ending the game, playing through it in my
head, one of the more cheerful scenarios involved him crying a lot
and saying that I was the only thing stopping him from following in
his father's footsteps, and then me crying and saying “I
thought you didn't care!” and then both of us crying and vowing
that we'd never be apart and we'd take the Dark Lord down together.

Yeah.
Self-indulgent. Some of those scenarios even ended with us making
love. That's where the dream comes in. In this dream I had, I was
saying to Draco "Maybe we should stop this," and he got
this really depressed look on his face and said "If we stop,
I'll have to join Voldemort." It was like he didn't have a
choice. Somehow, his parents knew what was going on between him and
me and had made this deal with him (or something) that as long as
Draco and I were fooling around, he didn't have to get the Dark Mark.

In
the dream, I asked him if that was the only reason he was doing this,
and he said it wasn't, but he didn't want to say what it was. Then we
made eye contact and through telepathy (which I guess we had; go
figure) I could tell that he was staying with me out of love, too. I
called him on it, and he looked embarrassed and admitted that, yes,
he was in love with me.

Then
I wrapped my arms around him and we started making out, pretty
shortly followed by really, really good sex. We were in an empty
classroom, but the floor wasn't cold stone (probably because it was,
in reality, my bed), and he made these really... really good noises.
I don't know how to describe them. And somehow, the power behind the
two of us being together made Voldemort die. I think he exploded in a
fiery death or something, but I'm not sure; I was busy paying
attention to Draco.

Not
suprisingly, I had to shower when I woke up.

The
REAL game didn't end as badly as it could have. I was afraid he'd hit
me, or he'd tell the school what happened and make it look like I
forced him into it. Instead he just stood there and restrained
himself. He looked disappointed and frustrated and annoyed, but
definitely not heartbroken.

Nothing
interesting going on. No letters from Ron and Hermione, either, but
since we've only been on vacation for about four days, I guess it's
not that big of a deal.

It's
a little late for it now, but I think tomorrow I'll flag down the
Knight Bus and go to the library.

1
July

Spent
the last several days trying to find time to leave the house, only to
be stopped by Aunt Petunia to do this nit-pickingly obsessive
cleaning that apparently “had to be done” before Vernon
and Dudley come home.

“They're
not going to be home until late August,” I said, silently
praying that I'd have some reason to be gone by then.

“Well
it needs to be started now!”

Yesterday,
I managed to escape before Aunt Petunia could stop me, then jogged
for a few blocks to get further away from muggles before waving for
the Knight Bus.

The
Wizarding Library, by the way, is huge.

I
had to ask Stan how to get inside—it's disguised as an unused
bus station—and he said to just walk through the front door.
Then he and the bus left, and I turned to enter the library.

It
took me a few minutes to figure out that, when he said “walk
through the front door,” he really meant to walk through it.
Not open it, just walk through it.

You'd
think that, by now, I would've figured out that I should take
wizarding folk seriously when they say things like that.

The
inside was much bigger than the outside, with several floors and lots
of very long rows of shelves. There's no way Hermione knows about
that place; if she did, we would've never seen anything of her during
the summer months. I'm not sure I should even mention it to her, or
we may never see her again. For Ron's sake, I'll avoid mentioning it.

I
spent most of the time at the library just wandering around and
getting acquainted with the sections. The library clerk looked
disturbingly like a male Madame Pince, and every time I was in his
viewing range he watched me like I was going to steal something, or
pull out a chocolate bar and start rubbing it on the spines of the
books.

Aunt
Petunia had a fit when I returned to the house. If she didn't make it
so clear that she hates me, I might think she was actually worried.
“Where were you?! Do you know how much trouble I'd be in if
something happened to you?!” Sounds more like saving her skin
than real concern to me. Probably with good reason, too; of all the
wizards I know, someone would be bound to lose their temper and use a
curse on her. Maybe Ron.

3
July

Dreamed
about Voldemort, and I'm not sure if it was a nightmare. He was
pretty upset about something, but whatever it was had nothing to do
with killing muggles or plans going wrong. I think his wand had been
turned into chocolate, and the only things he could find to eat were
those Marshmallow Peeps you get at Easter time.

I
have no idea why that was important. I had to write it down because I
woke up, realized what the dream was about, and started laughing.

Still
no letters from Ron and Hermione.

