Saving Prefect Granger

SAVING PREFECT GRANGER

Chapter One

8:00 AM. MALFOY MANOR. THIRD FLOOR. BEDROOM. ASLEEP.

"Whoaaaa, whoa, baby, whoaaa. It's like magic, when I look at you. It's like magic, making my dreams come true.."

BANG! SMACK! BANG! "DDDDDDDRRRAACCOOO!"

"I want to curse the warlock who broke your beating heart-"

BANG! CRASH!

"-tear him apaaaaart-"

I growled and buried my face under my pillow. A daft band called Sorcery Sorority had come out with a new single, and it was absolutely driving me barmey! I used to be into their music... WHEN I WAS FIFTEEN! Now, they've made a comeback, and personally, I feel like tearing the lead singer apart- and tossing him out to die amongst dragons.BANG! My bedroom door was crashing into the door jamb like mad.

Between that and the outdated punk music, my head was becoming numb. Underneath my pillow, I tried to debate which was worse. I'm so stupid when I'm tired.

"I want you, witch. I want you! I won't control you, I will console you-"

Too.. Many... Lovey... Lyrics... Too... Early... GGGGAAAHHH!

"DAMN IT, SHUT UP," I bellowed, and, acting as if I was doing something really rebellious, I shut off my alarm. Oh yes. Malfoy's the man.

Then a voice came from behind the now silent door. "Draconius Lucifer Malfoy, what in the name of Routebaga Cartright did you just say to me?"

Whoops. Apparently, it was Father who was harassing my door with his cane.

"I wasn't talking to you, Father! I was speaking to the radio. Have you heard that new song 'I Want You, Witch'?" I questioned quickly, not wanting to make Daddy Dearest annoyed in the early hours
of the morning.

I could hear his eyes roll. "Completely understood, Draco. Now, open this door."

I groaned very quietly, and stretched, getting out of my nice, soft, bed with my black velvet pillows and my black canopy and my-

Never mind, I was asleep again.

"DRACO! NOW!"

"Fine, fine," I yawned.

Things haven't changed much since I turned eighteen and left Hogwarts forever. My father got out of Azkaban for being mental (I'll explain later), and is still controlling my life. I like that man, but HOLY FUDGE! At least when he was in Azkaban, he couldn't nag at me or make fun of me. I remember how sad I was when he got taken into jail. I was fifteen. Wow. I couldn't even guess how important privacy was back then.

I threw my comfy black comforter off of me, and grabbed my wand from my chest of drawers. I went up to the door, and mumbled six counter- hexes. The door swung open, revealing (Ta- da!), Lucius Malfoy, my model father.

Now, when I say 'model', please do not get the idea that I am referring to him as a outstanding citizen. What I mean is, he is always groomed, perfumed, and dressed to kill, though not literally any more.

"Blast it, Draco! How many curses does a door need? Couldn't you just latch it?" he spat out, being careful not to let his head move, as I could see his platinum tresses were freshly straightened.

"Blast it, Lucius! I'm not seven years old. I'm nearly triple that age, actually, and I need my P-R-I-V-A-C-Y, all right?" I told him, trying to understand that he is old, and probably has no memory of his childhood whatsoever. He'd just had his birthday last month, November 9th, and turned a whopping forty- four! Scary thought.

"Forgive me. I forget how old you are," he sighed, trying to look misty- eyed, but it wasn't working. "Anyway," he continued tartly," please be showered and dressed by nine, that is, if you still wish to go to Diagon Alley while I attend my meeting."

I shrugged, shoving a hand through my tousled hair. "Certainly. I'll inquire about condominiums."

"No," he declared. "What did I say?"

I rolled my eyes, a snicker escaping my lips. "I don't play that game any more. I'm not a child." I pushed past him.

"Draco Malfoy, what did I say?" he snarled, grabbing my shoulder.

I gave in, painfully. " You said that 'Malfoys are too dignified live in a one room dump with a small kitchen', but Father! I need my own place! I need privacy! I'll be closer to Saint Mungo's, so I can complete my internship!"

"Internship? You've only just got into surgeon school. You want an internship? Wait five years ," he scoffed. "And in the mean time, think about the disgusting waifs who get put up in those rat- bitten scum houses! I do not want any child of mine living like that!"

"Maybe I'm adopted," I put in grimly.

He looked annoyed. "You weren't. Take my word for it."

(Fair enough.)

"I deserve a flat," I asserted loudly.

"Oh, you do, do you?" he questioned, with a little smirk.

"Yes, SIR, I do," I replied rudely. He hates when I refer to him as 'Sir'. He says it makes him feel old. I've got news for you, chappie!

His eyes flashed. "And tell me, Mr. Malfoy, who has the money for this so called 'deserved' flat?"

Oh, bother.

"Look, won't you let me borrow just enough to-"

"No."

"You bought me my books for-"

"That is education. This is pleasure. Give it up, Draco, before I take back the money for your college ," he snarled.

Not wanting to admit defeat, I stalked past him toward the bathroom. I heard him chortling at me evilly, and despite myself, I grinned. Same old Father. Still as cruel as he was eighteen years ago.

I entered my bathroom, pulling off my silk pajamas and gazing into the mirror.

"Beautiful Draco," I sang to myself. "Everyone loves you. La la la."

I love making up songs about myself. I'm so perfect.