Impress Her with An Epic Fail

"Draco, are you sure you know what you're doing?"

His grip on the wheel tightened. His scowl deepened.

"Yes, you infernal woman! I know what I'm doing! For the last bloody time, didn't I take that stupid driving class for school children? Didn't I pass the bloody exam? With flying colors? Why, yes. Yes I did. So let me concentrate on the effing road and drive!"

Draco huffed, face red, and breathed heavily. He was only doing this to impress her, mad Muggle that she was. But to question his abilities to drive, it was like questioning his capability to… perform, shall we say.

He was certainly up to the task (both of them).

And he had passed her (technically, the United Kingdom's) insipid test. Yes, he had Confounded the examiner once. He learned that little beauty from Ron Weasley. But he still knew how to drive.

Reasonably well.

"Well, Draco. I do not doubt your capacity to… (snort) perform (gasp! Had he said his monologue out loud?), but you passed the exam in London, and this is…"

Wee-ooo! Wee-ooo!

Hermione inhaled sharply, and grabbed for the wheel.

Draco shouted, "What the fuck are you doing? We're going off the road!"

Hermione cried, "Of course we are, you twit! That's a ruddy police officer! We're getting pulled over. Didn't you read the manual?"

Of course he did. Cover-to-cover. Literally. He only read the covers.

Not like he would tell her that, though.

He would merely impress her by sweet talking his way out of a ticket. That would make an impact on his little brat.

Draco fumbled with the button to open the window for about a minute (during the time when the police officer makes you wait, to increase your sense of guilt and your fear. It was working on Hermione. Oh, it was working.), and then gave up. He muttered a quick spell, and the glass vanished.

The policeman waddled up to Draco's side of the car, and Draco smiled widely at him.

And breathed through his mouth, because this fat, balding man smelled exactly like sour coffee. And lack of deodorant. This was, in fact, a valid odor.

But he would persevere, in his quest to make Hermione astonished by his prowess in other areas than the bedroom.

"Hello, my fine man! May I say you look quite dashing in that uniform?"

Hermione's jaw dropped. The officer attempted to, but his face muscles were unused to so much activity, so he just grunted.

"Alright, you fag. Do you know why I pulled you over?"

"Actually, I don't. But I'm suspecting you wanted to brighten my existence with the appearance of your ethereal visage!"

The man's brain slowly worked through the meaning of visage. While it was doing that, it noticed something unusual about the punk's voice.

He said, "Freak, you a foreigner?"

Draco grinned more widely, and replied chirpily, "Oh, how intelligent you are, and handsome too! The perfect package! I'm a Brit, but I bet you already knew that from your keen observation skills!"

Hermione groaned, and dropped her face in her hands. They were so screwed, and he was so bloody oblivious!

The man's mind went into overtime, trying to remember something. It was last night; there was something on TV about British people. They ate funny foods, and had a funny accent, and they said funny things, and they drove –AH! That was it!

The man attempted to smirk, but again with the rarely seen facial muscles. So he grimaced, and said, "You're driving on the wrong side of the road, faggot."

And he shuffled back to his squad car, calling over his shoulder, "You get a warning this time, creeper!"

Draco sat back, stunned. No where had it ever occurred to him that he might actually be committing a traffic offense! He just thought the policeman was mistaken. Oh fuck. Hermione was going to be pissed.

He slowly turned his head to look at her, and said nervously, "Hermione, love-"

Her shoulders stopped shaking, and she uttered abruptly, "Get out of the car. Now."

He sputtered, "But-what-why should I-?"

She revolved her body to stare at him. There was a reckoning force in her eyes, a promise of eternal damnation if he didn't comply. "Out. Now."

He hastily took off his seat belt, threw open the door, and ran outside. She came around, and sat in the driver's seat. He meekly got in on the passenger's side, and they took off.

She never let him drive again.

A/N: I believe this is written for SilverSerpent122, who wanted an 'epic fail.'

I'd say this pretty much covers it.

To be clear, I have nothing against police officers or gays. This stereotype of a middle-aged American male is merely provided for comic relief, and to help the plot along. I don't condone what he did, but I wrote it. ;]

Thank you for all the reviews!