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When Draco Malfoy was ten years old, it occurred to him that he could take the characters from his favourite comic, which happened to be Marvin Miggs: the Madder Mishaps, and make them do whatever he wanted!

It was a time-consuming obsession. Draco introduced mysterious new characters with mysterious new powers. One gripping plot twist revealed Marvin to be the great-great-grandson of Merlin himself. Another saw him becoming entangled in a torrid love-affair with his arch-enemy, Maud. Draco wasn't always entirely accurate in his stories - his knowledge of Muggle lifestyles was quite limited, and he was often forced to make things up. However, at times he was almost taken-aback with his own genius.

His parents regarded it as a passing phase. Narcissa smiled and ruffled Draco's hair, remembering the angsty poems she had written as a teenager. Lucius, although a little worried that his son was fixated on a fictional Muggle, nevertheless was thankful that he had stopped harassing the House Elf.

Draco started Hogwarts the next year, but he didn't stop writing. He lay up late almost every night, often starting new stories before he had finished the last one. He had the latest Marvin Miggs stories Owled to him. From time to time, a bumbling villain showed up - Draco had christened him Larry Rotter, and took delight in destroying him in various humiliating ways.

He carried on in this way for a long while, and by the end of his Second Year, his interests could be listed as: 1) Secret Writing; 2) Tormenting Harry Potter and Like-Minded Gryffindors; 3) Quidditch. As the case always is with teenage boys, the list invariably jostled about from week to week, with the occasional appearance of 'sex' as a replacement for one of the others, but, as he was not participating in that activity on a regular basis (contrary to whatever his stories might attempt to prove), this was a rarity.

When Draco was thirteen years old, he entered his third year at Hogwarts, the year in which he was slashed by a vicious Hippogriff. Towards the end of the Autumn Term, he gave his latest masterpiece to Blaise Zabini to look at. He swaggered a bit while handing it over.

Blaise flicked through the parchment, occasionally stopping to read a passage here and there. He sniggered.

"This the best you can do? My nine-year-old brother could do better."

Blaise wasn't quite prepared for what happened next. Draco erupted.

Snatching the paper out of Blaise's hands, Draco accused him and his family committing various indecent acts with Muggles and Mudbloods, and anyway, it was Draco's story and he should be allowed to do whatever he liked with it, and anyway, Blaise shouldn't be mean to Draco because his arm was hurting him again, and anyway, would Blaise like to see whether he could do a better job?

Then, he flounced out.

Crabbe and Goyle made some vaguely threatening noises at the back of their throats, and followed.

Blaise was left standing there, a little stunned.

That night, Draco gathered all of his stories together and spread them around himself on his bed. The curtains were drawn together tightly. Carefully, carefully, he read through every single page, flinching at every mis-spelled word, every leap of logic. Stupid Blaise, he thought. Looks like a girl. He rubbed his hand angrily against his cheek.

"Incendio" - and it was gone.

After that, Secret Writing fell off Draco's list entirely. He dabbled with the prospect of sex as a permanent replacement, but, despite Pansy's best efforts, he couldn't conjure up any amorous feelings for her. He went home for Christmas and spent a lot of time on his own. He vaguely missed the House Elf.

In mid-June, Draco was doing a lot of moping. Quidditch was over for the year, a large number of Slytherins weren't talking to him, and Potter appeared to have discovered something else to occupy his interest. Draco was feeling more than a little shunned.

It was around this time that he met Geoff. Geoff was a Fourth Year Slytherin with wide blue eyes and glasses, who reputedly owned the largest collection of pornography in all Hogwarts, with the exception of Professor Flitwick. Draco had been quite surprised when Geoff had sauntered up to him.

"Here you go, squirt."

Draco opened his mouth to protest at the name, when he saw that Geoff had dropped a book at his feet. He picked it up.

Geoff whirled away, flicking his cape dramatically behind him. He was a little chubby. He was the type, Draco thought, who would grow up to become the sort of person who stalked vampires in the vain hope of becoming one.

Turning the book over, Draco read the front cover. WHO'S WHO IN THE WIZARDING WORLD, it said.

Well, just a bit, Draco thought.

He was still reading it over an hour later.

Geoff caught up with him the next day.

"Like it?"

"It has its moments," Draco answered sniffily, clutching the book protectively to his chest.

"Well, I heard that you liked to do...stuff, and I like to do...stuff, as well."

"Oh?" asked Draco politely, half-wondering whether he was being propositioned and thinking that a crowded Charms corridor wasn't the best place to make advances of that variety.

