Spark

Chapter 2 - A Mother's Work is Never Done

'Mr Malfoy,' said Professor Flitwick. 'You seem anxious this morning. Is something wrong? Are you having trouble charming the peel from your apple?'

Draco sat bolt upright and tried to keep the guilt look from his face. He had quit paying attention to the professor some fifteen minutes earlier, having already mastered the day's lesson. And anyway it was as stupid lesson; everyone knew it was much more fun to peel an apple using a knife - arriving at the end with a peeled apple and all of one's fingers added to the treat. At his side, Crabbe and Goyle waved their wands at their apples to little or no effect.

'No Professor - nothing wrong... but I really have to... go. The lesson is almost over, can I leave now?' Draco wiggled in his seat to add a note of authenticity to his erroneous claim.

Professor Flitwick gave Draco a nod and as soon as his back was turned Draco shoved his books into his rucksack and shot out of the classroom as if a hell-hound was hot on his heels.

Crabbe and Goyle looked rather crestfallen and they returned to their apples. The pair were used to Draco's leaving classes early and deserting them at mealtimes. The awkward pair of boys would rather die than say so, but they had begun to miss Draco who had never before at school been more than a desk's breadth away from them. What was more, they were beginning to feel a little resentful about what had kept Draco dashing about.

But Draco did not miss either of his two closest mates. The second he was out of the classroom he raced along, his green robes flying behind him as he took every shortcut he knew to make it back to the Slytherin quarters as quickly as possible; Draco Malfoy had a baby to feed.

Soon Draco was bursting through the door to his Slytherin dorm. Flinging his rucksack aside he leapt onto his four-poster, his boots sinking into the thick green duvet. Whipping the bed curtains shut and flipping his pillow out of the way he squatted, carefully pulling a boot box towards him. Slowly lifting the lid he stared intently into the box, holding his breath, waiting. When he saw the gentle rise and fall of the silky little mound he sighed with relief. He ticked the Jarvey's head to wake it up.

Since Draco had found the animal two weeks past, injured and sickly, the creature had grown from a hairless pink imp that was roughly the size and shape of a strawberry Berty Bott's Every Flavour Bean - into a hamster-sized animal, covered in fluffy red baby fur. As Gaius had foretold, the Jarvey resembled a ferret or a weasel, having a long body with short legs and a long tail.

'So - how's your day been so far?' Draco's voice was very matter of fact for someone speaking to a fuzzy creature.

The Jarvey replied by widening its pink mouth into a huge lopsided yawn that was so wide, it toppled over sideways.

'Good boy,' said Draco, and he held his finger in front of the Jarvey's face. The creature immediately clutched the finger, giving it a lick.

'Out of the blue Draco said, 'That Potter is a git.' Somewhat oddly, he persisted in repeating the insult clearly and slowly, over and over again; Potter is a git. After a couple of minutes Draco's persistence paid off.

The Jarvey opened its mouth. 'P-p-p-ahhhh!' said the animal so loudly it fell over a bit, lashing its tail to right itself. It experimented with the new sounds. 'P-p-aaaa! Paahhh! Pah-tah. Pah-tah is a git!'

'Hell yes, that's the ticket, good boy!' Draco laughed at his pet's vocal efforts.

A fortnight ago Draco had thought Gaius was pulling his leg when he told Draco that Jarveys were magical creatures that could talk. Only a week after Draco had found the animal, the infant Jarvey had begun to make sounds - like a human baby, playing with noises and piecing sounds together that it heard in the dorm room.

'Now say "Draco"... "Draco". ' Draco repeated as he held the animal upside down and sideways, parting the lush fur to check old wounds from the cat attack that had orphaned the animal.

'Drraaa, daaa,' said the Jarvey, repeating the enticing 'dee' sound. Jarveys being excellent mimics its voice sounded uncannily like Draco's. 'Da, da... Dada!'

Draco sighed like a frustrated parent with a naughty child.

'Now that wasn't "Draco" was it? But I reckon it is close enough. Why can't you say "Draco" properly? You can say just about anything - anything rude.' He snickered with delight.

