Harry Potter and the Next Plot on His Life

Chapter 02 - Evil Chapter Two That's Kind of Evil With Evil Situations in it and Other Marginally Evil Things That Occur at Evil Times on the Axis of Evil. Is that Evil Enough, for you Evil readers? P.S. It's Evil. (Our Collective Note: It's not really evil at all......evilevilevil.............evil.)

Draco Malfoy awoke to the black, velvety underside of his sleeping mask. He immediately began his morning rituals. In the shower he washed, exfoliated and treated his hair with a deep cream five minute mask. Afterwards, he applied his combination skin treatment while getting a Magi-Manicure from one of the Slytherin-designated House Elves and flipping through Wizard Vogue Magazine. Finally, he fixed his hair, waxed his eyebrows, and picked out Hogwarts Robe #168 with the silver embroidery around the traditionally gold letter H.

Normally all of the post-shower activities would be done with the help of Crabbe and Goyle, but since they started off the year idolizing a pop-icon impostor gone horribly wrong, Draco found himself unable to even look in their general direction--the embarrassment he felt for them was too strong.

"Ergo, I am late to class," he explained all of this to Professor Sprout at nine o'clock Herbology with the Gryffindors.

"Yes, yes, I know your girly facial treatments hinder your punctuality, Mister Malfoy. However, if you are late to another one of my classes I will personally feed you to one of my Mandrakes," Professor Sprout shot back at him, a bit sassy for nine in the morning.

Draco frowned, sat down and started to take notes when Pansy Parkinson nudged him with one bony elbow. "She sounds serious, Draco," she said with concern.

"Shouldn't you be off tending to your ovaries, Parkinson?" Draco sneered and turned back to his quill. Pansy whimpered and turned back to her own work, inwardly licking her verbal wounds.

A wave of white blonde hair caught Draco's attention from across the room. He turned to see his cousin Varicose sitting at Harry Potter's table. Draco had to admit that Varicose was exceedingly attractive and although that was a given, seeing as she bore the Malfoy name, it was somewhat unnerving. Inwardly, he wished he had a mirror so he could compare his bone structure and coloring to hers. "She's not prettier than I am, is she?" he pondered in his head. But he knew the answer: of course she wasn't! Firstly, as a male, he was far superior to her weak gender. And secondly, the Gryffindor colors did nothing for her skin tone. She was far too pale to be wearing that vibrant a red! And gold had never really been in unless it was 14 karat. Or 1980. (Aja and Michelle's Note to Leigh: Oh, yeah! We like it!) (Leigh's note: When trying to relate the tackiness of such a color, Mc Hammer parachute pants come to mind.)

Really, though, how shameful it was to have a relative in Gryffindor. After all, sixteen consecutive generations of Malfoys were proud Slytherin Alumni. Leave it up to his unconventional cousin to ruin sixteen generations of evil. She'd always been the odd one in the family--he'd heard his parents talking about her and her dim future as a pseudo-evil florist hundreds of times.

Once, when Draco was eight, he had killed her pet kitten Snockers and she'd actually cried. It was almost as though she regularly exhibited emotion. It was blasphemous in his family to even think a remorseful thought yet he remembered clear as day those strange rivers of salt pouring from her eyes. She hadn't even the decency to wipe them away and spare him the horror of her dry pink nose and overall frazzled appearance. He remembered running to his mother and asking her if crying was contagious. He never wanted to look like that.

Along with his personal surprise at the decision to stop her evil homeschooling, Draco couldn't wait to tell his uncle Maximus, a firm believer in the Dark Arts, that his offspring was a dorky Gryffindor. The look on his face would be worth at least 100 evil Galleons or enough to launch a thousand evil ships. Either way, it'd be evil!

After suffering pangs of embarrassment every time Varicose got too near to The Enemy, Herbology rushed by in a blur of evil light. Okay, not evil light, just regular light. But it was admittedly harsh on his flawless complexion.

