Chapter One: In Which Sleeves Are Vanished
"He's a Death Eater," said Harry slowly. "He's replaced his father as a Death Eater!"
There was a silence; then Ron erupted in laughter. "Malfoy? He's sixteen, Harry! You think You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join?"
"It seems very unlikely, Harry," said Hermione in a repressive sort of voice. "What makes you think —?"
"In Madam Malkin's. She didn't touch him, but he yelled and jerked his hand away from her when she went to roll up his sleeve. It was his left arm. He's been branded with the Dark Mark."
Ron and Hermione looked at each other.
"Well. . . ." said Ron, sounding thoroughly unconvinced.
"What?" said Harry irritably. "What part of 'Malfoy could be a Death Eater' sounds outlandish to you?"
"But he's sixteen!"
"I was eleven when I killed Quirell, twelve when I killed the Basilisk, fourteen when I watched the life leave Cedric's eyes and fifteen when I watched Sirius get murdered. You really want to tell me Voldemort —"
Ron flinched.
"— cares how old Malfoy is?" finished Harry carelessly.
Ron and Hermione exchanged another look.
"I'm not sure, Harry. . . ."
"Yeah, I still don't reckon You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join. . . ."
"You make it sound like the Death Eaters are just an exclusive club or something. It's a bloody group of murderers, dammit! Voldemort — oh, don't be such a wimp, Ron — doesn't 'let' people join! He coerces them!" exclaimed Harry frustratedly.
"But Harry, what would Voldemort even need him for?" asked Hermione logically.
Harry stopped in his tracks. That was . . . A very good question. The answer came almost immediately.
"I dunno," he said sarcastically, "it isn't like Voldemort wants to kill me, is it? We're old pals, yes —"
"You reckon Malfoy's trying to do you in?" Ron interrupted, sounding highly skeptical.
"What gave you that idea? I think Malfoy wants to send me flowers and declare his undying love for me," said Harry seriously.
"That explains it," Ron said. "Wait, what?"
"Ron," said Harry, internally facepalming at his stupidity. "I think I'm in love with Malfoy."
"WHAT?"
"Yes," he said, nodding his head. "You heard me right. I think I should get to, y'know, know him."
"WHAT?"
"Wha — oh," said Hermione, cottoning on. "A stray spell in the heat of the moment would be perfectly understandable."
"Malfoy?"
"What?"
"I love you too."
"What?"
"I think you're hot."
"WHAT?"
Harry twirled his wand, trying to remember what Professor McGonagall had said about Vanishing Spells and hoping he was doing it right —
The Great Hall watched as the Dark Mark was exposed.
"Knew it," announced Harry.
Many students stood up and handed over their money, grumbling good-naturedly.
"You bet on this?" said Hermione, sounding scandalised.
"Typical," Ron muttered. "Of course she would choose to focus on that."
"Malfoy's a Death Eater!" shouted someone.
No one moved a muscle. Then slowly, careful not to ruin the moment, Colin Creevey took a photograph.
AN: Vanish the sleeve! Make it fly up! Just use magic in any way to expose what's underneath it!
Here's some poetry (It's very bad, though) —
Roses are red, Malfoy is blond.
Of Harry Potter I am fond.