shattered | f.w, d.m

two

Draco.

October, 1997.

—

Wake up. Get ready for classes. Breakfast. Classes. Lunch. More classes. Bathroom. Library. Dinner. Homework. Get ready for bed. Read before bed. Sleep.

That was Tracey Davis' exact routine Monday through Thursday. The schedule for Friday was usually to be determined. Saturday was the day to let loose. Sunday was reset.

She surprised him with that spontaneous study session in the library that one night. But it wasn't really exciting.

Draco memorized her schedules without uttering a word to her.

He didn't fancy her, not at all. He just had a craving for something new—someone new.

But she didn't really do the trick.

She was too easy and it took him less than a month to memorize her schedule. She was bisexual too. Not everyone knew because she wasn't open with her personal life.

He'd memorized two ladies' schedules since school started and they were both pretty simple and tedious.

The year prior, he memorized the life and schedules of eight girls and again, very dull and simple.

He wanted action. He wanted to feel a thrill. He wanted spice. He wanted his eyes to go wide and jaw to go slack at something in someone's daily life.

He got none of that so far.

But, he did write down and make notes on the girls he'd already watched over. He labelled them as one, two, three, four, etcetera. And then their names next to their number.

He made simple notes on them. Things like his thoughts and observations and his opinions.

It wasn't stalking. He was just interested in some of their lives, though they turned out to be vastly boring.

So boring, each lady only had less than two pages' worth of notes of them in his journal. A journal he kept in the bottom of his sock drawer.

The journal had a worn leather cover with cream-coloured pages and a leather thread to wrap around, sealing the journal and its confidential contents shut.

Tracey's life was so boring, Draco didn't even bother to wait for her, so they could walk out of the common room at the same time. Coincidentally, of course.

He just quickly wrote down in his journal, on Tracey's page, that he was done with her.

Shoving the journal back at the bottom of his sock drawer, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror at his dresser and brushed his platinum hair back from his face.

Then he left on his own and made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast with his mates.

Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, and Pansy Parkinson were all his friends. His only friends.

The rest of the Slytherin house were just housemates and acquaintances.

He was okay with it because it wasn't like he was entirely open with his friends. They knew what he wanted them to know.

Just like how everyone knew what the Malfoys wanted them to know. Same thing.

But his own parents probably didn't have a clue about who their son really was. Draco Malfoy was Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. The Malfoy Heir. Royalty. That was what everyone knew him as.

And he was that, in a way, but he also had his own interests and his own private life. Interests he kept to himself because it was no one else's business.