It was clear to Draco that his pet had difficulty with ordinary words - like "milk" or "ball" - but could pronounce rude words such as 'stinking' or 'damn' precisely and with a bit of a flare. It was rather as if Jarveys knew the difference between polite and rude speech and showed a distinctive preference for the latter.

'Time to stretch your legs.' Draco fished out a small rubber ball from the boot box and tossed it across the duvet sending the little Jarvey skittering after it with kitten-like pounces and indignant squeaks.

'Don't let the ball or anything get the better of you!' Draco laughed, retrieving and tossing the ball again, 'Give that fecking ball a good thrashing!'

'Fecking baaall!' squeaked the Jarvey, pouncing on the offending toy.

'You'll be too big for a box in a fortnight - that is what Gaius says. I don't know what I'm going to do with you then, but I suppose if that raggedy Weasley keeps a tatty old rat, I can keep a pet Jarvey. You're at least two cuts above some manky rat.' As Draco so thoughtfully spoke he used his fingers, engaging his pet in a boxing match.

'That's it baby, fight back,' he said, laughing as the baby batted at his fingers with its tiny pink paws like a kitten. 'A name... you want a name, don't you? Calling you "baby" isn't right - makes the others laugh at me, behind my back and that will never do,' Draco frowned, 'and anyway, it's bloody damned embarrassing too.'

'Bloody damned m-bare-assing,' squeaked the baby back at him.

'Close enough!' Draco snorted back a laugh. 'When you are curled up you are as round as a ball - hum... "Snitch" might be a good name... no. You want a much nicer name.'

To tell the truth, Draco thought "Snitch" was a brilliant name, but he didn't fancy it at the moment; Quidditch was currently a touchy subject for him. Harry Potter, also a first year, had made Seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Potter had been proclaimed "the youngest player on a house Quidditch team in over a century". So however much it suited Draco's pet, naming the little Jarvey "Snitch" was the very last thing Draco was going to do.

'No more playing, time for your elevenses.' Draco pulled a corked vial of milk from a pocket, and pinched milk into an eyedropper. 'Here you go you silly twat. Say it, "silly twat".' Draco held out the eyedropper and the animal latched onto it with small paws and began greedily to suck, then it stopped for a moment.

'S-s-silly twat,' said the Jarvey, a driblet of milk slipping down its chin.

''Hell yes! That's the ticket! What a good boy!' hooted Draco causing him to accidentally squeeze a bit of milk into the Jarvey's mouth, making it cough, little bubbles of white milk frothing from its nose.

'Poor baby, I'm sorry. Awwwww,' Draco wiped his Jarvey's nose and kissed the top of the fuzzy red head, then even though he was alone in his dorm room he nervously peeked through his four-poster curtains. He would have rather squeezed milk up his own nose than have anyone hear him being soft with his 'b-a-b-y'.

He pulled the curtains shut again. His pet's meal complete, it was time for the animal's toilet. Draco held his pet on its back, rubbing its white stomach with cloth the way Flint taught him. The Jarvey began to extrude a foul, stinky poop.

'That is so totally, totally gross,' Draco fussed, holding out the nasty cloth at arm's length and wrinkling up his nose. 'I'm going to be sick, that stinks!' He hurled the stained cloth through the bed curtains onto an absent dorm mate's bed - a little present.

'Stinks,' said the Jarvey, lying on its back with its little nose wrinkled up just like Draco's, wildly waving its tail. 'Pah-tah stinks!'

'Yes, Potter stinks - good boy! I'll have to remember that one,' chortled Draco tickling the Jarvey's stomach. 'You are the best pet ever! Here baby, try this one... Weasley is a thick penniless git'

'W-w-w-weezee... wee-zee is ah tha...thick git!' squeaked the Jarvey. 'Wee-wee is a thick, penniless git!'

'There is a thought,' said Draco sniggering. 'You have red hair just like Weasley. I could call you Weasley, but then you would be a...'

'A thick, penniless git,'shouted the Jarvey.

'Too right you are!' Laughing, Draco fell onto his back holding the Jarvey in the air. 'You are the best pet ever! Even better than the two-headed Mastiff Father bought me! But it's time for you to go to sleep now. Into your box - I have to get to my Transfiguration lesson. I'll see you later - Bye-bye! Bye-bye! Come on then, say it - bye-bye Draco - bye-bye Draco.' Draco tapped the box lid.

