Chapter III- Letters and Babysitting

Back in the dormitory, Potter picked up a orange blanket with turquoise– fur?

"Meet Teddy Lupin.", he took the bundle and held it forward, so the perplexed Malfoy heir could look closer. When the bundle began to move, a little sleepy head begann turning up, all scrunched up and adorable, strangely enough with turquoise hair. "Unfortunately, his parents were killed in the battle– you might know them, Professor Lupin and your cousin Tonks. You might have heard... Well– Tonks wasn't Tonks since she married Lupin, but...", he trailed off.

Draco swallowed. Cute little poppet– another orphan, who would probably be ready to take over the world in a few years. "Andromeda's grandson, is he?", he asked, although he knew the answer. As if anyone would ever trust Bellatrix with children – if they wanted them well and alive. "Half-werewolf, right? Does he have... any problems?"

Potter almost jerked the baby away. He looked furious. Probably was, too. "Get over yourself, Malfoy!", he spat. "Not everything is a matter of blood!"

Draco closed his eyes. Oh, yes, he deserved that. Somewhat. "No, Potter, you are right. Not everything is about blood.", he said outwardly calm, but inside he was seething. Why did everyone automatically asume his inquiries were about the dark ideals? "Although, you might want to consider that I haven't met any half-werewolves and there could be unexpected side effects you might need help with. I have some hands-on experience of what happens with insane werewolves, considering the fine companship I had to endure. Seeing that you don't deem me worthy enough of any communication that doesn't involve punching me or me punching you, or you asking for help, I take the baby – Teddy, which is, by the by, not an useful name in convincing me that the boy is in fact harmless – is as fit as a fiddle "Excuse me terribly, if I am a little bit concerned!" He had started shouting, or at least talked very loudly, and so he took another deep breath. Potter looked positively shaken; so Draco added, for his peace of mind, because he was so sure the Golden Boy would start pitying him again– heck, he almost worshipped him, because he got his wand back. "Just do me a favour, will you? Don't start pretending you'd care."

Potter closed his eyes briefly as well, as if he shared some of the inner struggle of the Ex-Death-Eather. "Remind me to send you the Evil Overlord List, should you ever desire to become a Dark Lord?", he said, absolutely non-sequitur, random, and out of context.

Draco blinked. "The– what?"

"Never mind.", Potter shock his head and smiled ruefully. "Oh well. Only thing different about young Teddy here, is that he inherited his mother's metamorphmagus ability. Nymphadora Tonks – she absolutely hated her name, was one, too. She favoured bubblegum-pink, though. Dunno if the cyan is any weird indicator, that he is a boy. Hermione would probably know."

Somehow, the baby had ended up in Draco's arm. He felt funny, holding the baby and was no less afraid to suddenly drop him than before. Unconsciously, he had begun rocking the child, but that he would deny later. "Is he– does– erm, he's fine using magic at this age?", stuttering was so last year. But he couldn't help yelping a little, when the turquoise – let's just go with hair – turned into the Malfoy blonde.

"Honestly, we don't know. I was a little worried before, too.", Potter admitted. "But Hermione and Andromeda think it's a natural ability. Like me speaking parseltongue." He grimaced. "Well. We both do it without noticing and have to concentrate hard, if we want it to. Have to practise for a bit, too. I reckon she's – Hermione, I mean – going to do a thesis on that. That and house-elf rights.", he added as an after-thought. Then he grimaced again."Sorry, Malfoy."

Draco almost smiled and decided to just ignore the apology (for whatever he was apologising). But he remember the funny buttons (that had given him the idea to the famous "Potter Stink!"-badges) "Ah. Spew."

"Don't call it that should she be able to hear you."

"Better let my family know our house-keeping budget is going to go through the roof."

"Malfoy?", Potter questioned him with raised eyebrows. "Was that a joke at your own expense?"

He suppressed his smile. But he did stay with adorable Teddy for a while.

When Draco woke up the next morning, he already felt the dread of today. Today was the day the fallen were to be buried, and the whole morning was dedicated to memorial services of those now dead.

