Disclaimer: The characters and setting of Harry Potter are not ours. However, the eccentric spelling and punctuation and liberal attitude toward the G rating are...HANDS OFF!!!!!

The Choices of Master Malfoy

"NOOOOOOOOOOO..." Harry paused to take a breath, "...OOOOOOOOOOOOO..." He took another breath, which Malfoy utilised to speak.

"Harry!" he shouted. "SHUT UP!"

"...OOOOOOO..." was Harry's only response.

"I'm on your side!"

"...OOOOO... WHAT?!?!??!!??!" Harry exclaimed.

"I'm on your side."

Harry paused, his eyes filling with tears. "Does this mean...?" Then he flung his arms around Draco. "I love you too Draco; I always wanted to be friends but that nasty author just wouldn't let me!" He started to sob.

"Don't be an idiot!" Draco said, pushing Harry away. "I'm not on your side because I like you," he said, shuddering slightly, "I just don't want to b a Death Eater!" He paused and then added, "And don't cry on me – it might dissolve my hair wax." He shaped his hair back into place.

"But why?" Myrtle asked, intrigued, and keen to turn this fic into a nice angsty one.

"You read the letter," Draco said heavily. Myrtle nodded sympathetically. "The Dark Lord's new evil plan is to steal the penultimate pages of all the teen romances."

Harry gasped in shock. "But that's..." He was unable to find a word to express his horror.

"I know," said Draco. "I thought it would be all proper evil psychopath stuff, like mindlessly and brutally murdering thousands of defenceless Muggles."

"But stealing the penultimate pages of all the teen romances?" Harry asked, still unable to grasp the awful truth. "That's below the belt – that's not proper and gentlemanly evil psychopath stuff."

"Right," Draco said, unable to tear his eyes away from Harry, who was now sobbing for all the poor unfortunates who Voldemort's plan would affect. Eventually, he managed to turn to Myrtle. "Has he always been like this?"

Myrtle nodded before saying, in a disbelieving tone of voice, "He was angry about the potpourri."

They stood there in silence as they watched Harry list his 100 favourite teen romances - each series only counting as one entry, of course.

"One too many killing curses to the head, if you ask me," Draco said.

Then, Harry spoke, his voice quavering. "Did he at least leave the penultimate pages of the Babysitter's Club books?"

Draco shook his head – "I'm sorry, Harry," he said, sympathetically.

Harry narrowed his eyes and screamed, "That asshole's going down!" (A/N: I think our complete disregard for the rating only adds to this fic's charm)

Myrtle and Draco exchanged a long-suffering glance. There was a thud as Harry crashed into the portrait. Its occupant – a thick-set man in a black head, holding a scythe – started to cry.

"That's it!" he shouted, "I'm calling my lawyer! I want compensation! No-one respects portraits anymore!"

"Of course people respect you," Myrtle reassured him.

The man stopped crying and looked up at her, almost shyly – "Really?"

"Of course! Why, if you left tonight, none of the Slytherins would be able to enter their common room. Your role as official opener-and-shutter-of-the-portrait-hole is vital."

"And as a guard," he added.

"Yes, and your role as the guard," she reinforced.

The man blushed – "Gee, really?"

"Yes," Myrtle said. "Without you to open, shut and guard this portrait hole, the meeting tonight wouldn't be possible."

"I suppose you're right," the man said, straightening. Then he appeared to remember something. "And...what is the password?" He tried to wink unsuccessfully, as that would take more co-ordination than his brain could handle.

Myrtle looked blank. The man tried to wind again – tried being the operative word. Then, Draco said, after a long and strained sigh –

"Furbies rule." The portrait swung open. Myrtle looked quizzically at Draco. Harry barged straight in, with the immortal cry of 'The Babysitters' Club!'

"The Dark Lord had the password changed specially to be more fitting with his operation," Draco said bitterly. Myrtle made a sympathetic noise, before following Harry in, Draco close behind her.

"Harry Potter," a cold, high voice said. "I have been waiting so long to have you in my grasp!" There was a collective gasp from the onlookers.

A tall man with slicked back, brown hair and a self-important, false smile on his face, with perfect white teeth – you know, the kind that can only be achieved with a mouthful of porcelain crowns – stepped up. I imagine him looking rather similar to Troy McClure (Simpsons, people, keep up), but slightly less yellow.

"Hi, I'm Lord Voldemort's personal relations manager. I'd just like to clarify that 'in my grasp' was not meant in any paedophilic sense."