5
July

I
bet Ron and Hermione are spending all their time snogging by now. I
SHOULD write her and tell her about the Wizarding Library; maybe I'd
at least get an owl from one of them if they, I don't know, came up
for air? I bet they've completely forgotten about me. Bloody useless
friends.

And
Draco's probably spending all his time eating cake and chocolate and
rich foods. Probably hangs out with Crabbe and Goyle again, too, now
that he doesn't talk to me anymore. Not that we talked much in the
first place, but I STILL offered more intelligent conversation two
nights out of the week than those two did in seven days.

Ohgod.
Just thought "I bet he's gotten himself a girlfriend to make out
with, too, just like Ron is with Hermione." What if he DID get a
girlfriend? What if his mum went and arranged a marriage for him to
some pureblood family?

Ohyuckyuckyuck.
Mental image of Draco making out with Millicent Bullstrode. That was
horrifying.

Still,
though. He's not a bad looking guy, and now that I'm not around, I
bet he's found himself some girl who puts out. (Not Millicent, NOT
Millicent...) Or maybe he's found several girls to put out. Maybe
he's gone on vacation and had a great time getting laid by foreign
women.

I
hope he gets fat on his sweets and rich foods. So fat that it ruins
his good looks and then NO ONE will look at him. Stupid rich prat.

6
July

...I
don't really want him to get fat. I'm just bitter because I feel
ignored, and living with Aunt Petunia doesn't help. The only time she
ISN'T ignoring me is when she wants me to clean something. Or clean
up after her. Or after her friends. Otherwise, she spends most of her
time watching soap operas and alternately eating popcorn and celery.
The celery—as I heard her explaining to a friend over the
phone—has a negative calorie intake, so it counteracts
(supposedly) all the butter she puts on her popcorn.

I
think she's going to need to eat more celery to counteract THAT.

I
really wish I could just leave this place and the entire wizarding
world behind. I've been receiving The Daily Prophet and seeing more
and more articles regarding Voldemort's inactivity, and everyone's
gaining either more or less faith that I'll be able to save them
all—because, obviously, this is my fight.

Which
it is, unfortunately. I really hate that everyone else thinks so,
too.

If
I thought apparating myself to Mexico would completely remove me from
this mess, I'd probably consider it. I could live like a muggle and
wait for Voldemort to be defeated by someone else, someone more
powerful and more capable. Then I'd never have to deal with my
relatives again, too.

But
Ron and Hermione would be worried and then disappointed in me for
running.

And
Draco would call me a coward, and I hate that idea. Every time I
think of running, I see Draco's face sneering and smirking at me and
mouthing the word “Coward!” at me, and I refuse to be
that in his eyes.

Of
course, not telling Draco straight up that I've pretty much fallen in
love with him is pretty cowardly, but he doesn't know that, and I'm
not telling him.

Oh.
Right. And I don't want Voldemort to kill my mates. That's another
reason to stay here and try to take care of this myself. If I don't,
someone else will, and whoever that is might end up caring less if
people die, as long as Voldemort's gone, too. That seems like one of
the more obvious reasons to stay and fight, and it is. It's so
obvious to me that I forget to even mention it. Until the fight at
the Ministry of Magic, I thought of my friends as being...well,
indestructable, I guess. Then Hermione was hit by that spell, and Ron
was attacked by those creepy looking brains, and Sirius...

I
can't think of anything to add to that thought. I don't want to. It's
still too hard to think about him. It hurts too much.

8
July

I
heard Aunt Petunia get up very early this morning, and when I came
downstairs I found her sitting on the couch with a photo album open
in front of her. I managed to sneak up behind her really quietly and
take a look at the photos.

I
was really suprised. The pictures had to be her and Mum when they
were really little. Probably from before Mum started Hogwarts, too;
the pair of them were facing the camera and smiling broadly, looking
perfectly happy to be with each other and sharing their toys.

For
the first time, it occurred to me that Aunt Petunia and Mum didn't
always get along badly.

I
tiptoed into the kitchen before making my presence known, pulling a
cup from the cupboard and setting it down with just enough clink to
be heard. Aunt Petunia, of course, immediately told me she would lock
me in my room if I broke anything. I just put the kettle on the hob
and waited for the water to boil so I could make tea.

Maybe
Mum going off to Hogwarts and suddenly getting all this parental
approval created a backlash in Aunt Petunia, and that's why she hates
wizards so much. It's not that it isn't normal; it's that she isn't
one of them, and when Mum got the invitation and she didn't, it was a
blow to her pride.