Miserable just did not grasp how Draco felt, devastation, anger, self-loathing, grief, humiliation. All mixed into the thought that. It. Was. All. His. FAULT. He didn't befriend Potter, he antagonized the Gryffindors, he did not trust in Severus, he did not have the guts to say no, he accepted the Dark Mark™, he could not kill Dumbledore, he did not have it to torture his peers, and the list went on, and on, and on.

Strangely, his mother blossomed with the attention, he could not trouble her with his petty concerns. It was all a rather dreadful affair, and for the first time in his life, he felt the obligation to join Weasleys – for they were almost the only ones who were really in mourning.

Come midday, when funerals and memorial services were done and over (how peaceful especially Severus looked, calm, like he never really did alive – and thankfully there was no body to bury for Crabbe, because he had gotten delirious on the power, torturing gleefully for the Carrows like there was no boywonder coming to destroy the Dark Lord), Potter found him.

After exchanging pleasantries with the Boy-Who-Lived-And-Lived-And-Lived (exchanging pleasantries! How the mighty have fallen! That was almost as inconceivable as Goyle being witty, Snape being kind, or the Dark Lord petting puppies!), Potter squirmed and asked for a favour. "There is this mob of journalists out for blood.", he elaborated. "My beloved Rita Skeeter even has a deal going for a quick amiable interview. Problem is – I don't know what to do about Teddy. Could you– maybe possibly?– watch him while I'll deal with the hungry vultures? Ron and Hermione are– ah, busy and–"

Draco did not know what hit him, when he cut the articulate speech short. "I'll watch him. He's my grandnephew, after all." Really, what had possibly possessed him to say that?

Perplexed Potter looked up to him. And smiled. "Thank you, that's– brilliant." That smile spread to a grin all over his face, but as sudden as it appeared, it disappeared. "Well, I'm off taming the beasts.", he frowned, then turned around to hurry to the castle, where he turned around once more to wave and shout: "Thanks, go to the Weasley's if I'm not back by the hour!"

Only then Draco realized what he had gotten into. Go to the Weasel's– well, at least he didn't feel guilty any more. Only peeved.

"I don't know anything about taking care of babies.", he told Teddy who scrunched up his nose and looked into his eyes with his baby-blue orbs. Rocking the child, he went slowly down the trail to the lake, where he sat down on the shore. "Really. What was your godfather thinking? Heck, what was I thinking!" He wondered, if he should start panicking (No, he decided. (1) It was against the Malfoy Code of Acceptable Public Behaviour and (2) he was too overwrought.) "But I can at least promise you to be safe. After all", and here his voice turned dark and low, "I am a big, scary Death-Eater..."

The baby giggled. Why again were the kids only sorted in Hogwarts, when Teddy was so obviously a Gryffindor, laughing into the face of danger?

He cradled the child and then whispered, as though confessing a secret: "I really don't know how to take care of you." And the only thing he remembered about babies was that one had to change their diaper.

Well, there was this one lullaby...

Draco groaned and looked around to see if anyone was watching. Yet he was far from any crowds still gathered after the services ended, and so he began softly hushing the boy who had started to mewl a little.

Dammit! Why had Potter left the boy with him! He didn't know how to handle children! For heaven's sake, he could easily dump the thing into the lake and no one would be none the wiser!

When it started (he, Draco reminded himself, it was a he and named Teddy...) to cry, he hushed it.

What to do, what to do, what to do...

Near panic, he recalled earlier thoughts. He was alone after all, so the singing couldn't be heard, and it wouldn't hurt, would it?

So he began singing.

"Hush little Teddy, don't say a word.", he sang softly. And we just have to hope nobody hears that. Otherwise, we might have more corpses to bury.

"Draco's gonna buy you a phoenix bird." No witnesses to this crime then.

"If that phoenix bird won't sing, Draco's gonna buy you a diamond ring." It would do so well for his reputation if this little episode ended somewhere on the media. But Potter was currently engaging Skeeter, so it couldn't be that bad.

"If that diamond ring is turned to glass, Draco's gonna buy you a looking glass." So you could play with your turquoise hair. At least it wasn't bubble gum pink. And you could develop that vain Black streak.