'Bah-bah Dra-da!'

Chuckling, Draco turned to leave, but stopped. There was a piteous crying and snuffling coming from the boot box. Unable to stand his pet sounding so unhappy, he couldn't resist taking it back out of the box. He held the animal, then steeling himself, he put it firmly back into the box and lowered the lid. But the baby set up a piteous little cry like its tiny heart was breaking, 'Drada! Dada!'

'No! Don't do that...please, just go to sleep like a good boy,' Draco pleaded. Unable to take the crying he picked up the Jarvey again and held it against his cheek.

'Dada,' the Jarvey cooed happily.

'Damn me but for such a little thing you are a bloody nuisance.' It occurred to Draco he'd heard his father speak similar words to him when in a particularly dreadful mood.

Apparently having picked up trick or two from its master, the Jarvey looked up at him with sad, sad shoe-button eyes and made a loud, melancholic sounding sigh.

'Damn it!' mumbled Draco pensively. 'Say, listen - could you sleep in my pocket like a good baby? Not make a fuss?'

'Hell yes! That's the ticket!' said the baby with a burp and a wag of its tail.

Draco dropped the Javey inside of his robes, into a jumper pocket and headed off to his lesson.

~*~*~*~*~*~

'You're late Mr. Malfoy.' Professor McGonagall said, eyeing Draco critically. He was a good ten minutes late. 'Two points from Slytherin.'

Nearby, Harry, Hermione and Ron smiled at each other at the news of Draco's punishment. Across the aisle from them, Crabbe and Goyle dropped their heads onto their desks in mourning, but Draco strolled into the classroom, his rucksack swung over his shoulder. He had all the airs a lord returning to his castle after a triumphant journey.

'Sorry Professor,' Draco smiled pleasantly, seating himself at a table with Crabbe and Goyle. He smirked and looked around the classroom. He smiled at his fellow Slytherin. He made faces and stuck out his tongue at his Gryffindor classmates - ten points be damned - life was good.

The day's lesson for the Slytherin and Gryffindor was a revision on transforming matches into pins. Draco, along with Hermione Granger, had been first in the class to accomplish the feat. Bored, Draco looked around for entertainment, which handily enough was seated at the next table; Harry and Ron.

Eager for fun, Draco decided to practice a fun little charm; "fun" defined as 'spells likely to endanger life and limb'. He held his wand under the table, pointed at Ron and muttered under his breath 'ADUROTANTU!'.

In that instant, across the aisle, Ron's match exploded into flames. Unfortunately for the red-head, he was holding the match up to his face.

Now a match catching fire may not seem too interesting and it wouldn't be except in this case the match exploded into a fireball, shooting sparks, one of which ignited Ron's fringe. You might entertain yourself guessing which was the redder - the flames or Ron's hair.

Yelping, Ron leapt up, knocking his chair to the floor. He silently swung his arms about in surprise as Harry tried to pat the fire out, not getting close enough to do so because Ron jumped around like a ginger kangaroo.

As Ron's chair clattered to the ground, Professor McGonagall who was at the back of her classroom, turned around and gasped to see a ribbon of black smoke rising from Ron's head. Ron's classmates, equally startled, began to shout, leapt from their seats, and point animatedly at Ron who was still jumping up and down and spinning like a top. The black smoke from the blaze formed a delightful corkscrew as it rose from Ron's head.

Meanwhile, Draco sat quietly; a picture of gentlemanly ease. 'Crabbe, Goyle - something stinks. Did one of you fart?' he asked with a smirk and all three boys sniggered. 'Oh! I see Weasley set his hair on fire so he is stinking only a little more than he usually does.'

But Ron had a piece of luck. Hermione was seated in the row behind Ron and Harry. She pointed her wand at the little flames before McGonagall could lift her wand.

'EXSTINCTUM!' the clever girl shouted and with a loud pop the flames in Ron's hair disappeared. Task complete, Hermione turned to give Draco a filthy look, and Harry and Ron quickly joined her.

McGonagall scurried over to grab Ron by the collar and rummage through his hair searching for damage.

