Title: Boredom
Summary: Draco-centric fic about being bored.
Word count: 555 words
Disclaimer: *sobs* Thanks for reminding me that I'm not J.K.R.
A/N: This is loosely canon and DH-compliant. Sorry, I still haven't finished the sequel-prequel thing for The Potion. I'm lame and still suck at smutty writing.

After the war, Draco thought everything would be different. He was right. Everything was boring. His friends had abandoned him for switching sides, and he was finished with school. For Draco, life now consisted of sitting around the manor, whining about being bored. His mother finally cracked and hissed at him, "Why don't you go try learning an instrument or something?"

Draco brightened immediately and gave his mother a kiss, before running off in search of his owl. Of course, he thought, why didn't I think of this?

Draco learned two things from his music lessons (neither of which was the skill of playing an actual instrument):
1. a flute was neither baton nor sword.
2. It was boring.

Draco went back to lying about and tormenting house elves again, until the day his father snapped too. "Go play in the garden, you foolish, little imbecile!" he yelled, when Draco broke his concentration as he was trying to prepare a delicate potion.

Ignoring his father's harsh tone and angry features, Draco smiled at him and took off, in search of his owl again.

Gardening, Draco quickly found out, was filthy, hard work. He had dirt in his hair, under his nails and on his face. His muscles groaned from the strain of carting plants and manure around. The smell was particularly unpleasant. Draco quit, and the household got a brief interval of quiet as he fell into bed in exhaustion.

The next day he was up again and even more crabby than usual. He stomped around, complained about everything very loudly, and just generally annoyed everyone in the vicinity with his two-year old-like antics. His mother had locked herself in the parlor and began drinking firewhiskey in unhealthy, copious amounts. His father floo'ed out and yelled something about being over at Severus' hovel. The only ones left to be annoyed were the house elves.

Marching into the kitchen, Draco opened his mouth, ready to start a ruckus, when something caught his eye. A house elf was stirring something with a large silver implement. "You there! House elf! What's the silver wand thing?"

The house elf that had been called jumped and turned around slowly. "This being a whisk, master sir," the house elf said, quivering.

"And what's its purpose?" Draco asked, ignoring the other house elves' stares.

"Melvy be using it for stirring eggs, master sir," the house elf squeaked in confusion. Had miniature master sir lost his mind?

"Teach me," Draco commanded.

"E-excuse me, master sir?" Melvy stammered. The other house elves looked on in confusion.

"I want to learn how to use that –whisk thing there. You shall teach me."

The house elf barely missed a beat. "Of course I be teaching you, master sir. Would you be liking to be teached how to use anything else, master sir?"

Draco looked around and realized that many of the house elves were using oddly shaped implements, and throwing seemingly random things into pans. "I want to learn how to use everything. Teach me how to cook."

A couple house elves dropped utensils or ingredients in their haste to comply with his wishes. The miniature master sir may have lost his mind, but you be hopping when he be saying frog.

This, Draco thought as the house elves hurried about the kitchen, is not boring.