The gasp was let out in a collective sight. This gave it an odd, pre-rehearsed feel, almost as if... eyes dart around guiltily it wasn't real life! There, I said it.

"No!" Voldemort confirmed. "I meant placed in a seemingly impossible, yet, strangely easily escapable situation so that I could..." he paused dramatically, "make him complete comparative essays on the different techniques of war poetry."

Just then, Spinach came into the scene. "That sounds strangely familiar to the English test Bernard and I just had to do," she said suspiciously. Then, she turned and looked me – the narrator – straight in the eyes, which is rather unfair of her, as I had, up to this point, been quite successful in staying on the brink of existence. "You have been scarred by this, Bernard, scarred," she said, shaking her head sadly.

There was a shocked silence, followed by a cry of – "Mary Sue – kill it!" It came from Bernard, who used to narrate this fic; she had crossed the boundary into character-hood by going against two rules of narrator-ship – to not interfere in the plot and, more significantly, to be nameless. This is why she shall now be referred to as She-Who-Can-Now-Be-Named in hushed and fearful tones.

The group of Death Eaters willingly set out to obey Bernard's orders. After all, they were already dressed as a lynch mob with their black balaclavas and their robes emblazoned with those potent symbols of terror and evil – furbies, smoochies and, worst of all... involuntary shudder Barney. Interestingly, Spinach was unaffected by the sight of involuntary shudder Barney, as she denies his existence, in order to once more see the good in this world, and therefore, when faced with a depiction of said monstrosity, cannot see it.

"I can't be a Mary-Sue!" Spinach protested – "I'm not stunningly beautiful yet wonderfully nice and modest!"

"It's true!" Myrtle said, supporting Spinach. The traitor! She doesn't appear once in either of Spinach's chapters, and yet she's helping her! "I don't feel the urge to vomit every time I see her!" Myrtle continued, being the egg that she is...read scene 2, act 5 of Macbeth about six times and you might understand, possibly.

However, this did not stop the advance of the Death Eaters. "Screw this!" Spinach said, "I only came here to be condescending to Bernard." With these words, she disappeared, in other words, returned to the parallel universe generally known as reality.

With no Spinach to kill, the Death Eaters turned on She-Who-Can-Now-Be-Named, who was admittedly, just as much of a Mary-Sue as Spinach had been. She-Who-Can-Now-Be-Named tried to escape back to her post as narrator, but, unfortunately, the vacuum that she had created by becoming a character had been filled by me. She could not escape to reality as Spinach had done because Author-Bernard is in that reality and She-Who-Can-Now-Be-Named was simply a representation of Author-Bernard's personality who was set the task of making this fic understandable, which, as far as I can tell, she did a terrible job of, so it's a good thing, really, that she was made into a character, as it means someone more able can do the job. All of this means that there are now three versions of Bernard: Author-Bernard, She-Who-Can-Now-Be-Named and me, Narrator-Bernard.

"Damn it!" Narrator-Bernard, or should I say, ex-Narrator-Bernard, yelled, as she too appeared in the scene, having become a character by naming herself. The Death Eaters turned on her as well, delighted at the prospect of two victims, but then, they both disappeared.

This could be interpreted as the author finally realising that this chapter was meant to have a plot, but that would be a foolish exaggeration of both her organisation and responsibility. The real reason shall become apparent in the next chapter.

Voldemort shook his head. "Disappearo!" he said, pointing at the pictures of the furbies, smoochies and involuntary shudder Barney that adorned the Death Eaters' robes.

"Now, Voldemort, your Latin is almost as bad as Dumbledore's was in our third year! In fact, I think Disappearo is worse than Reducto Momentum." Harry said, cheerfully.

"Die, impudent wretch!" Voldemort said, pointing his wand at Harry – "Avada Kedavra!" By the way, if you think Voldemort still sounds different from normal, that's just me being unable to remember how JK wrote him.

But the killing curse never reached Harry (DAMN!!!!!). Myrtle, her senses sharpened by love (awwwww), had dived in front of Harry, to save him from death. You'd think that this wouldn't help at all, being, as she is, a ghost, but it did. She managed to confuse reality, or what passed for it in Hogwarts, to such an extent that the spell killed Myrtle properly – so that she was no longer even a ghost – and forgot about Harry altogether.

