Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any part of the HP universe. This story is only written for the purpose of enjoyment and to satisfy my own twisted obsession with the HP characters. I am not making any type of profit off this story and no copyright infringement is intended against J.K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic, etc and whoever else is lucky enough to own part of the HP franchise.
Warnings: This story includes reference to both het and slash pairings, so be warned. Also, this story will contain lots of UST, adult language, inappropriate fantasies, voyeurism, possible recreational drug use and alcohol abuse, and a somewhat OCC extremely sexually frustrated Harry.
From the Desk of one H.J. Potter
By: Harry James Potter (with a little help from Icicle)
*Author's Note: If it isn’t clear the italicised text represents Harry’s journal writings and the ::: indicate a break in certain entries that Harry decides to continue at a later point. Therefore, any other text that isn’t italicised can be read as either Harry’s thoughts or Harry’s mumblings to himself. I guess that depends on whether or not you question his sanity after the whole Voldemort fiasco. Also, I am aware that there are grammatical errors present in this fic, but since it is Harry’s journal I figured that he would be far from neat and not too particularly worried about using proper grammar. Now, if I were writing Hermione’s journal, it would be another story. Perhaps if this goes well, that will be a task for another day.
This is not meant to be serious, so if you’re looking for a little humour, sappiness/fluff, and don’t mind a little OCC then enjoy.
Years after defeating Voldemort, Harry has not lost any of his popularity or status in the wizarding world. Even after coming out of the closet and a string of failed relationships with both sexes, Harry remains England’s most sought after and eligible bachelor. Harry could have anyone he wants, but of course, he only has eyes for the one person who seems immune to Harry’s charms: a certain blond co-worker that isn’t impressed by Harry’s past heroics. Although Harry and Malfoy have gotten over their past aggressions and now have an amicable relationship, he just doesn’t seem to notice or reciprocate Harry’s feelings.
Harry is desperate to try to win him over, but has no idea how to court someone and definitely doesn’t want to risk pushing the blond away for good. Hermione thinks that Harry only wants Malfoy because he doesn’t fawn over Harry like everyone else does, but Harry insists that he has real feelings for the blond. Although she remains sceptical, Hermione sees just how desperate Harry has become, hence in an effort to help him sort through his feelings, she gives him a journal for his birthday.
What follows is a series of Harry’s ramblings and scribbles about his feelings and various failed attempts at courting one Draco Malfoy.
~12 September 2004~
No, that doesn't sound right. Girls write in diaries and I'm not a bloody girl.
It's a journal.
Journals are manly.
That's right, this is my manly journal.
Hello, I'm Harry James Potter, Age 24.
No, that doesn't sound right either.
It's not like the stupid journal is going to talk back.
Well, hopefully not.
Besides, I don't need to introduce myself to inanimate objects.
God, why am I doing this anyway? I must be losing my mind.
You know why you're doing this, a small voice echoed in his head.
Okay Okay, get a grip on yourself.
Let's try this again.
This would probably be better anonymous anyhow.
~12 September 2004~
Hello, I'm Harry James Potter, Age 24.
Anyway, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be writing in this thing, but Hermione gave it to me for my birthday weeks ago and I still haven't touched it. She keeps badgering me about whether or not I love the journal and how therapeutic the writing process can be.
Blah Blah Blah.
Don't get me wrong, I really do love Hermione, but sometimes she is a bit tiring. The real reason why I'm writing in here, has nothing to do with Hermione.
It has to do with you.
It's always been about you, hasn't it? Well, I'm not going to mention any names just in case this falls in the wrong hands, but I started to write in this because I just can't stand being around you anymore.
I don't know when things changed, but they did. They changed a lot.
I can't put an exact date on it, but one day I just woke up and didn't hate you anymore. It was quite the opposite actually. One day, I'm not sure when exactly...it could've been yesterday, 2 weeks ago, 2 months ago, or perhaps even 2 years ago...but one morning when I saw you in the office drinking your coffee and staring out the window pensively, much like you do every morning—I just lost it.
All of a sudden, I started to notice how the sunlight reflects off your pale hair—how your grey eyes sparkle and grow wide, once you spot a fresh pot of coffee waiting in your office.
God, listen to me, I sound like a bloody lovesick girl. It's nauseating really. You would be disgusted if you knew how I felt about you.
Ever the maudlin Gryffindor, you would tease.
Or perhaps you would make some silly remark about how I should've been a Hufflepuff.
Ugh...perhaps this was a bad idea.
Later that day...
Okay, perhaps I overreacted before.
So what, if my last entry was a little soppy?
It's not as if anyone else is going to read this thing anyway.
It's probably better that I get this over sentimental load of bollocks off my chest anyhow, rather than risk acting all lovesick in front of Malfoy.
If I'm going to win Malfoy over, it definitely won't be by gawking at him like some loved crazed school girl.
Let's give this another shot.
I don't know exactly when your insults stopped winding me up, but they did.
Every time you used to insult me, I used to want to slam you up against the nearest wall and hex the living daylights out of you. Now, when you insult me, your insults have an almost playful kind of tone, much more smirk and less sneer.
When I see that smirk, I no longer want to push you up against a wall.
Who am I kidding?
When you insult me, even teasingly, I still want to push you up against a wall...
I just have other reasons now that no longer involve hexing your bits off.
Now, I can think of much better ways to punish you for insulting me.
I am a very sick man.
::~Ink and writing are starting to get sloppy and mottled~::
Oh God, the next time you tease me, I'm just going to grab you and slam you up against the nearest wall…
Then I'm going to run my fingers through your silky hair and pin your arms behind your back so you can't get away.
When you get nervous, you bite down on your bottom lip, and I bet you think that no one notices.
But I do. I always notice. I notice everything about you.
What are you doing to me?
You always tease with those pouty lips and I can't take it anymore. Once I have you up against a wall, I'm going to suck so hard on that bottom lip of yours. I'm going to bite down hard until it bleeds…until you cry out in pain and pleasure…until you're the one who can't take it anymore.
Yes, you're going to be mine.
I need to mark you as mine. I'm going to mar the pale flesh of your neck...'til you scream…'til you melt in my hands…'til you cry out my name.
Oh god, yes--I need this so bad. I need you so bad.
Do you even know what you do to me?
::~Ink and writing are basically incoherent~::
Oh jeez, why does Malfoy do this to me?
I need to stop thinking about this NOW.
Oh Bugger, what was Hermione thinking giving me this journal?
I can't write in it, if it's going to have this effect on me.
Get a grasp on yourself, Harry.
Don't think about blonds.
Don't think about snogging.
Don't think about walls.
And definitely don't think about buggering.
30 seconds later…
Oh fuck it all, I need a wank.
::Runs off to wank in the shower::