Chapter 8

Confessions of a Teenage Rich Boy

The Writer flicked over the page of the Daily Prophet, scanning the articles. Nobody had turned up recently and she was feeling bored. Had they given up, at long last?

The door burst wide open, revealing a panting Draco Malfoy, seemingly exhausted.

The Writer folded up the paper and put it down on the desk, "What's wrong with you?"

"Lift...broken...took stairs..." Draco gasped, falling into the chair opposite the desk.

The Writer stared at him, "You're a wizard, you know."

Draco slapped himself in the forehead, muttering a phrase that rhymes with "ducking fell".

"No, seriously, you could've Apparated, or used a broom..."

"Shut...up," Draco growled between breaths.

"Or you could've got your wand out and even fixed that lift..."

"I said...shut up!" Draco yelled, catching his breath, standing up and taking out his wand, "I'm not very good at this!"

"I can see that," the Writer replied, "now, what do you want, you whiny adolescent?"

"The Dark Lord wants you dead."

"Yes...tell me something I don't already know, or I'll throw you out of my office," the Writer leaned forward on her desk, elbows resting on the surface.

"I'm here to make it happen," his face was determined.

"Aw, is wittle baby Dwaco gwowing up to be a murdewer," the Writer put on a mock baby voice, "just like his dear Auntie Bella?"

"You leave my family out of this!" Draco shouted, "I'm here to end your life. You got Wormtail, Yaxley and Greyback, but now the game is up. You're not getting me."

"How can you be certain I haven't already...as you put it...'got you'?" the Writer polished her nails on her shirt absentmindedly.

"What are you talking about?" Draco lowered his wand slightly.

"We Mudbloods, as you call us, have one advantage," the Writer smiled, "we have the knowledge of both magic and technology."

"...Excuse me?"

"Didn't your mother ever teach you it was bad to drink out of a glass that wasn't yours?" the Writer shook her head, "you remember as you were huffing and puffing your way up the stairs when you so easily could've found another alternative, you drank from a glass of water, left perched innocently on the stairs."

"You mean..." Draco looked panic-stricken.

"Oh, yes..." the Writer turned to her computer, "and I can access the building's security cameras, too. I have your little...confession, right here on my screen."

She turned the screen round, so they both could watch.

On the screen was Draco, coming up a flight of stairs, coughing out breaths. He slumped into the wall, seating himself on the step. Then he looked up. Just above him, on the next step, was a glass of water. Well, no one was around, and even if there were people about, so what? He was Draco Malfoy. He took the water and gulped it down. He was fine, for about five seconds.

"Every time Malfoy Manor is empty, I have wild parties with the local Muggle teenagers!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, "and I've even got lucky a couple of times!"

The security video ended and the Writer turned the screen away from him.

"Oh, naughty, naughty Draco..." the Writer taunted, "Mummy and Daddy aren't going to be pleased, are they?"

Before Draco could even say 'Avada', the Writer had whipped out her wand.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Draco's limbs snapped together, as though he stood to rigid attention The Writer could have sworn he whimpered as he fell backwards.

The Writer prepared her vial and took the memory.

"What's that?" she pretended to have heard him say something, cupping her ear and moving closer, "'your father will hear about this'?"

If Draco could have glared, he would.

"Maybe he will, maybe he won't," the Writer smiled happily, "but for now, he won't, unless you want him to find out about the real reason that 5th Century tapestry has a tear in it, or why that vase from China has a chip missing from the rim?"

The Writer waved her wand, lifting him off the floor and sending him out and down the stairs.

"If any more of your half-crazed, bloodthirsty, snake worshipping relatives want to come round for humiliation and defeat through a type of person they loathe, tell them they know where to find me!" she called after his floating form, waving as it turned a corner and disappeared out of sight.