DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't own Looney Tunes. I don't own a brain.

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Progress report (as heard on Lee Jordan's Merry Melodies, Wizarding Wireless Network):

'Tis a brave new world, Ladies and Gentlemen! The first year under the thumb – er, pardon me – management of He Who Could Not Be Tamed, has been an exciting one, to say the least!
The day of the average witch and wizard begins by congregating outside His Holy Noselessness's extravagant headquarters to sing the brave new national anthem – in parseltongue! A truly hiss-torical moment to be a part of!
The administration is absolutely stellar! The New Ministry of Old Magic runs on a heady combination of nepotism, anarchy, and no accountability! Constant surveillance and oppression is the new normal, Ladies and Gents – Big Bother is watching you!
But perhaps this establishment's greatest accomplishment so far has been in the field of industry and innovation! PRINCIE Corporation, run and founded by our favourite potioneering quack, Severus Snape, is responsible for the creation of some of the most inventive weapons the world has ever seen! Ol' Sev is our Pride and Joy! He kisses the girls and makes them cry!
The Death Eaters, that jolly band of hooded mavericks, have officially taken over from the Aurors! Who needs law and order when the Order's been outlawed?
But though a year has gone by, and Oh Lordy is steadily leading us to a dystopian wonderland, rumours about an underground movement working to thwart the regime refuse to die down. Death Eaters continue to search for members of the rebellion, (the group that calls itself 'Dumbledore's Barmy',) led by the Boy Who Still – Somehow – Lives.

And... that's all, folks! Stay tuned for the sensational new single by Michigan A. Warlock: 'I'm Just Wild About Harry'!

Draco L. Malfoy, standing before a gilded mirror, carefully combs back his pale blond hair. His black velvet robes are draped perfectly around his tall and slender frame.
He looks good. He is handsome in an unapproachable way. He is powerful, he is dangerous, he's a –
"Genius."
Draco grins a toothy grin at his reflection. Then he steps through his floo, pronouncing, "House of Lord."

The grounds outside the Dark Lord's palace are a strange mixture of verdure, elaborate pathways, and giant craters from Severus's experiments. Draco is walking past a thicket of shrubs when a bit of loud rustling grabs his attention, compelling him to draw out his wand.
"Who's there? Show yourself!" He demands imperiously.
There is another series of rustles before a person unfurls from within the leaves and twigs.
"Aunt Bella," says Draco with a sneer. She has leaves in her hair and dirt on her robes and Draco hates her. In the past year, she has gradually gone more and more insane, and now she is considered no more than a joke. The worst part: That excruciating mock-baby voice she was so fond of has become a permanent mannerism.
"Dwaco," she whispers, "Be vewy, vewy quiet. I'm hunting muggles."
"There are no muggles around here, you ridiculous woman."
"Scwewy muggles," she mutters.
"Quite," Draco sniffs, "Besides, aren't you supposed to be hunting something else? A member of the resistance by the name of Lovegood?"
Bellatrix seethes. "Oooooh that wascally Wavenclaw! KILL THE WAVENCLAW!"
She dives back into the bush, and the whole clump shakes violently...

Draco has had enough. More than a little disgusted, he continues on his way. He enters the vault-like hallway, and he doesn't look around at the walls that are covered with pictures of Nagini. He doesn't look at the large gold (gaudy) statue of the Dark Lord that stands proudly in the middle of the space. He doesn't look at the priceless heirlooms on display. He does, however, greet his fellow Death Eaters at the foot of the grand staircase.
"Greyback. Dolohov," he nods.
They are dressed in full hunting gear, and a variety of PRINCIE Corp weapons are strapped to their backs.
"Ah, young Malfoy!" says Dolohov, "What a perfect time for you to show up. The Dark Lord is in a fantastic mood: Snape is showing him is new invention... it is, I believe, explosive."
Greyback doesn't acknowledge Draco. He is busy admiring a large barrelled object that Draco believes spits out hexes at the speed of sound.
Draco smirks slyly, "I am aware. I was invited for the showcase, you see. Being a genius certainly has its advantage."
"Ahhh, shut up!" Dolohov spits.
Draco's smirk widens, of course. "Are you boys going hunting?"
"HUNTING!" Greyback growls, "I'll blow the heads off those varmints! I'll blast their scuppers! I'll slice their livers out! Those doggone idgit galoots – I'll skin em!" He takes off suddenly, tearing across the foyer. "I'm the hootinst, tootinst, shootinst long-fanged werewolf on this side of the Thames!"
He is out the large main doors in a puff of dust and bravado.
"As excitable as ever," Draco notes dryly.
Dolohov groans. "Sufferin' succotash. Why do I always get teamed up with that maniac? All I want to do is catch a darn rebel... and then I'll be happy. Yesserie."
He follows after Greyback, grumbling under his breath.