"You know. Writing stuff."

"Oh," said Draco, a little relieved.

"Look, I was thinking we could read stuff together. And write it. And I've done a few rough sketches as well..."

"Oh!" said Draco. He considered for a moment. "What, with people in...here?" He waved the book about, nearly decking a Ravenclaw Prefect on the head. She gave him a dirty look. He gave her one back.

"Yes," said Geoff, apparently growing in enthusiasm. "I'll Owl you over the summer, alright?"

"Well..." Draco began, uncertain as to what to say. It was one thing to write stories about little cartoon men; quite another to write about people. Living people. Who could track you down. And possibly lynch you.

Geoff bit his lip.

"Oh, go on, then," Draco said with a nasty scowl. "Explain it to me and I'll have a go. I'm not making any promises, though."

And write Geoff did. He sent Draco a number of detailed stories about the private lives of Celestina Warbeck and Miranda Goshawk. Geoff appeared to be under the impression that they both owned a large menagerie of Flobberworms and had a penchant for Butterbeer bubble-baths. Draco's eyes were quite wide when he lifted his eyes off of the page at last. It had never occurred to him that a wand could be used for that purpose.

Yes, Geoff seemed to be a very good writer - better than Draco had been, at least. And yet...Draco was sure that Geoff's stories were enjoyable for him, but they didn't do much for Draco.

Still, writing was appealing to him once more, and Draco thought that Geoff might be useful for bouncing ideas off. And he seemed rather pathetic. Malfoys were famous for their compassionate natures. Yes.

Draco was soon he was writing stories once more, and sharing them with Geoff. Geoff, like an easily-excited English teacher, raved about Draco's improvement in writing.

"We could both be journalists, some day!" he enthused, his glasses falling off his face. And by night, we could fight crime! was the hidden implication.

Draco looked down his (straight, aristocratic) nose at Geoff. "Malfoys," he said snidely, "are never linked with journalists," conveniently forgetting his Great Uncle Jasper's scandalous association with a girl who wrote recipes for Witch Weekly.

Despite Geoff's best efforts to induce Draco into writing about more Sapphic relationships, Draco couldn't be duped. In Fifth Year, the year in which Potter was kicked off the Quidditch team, he began brewing a story - a "plot-Niffler", as Geoff referred to them - about a young Cornelius Fudge working alongside a girlish Dolores Umbridge. Geoff was disgusted.

"Umbridge?" he asked, as though Draco had said, 'The entire Hufflepuff Quidditch team plus Hagrid.'

"Yes," Draco replied coolly, polishing his Prefect badge. "Alright, she's losing her looks a little," he conceded, "but I'm sure she was an extremely handsome woman in her youth. And I have nothing but the utmost respect for her," he added quickly, "so there'll be none of your kind of...stuff."

Surprisingly, Geoff looked quite disappointed.

Draco entered Sixth Year determined to make life hell for Potter, but found he couldn't bring himself to. He jeered at him a little bit, and made fun of his glasses, but Potter didn't seem to be terribly affected. Draco wondered what he was doing wrong, considered making a greater effort, then decided to put it off for another day and throw himself into his writing instead.

One afternoon at the beginning of February, Draco lay on his bed, sipping a mug of tea and doing a bit of writing. He was wearing glasses without any frames in them, to get into a more academic mood. Frowning over a slightly dubious use of the present-continuous, he scratched out a sentence and rewrote it. Satisfied, he allowed himself a brief smile.

At that moment, he was interrupted by Geoff, striding manfully in, leading a girl by the wrist. The girl was biting her nails and staring at the ground. She didn't look thrilled to be there.

"Look," began Geoff firmly. "We've being doing this lark for a while now. But I just don't feel that your stuff and my stuff are merging."

"Hm?" said Draco, carrying on writing.

"I think that she will have what you'll be looking for," Geoff said grimly. With that, he turned and left Draco's dormitory, pausing at the door as if to say, 'And may the Dark Lord have mercy on you.'

The girl wandered over to Draco's bed and sat on the end, rather awkwardly.

"I'm Calliope," she said after a short pause. "I'm a Ravenclaw. We - have Herbology together."

Draco put his pen down and looked up at her, his eyebrows raised.

"Geoff said that you might want to look at this." She indicated a folder stuffed full with pieces of parchment.

Draco looked.

"'The Weird Sisters' summer tour was long and hot. Fortunately, Merton and Myron knew how to have a good time...' What is this?" He flipped a page, and nearly fell off the bed. "Gyah!"

