I am back! I figured since I have this out already, might as well post, right? So you got two chapters in one day! Three chapters in two days!

Don't get used to it- I almost NEVER update.

Someone wanna help me with that Peter Pettigrew story? Or do you think I should go ahead and start the story based on Didn't? Review and tell me, please!

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. Mostly. Yeah. (I'm sick. My mind isn't functioning too well.)

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Christabelle Fudge, the minister's wife was pleasantly waiting for their two new charges when the black car came into the yard. She was about to open the door for them when it was blasted open, and she stared in shock as the very boys she was supposed to take care of for the summer fought each other as if they were enemies.

"Serpensortiera Maximus!" the young Malfoy roared, and immediately The-Boy-Who-Lived responded in some snake language. Christabelle remembered her mother telling her about how all the dark wizards spoke in Parsletongue, and wondered why the Golden Boy had a dark wizard characteristic. But this lead to more thinking, which gave her a headache, so she put on her biggest, brightest smile and set out to welcome the boys, who would hopefully get along so her job could be as easy as it was supposed to be.

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"-don't think this means anything, Potter. I can still beat your bony little arse any day."

"You think you can beat me? Then what just happened now?"

"You only got lucky this time. Next time you won't be able to beat me even if your whole fan club decides to join you."

"I don't need them to make you regret knowing me."

"I already regret knowing you!"

"Didn't seem like it when you tried to get me to leave Ron in first year."

"Yeah, well, I didn't know you were so pathetic back then."

"I'm pathetic, but you're the one who forgot I could speak Parsletongue when you're the first one to find out! Face it; you aren't half as good as you think you are. My whole family is ten times worse than you."

"I'm sorry, but I don't love you that much."

"They don't either." At this point, Harry and Draco were in a corridor of the ministry apartments. A ministry official (with much higher credentials than the previous ones- they didn't want to risk losing any more people to Harry or the hospital) was showing them around, occasionally interfering with their conversation.

"Mr. Potter?" Harry paused and looked at him.

"This is where you'll be staying." He opened the door and let Harry step inside. It wasn't really suited to his tastes, but it was much better than the spare room he stayed in at the Dursley's. For one thing, the walls weren't that disgusting cream-gray color one got after neglecting to clean them for a year, as Petunia had when Harry moved in. Instead, they were a nice, calming shade of green. Harry looked through his new apartment, almost forgetting Draco. He couldn't really forget him, though, because he could hear the ferret complaining about his apartment and how degrading it was from the manor.

'Why can I still hear them?' Harry wondered. He stepped outside and immediately ran into the door.

"OUCH"

"Nice, Potter. It's good to know you aren't clumsy to add to your other defects." Harry couldn't retort, however, because the door had hit a very sensitive part on his leg, and his thigh had started bleeding. He rolled up his pant leg and starred at the gash in his thigh.

"Bloody hell, Malfoy! You had to add to the scars I'll have to look at for the rest of my life! It seems like I'm the message board for all the evil bastards in the world."

"Peh, I'm not evil, just a bastard and damned proud of it." Draco snapped back and Harry chuckled, "You got a twisted sense of humor, Potter."

"The kettle calling the pot black." Harry said. And then he had a seizure. Or something like that- Draco couldn't tell, seeing as he'd never seen anyone have one before.

"Potty, stop trying to get everyone's attention. You already have it."

The ministry official was panicking. "Mr. Potter, are you okay? Should I get a healer?"

"Of course he's fine, you idiot! Don't you see him on the ground with his head in his hand? Why would he be doing that if something was wrong?" Harry, surprisingly, appreciated that.

"Mr. Potter, what happened?"

"I think Voldemort's happy." Of course, being the idiot he (along with the rest of the ministry) was, he froze at the Dark Lord's name and slowly crept away.

"So, Potter, what was that? If it was a ploy to get that dunce away from us, then it worked and you can stop. Your acting is rather shabby, though."

Harry ignored the insult and focused on the question.

"Something connects Voldemort to me; I feel his emotions and dream about him plotting and torturing people. Great, isn't it? I even get to be possessed for seconds at a time (but that's easy to fight off). Bloody psycho." Now Harry had started a rant, and he had to finish it.

"I can't even guarantee that my wand will work against his- both use feathers from Dumbledore's Phoenix for cores, and if we cast at the same time they connect and do a Priori Incantem." Harry sighed.

"Why'd a smart guy like your dad ever think that serving a half-blood who thinks he's the Heir of Slytherin, tortures those who swears loyalty to him, wants the destruction of a way of life that has worked for hundreds of years, and thinks getting rid of the only people who really keep our culture from stagnation was a good idea?" Draco rolled his eyes.

"I'm going to blame it on the fact that my father has a thing for killing and punishment." Draco said with a shrug. Harry smiled tiredly.

"Why did you walk into my door, anyway, Potter? Didn't you notice your apartment ended at your door? Even you couldn't be so stupid."

"Well, apparently you are. Have you noticed how our flats are right next to each other? As in, we're neighbors?" Draco hadn't, and became enraged.

At this moment the minister himself decided to grace their presence.

"Hello, boys. I hope you like your flats."

"No, I don't. It's awful. And why am I right next to Potter?" Without giving Minister Fudge an opportunity to reply, Draco helped Harry up. The boys walked towards the kitchen, bickering about everything except how awful the place was, which they firmly seemed to agree upon.

Fudge watched as the boys openly critiqued his decorating, quality of furniture, and everything else.

He was doomed. He needed help.

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Four pages! Yeah, baby! And if you'll look, a lot more of this is mine than the last chapter. Hurray for me, ya? But that also ups the risk for someone getting sick off of it. Sorry about that. Again, please help me get better! I want to be a good writer. XD Anyway, was this at least slightly decent?

*Please say yes, please say yes*

Because I did take some phrases from P.L.S., but loads of it is mine.