Draco is utterly revolted by the mediocrity he is surrounded by. Having to deal with those bloody cartoons... and before breakfast, too! It's appalling. As he walks down a long corridor, he thinks about his own charge – the one he has been assigned to capture, and still hasn't been able to. It has been a year of endless chasing, and endless failure.
Fucking Granger.
He is more muscular, more cunning, and larger than she is. He is a genius. Yet... yet... he is thwarted every time. And it's all because of her bloody shoes. While Draco may have the best of Severus' devices, Granger has her shoes.

They are called Speedy Galoshes, (or, colloquially and more commonly, Road Runners,) designed by those Weasley Twin Twats. With them, Granger is able to whizz across streets and fields, leaving Draco and his PRINCIE Sonicbroom in the dust. If that isn't unendurable enough, the Twin Twats have imbued their voices into those shoes.
Pip-pip, say the shoes, in the voice of Twat number one.
Pip-pip, they say in the voice of Twat number two.

Pip-pip, Pip-pip, Pip-pip! It haunts Draco day and night. Pip-pip! He hears it all the time. If he's in the marketplace, or in the countryside, or on the highway and the Road Runners go Pip-pip, he steps aside in a wild panic lest he end up in a heap.
It will surely give him a stroke someday.
Fucking Granger. She is the bane of his existence.

But he must calm himself down. He takes a couple of deep breaths standing just outside the big iron door of Severus' lab. Then he pushes it open and walks in.
The lab is the kind of space a mad scientist may inhabit... which, Draco supposes his irascible godfather kind of is. It is full of test tubes filled with strange herbs, powders and liquids, giant machines and contraptions, hundreds of wands, tools, and books. In the centre of the lab is a large glass dome, within which Severus tests his weapons. The man himself is standing inside it, dressed in his standard billowy black robes, and with him is their great leader.
The Dark Lord is... um... different now. He'd hired himself a rather unconventional PR team after his great victory over Potter, and they'd overhauled his image completely. His current look is modelled after the powerful Roman generals of yore. His silly black muumuu has been replaced with a blood red bodysuit, over which he wears a skirt comprised of Slytherin green leather strips. On his head is a Slytherin green helmet, topped with a crest of golden unicorn foal tail hair.

(The first time The Dark Lord had presented himself to Draco in this garb saying, "How do I look?" Draco had arched a single brow and said, "Devastating.")

"Ah, Draco!" The Dark Lord says, "You're here."
Severus gives Draco his usual greeting: A curl of the lip.
"My Lord," Draco tips his head, "Severus."
The Dark Lord rubs his hands with glee. "At last – after twenty weeks of work – the Eludium pu36 explosive magic modulator is ready to be tested! At long last, my dream's come true!"
The modulator is a small transparent cylinder with strange blue wisps of smoke swirling inside it.
"Congratulations, my Lord. And well done, Severus," Draco says magnanimously.
Severus scowls. "Watch it, bub. I will not be condescended to."
The Dark Lord begins hopping on the spot. "Oh, let's test it, let's test it! Isn't it delightful? There will be no more mutiny! Watch your back, Harry Potter! Brace yourself for immediate disintegration."

If Draco feels such a giddy display is unbecoming, he doesn't mention it. The three men step out of the glass dome, and with a flick of his wand, Severus seals it shut. They stand with their noses (oh but ha ha the Dark Lord doesn't have a nose,) pressed against the glass.
Severus clears his throat and intones: "Hocus pocus. Flippety flam. A razzamatazz and ALACAZAM!"