"If that looking glass gets broke, Draco's gonna buy you Aberforth's goat.", pray tell, that would be an expensive gift. Very expensive, if you'd trust the rumours.

"If Aberforth's goat won't pull, Draco's gonna buy you a snake and a skull." Which would help his reputation immensely. Gifting Potter's godchild a Morsmordre.

"If that sneaky snake turns over, Draco's gonna buy you a house-elf named Rover." At least it wouldn't be named Dobby. That was the most exhilarated creature you'd ever meet.

"If that house-elf named Rover won't fart, Draco's gonna buy you a thestral and cart." You wouldn't be able to see them, but they'll still be a grand gift. A worthy gift of yours, truly.

"If that thestral cart falls down, you'll still be the sweetest Teddy in town." The bloody baby giggled. Draco sighed. What did you expect? You sung a lullaby featuring Aberforth's goat. You could not have sunken lower. Be glad that had not featured in your mother's stories...

He continued to slowly rock his little charge.

Maybe half an hour later, Teddy Lupin was sound asleep, Potter was nowhere to be seen nor heard and Draco was starting to get disastrously bored. Carefully, he stood, not waking the little boy in the progress and strolled to the more animated grounds.

He was on a mission – not from god, but Potter – to go look for the Weasleys and let them do his bidding.

Couple hours later found him sitting in a comfortable armchair in the kitchen of the Burrow, sipping tea and occasionally munching on a cookie. Mrs. Weasley – she told him to call her Molly, but she also told him he had a great singing voice, which he also decided to ignore – was standing at the counter making... something and George Weasley, left-over twin, was just outside the window chopping wood manually. He said, it was work-out – whatever that might be – and it was to make him exhausted, so he could sleep with his other half gone.

"Tea, my darling?", Mrs. Weasley asked him. She had asked that more than a dozen times already, but as he had chosen to prove himself that he could, in fact, be nice to the Weasel– 'eys, he smiled pleasantly: "Thank you." He wondered if he should be concerned over possible brain-damages, but since he could never follow through with killing (whereas this woman had; and Strang Warrior Bella to boot.) he decided to call it temporary forgetfulness and leave it at that.

"You know, Malfoy?", the twin shouted through the window, "You are sitting in our kitchen letting mum fuss over you, and you have yet to insult our finances!"

"Probably because I am having a shouting match with one of the most successful entrepreneur of Diagon Alley!", he called back. "My condolences for the loss of your son, ma'am", he then told Mrs. Weasley.

The woman turned to look at him and smiled sadly. "It's all right." She took a deep breath and repeated: "It's all right." She took up the wand lying on the counter, looked ruefully for seemingly no reason and charmed five knitting needles to perform their duty. "You were just a child, caught up in– things, people much older than you did not understand.", something akin to a sob escaped her throat. Draco wondered, if he should feel empathy or pity. Because this was still Weasleys he was thinking about. "Bill and Ron killed people. I killed people! We are all– We do cope rather well with the whole thing, don't you think?" She turned around to smile again. "But I fear the real struggle has only just began. We are all murderers and have to cope with the dead. Only the dead have seen the end of war, don't they say?"

He smiled, almost as ruefully: "They also say: Laws are silent in the times of war."

The wood-chopping outside stopped, and when the Weasley matriarch pored another cup of tea and said: "It's all rather dreadful." George Weasley entered the kitchen to sit beside Teddy.

Teddy, who had munched rather happily on the table, started to whimper.

"Oh, my.", Mrs. Weasley turned her attention on the tiny child, "I fear he is teething. Poor Harry." As Draco knew nothing about babies in general and his former-never-to-be-mentioned cousin Teddy Lupin specifically, he said: "Guess so."

George Weasley snorted. "Wherever did you get that titbit of genius, Malfoy?"

Draco wondered if he should answer with 'Daytime Television.', but either they wouldn't understand the allusion, or it would ruin his reputation even further. While he studied the man sitting in front of him, he noticed dark lining under his eyes, and a slightly bitter streak around the mouth. George Weasley didn't look as if he took the death of his brother very well. But that was only expected, wasn't it?