'The Professor is looking for something in Weasley's hair,' Draco said loudly to his Slytherin classmates. 'I hope the Professor is not looking for Weasley's brains. I'm afraid there aren't any for her to find!'

'Silence Mr Malfoy, three more points from Slytherin for your rudeness. And Ms. Granger, thank heavens for your skill! Ten points to Gryffindor for saving your classmate from damage. And Mr. Weasley - I should think a little more control over your incantations is in order...'

'I didn't do it!' Ron shouted defensively, '...don't even have my wand out yet - see?' He rummaged around in his school bag, pulling out his wand and waving it urgently at McGonagall.

'Well, be that as it may, Madame Pomfrey should have a look at what is left of your fringe', McGonagall ordered. 'Go to the infirmary at once Mr Weasley.'

'But Professor - I'm not hurt,' whinged Ron, shooting a dark and suspicious look at Draco. He had no proof but he was certain Draco was at the source of his missing fringe. Then, looking abjectly miserable, Ron left for the infirmary, leaving a trail of thin black smoke and the stinky odour of scorched hair in his wake.

When Draco could get enough breath together after a laughing fit, he called out, 'Professor McGonagall! Since Weasley couldn't manage to turn that match into a needle, he turned himself into a match. Say, isn't that cheating?'

'Silly twat,' added a loud voice in Malfoy-ish tones.

Professor McGonagall span round on the spot, her eyes wide with disbelief. She glared at Draco, Crabbe and Goyle, who no surprise, were staring back at her, their own eyes wide, but with terror.

'Did you say something Mr Malfoy?' Professor McGonagall queried in utter disbelief.

Meanwhile, the entire class had managed to all gasp at once. No one could believe anyone would say such a filthy thing to a professor. Whispering started up in the back of the classroom - what exactly was the punishment for swearing at a professor? Detention? Expulsion? Death at wand-point by firing squad?

Poor Crabbe and Goyle were convinced that Draco had lost his mind and all three of them were going thrown out of Hogwarts to spend the remainder of their days, wandless, begging for their daily pumpkin juice.

As for Draco, he sat frozen, both of his hands collapsed over his chest as if he was having a heart attack. He sputtered. 'But Professor, I, I, I...!'

'You what Mr. Malfoy?'

'I uh... I ... I didn't say anything, that was only noise... I belched. Yes! I belched... I... I had the black pudding at breakfast,' Draco stammered.

The class roared with laughter. Harry laughed so hard his glasses fell off and he had to duck under his desk to retrieve them. Hermione sat laughing until she began to loudly hiccough and she clasped her hands over her mouth. Lavender, also laughing, patted Hermione dutifully on her back to help her stop hiccoughing, to no avail.

'Well, Mr. Malfoy,' McGonagall fumed. 'I am sure we are all only too grateful you didn't have the beans on toast! I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, because I cannot believe a student say such a thing under any provocation! However, and mark my words Mr. Malfoy, if I ever hear such at thing from you again, belch or not, there will be much to answer for!'

McGonagall sharply clapped her hands together. 'All you, quiet! Back to work! I want to see pins on each of your desks!' She turned and took a step towards the rear of the classroom.

'Stupid old cow!' said a loud, muffled voice that clearly sounded like the voice of Draco Malfoy.

'I never taught you that one!' complained Draco whispering at his own chest.

Professor McGonagall turned abruptly. She grabbed Draco by his white ear and bodily pulled him up off his chair. 'Five points from Slytherin house for impudence, five more for rudeness! And Mr Malfoy tonight you have detention, with me. Now, go to the back of the classroom and face the wall. NOW!'

'But Professor! I didn't - honest!' yelped Draco angrily.

Goyle and Crabbe were now so low in their seats only the tops of their heads were visible, and their heads trembled, as did the remainder of their bodies.

'Do you believe I am senile Mr. Malfoy? If those filthy words did not come from your own throat, from whose did they originate?'

For that question, there was no answer Draco was willing to admit to so what was there for him to do? Clutching his aching ear with one hand, and his chest with the other, he scarpered down the aisle, his ears burning with insults and derision shouted by his classmates.

Stunned and humiliated, Draco took his place facing the back wall. He opened the top of his school robes and peered down into his jumper. Hammocked in a jumper pocket over Draco's heart, the sweet sleepy face of the baby Jarvey looked up at his pale faced little master.