"Geoff thought that you might like it, since you were...you know..." She trailed off.

"I'm what?" asked Draco, very confused.

"You...you're a...shirt-lifter," she whispered.

It took a moment for the penny to drop.

"I am not!" he said indignantly.

"Aren't you?" Now she looked confused. "What about your crush on Potter?"

"I don't have a crush on Potter!" Draco howled, realising that his reputation was sullied forever.

"But...you're always rolling around on the floor together. And you've been obsessed with him for years. And besides, you'd look so pretty together." Calliope looked at him wistfully for a moment.

Draco paused for a moment, considering Potter. It was true, he wasn't awfully bad-looking. If only he'd do something about his hair and his glasses, then he might not look so terrible. And they did seem to get...hands-on, quite a bit. And was it normal to fixate on someone for so many years?

"I could write some stuff about you and Potter together, if you wanted..." Calliope bleated hopefully, interrupting his train of thought.

Draco shook his head. This was ridiculous.

"Does everyone think that me and Potter are...you know...?"

"Yes." Calliope nodded her head enthusiastically. She added, "Pansy Parkinson's been taking bets on how long it'll take you two to get together."

"Out!" he shrieked, silently cursing the traitorous Pansy.

Calliope scarpered.

Draco mused on what Calliope had told him for a few days. He became aware of being watched constantly, and began avoiding Potter like the plague. He once accidentally caught his eye at lunch, and to his dismay saw that money started changing hands at once. He scowled.

After a week of this, Draco could take no more. Lingering in a disused broom cupboard, he waited until Potter passed by, grabbed the back of his robes and yoinked him in.

"Ouch!" said Potter, glaring at him. He looked around. "It's dark in here," he said.

"Evidently," Draco replied, with a withering look, wondering how his fellow students could think that he'd be attracted to such a nimwit. "Lumos," he muttered, and his wand began to glow.

"Let me out of here, this place reminds me of my childhood," Potter said, looking indignant.

"Didn't you grow up in a cupboard under the stairs, rather than a broom cupboard?" Draco asked, with feigned interest. He was well-aware that he was stalling until the moment arrived.

"Same thing." Potter brushed himself down. "Why did you bring me here, anyway?"

"Well - " said Draco, and then realised that there was no point in explaining anything, so he just leaned over and kissed him.

It wasn't a very good kiss, and it didn't last more than five seconds.

"Bleugh," said Draco, pulling away and wiping his mouth. "Yuck. They want me to kiss that?"

"You're not great yourself, Malfoy," Potter shot back, wiping his own mouth. "Anyway, you started it."

"I mean, God," Draco continued, oblivious to what Potter was saying. "I knew that it would be bad, but I didn't think it would be that bad. No wonder Chang chucked you."

"It was a mutual break-up," said Potter icily.

He swung the door of the broom cupboard open...

...and was met with the sound of a thousand screaming voices - almost every student in the school was crowded around the door to the cupboard. Harry blinked, surprised. Draco appeared next to him, looking worried.

"Um," said Potter uncertainly.

"Er," said Draco eloquently, "er. I think that there's been a mistake. I mean, this isn't really - "

"Who had February fifteenth?" a voice called out.

A bevy of hands went up. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco noticed a sulky-looking Snape handing McGonagall a purse of moneys.

"Oh, Lord," said Draco, and pulled Potter back inside. The door closed.

"So," Potter started. "We've got a bit of a wait, it looks like."

"Brilliant, Potter." Draco slumped down against the wall. He felt wronged. He also felt mildly impressed by the speediness of the Hogwarts gossip-chain.

"We could...talk, I suppose."

"About what?"

"Hobbies, maybe?"

"What, like Quidditch?"

"Well...yeah."

There was silence for a few minutes, neither of them wanting to start a conversation first. Draco looked over at Potter and saw that he seemed to be going through an immense internal struggle.

Finally he said, "Have you ever written anything before?"

"Maybe," Draco grunted, his interest reluctantly piqued.

"I heard about your writing...thing," Potter blurted out at last. "And, well...this."

Potter pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket and thrust it in Draco's direction, covered in a messy scrawl. He blinked, a little surprised.

Helga and Godric's Wedding, it said at the top of the page. What followed was a lengthy description of the joyous union in a flowery, poetic prose. The story took him back a few years. Draco could spot several spelling mistakes, and Potter didn't appear to be aware of the rituals that took place at a wizarding wedding. Draco even noticed a character called Barry Notter, who was acting as Godric's Best Man.

Draco looked over at Harry, and smiled.

The End