Courtship, Wooing, and Other Such Nonsense

Courtship, Wooing, and Other Such Nonsense.

Harry Potter hated Professor Snape.

He was just- evil. With his greasy hair and scowling expression and stupid, flappy robes. An ugly, horrible bat, that's what he bloody well was.

It didn't help his case that he'd started to set even more horribly complicated homework assignments, as well as taking to calling Harry the 'idiot boy' at any given opportunity. Harry really didn't think it was helping much with his self-esteem.

This was why Harry was bloody stuck in Hogwarts library desperately trying to find any text which would be of any help at all in answering a question deliberately phrased so that he wouldn't be able to understand it.

Ron had given up a long time ago.

Harry sighed, scratching his head. It was about time he was heading back to the Common Room at any rate. He decided to look over the shelves one last time, and get out any remaining books that looked at all promising. Then Hermione would see he had at least tried and perhaps take pity on him.

Harry got up from his seat and wandered down one of the long aisles at random, occasionally brushing the dirty, crusty books with his hand. He caught one with his sleeve however, and it fell to the floor with a soft 'whump.'

Harry leant down and picked up the green, leather-embossed volume. His eyebrows rose slightly as he took in the title, written in curling silver script:

'The Slytherin Booke of Courtshippe, Wooing, And Other Suche Nonsense.'

Hmmm. Harry flipped open to the first chapter and began to read.

'In the terrible and most disagreeable occurrence of youre intended love being either a filthy Mudbloode or a lowesome Squib, 'tis better to be ridde of the lady straighte away. Although this action is rather hard on you, not to mention on the victime herself (her being dead), a little inconvenience is muche better thanne the shame and torment it will bring on youre family if it is allowed to continue. Perhaps it is prudent for ye to aske a close relative to perform the deede for you.

Propere witches are by nature timid and milde. It will be with the greateste ease for you to tell her of and impresse her with your wealth and powere.

Shun and complain of your lady's companions to showe her you would rathere spend time with her alone. You are, do notte forget, the Master of the situation, and she shoulde showe her appreciation of youre favour by bowing to youre every whim.

Seeke out and complimente your love, but do not become as soft as the woman you are wooing. By sneering these love phrases insteade, you canne show her you desire her and still be in charge, as it shoulde be.'

Harry snorted, shaking his head. No wonder most of the Slytherins looked like week-old cabbages! If all their dads had used this utter rubbish in order to cop off with the opposite sex, it was quite obvious only the very desperate of girls would even possibly give them the time of day.

Still, it was very old. He was probably the first one to pick it up in decades. Because nobody else would be so stupid to think it would be at all useful...

Harry casually flipped the book to its first page, and- froze.

There, fastened onto it, was the ledger that catalogued who had taken the book out, was written Draco Malfoy.

And it wasn't just written once. Nor twice. Harry quickly counted and saw that Malfoy had taken out 'The Slytherin Booke of Courtshippe' no less than twenty-six times.

Harry looked up, grinning, his Potions project forgotten. This was just too good. This type of excruciatingly embarrassing information of your hated enemy was priceless. Not only was Malfoy resorting to help books in a desperate attempt to get any sort of action, he had actually thought that this particular help book would be useful!

And just how was he going to use this information? He could- wait... hang on one second...

Harry had just had an incredibly disturbing thought.

Because- Malfoy acted like that toward him, didn't he? Quite a lot of the... well, alright- all of the time.

Harry hastily flicked through the pages of the book again. Boasting about his wealth and power... check. Hate and insult his friends... check. Compliment him in a sneering way? Harry suddenly remembered the numerous times Malfoy had told him how utterly compelling his glasses or jumper was. So-gulp- check.

Harry numbly pushed the book back on the shelf, and slowly walked back down the rows. He was- he was actually in a state of shock. His mind raced to come up with any other sort of plausible explanation, before he realised with growing horror that he really couldn't think of one. Harry went to pick up his bag, vaguely aware that his mouth was still hanging open.

He had just reached the exit when- oh hell oh good God- Malfoy appeared in the doorway. There was absolutely no escape.

Harry gulped.

Malfoy immediately spotted him and strutted over, looking him up and down in a way that Harry had thought for years was meant to be menacing, but was now unfortunately reading in an entirely different way.

Harry- gulped again. He wondered if it would be alright to fend Malfoy off by whacking him over the head with his schoolbag. Well, he didn't want to get molested.

Did he?

"Hey Potter," sneered Malfoy, one eyebrow raised. "Nice hair. Bet all the girls are all just falling over each other to get at you."

"Gargh!"

Harry did the only sensible thing he could in such a situation.

He ran.