Draco whispered, 'it was Weasley I set on fire, why did you shout? Did someone set a spark to your tiny red arse?'

The Jarvis yawned sleepily, 'tiny, tiny arse - a spark.'

'Mr. Malfoy!' shrieked McGonagall. 'Hold your noise back there or else!'

'Yes, Professor!' Draco yelped, his cheeks now as red as had been Ron's flaming fringe. Looking into his jumper again at his little red pet he whispered. 'You heard the Professor, "Spark" - shut it!'

Spark yawned again, muttering, 'shud-dit Spaaark... shud-dit.... ' curled into a ball and dropped off to sleep, his long tail wrapped around his pink nose.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Draco angrily stomped up the long corridor. He was so angry he kicked his rucksack ahead of him on the ground.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

Things had gone beastly, and when Transfiguration class ended - which seemed to Draco like three months - Professor McGonagall gave him an additional telling off and for that he was deeply resentful. And when he finally left the Transfiguration classroom not even Crabbe or Goyle were there waiting for him, having scurried off to the next lesson. So in a dreadful temper, Draco roamed the school corridors - THUMP, THUMP - for a while and then settled himself in one of Hogwarts' many convenient storage closets.

I would like to interrupt Draco's little tirade here to point out that there are those who believe that the closets at Hogwarts never actually were ever used for storage or broom closets or the like. For one thing, castles are ancient and though they had wardrobes, they certainly were not equipped with closets. Rumour had it Hogwarts' closets were created by clever students, solely for to give students convenient places to duck into for various purposes - nefarious and otherwise - use your imagination and remember - this fic is rated GP.

As nefarious as were some who ducked into closets, Draco's purpose was as innocent as a lamb's birthday party - his baby wanted nursing. I would place bets that those of you who are tittering over this have never been a mother and therefore take the duties of a mother quite lightly - shame on you. After lighting a sconce in the closet Draco sat on an overturned pail among dusty brooms and ever-damp mops.

'Easier bringing you along with me then racing back to the dorms every two hours. Come on Spark, wake up,' Draco's brows were knitted in apprehension. Did all baby animals sleep so much of the time? Did it make a difference if the animal was magical? He pulled the little Jarvey out of his jumper and rested it on his raised knee while he readied the eyedropper and milk.

Spark was sprawled on Draco's knee and he opened his eyes and slowly waving his tail. 'Feck off.'

'No more of that Spark! You got me into a great deal of trouble.'

'Daa daa,' said Spark, wagging his tail weakly. 'Dada.'

'You know what you're saying, I know you do.' Draco said and he chortled but shortly afterwards his smile disappeared; Spark hesitated to nurse from the eyedropper.

'Come on, drink up,' Draco coaxed the listless little animal. 'Come on - drink! Please?'

'Feck me,' Spark moaned and his tiny head dropped.

Draco felt dreadful. Was Gaius right? Would Spark die in spite of how hard he had worked to keep his tiny pet alive? Draco held the tiny animal up to his cheek and anxious because he was going to be late for Defence Against the Dark Arts as it was, and he felt a good cry coming on - something he hadn't given in to for years. If he did give in to his angst - and anyone found out about it - his entire career as a Slytherin would be firmly in the toilet and he might as well go join the ghost he'd been told lived somewhere in the castle in the u-bend of a toilet .

Without actually thinking about it, Draco began to sing. It did not occur to him to do so softly, he was too upset and singing loudly seemed all the better for driving away his sorrow. The song was his favourite, Sou-Gan - the soft, soothing Welch words filled the ache in his heart. He quickly realized the acoustics in the closet were excellent - the ceiling was high and the soft notes rose up high to and floated back down in a pleasing echo effect, like singing in rounds.

Huna blentyn, ar fy mynwes,
Clyd a chymes ydyw hon;

Breichiau mam sy dan fy mron.
Ni chaiff dim amharu'th gyntun

Draco's heart skipped a beat as the Jarvey lifted its head and at last, began sucking at the eyedropper; slowly at first, and then with enthusiasm.