Now
I'm remembering all these times when she bragged about piano and
ballet and charm school lessons and realizing that maybe it was her
trying to look better than Mum all the time.

If
I'd had a sibling, I would've never done that if I felt jealous. Or I
at least wouldn't hate them for it. I bet she's wasted huge chunks of
her life being angry over that.

9
July

Went
to the library again today. I found one of the books Kingsley
suggested, which had a lot of really good information about
prerequisites for becoming an Auror. I spent most of my time there
reading that and taking notes. The Mr-Madame-Pince librarian
suggested I check it out and bring it home, but I told him (after
pulling my hair over my scar as inconspicuously as possible) that my
muggle-relatives weren't very open towards magical anything, and a
book on Aurors with a cover that stared suspiciously at whoever was
looking at it probably wouldn't go over well if it was discovered.

“I
can hold onto it at the front desk for you,” he offered. I was
a little surprised, since Madame Pince would never do something like
that, but I accepted the offer.

I
suppose that, even if he looks like the school librarian, he's got a
different personality from her.

12
July

Voldemort
dream. Woke up screaming. I hate this.

16
July

I've
gone back to the library a few times over the last week, and have
sort of made friends with the librarian. It turns out that he and
Madame Pince are cousins in a family where two brothers married two
sisters, so genetically, they're siblings.

As
small as the rest of the world is, the Wizarding World is even
smaller.

I
found this out when he asked me if I was a student at Hogwarts. He
asked if I spent much time in the library there, and I told him I
did. He got this sort of half-smile and told me his relation to
Madame Pince; apparently, they'd both put in applications for the
Wizarding Library and at Hogwarts, though they both really wanted the
London job. That explains why Madame Pince is always so... crabby.

He
pointed out that his cousin spends a lot of time being mad about not
getting the Wizarding Library position, and how he thinks it's a
waste and she should be glad she still gets to do what she loves. I
told him that I live with my aunt, who has hated wizards and magic
ever since her sister was accepted to Hogwarts and she wasn't, and
that I saw that as being a waste, too.

“I
mean, they're still sisters, right? Why hate someone because of
something they can't really change?”

Mr.
Bentley—that's the librarian's name—smiled again, and
said, “Do you read much about Buddhism?”

I
told him that I hadn't. I tried to be polite and make myself look a
little smarter by not immediately saying that Buddhism totally
disinterests me and I've never really bothered looking into anything
to do with muggles. Probably because I've had to live with them and
find wizard lifestyles much more interesting.

He
led me to the Muggle Studies section, scanned the shelf for a moment,
then handed me a book. “Read this,” he said. “There's
a chapter about love that you might find interesting.” He
flipped the book open to the right page before handing me the book,
then stood there to wait while I read.

He
was right; the chapter was interesting. What it said
(summarized) was this:

There
are three kinds of love. There is the sexual kind, which is strictly
physical and more about appreciation of the body; there's the
emotional kind, which changes and can be affected by moods and
opinions; and there's the compassionate kind, which is loving someone
for who they are, even with their flaws—the highest form of
love.

“What
your aunt and my cousin have is the middle sort of love,” he
said. “My cousin loves library-work, but doesn't love where
she's working even though there's not much difference. Your aunt
loves your mother, but hates that she got so much attention from your
parents for something that was beyond their control. I've suggested
to my cousin that she should just love her job for what it is, since
she still gets to work with books all the time,
but—unfortunately—people aren't always open to being
compassionate.”

It
was a very helpful conversation, in more ways than Mr. Bentley knew.
It's making me consider my game with Draco from a different
perspective. We had sexual love; I had emotional love for him. I'm
not so sure about the compassionate love, though.

20
July

I
finally asked Aunt Petunia, as indirectly as possible, about the
photo album.

I
didn't ask straight out if she had a photo album with pictures of Mum
as a kid, because she'd get suspicious if I asked that. Instead, I
asked her if she still had any pictures of Mum in storage. She told
me not to be ridiculous, that she'd either left them at her parents'
or burned them, including the negatives.

“Oh,”
I said. I knew she was lying, but I was still annoyed she wouldn't
just give me the old pictures so she could finally declare herself
free of them.