The hallways of Hogwarts were virtually crawling with pimple-faced cretins rushing to further their miserable educations in All Things Good. Draco snarled, his lip curling in response to all this contaminated air which would surely do nothing to unclog his pores after the stifling hour and a half in the greenhouses.

Despite Crabbe and Goyle's recent departure from worshipping at the alter of Draco, he was carrying on quite well by himself. His newly found independence was quite invigorating, even if he didn't have anyone to carry his books from class to class. The only thing he really missed about their company was the sound of his own voice shouting out orders in no general direction. He intensely pondered doing so now, but decided that the insufferable students would think him more "crazy" than evil, charming, and darkly mysterious, which was the dynamic he was going for. On account of his newly-found independence, Draco was not expecting to see anyone in the hall that morning aside from his flocks of admiring 12 year old girls. However, as he turned around a corner, only one hallway away from Potions, Draco bumped head first into a skinny ribcage that was oddly familiar. This excited him because his voice was so under-used today and he really wanted to shout at someone.

"Bloody hell, do these hallways need traffic signs to keep the flow going? Put on a turn signal, Ribby, and get the hell out of my way!" Draco huffed, just as he stepped back to look at the man towering over him. He looked strangely familiar, cold gray eyes, sharp slanting cheekbones, angular chin... But surely Draco would never befriend someone with such an atrocious haircut!

"Son," the man spoke. Draco jumped back immediately, having always despised old men who took to calling youthful children by such endearing terms.

"Listen pal, I know of a good stylist and maybe I'll feel generous enough to give you his information if you would kindly remove yourself from my path," Draco rolled his eyes. The man responded with a quizzical, if slightly put-off look. "Well honestly, someone has to help you out with that thing you call a hairstyle. It looks like five nifflers were mating and died on your head mid-orgy." (Aja's Note: Gratuitous sexual reference, what?)

"Draco, I don't have time for your not-so-cutting remarks. This is hardly the moment for beauty advice," the man spoke, and recognition suddenly dawned on Draco. The man standing before him was indeed his father.

"Father?" he gasped, losing the ability to speak for a moment, which for Draco, was something. Quickly though, the embarrassment set in and he dragged his father backwards into a closet by the collar of his shirt. The shame he would feel if he was spotted in the presence of a man with such a haircut, much less said man being his own father, was unfathomable. "What," he asked, pointing a trembling finger at his father's head, "is that?!"

"You like?" his father asked, turning his head side to side so Draco could see the extent of the hairstyle's ugliness. Lucius seemed unnaturally pleased by it. "It's business in the front, party in the back!"

"That may be, but it's ugly all over."

"Draco, honestly, this is no time to be harping on a haircut. It's just another little sign of devotion that Voldemort conjured up for his Death Eaters." Then, in an off-hand matter, he added, "I set up an appointment with Lou later this afternoon for yours."

Draco grabbed at his head, as if to protect his hair from any such styling fate. "No one is coming near me with that thing. I have been coming to question this evil devotion bit for a while now. First it was those awful tattoos, then those Members Only jackets, which thankfully went out after a month or two, and now this...this monstrosity?"

"It's not a monstrosity, it's a mullet," Lucius added helpfully.

"I don't bloody well care what it is. The next thing you know he'll have his head-quarters set up in a trailer in Alabama and we'll be sitting around campfire fire telling 'You know you're a Death Eater if...' jokes. And frankly, bestiality was never my thing."

"Draco, I'm not asking you to get the haircut. I'm telling you. Don't make me put you over my knee. I don't care that you're fifteen. A boy is never too old for..."

"Gee, this is starting to sound a little too familiar. Next you'll be saying, 'Don't make me pull this broom over, son' or, 'I'll give you something to Apparate about.'"

"Draco," Lucius began, but Draco cut him off.

"Dad, I'm going to be late for class."

"Wait, hold on, there was one more thing," he tapped his chin in contemplation for a moment. "Let me see, evil-haircuts, evil devotion...oh yeah, Voldemort has recently gone back to his French roots."