Fifteen seconds of absolute nothingness go by.

"Where's the kaboom?" the Dark Lord wails, "There was supposed to be an earth-shattering kaboom!"
"My Lord, I apologise, it appears that –"
"This makes me angry. Very angry indeed."
"I–"
"Back to the ol' drawing board, Severus. I am giving you one more chance."

The Dark Lord disapparates away, and Draco and Severus contemplate the unexploded little device for a moment or two.
"I can't believe he gave you another chance," Draco says shaking his head.
"He always gives me another chance. He's too desperate for this to work," Severus drawls.
"And will it ever work?"
"Don't be a fool, Draco. A bomb that kills magicfolk while simultaneously drawing away and preserving their magical energy? It's absurd."
Draco smirks. "When do you plan to tell the Dark Lord that?"
"I am a man bent on self-preservation," Severus says looking down his nose at Draco, "And I can't stand pain. It hurts me."
"Fair enough," Draco shrugs, "Now... moving on..."

They walk over to the small chamber where Severus stores his creations, and Draco peers at the mad jumble around him. "Severus," he entreats, "Give me something good. Give me your best. Give me –"
"Everything I invent, create, and/or manufacture is the best. It's impeccable. It's lethal."
Draco raises his brows haughtily, "Indeed? But so far, Granger has found it quite easy to ignore the intended lethality of your merchandise." He begins to wander around the chamber leisurely.
"Hankering for trouble, eh?" Severus asks, watching him with narrowed eyes, "Maybe it's not my merchandise at fault. Maybe it's your ineptitude!"
"You're daffy!" Draco exclaims.
"And you're not as wily as you think you are, chum!"
"You're a fool!"
"You're despicable!"
Panting, they glare at each other over a pile of PRINCIE Triple-Strength Anti-Imperio Steel Armour Plates.

Suddenly, Draco wilts. "Severus please," he begs, "Please help me catch that wretched, bushy-haired, long-legged, road running menace."
There is such pathetic desperation in his grey eyes, and it manages to reach the miniscule, uncauterised corner of Severus Snape's hard black heart. He nods, and strolls over to a shadowy nook in the chamber and returns with a tiny yellow box. "Everything you need is in here. This box contains my most powerful, most deadly contraptions."
Draco eyes the tiny box sceptically. "The only thing that'll fit in there is a thimble."
"I've put a shrinking charm on it, idiot."
"Oh," Draco blinks. "Thank you, Severus."
"Go get her, Draco."

Pip-pip!

Draco shudders. He is standing on top of a tall stack of boulders in the middle of Ilkley Moor, peering fervently through a pair of omnioculars. His spy network hadn't failed him – Granger is here.
Granger, Granger, running down the road all day... for the last time. Draco is going to wring her pretty, slender neck before the sun sets.

Pip-pip!

He spots a thick cloud of dust moving rapidly down a distant road... Ooooh distant enough for him to set up his trap! Draco is gleeful. He is ecstatic. There is a skip in his step as he leaps off the boulders and waves his wand in a circle to unpack PRINCIE Monster Indestructo Bludger, and PRINCIE Giant Rubber Band (V6). It was going to be good... So. Good.
He Stretches the band tightly between two rocks, (so taut he imagines he can hear it hum,) and levitates the ginormous bludger in front of it. Then he stretches the whole thing back with a suctioning charm.
Come on, Granger, he thinks, Oh, just you come along.

Pip-pip!

There is a loud whooshing sound as she nears, and Draco can hardly breathe. Any second now.
One.
Pip-pip!
Two.
And there she is! A cloudy blur of white and brown! Pip-pip!
"Relashio!" Draco cries.
Whooooooooooooooooosh! Pip-pip!

Granger has gone by and the band and bludger remain in their impossibly tense position.
"What the hell?" Draco mutters. He has released every ounce of magic holding the fucking things – this... this is not physically possible.
"Relashio!" he growls. They don't budge. Draco is seriously pissed off. So pissed off, in fact, that he momentarily stops being the great genius that he is: He goes onto the other side of the band and stands right in front of the mildly quivering bludger.
He prods it with his finger. Nothing happens.
He gives it a light shove with both his hands. Nothing happens.
He takes a step back. "Relashio!" Nothing happens.
He takes ten steps back. "Relashio!" Nothing happens.
He takes another fifteen steps back. "Relashio!"

TWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG.

There is a Monster Indestructo Bludger zooming towards him!
"MOTHERFUCKING REDUCTO!" Draco shrieks.
He ducks, covering his head with his hands as he gets pelted with tiny fragments of bludger.
"Ow."

I'm after you, Granger, Draco thinks murderously as he pulls dragonhide gloves over his hands. On his feet are strapped PRINCIE Rocket-Powered BroomSkates. He picks up PRINCIE Bucket-O-Bolts, and he is ready.

Pip-pip!

Whooooooooooooooooooooooosh!

Draco takes off after her, while concurrently plunging his hand into the bucket and drawing out a fistful of lightening. He hurls them at Granger like the mighty god Zeus himself.
Shwiiiing! Zinggg! Zzzzap! SHWIIIING!

Pip-pip!
Whooooooooooooooosh!

Somehow the bint is dodging all the bolts. All of them! Draco intensifies his attack, (shwing-zing-zap-zap-zing-shwing,) his vision has narrowed and all he sees is the blurry figure in front of him and he has to get her, he has –
Pip-pip!
Um, what?
Suddenly Granger is veering very obviously to her left. And Draco... Draco cannot get his BroomSkates to turn. Ugh, stupid Severus! Despite the speed they're hurtling away at, Granger looks at him over her shoulder, her brown eyes twinkle and she sticks her little pink tongue out at him. And then she is gone.

But Draco is still moving. He flings away the damned bucket in anger... and a stray bolt shoots out of it and hits his right skate. It's on fire.
Great. Just great. Granger has gone, his skate is on fire, he doesn't know how to stop, and he's shooting across the ground straight towards...

...

!?#^ #?!*!%

...

...

The edge of a cliff.
(He will later deny it but,) Draco lets out a very high pitched-little scream.
"ARRESTO MOMENTO!" – STUPID SEVERUS! – "ARRESTO MOMENTO!"
It's too late and he dashes right off the edge.
Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeew, the air whistles as he falls down and down and down...
"MOLLIARE!" he yells, pointing his wand at the (shit it's so far away) ground.
WheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewFUMP.

He lands comfortably enough, but his BroomSkates still have one last hurrah left in them, and he's forced into performing three successive backward somersaults.

If I catch you, Granger, you're through.

Draco is livid.
He has laid a PRINCIE Anti-Spell Touch-Me-Not Net Trap on the road, and his plan is so simple, it has to work. Granger would run over the trap, trigger it, get caught, and three cheers for Draco the big fucking supergenius.

Pip-pip!

A very familiar cloud of dust is building up at the far end of the road, and Draco quickly runs behind a rock to hide. He waits for the next Pip-pip, for the customary whooooosh... but it doesn't come. There is complete silence all around him.
He peeps out from behind the rock and sees that the road, the boulders, the whole area is entirely deserted. Huh? He steps out from behind the rock, scratching the back of his head in puzzlement. Where had she –
"Boo!" says a voice right in his ear.
"AAAAARGH!" Draco bellows. He stumbles, trips over his own feet, and goes rolling tumbling skittering... right into the Net Trap.
Within seconds he is bundled up.
"ARGH!" He claws pointlessly at strands.

"Merlin, Malfoy. You really are a crazy clown."
He freezes. And slowly... menacingly... turns around.
Granger.

She is the picture of nonchalance, in her tight jeans and her fitted tunic and those ugly, horrible, spangled purple and orange shoes.
"Get lost, you evil shrew!"
"Evil?" she giggles, "Me?! Aren't you the one who's called a Death Eater?"
"Fuck you."
She coos, "Aw. Why so grumpy?"
"I'm stuck in a sodding Net Trap, Granger!" he rages.
Granger eyes him speculatively for a moment, tapping her prissy chin with her finger. Then she says, "Well, I could let you out."
Draco scoffs. "But you won't."
"Won't I?"
He blinks. "Why would you?" She smiles and it's bright and vivacious and doesn't inspire an ounce of trust. "What's the catch, Granger?"
"Weeeeeeeell..."
"Out with it!" Draco snaps.
"We've found a way to get rid of Voldemort! It's done. Everything is planned. Now we need an inside man."
Draco laughs heartily. He throws his head back and laughs. "You want me to turn against the most powerful Wizard the world has ever seen?"
"I don't want you to. But I strongly suggest you do."
"Your plan won't work."
"Won't it?"