Draco sat upright and continued singing. As he sang he thought of his old Nanny who taught him to sing years ago. Draco's Nanny was born in Wales and raised Draco, Draco's father, and Draco's father's father. Draco had not seen his Nanny in years; she had gone back to Wales to care for her old granny, who was a very old witch indeed.

It wasn't often Draco's own singing had the same effect on him that it had on others. But this time the song lifted his Slytherin heart. He listened to tiny Spark suckling noisily at the eyedropper. Draco's head sank back on the wall. Gratefully he shut his eyes and sang on.

Ni wna undyn a thi gam;
Huna'n dawel, annwyl bientyn,
Huna'n fwyn ar fron dy fam.

The closet door handle rattled. Draco nearly jumped out of his skin. Quickly, and raging with anger at the disturbance, he slipped Spark, with the eyedropper still stuck in the animal's tiny mouth, into one of the empty buckets. Just as the door swung open Draco shot to his feet.

Harry and Hermione tumbled into the closet, as though the success of Hermione's door unlocking spell had come as a shock to both of them. Ron, was not with them, having, you will remember, gone to the infirmary to see Madame Pomfrey.

'Malfoy?' chorused both Harry and Hermione at the same time as they landed hands down on the floor, looking up at the furious blonde boy.

'Get out of here, right now,' Draco snarled dangerously.

'What are you doing here?' asked Hermione, profoundly puzzled. She pushed herself onto her feet again. She looked at Draco curiously. 'I thought I heard someone singing, but Malfoy - you're the only one here? Is someone else in back there behind the mops?' She craned her neck to see past Draco.

'Don't you dare speak to me,' Draco snapped back at Hermione as he pulled out his wand. 'You think there is someone singing? What? Here in one of these bloody buckets?'

Draco hated Harry because he saw Potter as a rival. Although the 'Granger witch' was no rival, he didn't like her on general principle - the girl was Muggleborn, an inferior, not worth the dirt beneath his dragon hide boots. Draco was poised, on the verge of attacking Harry. Angry mother tigers had nothing on the blonde boy. 'Mind your own business! GET OUT!'

Harry, who did not bother to pull his wand, stared at Draco curiously. 'Why are you so angry? We're the ones that ought to be angry; we know you set Ron's hair on fire. I saw you holding your wand under your desk in class. That was a beastly thing to do.'

'Get OUT!' snarled Draco, inching forward like an albino tiger.

'Come on Harry,' Hermione tugged at Harry's sleeve. 'I thought I heard singing but I must have been addled from all the smoke from Ron's hair. Let's go.' Bossily, she pulled Harry by the sleeve, towards the door. She marvelled at how boys seemed to thrive on confrontation - she would have to research the phenomenon in the library. 'Come along Harry, we'll be late for Defence Against the Dark Arts.'

Harry glared at Draco, but allowed Hermione to pull him out the door. Then they both turned around to leave.

'Pah-tah is an arse!' said a rather loud voice with a funny echo. 'DADA!'

Harry and Hermione twirled about in unison to stare at Draco. 'What?' Harry asked, stunned.

'What did you say?' asked Hermione, her brows knit as she tried to rend some logic out of what she thought Draco said.

'Ah.... Yes! DADA - Defense Against the Dark Arts!' Draco yelped in a panicky voice. 'Uh... you know, 'I can't wait for today's lesson - Professor Quirrel is fascinating... sometimes...'

Harry and Hermione said nothing, just staring at Draco who had obviously lost his nut. Finally Harry broke the silence.

'Mind your tongue Malfoy... watch who you call an arse,' Harry said testily.

'Right. DADA - an interesting acronym,' said Hermione quietly as she looked at Draco. He was obviously a rather interesting, rather pretty boy, though he was sadly, an unstable boy.

Draco pitched a couple of brushes at Harry and Hermione and they ducked out of the closet in a great hurry, slamming the door shut behind them. With the two Gryffindor gone, Draco sunk back onto the floor.

'Dada!' yelped Spark in a complaining tone - a tone he heard all the time from his young master.

'Ok, Spark,' said Draco fetching the frightened Jarvey from the bucket. 'You are safe baby, don't worry, you're all right. He stroked Spark until the animal stopped its twitching.

