The Bachelor

Chapter 5: The Dark Lord

Draco Malfoy and his goons or minions or whatever you prefer sat in the Slytherin Common Room staring at the sports section of The Daily Prophet. "I prefer minions," Draco announced to no one in particular. Right, Draco Malfoy and his minions sat alone in the Slytherin Common Room. Draco reflected on the previous day's attempted snatching of the bushy haired mudblood, Hermione Granger. Everything had gone so well, save the fact that he attempted to snatch a mudblood.

Draco set down his section of The Daily Prophet and continued his contemplation while concentrating on the condition of the fire when The Dark Lord appeared before him. The Dark Lord stood on the left cushion of the green leather sofa. Draco reflected on how lovely the shade of The Dark Lord's green dragon skin trousers (the ones all the Death Eaters wear, not the ones for hiking) complemented the sofa. The Dark Lord jumped down from the sofa with a resounding "humph" interrupting Draco's inner diatribe.

"My aim has been a bit shifty...what with that pretzel incident and the situation in Iraq and all," the Dark Lord alleged. The Dark Lord cleared his throat and whipped his cape around him as if to start again. In a low Death Eater growl, the kind Draco desperately wanted to imitate, the (or The) Dark Lord (take your pick) grumbled, "Draco, you have disappointed me. I expected you to have fulfilled my request by now." Draco glanced towards the ceiling and furrowed his brow; he cleared his throat and began, "But Master, gestation takes nine months, and then, you have to raise the little boogers, send them to the best schools, impart discipline and spoil them when the time is right. I think you may have to wait close to 18 years."

"Are you questioning my grand plan?" The Dark Lord growled.

"Right...er...no...well, yes, a little. I mean, here you've been doing the not-quite-alive thing for about a decade; then, dicking around with Potter for another two plus years, and now, you've just decided to populate the earth, taking 18 years mind you, with Death Eaters. It seems a little far fetched," Draco finished with a sigh.

"You...DO NOT QUESTION THE DARK LORD," the Dark Lord raged.

"Oh, right. Master, please forgive me," Draco cried as he bowed to the Dark Lord.

"You will find a suitable wife and breed Death Eaters to join my loyal and not-so-loyal legions," the Dark Lord growled.

"Oh, please Master I need direction," Draco groveled. "The task has proved tedious and tumultuous and tiresome and--"

The Dark Lord interrupted Draco's self-pitying speech, "Silence. I have faith in you, my loyal Death Eater." The words sparked confidence in Draco. "See," he thought to himself, "I am a real Death Eater." Draco's love of being in the service of the Dark Lord and indeed his love of the Dark Lord grew stronger. He looked upon the Dark Lord's face; in fact, Draco gazed into the Dark Lord's eyes. He whispered almost to himself, "You're not available are you, Master?"

'TO BREED, Draco?" the Dark Lord admonished. "You cannot breed with me," the Dark Lord continued in a softer tone obviously touched by the boy's loyalty.

"Well, you know, you were not-quite-human for so long; I thought the equipment might have gotten a little...fuzzy," Draco mumbled as he returned to his bow. The Dark Lord suddenly became angry, very angry, livid really. "You...DO NOT QUESTION MY HUMANHOOD...OR MANHOOD," the Dark Lord rumbled and with a flourish of his exceptionally well-tailored cape, the Dark Lord disappeared.

"Shit," Draco said aloud without any reservation, "totally mucked that one up." Draco retrieved his copy of the sports section of the Daily Prophet and read the caption, "Quiddich Match Held At Pomegranate Pitch Expected To Bring Huge Crowds." In his mind's eye, Draco evaluated the girls at school. "Maybe," he reflected, "I should try the Quiddich match instead." With that, Draco decided to scour Pomegranate Pitch instead of wasting time with the backward banshees of Hogwarts.