CHAPTER 8: TRUMPS!

Draco's uncle was indeed called Flick, Otto Flick, and he was indeed from Germany. He had a rather strange limp on one leg. He wore black robes and gold-rimmed glasses. He had his hair loosely gelled back, gleaming cold blue eyes and he spoke with the thickest accent Harry had ever heard. He didn't look like a wizard. In fact, Harry wouldn't have been surprised if he wasn't one at all. He seemed very suspicious; perhaps more than what is healthy. It was lucky Harry and Ron had the invisibility cloak.

They followed Draco and his uncle down into the dungeons, through the Slytherin common room, and into Draco's dormitory, of which, he had ordered everyone else out. Draco looked up at his clock that said nine thirty, which had obviously been made by either Pansy Parkinson or Draco, himself. The face of the clock was Draco's own wearing a very cheesy smile. The hands of the clock were simple black strips but had blinking red hearts at the ends of them. Harry tried not to let out a rather large snorting laugh that had just invaded his body. In his attempt to do this, he accidentally let out a great rumble of a fart that bellowed through the whole room, most defiantly through the common room and at least half way through the school. Even the invisibility cloak blew out from behind Harry and Ron when it happened, and for a moment or two after. Harry returned to his deepened shade of humiliation that he knew his uncle Vernon would have been crying at for least three hours. He looked at Ron who was now giving Harry a disapproving look and fanning air away from his face. Harry turned away to see Draco pulling an extremely mystified face.

'What was that?'

'Sorry about that,' replied Flick.

Harry sighed in relief. Then felt alarmed. Flick thought that was him?

'I appear to have let one rip without noticing. I am deeply sorry.'

'Well, don't do it again, you filthy cherub.'

'Draco, I know I ooze heavenly-ness, but I am not a cherub.'

Harry was confused by Draco's attempted insult, but then remembered Flick. You gotta hand it to the Germans, thought Harry, they are evil but they sure cover for you when you let one rip. Harry tried to cover a very faint laugh that was so faint, it might as well have not happened. But Harry's anal glands let out another thunderous trump that was nearly as loud as the first.

'Jesus Christ, man!' retorted Draco at his uncle.

'I'm sorry, young nephew. Do you, by any chance, have a cork?'

'Err… yes! Hang on, I always keep one handy!' Draco rummaged around in his draw in his beside table for a minute or so. When he remerged, he looked frustrated and annoyed. 'Sorry. I can't find it. Crabbe must have stolen it again.'

'Oh, that's OK. Anyway, why did you bring me here?'

'Because I need your help, uncle Otto –'

'Please, call me Herr Flick!'

'Oh, OK, Herr Flick… I want to start my own business, but I want to get rich QUICK!'

'You want a brothel, then?'

'Yes. Yes, I do.'

'Well, that's simple enough. Get Miss Parkinson (he pointed a picture pinned to Draco's bed. It was of Pansy Parkinson in a corset. Harry and Ron cringed in fright) and tell her you want her for sex, and then get all her friends to join in, and then put up flyers around the school. Simple.'

'That's genius!'

'But remember, you need an alias.'

'Right… would 'Pimp Draco' be OK?'

'Marvellous!'