Ron
and Hermione sent me an owl today. Apparently, Hermione's parents
were enjoying their travels so much that they had asked the Weasleys
to let Hermione stay longer. Mrs. Weasley welcomed the opportunity,
since Hermione was apparently a huge help around the house. Hermione
said she thinks Mrs. Weasley suspects something is up between her and
Ron, since she was strangely insistent on Hermione feeling free to
call her 'Mum' if she liked. If Mr. Weasley suspects anything, he
hasn't said a word.

Of
course, if the two of them are still as weird about personal space as
they had been at the end of the school year, it's no wonder Mrs.
Weasley is only 'suspecting' something's up instead of 'quite sure'.
I bet the two of them go somewhere well out of view before holding
hands or snogging, and any time it sounds like someone's going to
walk in on them they put about a meter and a half of space between
them.

They
suggested visiting The Burrow for my birthday, which would be a
relief. I may not have to be dealing with Vernon and Dudley, but
being ignored or nagged by Petunia grows old very quickly.

22
July

Wrote
a letter back yesterday saying I'd like to go to The Burrow for my
birthday, and Ron wrote back saying his dad would Floo in during the
afternoon on the thirty-first to get me.

I
told Aunt Petunia, and she immediately asked if Dumbledore knew where
I would be. If the Weasleys know, then yes, Dumbledore does, too. She
told me to write him immediately and make sure he knows (probably to
clear her of any responsibility), and she said that the living room
had better be perfectly spotless after Mr. Weasley leaves or else
I'll have to clean the whole room.

I
hope I remember to ask Mr. Weasley to cast a cleaning charm...

23
July

I've
been thinking about that “three forms of love” thing. I
don't know if I can be compassionate towards Draco; every time I
think about loving him with his flaws and his perfections, I start
thinking about that sneer of his when he's looking down on someone,
or that smirk he gets when he's feeling smugly superior, and I want
to tell him “That's not right, that's being mean.” But
that's trying to change him, and that's not what loving someone is
about.

Then
again, though, I suppose the fact that I love him in the first place
is a sign that I'm at least a little compassionate towards him. I
mean, he's always been pretty unbearable, but now I'm actually
missing his personality.

I
guess there's hope.

24
July

Screw
hope. What am I hoping for? That I might truly and compassionately
love someone who probably supports the one person on the planet who
wants me very dead? What kind of comfort is that? I should be
encouraging myself to forget him, not love him!

I
hope he.... I don't know what I hope, but I hope it doesn't involve
me suffering from him being a moron.

With
that thought out of the way, Aunt Petunia was being really unbearable
earlier. She bumped a cup and saucer off the counter and immediately
accused me of using magic to break it. She went off into this huge,
nasty rant about how I'm out to break all her nice things and
generally ruin her life.

I
hate her. I really, really do. I didn't choose to live here. If I'd
had a choice, I would've also been able to announce that Sirius was
innocent, and then I could've lived with him instead.

Agh.
Bad thoughts. Not thinking of that.

I
told her I would get kicked out of school if I'd used magic, and I
didn't even have my wand on me when it happened. Which I guess isn't
saying much, since I've accidentally used wandless magic before. She
continued to be mad at me for about an hour; by that point, no letter
saying I was forbidden from returning to school had arrived. She
didn't say anything, but she definitely knew she'd screwed up on her
own.

Honestly,
it's a stupid tea cup! She can get another one! We already have
plenty!

31
July

Aunt
Petunia had gone out to run errands before I woke up, which was
pretty deliberate, I think, because when I opened my bedroom door the
first thing I did was trip over a birthday present she'd left on the
other side.

She
actually gave me a real present, this year. Even better, it was the
photo album.

I
was so shocked that I just sat on my bed staring at it for a few
minutes.

When
I paged through, I saw a lot of pictures of Mum between birth and the
age I am now. She probably moved out shortly after she left Hogwarts,
so Petunia must not have any later pictures of her.

It
made me sad to realize that Mum didn't live more than five years
after the last picture was taken. I know that Mum died when I was
only a year old, but somehow, seeing pictures of her at such a young
age made me realize just how young she was. I mean... If I was told
now that I had five years to live, I'd be indignant about having to
die so young. And I would completely rethink how I plan to live these
next few years.

There
were a lot of pictures of Petunia, too. Most of the pictures with her
had Mum in the frame, though that was mostly in the photos from when
they were young. You can tell when Mum started going to Hogwarts just
by how forced Petunia's smile started looking in the later pictures.
There were a few pictures of Aunt Petunia alone, though, with awards
for excellence in piano and ballet.

