Harry thinking up inventive ways for Malfoy to die. Malfoy dies. Harry-
angst is boring. Don't worry, this chapter is just a placeholder for the
comedy/tragedy thing that comes next.
Disclaimer: See the first page. Wait, did I update that yet? Well, anyway, if I'm writing a disclaimer, you can tell that I don't own any of the characters, (different author) not even Neelix. *Runs away crying*
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Up in the Gryffindor tower common room, Harry and Ron were having fun. (A/N: *exasperatedly* no, not that kind of fun.)
"Bloody hell, but I hate this board!" Ron glared at the wizard's chessboard he had just received for Christmas. "It keeps on giving me advice!"
Harry grinned. "And it keeps on being right. Oh, bye, Hermione!"
As she walked by, she snickered. "Maybe you should listen to the pieces, Ron."
"Ah, shaddup."
"See you after winter break!"
"Ah, right, then." Ron was glaring ferociously at his pieces. "Move, you bloody bits of - of- *sigh. * Well, right on then, just hurry up."
Harry smiles behind his hand. Hermione leans over the table, arguing with the pieces. "Oh, come on. _Listen_ to him, will you?" Amazingly, the piece obeyed.
Ron looked in amazement at the board. "How did you do that?"
Hermione smiled. "You just need to know how to handle them." She sticks her tongue out at the bishop, who is clenching tiny fists and shouting at her.
"You want a piece of me? You want a piece of me? Come down here and fight like a chessman!" He squeaks.
As the Fat Lady's portrait shuts behind her, Ron shakes his head. "Nah, probably not."
"Probably not what, Ron?"
"Ah, nothing. just that bloody Malfoy getting to me again."
"Bloody Malfoy. I wish he'd fall off a tower."
"_I_ wish he'd fall off a dragon."
"Well, I wish he'd be eaten by one."
"I wish he'd _become_ one."
"A fate worse than death."
"Really. For us, you mean."
"Yeah, really. "
"I wonder if we could poison him with Polyjuice potion?"
"It's an idea. I wonder what would happen if he just keeled over and died in the Great hall. Do you think anyone would cheer?"
"Do you think anyone would stay quiet?"
"I wish Moody would declare him a vampire and kill him."
"I wish Sirus would eat him."
"Really, Ron! That's not a nice thing to wish, you know."
Ron stared as if his friend had gone mad.
"To wish to Sirus, I mean. Really, Ron." They had a good laugh all around and went to find some food.
~*~
Malfoy entered the Slythrin commonroom. As he looked around at the damp, perpetually cold stone walls, he thought, *This would be a good place to die. * Goyle looked up from where he was reading a Muggle Playgirl magazine. *Hmm. Maybe I should steal that. * Then it hit him. *Goyle reading? *
"What's up, pizza-face?"
"Ugh."
Good. The world wasn't completely insane. *Wait a second. Did I just think that? * "What are you reading, you ugly idiot?"
Goyle wasn't completely slow. "Pretty pictures."
Malfoy clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. "Good Goyle." *Now to compose a suitably dramatic suicide note. *
Entering his room, which he shared with Crabbe and Goyle, he looked around. His clothes were strewn across the stone fireplace that heated the dank room, across the obsidian carving of a basilisk in the far corner, and over his bed, which was made up in black and maroon silk sheets, suitably sinister. *Ever since that damned Granger started that SPEW thing, service has been horrible. Ugh. *
Away in the tremendous, cheerfully cavernous kitchens under the dining hall, Dobby chattered happily away to the other house-elves as they looked at him through a one-way house elf magic vision portal. "Do you see? Do you see? Mister Draco is grumpy! This is fun!"
Some of the house elves edged away, but Dobby reminded them that Dumbledore had put him in charge of the house-elves at the end of last year. More crowded closer and looked at the snarling face of their often-tormentor happily.
In his chambers, Dumbledore sighed and looked through his paperwork. Oh, here was an interesting one, a complaint from young Mr. Malfoy about the house elves. Hmm.
Seemingly to the empty air, Dumbledore spoke. "Dobby? I need to talk to you."
Out of a vaguely Dobby-shaped blur in the air, a squeaky voice came. "Oh, sir, just a minute! Dobby asks you to wait just a minute so the cakes will not burn!"
Dumbledore smiled through his long white beard. "Of course, Dobby. Take all the time you need."
Dobby appeared in barely a second. "Sir? Is Dobby been bad? Oh, sir! Dobby has been bad! Dobby must be punished!" He began banging his head against the floor.
Dumbledore sighed and leaned over his desk to peer at the crying house elf. "No, Dobby, you have not been bad. I just need to talk to you."
After a final bang, Dobby said, "Oh, well. Dobby happy." He appeared on Dumbledore's desk, sitting on the uppermost stack of papers to peer into Dumbledore's face. "What does master wish of Dobby?"
Dumbledore smiled at the little house elf. "I wish to know why Mr. Malfoy is upset."
Dobby hurled himself off the table and began throwing himself against the floor, moaning. "Oh, Dobby has been bad! Dobby has been very bad. Oh!" *Thud. *
In his room, Malfoy stared strangely at three bags full of crumpled clothes. He turned away and began searching for a pad of paper, his knife, and a quill.
