I am so totally mad.
No, really, I am.
The good guys are always supposed to win, right? And the bad guys lose and slink into the shadows, never to return.
I hate Draco Malfoy.
See, it should have gone like this...Harry defeats Voldemort, [even if I am the one that did the most magic and was the smartest in our year, (no, I'm not bitter)], Ron and I start dating, Harry gets Cho or Ginny, we push Lucius Malfoy off a cliff, Harry has a cool matrix-style showdown with Draco ending in Draco losing and either becoming a good guy or just horrible disfigured [snickers].
End of Hogwarts...Albus Dumbledore receives wizarding equivalent to the Nobel prize for something...
Harry, Ron and I become aurors....we all live happily ever after in a bizarre love triangle.
But what happened?
I glance at Ron. He hasn't been up for about a week. He is vaguely reassembling Gimli, from Lord of The Rings...yes, that's right, Ron has grown fat, grown a beard and remained short. At the moment, he's sitting right in front of me on the couch. As I watch there's a cockroach crawling on his stomach that's fascinating me.
Harry? He went to live with Lockhart. That's right, the Ministry assigned him to look after the old codger. Sure he drives a slick ministry car, picks up numerous young witches that look like they're barely out of fifth year and earns more than a couple of hundred thousand galleons a year...I suspect he's privately a gigolo on the side.
And me?
I am looking out of the window in this small, cheap rent-a-room apartment. There are piles of books _everywhere_. And do you know what I'm looking at right now?
Draco Malfoy, playgirl hunk of the year. Calvin Klein model, slouching sexily in his Calvin Klein jocks on a gargantuan billboard over the city. Scowling at the camera.
And on the other side, Blaise Zambini, also in white boxer briefs. With that wicked smirk on his face.
If I see Lucius Malfoy or Lord Voldemort up there anytime soon I will jump straight from this sixth storey level and happily plunge to my death on the rotting concrete below.
Please no...I'm going to have that horrible image of Lord Voldemort in tighty-whiteys in my head all day at work now. Everytime I close my eyes.
Me? I screw the caps onto tubes of toothpaste.
It's not such a bad job, really, if only Pansy Parkinson weren't there aswell.
That's right.
There's a moral to this story.
Being a goody-two shoes will get you nowhere.
Being extremely good-looking and evil, apparently will.
I hate Calvin Klein.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Just a gay little concept I had in my head...of course the good guys are _supposed to win_...but what if Lady Luck just went on a little holiday? *giggles* Ahhh...Draco half-naked, displayed on a giant billboard towering over busy London....*goofy smile*
No, really, I am.
The good guys are always supposed to win, right? And the bad guys lose and slink into the shadows, never to return.
I hate Draco Malfoy.
See, it should have gone like this...Harry defeats Voldemort, [even if I am the one that did the most magic and was the smartest in our year, (no, I'm not bitter)], Ron and I start dating, Harry gets Cho or Ginny, we push Lucius Malfoy off a cliff, Harry has a cool matrix-style showdown with Draco ending in Draco losing and either becoming a good guy or just horrible disfigured [snickers].
End of Hogwarts...Albus Dumbledore receives wizarding equivalent to the Nobel prize for something...
Harry, Ron and I become aurors....we all live happily ever after in a bizarre love triangle.
But what happened?
I glance at Ron. He hasn't been up for about a week. He is vaguely reassembling Gimli, from Lord of The Rings...yes, that's right, Ron has grown fat, grown a beard and remained short. At the moment, he's sitting right in front of me on the couch. As I watch there's a cockroach crawling on his stomach that's fascinating me.
Harry? He went to live with Lockhart. That's right, the Ministry assigned him to look after the old codger. Sure he drives a slick ministry car, picks up numerous young witches that look like they're barely out of fifth year and earns more than a couple of hundred thousand galleons a year...I suspect he's privately a gigolo on the side.
And me?
I am looking out of the window in this small, cheap rent-a-room apartment. There are piles of books _everywhere_. And do you know what I'm looking at right now?
Draco Malfoy, playgirl hunk of the year. Calvin Klein model, slouching sexily in his Calvin Klein jocks on a gargantuan billboard over the city. Scowling at the camera.
And on the other side, Blaise Zambini, also in white boxer briefs. With that wicked smirk on his face.
If I see Lucius Malfoy or Lord Voldemort up there anytime soon I will jump straight from this sixth storey level and happily plunge to my death on the rotting concrete below.
Please no...I'm going to have that horrible image of Lord Voldemort in tighty-whiteys in my head all day at work now. Everytime I close my eyes.
Me? I screw the caps onto tubes of toothpaste.
It's not such a bad job, really, if only Pansy Parkinson weren't there aswell.
That's right.
There's a moral to this story.
Being a goody-two shoes will get you nowhere.
Being extremely good-looking and evil, apparently will.
I hate Calvin Klein.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Just a gay little concept I had in my head...of course the good guys are _supposed to win_...but what if Lady Luck just went on a little holiday? *giggles* Ahhh...Draco half-naked, displayed on a giant billboard towering over busy London....*goofy smile*