In a rare fit of comradeship, he pondered if sarcasm would help overcome the grief. Barely a week had passed since the battle. So he sat back haughtily: "A Malfoy shall always remember to instil knowledge in those less fortunate of wit."

George barked out in laughter. It was bitter, yes, but still full of amusement, so Draco smiled smugly. "Do you even believe in that bullshit you're sprouting?"

"George!", admonished his mother.

"Sorry, mum.", the response.

Draco took another look at the highly specialized clock hanging at the wall. Potter's arrow still pointed to 'late', but while he was looking, it turned to 'coming home'.

"Anyway.", the twin Weasel stared at him funnily, "How did you end up with Tonks' son and at the Burrow?"

"Perfect Potter went to intimidate the press and left me with poor little orphan for purposes beyond my imagination and to keep him safe. Like the Saviour he is, he couldn't help it and told me to go fetch – you, which, I think, was to help me -(snort)- because he delegates. Can't do nothing on his own, needs even my wand to defeat anyone." Draco knew he was ignoring the Malfoy Conduct Code (a) he was whining and (b) insulting his host, Potter, possibly also Teddy and frankly (c) he didn't give a shit) Potter was late, he was currently sitting in the home of the family his family was feuding since maybe forever, and he did not have a good night's sleep. Obviously all stupid excuses no Slytherin would have bought. Well, except Crabbe, and Goyle and Parkinson and Smeltwick...

To put it mildly, George Weasley did not find the topic of conversation very funny. He sneered. "Must be satisfying, eh Malfoy? To bow down to a half-blood, scraping on your knees for a tiny bit of fame? How invaluable does that make your mother? Do you have to whore her out, too, so that nobody dares to lay a finger on daddy dear?"

The slight buzzing noise of the shield confirmed Draco's suspicion that a noise screen had been put up, because Molly Weasley had not come back from the pantry yet.

Only the year long training as the punch-boy of Lord Voldemort the Mad Snakehead made Draco able to suppress his fury. He may have been way out of line, but insulting a guest in a pure blood home like George Weasley had done was a more than sufficient reason for a vendetta. Not that Draco wanted one, but still.

He sucked his breath inward, when George Weasley started mentioning Potter.

Draco had mistaken the slur as to the Dark Lord, not to Potter. Both Potter and the Dark Lord shared a background... why was he sitting here again, having to listen to someone accusing him of exploiting the Boy-Who-Lived?

"-hoping to get into Harry's good graces perhaps?"

Even Draco himself was surprised by the rage he felt, as the left-over twin started compromising Potter. Before he even progressed that he was actually defending his school nemesis, he had drawn his wand. "Think, Weasley!", he snarled. "I owe Potter my freedom and my life – and that of my family! Moreover, you seem to have forgotten that the main occupation for death-eaters was torturing – I'd rather appreciate you would insult Potter in my immediate vicinity."

Another red head peeked around the door. "Blimey, Harry. Look at this!", he said, apparently having listened in on the conversation. "Malfoy sitting in our kitchen defending you!" The only Weasley his age – he was glad the Prewett brothers hadn't produced kids if they were anything like the Weasels – came into the kitchen.

"Please tell me it's Lee Jordan poly-juiced, not the ferret!", Ron Weasley told his brother. "I am getting an aneurysm." Potter and Granger joined their friend, and Draco was sure he didn't imagine Granger mumbling under her breath: "Swallowing a dictionary does not make up for speaking while eating."

"Sorry, Weasel.", Draco said smirking, feeling infinitely better by the skirmish and almost forgetting the anti-Malfoy (at least in this home, it weren't anti-Death-Eater) vibes. "Loath to disappoint you, but it's me."

Returning from the pantry, Molly Weasley began filling the kettle again. "There you are! You must be exhausted, Harry.", she stroked his hair, while Potter tried to avoid her hands, then turned to the others: "Cuppa tea, my dears?"

"Percy was looking for you.", the left-over twin said in a voice that had lost all malice and sounded a little broken. Draco felt a twinge of guilt – the boy had lost his twin less than weeks ago.