"Well I can certainly see your roots," he frowned. "But what do you mean French roots? I always knew he had a terrible affinity for Gerard Depardiu and chocolate croissants, but that doesn't exactly make him French, now does it?" Draco paused for a moment and a terrible thought occurred to him. "Oh no, he's not planning on instating berets as part of the evil dress code, is he? Cause that would be the last straw." (Leigh's Note: If they were strawberry berets, than this would officially be the second Prince reference.)

"The Artist Formerly known as Voldemort is now going by Vol De Mort," Lucius enunciated in a stunning French accent.

"What's the difference?" Draco asked.

"Something about the spacing of it. I can write it for you if you'd like..."

"No, no, there's no need."

"Well, you mentioned Vol De Mort having a change of secret lair and you're right. He's hiding out in..." Lucius paused as if checking the janitor's closet for spies. He lowered his voice. "A Parisian escargot farm."

"Bloody hell, he's embraced their cuisine as well? Can we except frog-legs at the annual evil Christmas dinner?" He motioned towards the door and stopped and added as a last remark, "And the haircut is completely out of the question."

Draco felt his father's long fingers clamp down on his forearm and turned to see his father's formidable expression. "I'll expect you at 4:30 Draco. No later." With that, Lucius Apparated in a whirl of dust and Draco was left standing in the broom closet alone, without even a suitable snogging partner. (Aja's note: Yeah, that rule about not Apparating on the Hogwarts grounds? Out the window. Sorry, canon!) He briefly wondered what the point of closets were if not to make-out in as he ran toward Potions. (Michelle's Note: I'm pretty sure everyone knows the purpose of a closet. No one says "What is the small room all about? Perhaps, making out with people, yes I'll accept that.")

---

At lunchtime, over iced pumpkin juice and taco salads, the trio discussed their day thus far. Herbology had gone by without any significant event other than Professor Sprout's verbal mocking of Malfoy's perpetual femininity and Potions was as nerve-wracking as usual. (Leigh's Note: The newly-acquired Draco action figure whines vehemently from inside his cardboard box. "I object!") Hermione, whose salad was meatless, wanted to say something about Varicose Malfoy's isolating herself from the rest of the house but instead, with a pleading look from Dean, turned to Ron.

"So, how have you guys decided to decorate your dorm room this year?" she asked simply, munching on her iceberg lettuce. Ron blinked and looked down at his plate, turning pink. Hermione couldn't be sure but she thought he kicked Dean under the table. "I sure know that pictures of friends help make things a little cozier. 'The bigger, the better' is always my motto. I'm not talking eight by ten, I'm talking poster size!" Ron started gathering up his things for the next class and looking frantically toward the door. "Ron, you seem quiet, what are your thoughts on poster-sized pictures of friends hung in the vicinity of your bed?" Hermione asked, as though she hadn't noticed Ron's sudden mission to leave as quickly as possible.

"W-what?" he stuttered in response. (Michelle's Note: STUTTER!) (Leigh's Note: I can barely resist the Dave Sedaris references here. Next thing you know Ron will be saying, "many a river" instead of rivers to avoid the s.) (Aja's Note: I think that only people with lisps avoid using the letter s. Does it apply to stutterers, too?)

"Poster-sized pictures of scantily clad female friends hung above your bed, what are your thoughts on this?" Hermione chomped down on another forkful of lettuce. Ron stared at her in shock and disbelief.

"Look over there!" Ron pointed quickly to the Slytherin table where the Slytherins were eating their lunches in near-silence. "They're...they're...breathing, look!"

Hermione turned and followed Ron's gesture. "Yeah, they are kind of breathi--wait a second!" Hermione stopped as she heard Ron's voice whisper something. Something that sounded suspiciously like "Seamus, create a diversion, I've got to get out of here!"

