A/N: A random new story. I'm trying to keep it clean and as humorous as I can without being an idiot (which is a stretch because I'm horrible at comedy). I got this idea from a status update that made me laugh when it really shouldn't have. Oh well, hopefully you all find the fun in it, too, and don't simply call me heartless. Enjoy! (Updated 3/6/14): The chapters get longer as the story progresses. Finally I can say that I've got the story almost completely finished.

Flowers From A Grave

It would take a cold, heartless person to commit to such a deed; a person so vile that one could only wish not to meet him in their lifetime. Alas, such a person did exist. And this person just so happened to be walking near a graveyard one sunny afternoon, head held high, ready to commit the heinous act without a sparing a thought to the consequences.

Every man has his fault, right? Right? Well, mine just happens to be tardiness. I think, however, that I will make it a personal goal to never be late for anything ever again. Let's go back to the start, when everything was normal.

I was running late. Again. But this time I was not just 'running late,' I was so late that even the word 'fashionably' would not suffice. Picture it: me (yes, me!) running down the street looking like a mad man in a well-tailored dress robe worth ten times as many galleons as the average wizard's.

Apparition? Well, that was currently out of the question when the meeting grounds were in Muggle London. Yes, Muggle.

Her idea, not mine.

Did I mention that this was a first date? I wouldn't be surprised if I (yes, even I) was about to be instantly rejected by a woman.

Suddenly I wished my entire life wasn't on display for the entire wizarding world. Maybe a guy could get in a decent lie! "I was watching a younger sibling, they're so fragile at that age, you understand?" But no. The Malfoy family tree is one that has extended its reach throughout the wizarding world, and if one were to claim they hadn't heard of us (especially in recent years), they were either lying, living in a cave, or a Muggle.

What was a man to do in my predicament? I slowed my running and took a few deep breaths (not that I needed to stop or anything, I was in tip-top shape). Looking around I searched for anything that could help: Lamp post, park bench, graveyard, food parlor, water fountain, little kid…

I silently weighed my options. I could either ditch her, show up hoping not to be rejected, or show up with a fabulous excuse that would melt her heart and chip away the frost that probably accumulated with all that waiting.

But when my eyes skimmed over the options again and locked on the graveyard all I could do was smirk at my own brilliance. To say I had no creativity would be a gross understatement.

Flowers. Right there. So close, yet so far.

I looked at a grave near the brick wall signifying the perimeter of the graveyard, noting not the stone or the message scribed on it but the beautiful, fresh, blood-red roses that had my date's name written all over them. I mean… it's not as if they're of any use to the person six feet under anyways, right?

I glanced around, suddenly very aware of everything and everyone around me. No one was near enough to care what my business was, and the closest Muggle was talking to herself with a black rectangle pressed against her cheek. (Merlin, Muggles were insane!)

With a final, careful glance around I climbed over the three-foot brick barrier between the walkway and the graveyard and strutted over to the grave as if I was normal bystander paying respect to a loved one.

Somewhere in the pit of my stomach I felt a twist where I knew my gut was telling me this was very, very wrong. (Yes, even Draco Malfoy has a conscience!) But, as usual, I pushed that feeling down and used my brain, not my gut, to guide me through the problem I was having. Logically, these flowers would do me more good than some corpse.

I snagged the bouquet (which was a lovely choice, if I do say so myself) and was off without a second glace.

As it would turn out my gut had more insight than my brain, because in that moment stealing flowers from a grave became the worst decision of my life.