"I found them.", yet another Weasley answered by entering the kitchen. Somehow it seemed to expand, because it was cosy while only Mrs. Weasley was present, but it still didn't feel stuffed. "Mum.", the 3rd Weasley greeted, and: "Malfoy."

It felt almost cordially, almost as if he was welcome, and he almost wanted to cry.
Draco hurriedly drained his still half-full mug of tea and stood up before any more Weasleys could make their entry. "Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Weasley.", he had been thinking of deliberately calling her Molly, but that just didn't fit the woman. Nor was it especially wise to insult anyone in their home lair. Then he turned to Potter: "Should you ever be at loss for what to do with your godson–", he presented it both as an opportunity and as extortion, "feel free to. Lest you leave him in unfortunate company."

He sneered at the Weasley twin who grinned unabashed.
Draco knew that his offer had nothing to do with the live-debt like pure-blood honour would demand, but rather with the fact that he liked the little spawn. For the Slytherin it would be a not so subtle request, and all just because of his idiosyncratic obsession. Pansy would shriek – imagine the horror.

"Anyway, gotta go.", on the way out, he patted Potter on the shoulder. "Have a Dark Lord to resurrect." Before anyone could process the words said, he went out of the door.

There it was.

Draco waited three seconds, four seconds and there – took a stride. Potter stumbled out of the door as if pushed. "Uhm.", he declared valiantly, after he pulled himself together. "Thank you. I appreciate it. Though I was rather late, aren't I?" And... he had not taken the bait. Draco was almost disapointed, until he realised the opening that left for mockery.

"Late?", mockingly Draco cocks an eyebrow. "Why, I only spent three hours at the house of people my family has been feuding with for centuries. I have only drunken approximately 5 litres of tea, was subjected to torturous interrogations and was forced to defend the valiant hero Potter, of all people! Thanking me! Potter, you imbecile! That warrants more favours than I care to count! What more do you want from me, Hero Boy?"

He saw Potter shifting from one foot to the other and setting his jaw. It was strangely satisfying getting him to express his conscience. "I detest Weasleys! I hate children!", he continued ranting and moved towards Potter. "And the reason I had to put up with both for hours?"

Potter had yielded with his back up against a shack, apparently housing chickens. Draco now stood looming over him, doing a very fine impersonation of one Severus Snape. "The fucking Boy-Who-Lived."

Draco had not planned the encounter, relying on the moment and on the flow, but Potter thwarted his plans again, when he stared back with unwavering green eyes and raised eyebrows. "Sorry about that?"

Seething, Draco was split between beating the boy and snogging him, both very disconcerting thoughts. An half-arsed apology never did do anything well. "Thinking I'd trade one servitude for another? Carrying the delusion that anyone might actually like you, Potter?"

A glaring Potter never went well for Draco either. "Think you're the only former-servant here, Malfoy? Or maybe that I'd like you on your knees?"

Draco stared into determined eyes, eyes that betrayed very little emotion and not for the first time Draco wondered, if the boy practised Occlumency like his godfather – no one else had those unsettling expressionless eyes. Or maybe that was because they were both disturbing in their intensity. He believed those eyes to be capable of anything – not rationally, mind you, this was still Potter we were talking about.

His brain had submitted to those eyes long before he even knew Potter. "Why me?", had that voice belonged to someone else, Draco would have said they were whining. "I don't even like Weasleys!"

Suddenly there was a glint of danger, and in the blink of an eye, Draco found their positions reversed: It was now his back that was pressed against the shack formerly containing a rather genius Ford Anglia – but that fact Draco didn't know. "Listen, Malfoy–", a low dangerous voice said, and the name... it sounded like a disease, a pest spread through blood and veins.

Potter grabbed him bis his shoulders, pinned against old, worn wood full of splinters. "Had I not – against all advices – lied and proclaimed you fellow defeater of this Dark Lord fellow, you'd be rotting away in a cell in Azkaban. And believe me, even with all the dementors gone, it's not the most pleasant of places. You owe me."

Oh, Draco knew that very well. Probably this was the reason why he was behaving so childish.

"You stole my wand!"

"You had me prisoner. In your own home.", Potter countered.

"I didn't tell them – It gave you time to flee!"

"You held me up in the Room of Hidden Things."