Hermione redirected her attention back to her salad just in time to see Seamus jump onto the Gryffindor table with enviable enthusiasm. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw a blur of red hair running for the door. She went to follow him but before she could even get out of her seat, suddenly a red and yellow scarf was around her neck and Seamus was gyrating in front of her with three buttons popped off his robes.

"IIIIIIIIIF YOU WANT MY BODY, AAAAAAND YOU THINK I'M SEXY..." Seamus sang at the top of his lungs. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown were already squealing with pubescent delight and throwing Knuts at him from three seats down. Hermione quickly ducked her head and the scarf that bound her to the serenading Seamus slipped off. She ran toward the door, desperate to catch up with Ron. As she left she heard Seamus' voice grow considerably louder. "COME ON SUGAR LET ME KNOOOOOW!" (Michelle's note: Wow, Seamus really came out of his shell! The first year he's all "my eyebrows have grown back!" and now he's making with the stripping!) (Aja's note: It's all that freedom we allow our characters.) (Michelle's note: Yeah, the freedom to make them be whoever we need them to be for the scene!)

Hermione caught sight of Ron outside on the grounds and sped up. "Ron, wait!" she shouted, her mouth muscles working overtime to form the easy words. (Aja and Michelle's note: Okay, just watch the movie. Emma Watson is like a bad actor in a kung fu movie with the mouth movements. Every six mouth movements equals one spoken syllable. She's like Mandy Moore in that damn "Candy" video!) Ron turned around to glare at her, but he stopped walking anyway, and allowed her to catch up.

"I guess I'll have to face the awkward music sometime," he said, as she approached him.

"So," she said, feeling almost weak in Ron's presence as he stopped so close to her.

"Um, Hermione," he started in an apologetic tone.

"Ron, listen. I know you like me," Hermione stated this as nonchalantly as she announced answers in Transfiguration classes. She watched as Ron digested her statement, wobbling a bit on unsteady feet as his skin turned a lobster shade of red. It was cute, she thought, how he blushed and looked away, always the self-conscious one.

"I pretty much figured that your knowing about the poster would help you cement that theory," he forced the words out.

"Well, I thought I'd spell it out for you anyway, seeing as you're on your way to becoming a Super Seventh Year," she smiled smugly, trying to suppress a sudden heat from rising to her cheeks.

"I will kill everyone you love," Ron muttered as he stumbled backward in the grass. "Wait, what?" Ron said, more to himself than her. ( Our Collective Note: Along with a speech therapist we suggest an Anger Management class for poor Ron.) (Aja's note: The action figure is back atop my computer monitor, things having been settled after a peace-offering of chocolate chips. "Ron would never say that," mini-Harry says between mouthfuls. I reach up to take the chips away from him. "No! Wait! I meant to say that Ron has quite the temper and violent streak. Every day it's 'Avada Kedavra' this and 'Where's my chainsaw' that. I'm really rather afraid to sleep in the same room with him!" "That's better," I say, ruffling his plastic hair.)

Hermione stared at him blankly for a moment.

"I mean, um, for how long have you known?" he asked sweetly.

"Listen," she started, instantly forgiving all death threats and holding down a giggle with exceptional control, "I know you like to think yourself remarkably stealth and under the radar with your romantic interests and that's why it pains me to say this, Ron, but borrowing my Muggle Studies textbook and returning it with the words 'I heart Hermione' scrawled on every page was a pretty big clue."

Ron turned even redder and his eyes were the size of teacups as Hermione smiled earnestly and placed two hands on his shoulders.

"I-I thought that was invisible ink," he muttered quietly. (Michelle's Note: Again?)

"And don't get me wrong, I'm terribly flattered. In fact, I might go so far as to say that the feeling is quite mutual." At this, Ron's face returned to it's regular skin color and the hint of a large grin was playing at the edges of his mouth.

"I knew it! I knew you liked me!" he smiled broadly and keeping with his bad timing, Ron leaned in and pressed his lips to Hermione's. Caught off-guard, her eyes widened and she pulled away immediately.

"Ron, you're not listening to me."