'Poor Spark! What a naughty boy you are. If you do not learn to behave - to shut up - you'll have me expelled by Christmas and then Father will murder me and then who will feed you? Can you behave if I take you to my Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson? Spark, can you promise to sleep and be a good little Jarvey?'

Spark belched.

'Close enough,' said Draco stroking Spark with his thumb.

'Pah-tah stinks,' said Spark.

'Too right you are. That Potter and his friends - arseholes, the whole lot of them,' said Draco angrily. 'Come on Spark. Time for your toilet, then we have to get to my lesson - I'm going to be late again.'

When the disagreeable toilet was complete - through use of a dust rag he found in one of the buckets - Draco stuffed Spark into his jumper pocket and seconds later was pelting full speed along a castle walkway for his Defence against the Dark Arts lesson.

~*~*~*~*~*~

'You know...' whispered Harry to Ron at dinner in the Great Hall that evening. 'We found Malfoy in a closet.'

'What was he doing in a closet?' asked Ron, between gulps of pumpkin juice.

'Hermione thought she had heard singing coming from the closet. You know - thought she had found her mysterious singer... you know, found her "boy with a halo". Harry grinned. 'But it was only Malfoy.'

'Hermione, you thought Malfoy was the boy with a halo!' Ron laughed. After having his fringe set on fire, this information was easily the best he'd heard all day. 'Then Malfoy is your angelic, prancing nancy-boy!'

Hermione abruptly stopped cutting up a chop. 'No, of course Malfoy isn't the boy with a "spark". Imagine, that rude boy Malfoy having any talents at all making him special.' Hermione read her History of Hogwarts that was propped against a bread basket. She shot Harry a betrayed look, then gave Ron a dismissive shrug. 'I thought... I thought I heard singing. It was probably only Peeves having a fit - or an echo or something. Now stop bothering me, I'm trying to read.'

Readjusting her History of Hogwarts, Hermione flipped an unread page of her book. Her mind was focused on the very idea she had just rejected; could Malfoy, the foul tempered, odious, spoiled, disrespectful, racist, albino baby-death eater be the source of that truly angelic voice? Could Malfoy possibly be the "boy with a halo" she had predicted would be found?

Hermione turned to look across the Great Hall to the Slytherin table: there she saw Malfoy, who chanced to notice her looking. Seeing Hermione, he poked Crabbe and Goyle on either side of him, and then, having the eager audience, Draco made a shockingly rude gesture at Hermione with his hand. Her cheeks pink with embarrassment, Hermione quickly turned away from the maddeningly rude Slytherin boy.

Hermione fumed. There were plenty of Doxies in the castle. Perhaps Doxies were capable of singing? They were rather like fairies, were they not? If not Doxies, then perhaps the dust motes in the closet had been enchanted to erupt into that hauntingly beautiful Welch lullaby. Surely there had to be some other explanation besides that of the detestable Malfoy being the owner of vocal cords capable of inspiringly beautiful sound.

'Where are you going?' asked Harry as Hermione had jumped off the bench. 'You haven't even finished your pumpkin juice.'

'I've some research in the library,' said Hermione, and pocketing a bread bun, she scarpered off to the library. Yes, surely there was precedence for singing dust motes at Hogwarts castle.

~*~*~*~*~*~

That evening, Draco was knackered. The day's lessons were dicey business when one had a baby to look after - especially one that knew the proper usage of words such as "feck" and "shite" and who was liable to shout out the dreadful words without provocation.

It was to Draco's great relief during the course of the afternoon he discovered that a fed baby is a slumbering baby. So all in all, the day had gone rather better than Draco expected. Mind, there had been an uncomfortable moment when Draco found himself momentarily in trouble with Professor Snape. But happily, the professor positively doted on Draco and easily believed that it was not he whom Draco seemed to call "a thick git", but Crabbe whom no one could deny was a trifle dense. Following that, Draco went into the potion supplies cupboard where he fed Spark a few drops of milk, putting the baby back to sleep.

So as he cut through the Slytherin Commons Draco was in a good mood when heard his name shouted out, and this time, not by his drowsy pet Jarvey.

'Malfoy, get your albino arse over here!' Gaius Flint barked. He was lounging at the fireplace in the company of several other sixth and seventh year Slytherin wizards and witches, each and every one of them the cream of Slytherin.