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Next chapter is coming with promised tragedies. It's short because I just want to get this posted and go back to my other universe for a while- I like it better there.
Disclaimer: See the first page. Wait, did I update that yet? Well, anyway, if I'm writing a disclaimer, you can tell that I don't own any of the characters, (different author) not even Neelix. *Runs away crying*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Up in the Gryffindor tower common room, Harry and Ron were having fun. (A/N: *exasperatedly* no, not that kind of fun.)
"Bloody hell, but I hate this board!" Ron glared at the wizard's chessboard he had just received for Christmas. "It keeps on giving me advice!"
Harry grinned. "And it keeps on being right. Oh, bye, Hermione!"
As she walked by, she snickered. "Maybe you should listen to the pieces, Ron."
"Ah, shaddup."
"See you after winter break!"
"Ah, right, then." Ron was glaring ferociously at his pieces. "Move, you bloody bits of - of- *sigh. * Well, right on then, just hurry up."
Harry smiles behind his hand. Hermione leans over the table, arguing with the pieces. "Oh, come on. _Listen_ to him, will you?" Amazingly, the piece obeyed.
Ron looked in amazement at the board. "How did you do that?"
Hermione smiled. "You just need to know how to handle them." She sticks her tongue out at the bishop, who is clenching tiny fists and shouting at her.
"You want a piece of me? You want a piece of me? Come down here and fight like a chessman!" He squeaks.
As the Fat Lady's portrait shuts behind her, Ron shakes his head. "Nah, probably not."
"Probably not what, Ron?"
"Ah, nothing. just that bloody Malfoy getting to me again."
"Bloody Malfoy. I wish he'd fall off a tower."
"_I_ wish he'd fall off a dragon."
"Well, I wish he'd be eaten by one."
"I wish he'd _become_ one."
"A fate worse than death."
"Really. For us, you mean."
"Yeah, really. "
"I wonder if we could poison him with Polyjuice potion?"
"It's an idea. I wonder what would happen if he just keeled over and died in the Great hall. Do you think anyone would cheer?"
"Do you think anyone would stay quiet?"
"I wish Moody would declare him a vampire and kill him."
"I wish Sirus would eat him."
"Really, Ron! That's not a nice thing to wish, you know."
Ron stared as if his friend had gone mad.
"To wish to Sirus, I mean. Really, Ron." They had a good laugh all around and went to find some food.
~*~
Malfoy entered the Slythrin commonroom. As he looked around at the damp, perpetually cold stone walls, he thought, *This would be a good place to die. * Goyle looked up from where he was reading a Muggle Playgirl magazine. *Hmm. Maybe I should steal that. * Then it hit him. *Goyle reading? *
"What's up, pizza-face?"
"Ugh."
Good. The world wasn't completely insane. *Wait a second. Did I just think that? * "What are you reading, you ugly idiot?"
Goyle wasn't completely slow. "Pretty pictures."
Malfoy clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. "Good Goyle." *Now to compose a suitably dramatic suicide note. *
Entering his room, which he shared with Crabbe and Goyle, he looked around. His clothes were strewn across the stone fireplace that heated the dank room, across the obsidian carving of a basilisk in the far corner, and over his bed, which was made up in black and maroon silk sheets, suitably sinister. *Ever since that damned Granger started that SPEW thing, service has been horrible. Ugh. *
Away in the tremendous, cheerfully cavernous kitchens under the dining hall, Dobby chattered happily away to the other house-elves as they looked at him through a one-way house elf magic vision portal. "Do you see? Do you see? Mister Draco is grumpy! This is fun!"
Some of the house elves edged away, but Dobby reminded them that Dumbledore had put him in charge of the house-elves at the end of last year. More crowded closer and looked at the snarling face of their often-tormentor happily.
In his chambers, Dumbledore sighed and looked through his paperwork. Oh, here was an interesting one, a complaint from young Mr. Malfoy about the house elves. Hmm.
Seemingly to the empty air, Dumbledore spoke. "Dobby? I need to talk to you."
Out of a vaguely Dobby-shaped blur in the air, a squeaky voice came. "Oh, sir, just a minute! Dobby asks you to wait just a minute so the cakes will not burn!"
Dumbledore smiled through his long white beard. "Of course, Dobby. Take all the time you need."
Dobby appeared in barely a second. "Sir? Is Dobby been bad? Oh, sir! Dobby has been bad! Dobby must be punished!" He began banging his head against the floor.
Dumbledore sighed and leaned over his desk to peer at the crying house elf. "No, Dobby, you have not been bad. I just need to talk to you."
After a final bang, Dobby said, "Oh, well. Dobby happy." He appeared on Dumbledore's desk, sitting on the uppermost stack of papers to peer into Dumbledore's face. "What does master wish of Dobby?"
Dumbledore smiled at the little house elf. "I wish to know why Mr. Malfoy is upset."
Dobby hurled himself off the table and began throwing himself against the floor, moaning. "Oh, Dobby has been bad! Dobby has been very bad. Oh!" *Thud. *
In his room, Malfoy stared strangely at three bags full of crumpled clothes. He turned away and began searching for a pad of paper, his knife, and a quill.
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Next chapter is coming with promised tragedies. It's short because I just want to get this posted and go back to my other universe for a while- I like it better there.