"What? Yes I am! Three main points: you know about the poster, you know I like you, and you like me, too. Did I leave anything out?" Ron counted the points out on his fingers and looked quizzically at Hermione who was sighing deeply and rubbing her temples.

"You left out the part where I wasn't finished talking. And the part about the invisible ink, but I'll let that one slide."

"Oh, thanks a million," Ron rolled his eyes and then thinking better of it, added sheepishly, "go on."

"Well, I've been thinking it over," Hermione started, and she had in fact been thinking about it for a while now. The actual situation between Ron and herself, if romantic involvement were added, would be very time-consuming and therefore constricting, she had concluded one night. So a relationship would have to be put off. At least until after OWL's. However, Hermione hadn't taken into account her own raging teenage hormones or how adorably lanky and sunburned Ron would look after their summer apart. "And it wouldn't be good for your academic career if...if um...if we were to," she seemed to be having trouble finding the words.

"Go out?" Ron asked helpfully.

"Yes, that," Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. "And I don't want that on my conscience."

"What? You could help me study," he widened his eyes in an endearing sort of way and grabbed her hand. Her stomach jumped at the contact as though Neville's toad were caught underneath her skin. She did not push Ron's hand away.

"No, I can't, though. I'm very busy this semester and I'm taking some advanced classes. And if we were together it would be a big distraction from your studies." Her voice wavered unnaturally as she said this and it surprised her how difficult it was going to be to go through with this plan, especially when Ron made her feel all gooey inside by just standing in her general vicinity. (Our Collective Note: And making death threats, that too!)

"So what you're saying is that I'm too dumb for you to date," Ron still held her hand gently in his own but narrowed his eyes and glared at her.

"No! No, you know that's not it."

"Well, isn't there anything I can do to change your mind?" his strained voice pleaded with her. Hermione thought for a moment. It would be mutually beneficial if Ron could somehow prove his scholastic abilities and she wouldn't have to worry about messing up his study schedule. And the sooner the better.

"Okay, I've come up with something," she answered, finally. "If you get an A on Snape's first exam, then you can take me out to dinner. And we'll see how things go from there."

"An A? But Hermione, that's impossible! I think that the first requirement for getting an A is that you sleep nightly in the Slytherin dormitories!" Ron looked distraught at this unbelievable request but kept quiet when she shot him a look.

"Fine then. Find someone else to date," she pulled her hand from his and scowled.

"No, no. You're the only one I want. I...I'll do it," Ron said, a determined look washing over him. "An A on Snape's first exam."

"Yes," Hermione smiled and put her arm around Ron, nudging him up toward the castle.

"You just start thinking of what you'd like to eat," he smirked as they made their way up the sloping lawns.

"And you just start taking that poster down," Hermione replied pointedly. (Our Collective Note: We know we wrote it but doesn't Hermione just bum everyone out? She's all business, taking away everyone else's fun. But seeing as we wrote it, is it really ok that we mock the story?)

"Aw, but it helps motivate me..."

"Ron!"

"Oh, alright."

---

As Ron and Hermione sped from the Gryffindor table at lunchtime, Harry was left with his half-finished taco salad and a sullen look on his face. Seamus was busy putting his clothes back on, counting his money, and rejoicing in the fact that the oversized poster of Hermione might stop haunting his dreams. Dean was pushing his salad around his plate with a fork, a hungry look on his face. (Leigh's note: Could we have an eating disorder in the works?) (Aja's note: Good eye, Leigh!)

"Dean, sometimes hunger subsides if you actually lift the food to your mouth," Seamus noticed his friend's reluctance to eat. "That's the first step, anyway."

Harry laughed. Dean had returned from his summer vacation looking only slightly healthier than a half-cremated, osteoporosis-riddled skeleton. It was quite alarming, but Harry was never one to give advice about food-ingestion and so he had minded his own business and greeted Dean with nothing but great enthusiasm. Seamus, however, seemed to find great joy in taunting his best friend's astonishing weight-loss.