With an inkling of impending doom, Draco sucked up his fear and strutted over to the older students; his attitude was as if he had rounded them up for a meeting at his own convenience.

Crossing his arms and throwing himself into a stance that suggested "I'm far too important and busy to speak to you lot so lets get this over with" Draco waited for Gaius to speak. While he waited, Draco prayed Spark, still in his jumper pocket, would not wake, and if Spark did wake, that the animal would not speak.

Draco cringed as little as he could manage as the angry older Slytherin all around him grumbled their disapproval.

Gaius growled, 'What is this Malfoy - Did I hear right? Could you have lost Slytherin ten points since breakfast?'

Draco smirked as though he had won and not lost the points, 'It was fifteen points.' He prayed inwardly that he would not wet himself forever and ruin his standing in Slytherin. 'But fifteen points, here or there - so what?'

'So what? The cheeky brat has the nerve to say "so what?"' a disapproving looking 6^th year girl, perched on Gaius' lap snapped.

'I'm busy, I have homework you know,' said Draco dismissively, all the while staring boldly at the sixth year girl's... jumper. He hoped some day he would rule over Slytherin as did Gaius. Draco intended to one day rule Slytherin and have several pretty girls on his lap.

The sixth year girl was heads taller than Draco was but somehow he felt inclined to appear as tall now as could manage. It irked him immensely that he was the shortest of the first year Slytherin boys by a good two inches, and definitely he was the youngest, though why he was so young was a secret.

Gaius now glared angrily at Draco who began to feel physically ill. 'See here Malfoy, and pay attention - when you lose points for your house, you risk losing all of us the house cup - a cup Slytherin has kept for six years in a row. I should hate to be the one who keeps us from winning the house cup for a seventh year.'

'So would I,' said Draco, hoping no one noticed he was trembling. 'I can't stand around chatting,' 'I have loads of homework.' He span around and swaggered off toward the stairwell, enjoying the hardy laugh his comments drew from the older students - and dead panicked over the angry snarls his comment drew from others.

'Arseholes, the whole lot of them!' said a voice that sounded quite like it came from Draco's throat.

Draco froze for a second, then, deciding he required a good deal of distance between himself and Gaius' lot, he broke into a run, shooting down the stairs to the dorms. Apparently Spark was awake; sound carries much better through a jumper pocket than one would imagine.

'Did you hear that Gaius?' said Elliot irritably, as Draco disappeared down the stairwell. 'Why do you let a first year get away with mouthing off at you like that?'

'Because he's a Malfoy, isn't he?' said one of the witches.

'Right,' said a tall, dark-browed wizard, '...and a pureblood.'

'Oh, and I'm not? Listen you berks, do you all think Malfoy has a death wish?' said Gaius, chuckling. 'That wasn't Malfoy just now - it was his pet Jarvey mouthing off. The Jarvey sounds just like Malfoy. Clever little beast it is - just like its master.'

'What?' shouted a furious heavy set seventh year wizard. 'Gaius, do you mean that nipper has been carrying a Jarvey - vermin - to his lessons? Crikey - no wonder Slytherin lost fifteen points today.'

'Really Flint, you ought to put an end to this before things have a chance to go too far,' said Elliot.

'Good idea,' said Gaius, 'since it is your idea Elliot, you can round on Malfoy. I have got better things at hand to tend to.' Gaius gave the girl on his lap a pinch, making the delighted girl squeak.

'Right,' fumed Elliot. He had been hoisted into his own cauldron. He would have a chat with Malfoy and set the lad back to rights. 'Fine. I'll have a chat with Malfoy tonight. And don't think I plan on coddling that... pirate.'

'Make no mistake Elliot - I agree with you - don't coddle Malfoy. Give him a good rounding on - a good fright - and make sure to tell him exactly what will happen if he does not toe the line,' said Gaius. 'And if he threatens you with talk of his father - remind him that his father will not be pleased to hear his son lost his old house the cup anymore than any of us would. Bottom line is if Malfoy has got to straighten up and if he will not, something he is fond of by might just meet with an unfortunate ending and wouldn't that be a shame?'