They stare each other down through the thick mesh that lies between them, each waiting for the other to blink.

"Why are you even still with that crackpot, Malfoy? He's utterly deranged! And he looks out-of-this-world ridiculous... like a bloody Martian or something."
Draco inhales deeply. It is troubling to realise that Granger is saying things that he's been trying not to think for months. Longer even, maybe. And then he thinks that he much prefers seeing Grangers face than the back of her horrid hair over a cloud of dust. "Alright," he mumbles.
"Come again?"
"ALRIGHT!"

Granger apparates them to the rebel hideout, and begins to lead him down a dimly lit underground tunnel.
"So what's your plan, Granger?"
"Well, first, we need you to lure him over to Dogbury Hill."
"What's on Dogbury hill?"
"A rocket and a launch pad."
"Okaaaay?" Draco says, cocking his brow.
"We're going to overpower him with paintball guns, tie him to the rocket and send him off into space."
Draco is overwhelmed with awe. "Where in space?"
"No idea," Granger shrugs, "Fred and George say the rocket is good for a billion or so light years."
"Merlin, Granger! That's brilliant!"
She dimples at him and squeezes his hand. "Well," she says with a flourish of her arm, "We're here!"

Before them is an arched doorway, over which there is a roughly painted signboard that reads:
DUMBLEDORE'S BARMY
(But Voldy is Mouldy)

Granger directs him inside: It is a large sitting room full of armchairs, sofas, and books. Very cozy. "This way," says Granger, and takes him to an adjoining room; a kitchen Draco realises soon enough. "How about a stiff drink?"
"That would be perfect, Granger."
Granger is tinkering with glasses and bottles when a blond head peeps though the door. It's that crazy little Lovegood bird.
"I thought I saw a Death Eater!" she exclaims. Then she spots Draco and, "I did! I did! I did see a Death Eater!"
"He's agreed to help us, Luna," Granger tells her.
"That's nice," Lovegood replies vaguely.
Draco raises his glass to her, "You've been making my mad aunt's life hell, Lovegood. I'll drink to that!"
She smiles and begins to whistle tunelessly.

Then Longbottom, Macmillan, and Potter walk in. One look at Draco and their jaws hit the floor.
"I say, I say, listen here! What's this boy doing here?" Macmillan demands, "What's it all about, Hermione? Elucidate!"
"Ye-ye-ye-ye-ye-Precisely!" Longbottom declares.
"He's going to help."
Potter is unable to voice his misgivings as a genuine tornado bursts into the small kitchen. It seems to be vaguely red-tinted, (though it is hard to tell,) and it knocks against cupboards and bangs against the stove before finally crash landing in a sack of flour.
"AHH PFFT DAH PFFT AAH OOO," Weasley gurgles. The Ron kind of Weasley – the worst kind of Weasley.
"Wht-wht-wht-wht-Are you okay?" Longbottom asks him with alarm.
"Fuckin GAH Gred and Forge grrrr... ffffucked my 'unners upAH!" Of course, then he sees Draco. "OI DeathDAH Eater! 'Ex'im'Arry!"
"He's going to help us, Ron!" Granger reiterates tiredly.
"ooooex'im'Arry!"

Potter tilts his head and considers Draco.
"Come on Harry," Granger urges, "Let's just start over."
Draco catches her eye, and she gives him a saucy little wink that's just all kinds of glorious.
"NO 'Ahhhhhrry no!"
"Bitty-bitty-bitty-bitty –"
"Eh," Potter shrugs and holds his hand out before Draco, "What's up, doc? I'm Harry Potter. People keep trying to kill me, but I never die."
After exchanging another look with Granger, Draco flashes one of his famous toothy grins and shakes Potter's hand. "Draco L. Malfoy. Genius."