"Shut up," Dean shot Seamus a sharp look and the conversation continued in a hush of whispers. Harry sighed and decided to spend the last fifteen minutes of lunch in the library. Over the summer he had gone to the public library thinking that, like at Hogwarts, it would be the bright social mecca of the intelligent elite. However, it had been nothing but a disappointment, containing about sixty-eight copies of A Separate Peace and a large Encyclopedia section. (Aja's note: This is for Michelle, who just this summer found out what a crock our town's library is.)

As Harry walked down the straight hallway toward the library, Draco Malfoy rounded a corner and started down the hall toward him. Harry's feet slowed to the pace of a handicapped snail and he gaped open-mouthed at the sight in front of him.

Draco Malfoy's billowing robes flowed around his delicate body like a black smoke cloud, over-accentuating his light, shimmering hair. His gray eyes were cold and piercing as the sharp angles of his face tilted upward. He walked with a cat-like precision and a refined grace, stalking through the halls with a remarkable swagger. And there was something exhaustively naughty about his hips. Harry watched Malfoy's movements as though they were in slow motion--the requisite hair-flip, the free arm swaying up and down the length of his body as though he were a runway model, his tongue creeping out to lick his full lips. Somewhere in the back of Harry's mind he could hear "I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight" playing. (Leigh's note: Wouldn't the more appropriate song be: "At laaaaassssstttt my love has come alonggg..." Also there should be some doves flying.) (Aja and Michelle's Note: What? Probably not. We like the blatant infringement on "Never Been Kissed." Although doves...nice touch!) He half-noticed a flock of doves swoop down the corridor.

"Potter, I thought I smelled a certain floral bouquet too sweet for either of the Patil girls," Draco shot as he strutted by. "Slut." (Aja's and Michelle's note: We just wanted someone to say slut and we really didn't have a good insult here, so there ya go! Slut is always a great standby: stinging and right to the point.)

Harry narrowed his green eyes into tiny slits and watched resentfully as Malfoy swaggered elegantly around another corner and out of sight. He wondered if Malfoy knew that the smell was most likely permanent and if he did, how much time he'd have to think of better insults than that completely unfounded one about his sexual endeavors. Hermione had explained to Harry about the Forever Floral Fragrance only this morning on the way to Herbology. She had said she would look into some sort of cure but it was very unlikely to find one.

In the library, Harry perused books on Counter Curses as he sat alone at a wooden table. The study session was proving to be a bit harder than he had originally planned because Cho Chang was sitting two tables away, a half-empty tray of food and three books in front of her. It looked like she was avoiding socializing with the rest of her house and maybe, Harry thought, everyone else as well?

This was the closest he had been to Cho since he asked her to the ball last year. He was able to study her more closely now, and he did so, searching for some kind of sign of her subsiding grief. 'Why's that bandana tied around her head like that?' he wondered silently. And what was with that eye patch over her left eye? And why were her lips outlined in black and yet the insides were red?

Cho looked almost numb as she flipped through pages of the largest book, scanning the words quickly. The horribly sharp pangs of guilt about Cedric's death still shot through Harry daily, especially when provoked by a look at the Quidditch field or the Hufflepuff table or Cho, who had a quiet sort of sadness about her, as though she were torn to pieces inside but was determined to handle the heartache with grace.

Harry's introspective time was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Varicose Malfoy, who approached Cho and sat down at her table as though the two were old friends.

"Yo, 'sup, V-Boz?" Cho asked, her words slurring together unnaturally. (Our Collective Note: V-Boz like T-Boz from TLC, you'll get it in about a paragraph, or maybe you won't, either way, it's not that good of a joke!)

"Word, bitch, I just had like Piznotions with Siznape. Now it's back to my crib, yo, fo' shizzle!" Varicose replied. Harry hadn't heard her speak yet, but he sure thought that was somehow out of character. Wasn't she supposed to be a Malfoy? (Our Collective Note: We don't know about you but we're dying over here "Piznotions? Siznape?" That's comedy gold people! If you don't see it, we're sorry for you.)