"NOOOOO!!!!!" Harry screamed, falling to his knees. Unfortunately, as he was doing this, his glasses fell off and smashed as the hit the ground. This may seem unlikely, but his glasses fell off and smashed as they hit the ground. This may seem unlikely, but his glasses had committed suicide after their only equal in geekiness had been lost to this world forever. This may still seem unlikely, but it's not my fault because...because...BECAUSE YOU SMELL! (Tee hee hee!!)

Just then, Snape appeared. "Still in need of glasses, Potter?" he asked, disappointed, before disappearing again.

"Did you just see that as well?" Draco asked Harry, a little stunned. Harry, however, did not seem to be able to see anything without his glasses.

"Mwah hah hah hah hah!" Voldemort exclaimed. "Potter is finally mine!"

His PR guy popped up again – "To kill," he confirmed, before disappearing again.

Voldemort had raised his wand and managed to say "Avada" before Draco stopped him with a stunning series of jinxes, hexes, curses, counter-curses and other words, which neither my brain nor my thesaurus contains.

"You!" Voldemort yelled at Draco. "You treacherous coward! You could have been great, but now you will die!" He aimed a killing curse at Draco, who dived out of the way, saving himself.

Unfortunately, because of the properties of inertia, he knocked himself out. When he dived aside, his hair was forced to dive aside as well. Unfortunately, its mass is far greater than Draco's mass, due to the excessive amount of wax in it, so it, due to inertia, dived aside slower than Draco himself did, causing him to crash into it. This knocked him out because the particular brand of hair wax Draco uses is very solid, so crashing into his hair is rather like crashing into a brick wall.

"No-one to defend you now, Potter!" Voldemort said, triumphantly. Then, he appeared to remember something. He turned to his PR guy, who had randomly reappeared and said, bitterly, "It's not the conclusion yet!" The PR guy nodded and turned to the Death Eaters.

"Sorry, people," he said, "but there will be no killing of Harry Potter at this time. You shall have to wait till another death for your meal."

"Meal?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," PR guy said, "they're not called Death Eaters for nothing."

Harry was still confused. "So does that mean they eat the personification of death itself or do they somehow gain nutrition form the death that killing causes?"

The PR guy, who wasn't about to admit that he didn't know, tried the other tactic of adults when talking to minors – being patronising. "What a clever boy!" the PR guy said, "Have a sweet for being so clever!"

"My mum says...would probably say...not to take sweets from strangers," Harry replied, reverting to – no wait, continuing to stay at – the mental age of eight.

"I feel we're getting off topic," Voldemort said, glaring at them both, until the both looked at their feet in shame. Or, rather, PR guy looked at his feet and Harry squinted vaguely in the direction he thought his feet might be (no glasses, remember?)

Then, Voldemort's voice became very low and his breathing continued, disregarding the fact that he was speaking – "Harry, I am your father!"

There an awkward pause before Harry uncertainly said, "Darth Vader?" There was another pause. "Are you sure this isn't copyright infringement?"

"It's not Darth Vader; it's me, the Dark Lord!" Voldemort hissed. "And isn't this whole thing copyright infringement?"

"Good point," Harry said, before realising what he had just been told – "NOOOOOO!!!!!"

He does a lot of NOOOOOO!!!!!-ing in this chapter.

Voldemort laughed evilly, before trying to apparate away. Unfortunately, as Hermione could have told him in rather scathing tones – it's impossible to apparate in or out of Hogwarts grounds. (Did you notice that subtle hint that Hermione's back to normal?) This left Voldemort no other option than to slope off, trying to look dignified.

So Harry was left alone, aside from the Death Eaters – who saw no reason to let good tapas and martinis go to waste – and Draco – whose head was slowly getting stuck to the floor as his hair wax was a very strong adhesive if left to set. Aside from them, Harry was left alone, to ponder the important questions this chapter had raised. Would he ever see Myrtle again? Was Voldemort his father? And most importantly of all, would the penultimate pages of all his Babysitters' Club books still be there?

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I would like it to be known that we did consider the comments about the suitability of the rating of this fic and decided that, as the worst word we said was arse/ass and the sexual references we made would only be recognised by people who already knew about all that stuff (and therefore would have no chance of destroying the naïve outlook of the innocents who have no idea what we're talking about), we did not need to change it from G.

REVIEW YOU LAZY GITS!!!!!

(ok. Have to add the word 'git' now)

Oh yeah, and vote Kerry, or tell your parents to vote Kerry or whatever (applies to US readers only)