AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, I know it's short, but I just wanted to put something up on this fic so I could see if you peoples out there absolutely hated it or not. It's nowhere near as funny as Boxers, but hey, that's a tough one to follow. So, here it is. More chapters are coming. Unless you all really hate it.

DISCLAIMER: Not mine unless it is; everything else belongs to J.K.Rowling.

Mistakes Made

Chapter One: Charms, Anyone?

"You know, Draco, I really hate the Ministry."

Draco Malfoy glanced up from the Daily Prophecy with all the interest of a leopard noticing a new spot. "Really? Good," he muttered, flipping through the pages. Blaise Zabini glared. "Come off it, Draco. Yes, you and I both know the Ministry's always been the closest thing on earth to the eternal hellfires of damnation, but this…this is different…this is just wrong. It's sick and twisted and wrong," Blaise groaned.

Draco glared over the top of his paper. "I know you'll find this hard to believe, Blaise, but the Ministry's chief concern in the battle against Voldemort has nothing to do with your sex life," he stated blandly, nose buried in the paper. He looked up again. "Or lack thereof."

Blaise's eye twitched. "But it's so inhumane!" he moaned, slamming his head on the dining room table. Or, he would have, had Draco not just set his coffee cup in the way. At that moment, a ruffled carrot walked into the room, dragging its feet in a shuffling imitation of a waltz. "Stop whining, Zabini, no one in this house gives a damn if you're not getting any," Ginny Weasley commanded from under a mess of tangled hair, reaching up to snatch at a teacup on a shelf.

Blaise glowered magnificently from under the blackening bruise that was the right side of his face. "Gah," he mumbled, sinking into his seat. Draco peered imperiously at the red-bed-head trying to conjure eggs into the frying pan. It was not working only because she kept aiming them at Blaise's head, which, though she claimed it to be weird and misshapen, was definitely not a frying pan.

Usually.

"What makes you so chipper, weasel? You're just as sexually-deprived as we are. Everyone is. Bloody Ministry ban," Draco mumbled, going back to his paper. Blaise perked up. "Aha! I knew it! You are miffed at the Ministry's ban!" he shouted, pushing his chair back, standing and pointing. Draco glared. "Malfoys do not get miffed," he growled. "Sit down, Zabini," Ginny stated. She kicked Blaise's chair, and he fell back into it. Blaise glared.

"Answer the question, weasel," Draco interrupted Blaise and Ginny's visual sparring match. "The Ministry's put such a heavy tax on those ruddy Contraception Charms that there's no way a half-decent working man like myself, let alone a dirt-poor Weaselby like you, could ever afford one. So either you've got no libido, you've renounced heterosexuality, or you're running the risk of getting knocked up. Which is it?" Draco queried.

Ginny flashed the old Slytherins a smirk. "Did it ever cross your fabulously multifaceted mind that maybe I attract rich men who can afford such expensive luxuries as Contraception Charms?" she questioned with a wry grin, gathering her cup of tea, misshapen eggs and stuffing three slices of toast in her mouth. With a polite nod of her head, she exited the room.

Blaise glared. "Stupid bloody attractive woman," he growled. Draco arched an eyebrow over the top of his paper. "Blaise? We're talking about the walking carrot that idolized The-Boy-Who-Should-Have-Died for quite a few years, owing, most undoubtedly, to a severe mental instability," he reminded. Blaise shrugged. "I don't like saying she's attractive, but you have to admit, Draco, she's got something," he said.

Draco scoffed, eying his friend for possible signs of infection. "Yes, and it seems to be contagious." He flipped to the last page, scanned it, and growled. "Damnit! Now that is inhumane!" he moaned, trashing the paper into a ball and throwing it out the window, where somewhere on the street below, an old woman shrieked and very nearly soiled herself.

Blaise glanced up. "Your father still alive?" "Yes." "Bollocks, mate. Tough blow." "Fuck it, Zabini, just shut up and go bury your head under a pancake or something." "Can't. Weasley ate the last of them."

Draco wasn't particularly interested in what the walking carrot stick did or did not eat. He was more interested in when his batty old patriarch would kick the proverbial bucket. He slammed his fist onto the table. "Doesn't anyone up there have any mercy?" he shouted at the ceiling.

Apparently, the sleeping resident of the flat above theirs did not. A sleepy female voice yelled 'Avada Kedabravava,' and fell back asleep, but not before casting some sort of semi-consciously-assembled jumble of trangsfiguration hexes with intent to kill which left Draco looking, if possible, a sight worse than he did before. Glaring out of goggling frog eyes, he turned to Blaise. "Don't you say a word," he grit out.

Blaise coughed indiscreetly, glancing around Draco's back. "Is that a tail?" he chuckled. Draco growled. "Not another word!" he raved.

Blaise would have said something, but he couldn't seem to stop sniggering.