"I hear that shit, yo. You get the new 'Lil Warlock album? It dropped last week and it's tiiiiiiight!"

"Yeah, I feel that. How's your shrine to Left Eye Lopez goin', girl?" Varicose asked, smacking her gum.

"Bitch, it's great. I been wearin' dis eye patch in memory of her phat beats, yo," Cho said, while looking up at the ceiling and pointing. "She's up there wif my man now. Keepin' him some company. She best not be touchin his fine ass, though, or I be killin' her ass again when I get up there!" (Leigh's Note: Hahahaha!) (Aja's Note: Action Figure Harry looks at me, bewildered. "I don't understand a word they're saying!" I sigh. "What, no thugged out ghetto lingo in wizarding Britain?" Silence. "Oh, go eat some more chocolate.")

Harry noticed Varicose looked vaguely uncomfortable at this juncture, possibly because she was running out of ghetto sayings.

"Um, keepin it real, girlfriend! Talk to tha hand!" she replied. Cho looked at her with confusion. "Right, well my criznib is callin' me so I'm out, yo!"

"Peace out!" Cho replied, looking after Varicose as she walked away.

Harry watched this exchange with much interest and much confusion. No one had said "Talk to the hand" since 1999 and even then they were unfashionable. Varicose must have strict wizard parents who didn't let her watch the proper amount of Jenny Jones. He watched as Varicose approached the librarian.

"Yes, good day, can you assist me? I can't seem to locate the Mammoth Catalogue of Wizarding Etiquette," she said in a proper British accent.

At once Harry decided that this Varicose was quite the mystery. How did she know Cho AND ghetto slang? Realizing he was staring, Harry turned back to his own book, lost in a tangle of endless thoughts.

"Some girls are crazy," Harry figured aloud, while turning a page in his book absentmindedly.

"Yeah, just listen to what I have to say about it," a voice replied suddenly and Harry looked up, startled, to see Ron's grinning face across from his own. Hermione was standing next to him, hands on her hips, rolling her eyes. "You've got to watch out for the beautiful ones," Ron continued and Hermione's face softened considerably as she took a seat next to him.

"Sorted out the mystery of the scandalous poster, have you?" Harry smiled slyly.

"Yes, and it's getting the hell off your wall," Hermione replied caustically. Ron and Harry looked at each other in confusion for a moment before shrugging.

The swelling awkward silence was interrupted by the flapping of two feathery wings making their way toward their table. Hedwig appeared to have a delivery, and landed swiftly next to Harry's book. He gently took the package, which was an oversized baguette, from his owl and patted her gingerly.

"...does Hedwig have a tattoo?" Ron asked, squinting at a space above Hedwig's legs. Harry looked up. Apparently Hedwig's glam phase had not yet relented as today she was dressed in a low cut pair of leather pants. Harry shrugged in response and went back to studying his large loaf of bread.

"I think more importantly, Hedwig has a large silver cross on her forehead," Hermione pointed out, reaching out to touch the glittering paint. "Harry, what'd you get?"

"Um, I think it's a baguette," Harry answered.

"No, seriously, look at this." Ron was talking again, moving his face closer to inspect this alleged tattoo. "I think it's either a bar-code or the word 'Noel.' Does Hedwig particularly enjoy the warm feelings of Christmas?"

"Who doesn't? But the real question here is if she enjoys it enough to commemorate it by getting it inked into her skin for all eternity," Hermione said.

"I heard," Ron began in an excited whisper. "That Snape has a tattoo of Betty Boop on his ass!"

"Ron," Hermione said with admonishment.

"Do you know this from personal experience, Ron?" Harry smiled.

"Maybe the Mudblood knows," Draco Malfoy's scathing voice chimed in from behind them. "She kisses it so much."