It was so utterly childish, and Draco didn't know which demon rode him, when he accused Potter: "You killed Crabbe and Snape."

The pressure on his shoulders intensified, until pain starts to spread. It feels like a localized Cruciatus, pins and needle boring into his blade-bones – but maybe that was still hypersensitivity from over-exposure to said curse. A calm voice – oh, so very calm – whispered into his ear. "I have not killed them. I did not kill them. I never killed anyone directly. I may or may not have killed in the height of battle, but that was self-defence. I did not kill Snape, and I did not kill Crabbe. And Malfoy – I rescued you. You, my self-proclaimed enemy. I don't– want to hear what I could've done better from you."

A sneering voice in his head said: Oh, is it that what you tell yourself so that you can sleep at night?, but he squashed the voice. Was he still not done antagonizing the boy-wonder?

"GODDAMMIT!", Potter burst out suddenly. They hear, but not notice a faint cry from the house – Molly Weasley's "language, dears!"– because he continued ranting. "What else was I supposed to do? What would you have me done for a better end? I sent them home! I sent all the kids home! I told Tonks to stay clear! Fred was joking!"

A fist hit the shack maybe three inches away from his ear.

Draco was proud that he didn't move. The shack, however, did. Nothing could withstand the abruptly released fury of the Almighty One – the shack tipped over and fell down. Draco – still being pressed against the wood – dropped equally graceful, yet their eyes still clung to each other.

"What else was I supposed to do? Huh! Tell me!"

In that moment, Draco really hated himself. He saw both Potter, the schoolboy, nervous and overly talented in quidditch, the Almighty One, Vanquisher of the Dark Lord, Boy-Who-Lived, and he would not for the heck of it, help any of them. Draco did not know, had not known, how to comfort anyone – specifically not Potter. But he could not help feeling a sort-of kinship with the Potter, who broke down before him, because the standards he had set himself had not been fulfilled. Strangely, even though he was a Malfoy, and Malfoys do not do empathy, he felt enough to grab wonderboy's hair (still a mess) and cradled his head against his shoulder, just like with Teddy not long ago.

"Are you really all right out there?", Ron screamed from the Weasley porch. "Don't worry, the shack is magicked- a quick Reparo will do!"

"Everything is fine!", Draco shouted back (Malfoys do not shout! – in his ears) and embraced the Chosen One harder. "You could have done nothing more. It's fine. There was never an obligation to save anyone, and you did almighty well. Shh.", he whispered. "Good hero-boy. You did enough. You did plenty. It's all right."

While Draco was sure that part of this night would be forever ingrained into his mind, he would always deny the later part. Potter was either sobbing, or laughing into his part-silk robes, ruining them even further than Teddy had done. After maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour, after Ron had repeated his question (this time Potter had answered with a plain YES!), Potter looked up with green, red framed eyes, smiled, said: "Has anyone ever told you that you can be quite courteous?", and kissed him.

Surprisingly, it wasn't wet.

It was a rather good kiss even, besides the wrecked boards and nails of the shack gouging into his back, and the uncomfortable weight of Potter on him. Nice and long, and could perhaps be called a proper snog, with tongue and– was Potter biting him? It took awhile until he had his bearings together, so he was able to apparate.

Then, he decided the whole night would remain a blur – partly because of the shack incident, partly because of the alcohol induced stupor he found himself in later – and he pretended that the last incident never happened.

He did a "piss-poor" job of it, though.

It had been a very nice kiss.

Days continued like days normally do, since they did not concur to the human fashion of the relativity of time.

Things continued running more smoothly than ever, until some smart alec noticed they were still missing a proper minister. Pre-election warfare, more commonly known as "campaigning", started.

Death-eater trials were held, and all common as well as all the special courts were busy. Draco's father was still in custody – the rest of the Malfoys were curiously under the protection of Potter, although the press decided there must be something sinister there – which was why it was not commonly known.

NEWT-preparation courses had started.

Ginny Weasley, love-interest of the famous hero, was photographed in Diagon Alley snogging some poor French guy, the reason why Witch Weekly called a poll – "Which Witch is to be the Chosen One's 'Chosen One'!" – we will refrain from commenting further.