She
was pretty when she was younger, but not as pretty as Mum. I bet that
grated on her; compared to her sister, she must've felt really
outdone. And then when Mum brought Dad home, and she saw that Dad was
a good-looking guy, she must've been downright livid.

I'm
~~suprised~~
surprised (I keep spelling that wrong) that she left those pictures
of herself in the album at all. I thought she'd pick out everything
that didn't have Mum in it.

Maybe
it was her way of telling me about herself?

2
August

Spent
an extra day at the Weasley's; the birthday party went really well,
with a huge sheet-cake enchanted to sing “Happy Birthday”
as soon as the candles were lit, and it stopped singing as soon as I
blew them out.

I
almost blew out only half of them, out of curiosity of what that
would do to the song, but decided to make a birthday wish instead.

Since
he's been on my mind lately, I wished for peace between me and Draco.
Wishing for him to change into a nice person or to see me as the love
of his life would be a little too much like using the Imperius curse;
I don't want to make him love me.

Okay,
I do want to make him like me, but only out of an irrational need to
make everything fine. If I have to deal with the Dark Lord, I'd
really like for everything else in my life to be normal. Or at least
not stressing me out.

Hermione
and Ron have definitely made it past the 'holding hands' stage,
though I was right about jumping apart if they were walked in on. The
only major difference between what I'd suspected and what they really
do was when I said they might've made it to snogging, they'd actually
made it to clumsy groping and fondling. Probably some petting,
since—when I sort of walked in on them—Ron's hand was
sliding down into Hermione's trousers.

I'm
rather surprised Ron didn't break his hand when he and
Hermione tried to jump apart. He'd slid his hand down to almost the
wrist, and those trousers looked kind of... restrictive.

Both
of them were really embarrassed, or really flushed at least, and Ron
said “You aren't going to tell Mum, right?”

I
told him that of course I wouldn't, and sorry to have disturbed them,
and for future reference they may want to set up some sort of alarm
system. Then I closed the door and went to Fred and George's room
(where Hermione had been staying; I'd walked in on her and Ron in
Ron's room, where my things were) and tried to laugh as quietly as
possible.

Yesterday
morning, I had a dream about Draco. Which makes sense, since it was
right after I'd been thinking about him and made that wish. I've had
other dreams about him this summer, too, but they've mostly just been
back in the Hogwarts castle, fooling around—sexual dreams,
which are nice, but painful reminders of what I let go of.

This
dream almost hurt worse, actually. For once, we were fully clothed
and walking around the lake on the school grounds. We were just
talking, but that's what made the dream so spectacular. We were
talking. We were holding a real, more-than-five-minute conversation,
and he wasn't sneering (though he smirked a little) and we laughed
and he smiled. It was amazing.

When
I woke up and realized it didn't happen, that emotional high I'd
gotten from feeling normal around him dropped off completely. It was
depressing, going from so high to so low that fast.

So
I just lay there until Mrs. Weasley came upstairs to tell us to get
up for breakfast, using the time to build myself back up again so I
could at least fake a normal, good mood. Any grumpiness can be passed
off as a side effect of just waking up.

I
feel terrible, rereading that last paragraph. I spend way too much
time lying to the people that care about me, these days. It seems
like every time I'm around them, I run into at least one instance of
having to either outright lie or otherwise fake my mood.

5
August

I
asked Aunt Petunia about the piano and ballet lessons, today. I don't
think she was really expecting me to ask, because she looked
surprised. Then she surprised me by not chewing my head off for
asking her a conversational question.

“I
was never very good,” she said, and since she was being nice I
didn't point out all the awards in the photos. “I stopped
ballet when I left school, and I stopped playing piano because it
bothered Vernon so much. He liked the piano music, but listening to
someone practice it all the time wore on his nerves.”

“Do
you still have the piano?”

“It's
in the basement. It's probably horridly out of tune, too.”

I
suggested she tune it, but she said something dismissive and told me
to go clean the dishes she's been piling up for the last few days.

6
August

Went
to the library today and visited with Mr. Bentley. When I came back,
I could hear piano music coming from the basement.

I
went to my room as quietly as possible so she wouldn't stop playing,
and reviewed old notes and some of my text books. Even if she hasn't
played in years, Aunt Petunia is really good at piano.
- 6
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More Than Nothing