"Ohhhh SNAP!" Cho yelled, from two tables away. Draco nodded approvingly in Cho's direction before continuing further into the library. Hermione looked angry but brushed her hurt aside when Ron proceeded to steal a piece of the baguette and stuff it into his mouth.

"RON!"

"What?!" Ron said, through a rather large mouthful of half-chewed bread. "This has no animal products in it, or are you suddenly a vegan?"

"There are so many things wrong with this. I could list them if you'd like. A number one, you are eating Harry's mail!" Hermione shouted at him. "B number two, Hedwig's been carrying that thing for goodness knows how long. She's apparently been frequenting tattoo parlors, you could get Hepatitis C from that! And C number three, we don't know who sent that bread, it could be from Voldemort for all we know."

"Yes, Hermione," Ron said, swallowing the bread. "Voldemort is sooooo likely to send out baked goods."

"If it is from him," Harry put in, "then his quest for world domination is clearly slipping."

"Hmph," Hermione looked angry, still. "Well, the other points still stand."

Harry went to argue against her, but something caught his eye. Where Ron had torn off a piece of the baguette, a roll of parchment was poking out of the bread. He pulled it out and opened it. Hermione nudged Ron hard and gestured to the letter being yanked from the baked good. (Michelle's note: What's another word for 'big loaf of bread'?)

Harry read the note in an indoor voice, per the librarians wishes, to his friends.

Dearest Harrykins,

As usual, I'm saddened that my latest attempt on your life was a failure. As I learned as a child growing up in a small chateau in the South of France, "you can't win them all!" However, this angers me, as I would very much like to be able to 'win them all' and so in an effort to thwart reality, I have kidnapped your friend Colin Creevey. Hope to see you soon, you horribly predictable thorn in my side, you!

All my evil, evil love,

VDM

"This is horrible!" Hermione's eyes widened considerably and her knuckles turned white as she gripped the table.

"Wait, there's a PS," Harry hushed her.

PS: If you like the bread, I've enclosed a catalogue of my various baked goods. I'll give you a good break on the prices if you join the Jelly of the Month club.

"Who the HELL can this be from?" Harry was outraged at not only the shoddy quality of the bread, which was leaving crumbs all over the freaking table, but also at the fact that Colin was kidnapped!

Ron, who had apparently found the catalogue stashed in the other end of the bread, was not paying any attention to the conversation. "I don't know," he fixed his eyes firmly on one page of the magazine, "this Jelly of the Month club seems like it would be a really good gift idea for my parents. Look at the variety of the flavors and each jar comes with it's own color coordinated ribbon tied in a tiny little bow!"

"Harry," Hermione said, after skimming the letter on her own. "VDM, who could that be?"

"Yeah, weird to monogram such a highly personal letter!" Harry shook his head, desperate to figure out this conundrum.

"Who do we know with the initials VDM?" Hermione thought hard.

"I think that's what is going to set this company apart--that extra time and love that they put into each one of their products," Ron muttered introspectively. "So many companies today just skimp on the presentation."

"Have you seen Colin today?" Hermione ignored Ron.

"Only every morning when he's snapping homoerotic pictures of me as I stumble into the bathroom. But come to think of it," Harry realized, "I haven't seen him since dinner last night."

"Me neither! He wasn't in Potions," Hermione replied, in complete Freak Out mode.

"That's it, this is such a deal, I'm sending in for a subscription to this Jelly club for my mum. She's obsessed with jams and I think she'd appreciate the ribbons, too," Ron decided, but then seeing the rage in Hermione's eyes, he folded the magazine up and stuck it in his back pocket. "But seriously, guys, the dictionary definition of kidnapped means that you're taken away."

"Oh, thank you for that," Harry spat. "I was just about to get a dictionary and look it up. You saved me so much time, thank you!"

Annoyed at the bickering which was putting a serious damper on solving the current caper, Hermione shouted above her friends' voices. "Who is VDM?"

"Ask Draco," came a small voice from the next table. Harry looked up and saw Varicose Malfoy looking right back at him as the bell for the next class rang.