Correspondence between Potter and Draco was at an all-time low, until a unexpected letter arrived. It was to the point, more polite than not, and rather precise.

(June 23rd 1998, Owl destination: Malfoy Manor)

Malfoy,

for the students who prepare for their exams, tutors are provided during the next few weeks at the ministry. Contact witch Amanda Doors at the Educational Department for additional course work, books and extra-credit.
Hermione wants to open a study group and told me to invite you.

Test are held from 9 o'clock to noon in the last week of August.

Potter

Draco replied rather...rude.

(Eagle Owl named Thanatos; left owl droppings on Harry's breakfast)

Potter,

People appreciate a little fore-warning, when you built up a correspondence. Nevertheless, the information was rather useful.
Should Granger be in need of a free tutor, I am not available.
Nice picture in the prophet – I take it Ginevra was enjoying herself?

You-Know-Who

The return reply was worse – the tone of the letter, too.

Mail-Boy,

thank you for your much obliged insight, I appreciate the very big effort it must have made.
You do a very ignorant impression of a Dark Lord, though.

The Chosen One

PS: How's your mother, ferret-boy? Tell me, how can such a lovely woman breed such scum?

Wonderboy,

looks like someone took lessons in witticism. Don't worry, you'll never master the fine art of subtle insults. The miserable duel is planned on September 5th to celebrate the beginning of the end.

I can only hope it's a good enough impression to vanquish me out of a rotten sense of duty.

Be prepared,
Malfoy

Ginevra Weasley was caught snogging Zacharias Smith in the corner store to Imperial Alley. Ron and George Weasley were photographed screaming obscenities at Fleur Weasley and Potter was filling out adoption papers for one Teddy Remus Lupin.

Draco got a sloppy letter on the back of a recipe, written with something that looked very much like blood.

o0O0o

Malfoy, my dearest death-eater,

met Pansy today. Even to my love-deprived ears and immensely reliable body, she is disturbingly annoying – how in Batman's cave have you put up with her?

If you have something like a noble sense – since you can't be common – talk with her, I plead you! She's frying the brains of more people than dear Voldy did.

Beware her chopstick though.
Hero Boy.

He only sent a short note back.

Potter, it's astonishing how coherently you write, when you are drunk. I should have gone to the papers...

He got an equally perplexing short note back:

Thanks. Can I invite you to dinner?

Potter.

Potter,

you're nutters. If that letter meant to get to me: (1) you are mad, (2) I want the recipe of the potion you are on and (3) the correct form is "May I invite you to dinner".

I will see you at 1900 hours at "The Questing Beast". You will pay.

Malfoy

Celebrity Gossip

Harry Potter (18, Vanquisher of the Dark Lord) was seen with Draco Malfoy (18, former death-eater, now philanthropist and heir to the Malfoy fortune) were seen together at "The Questing Beast". They seemed quite cosy with each other, although this reporter heard them refer to each other by their last names. Friends of the pair refused further statements. after dining the special menue (which includes medium steak of the tituar Questing Beast and the most delicious chocolate mousse this side of the canal), they left together to shores unknown. Is there more to their relationship than school-rivals? Wouldn't we all like to know – though they do look very fetching together.

Further public discloser of the relationship between Unspeakable Potter and his... partner was prohibited ex post facto (that is, in retroactive effect) up to 9th August 1989. Informations about the couples whereabouts are classified. (This includes, but is not limited to, the infamous Noodle Incident.)

The Prophet's Celebrity Gossip page swears they have been eloping to Gretna-Green and initiate the Draco/Harry-siting feature, though this agent feels them grossly exagerated.

Rumours have them (among others) excavating Atlantis, various Stargates, Captain America, hunting Snorkackls in south-west Africa, maping the Roman catacombs, starting a band in Japan, searching for Nagas, hiding in the slums of Bombai...

The Department of National Integrity has three clerks on 24/7 duty, checking the latest information about Potter and his beau (members include: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Zacharias Smith and Stan Shunpike – most female members quit, because: "Isn't it romantic?" )

We wish them well.

(Report released 27th November 1998)