Platinum Blond and the Seven House Elves

The Raven-haired enchantress lived deep within the forbidden forest. She had lived there ever since the evil lord who came before her was vanquished by The Land's Hero.

She had just returned from gathering the last of the dragonsfire root - the last ingredient in her potion.

After carefully adding the root, she picked up a ladle and began to stir the cauldron, humming softly to herself.

"Oh Cissy, Cissy, you foil my plans,

Refusing to join me and leave your man.

Can beauty not drive you two apart?

What then would work better, you tricky tart.?

But I think I've pegged you this time, my dear,

The loss of your son above all else you fear.

So when you believe that the sperm's killed your seed,

The power of women will conquer indeed."

She cackled wickedly to herself as she picked up a bushel of apples and one by one dipped them into the cauldron.

The apples hissed in the liquid and turned from red to acid green then back to red again.

The enchantress smiled and touched the tip of her wand to her head. "And now for a little disguise, I think - her son will have died before he can blink."

And with that, she picked up the basket of apples, donned a ragged cloak and skipped off merrily into the woods.

***

Draco scrubbed miserably at the floor of the cottage. The last few weeks with the elves had been an absolute nightmare. Draco was now well-versed in all areas of housekeeping. However, it wasn't the scrubbing and buffing and mopping and sweeping and cleaning and biting that was the main problem. Oh no. What was the icing on the proverbial cake was the skirt, hair scarf and petticoat he was made to wear by the elves.

Vicious little rodents, he thought savagely. Kreacher, Retcher, Belcher, Snapper, Lifter, Homely, and Grotesque were all his power-crazed slave drivers.

"Platinum Blond scrubs so hard," Homely's voice said in Draco's ear making his jump and upturn the bucket of soapy water.

"You've got my skirt all wet!" Draco wailed without actually meaning to.

"Platinum Blond should let Homely change him into a new skirt," said the elf, reaching for the soaked material.

Draco clutched his skirts and recoiled in horror. "No, Homely!" he insisted. "Really, I'll go change once I'm finished here.

Homely looked disappointed and slinked off into another room of the cottage.

"Wretched little doorstop," Draco muttered.

He had just finished scrubbing the last of Retcher's achievements off the floor when came a knock at the door.

"Who could it be now?" he asked himself, wiping his hands.

He opened the door and beheld a short old woman with an eye patch. She had wild grey hair and yellow teeth.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

She chuckled lightly. "Oh, nothing important can ever be helped - by a sweet thing like you," she said with a slight rasp, "I was just giving out apples - to please an old woman blue."

Draco frowned and crossed his arms. "If nothing I do can give help to you - than what should I do but deny? - For I am but helpless yet oddly well-fed - so your fruit I need not try."

The woman matched his frown. "My beauty, you misunderstand - my bony but well-meaning hand - For all of my wealth, is in youngsters' health - and I promise my apples aren't bland."

"Good lady, I doubt not your fruit - they're red as my lips to boot-"

"You're simply mistaken, I mean you no harm-"

"My mum warned of peddlers-"

"They're grown on my farm!"

"Be that as it may-"

"I picked them today!"

"Should I fall to plague-"

"They'll improve your shag-"

"How dare you insult!"

"It wasn't my fault!"

"It's the elves, you see-"

"That's nothing to me!"

"So please understand-"

"It's ok young man-"

"Just please go away..."

"My apples will stay!"

"But I will be beaten!"

"The fruit will be eaten!"

"I'll collapse in a heap!"

"Oh child, don't weep!"

"The elves they are rotten..."

"They'll soon be forgotten..."

"What's that now you say?"

"Um ... Voldemort's gay?"

"Do I smell a trick?"

"Of course not you-"

"Sick!"

Draco froze as the voice bellowed from within with dingy cottage.

"Oh Merlin it hit the wood ceiling - call Platinum to clean it with feeling," squeaked a voice from within.

Draco went paler. "Oh Merlin, he's done it again - illness I should try to feign."

He looked wearily at the apples and then back to the encouragingly nodding woman. "All right you wench I will take them - if not for you then my skirt hem - it's dripping and dank and smelling quite rank - I bring shame to me and all men!"

With a sob, Draco shut the door and hurried to the kitchen with the basket.

The blond one then looked at the apples.

A choice now would have to be made.

But what is the less of two evils?

To toil or from the world fade?

An elf now appeared in the doorway,

Holding a much battered broom.

Blond grabbed an apple and bit it,

And disappeared did the room.