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The Bachelor by Ms H

Format: Short story
Chapters: 7
Word Count: 7,848

Rating: 15+
Warnings: No Warnings

Genres: Humor
Characters: Draco, Ginny, Harry, Hermione, Oliver Wood, Voldemort

First Published: 04/02/2004
Last Chapter: 04/02/2004
Last Updated: 04/02/2004

Death Eater Draco searches for the perfect girl to fulfill the Dark Lord's wishes. Comedy. Complete.

Chapter 1: Parvati Patil
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A/N: I own nothing.

Summary: Death Eater Draco searches for the perfect girl to fulfill the Dark Lord’s wishes.

The Bachelor

Chapter 1: Parvati Patil

Draco Malfoy looked down at his disfigured left forearm. The ceremony to incorporate him into the legion loyal to The Dark Lord, or to make him a Death Eater, had been surprisingly easy and uneventful. He Crucio cursed a mudblood, killed a muggle and had the dark mark burned into his skin. It was a no brainer. Now, however, the Dark Lord’s whims created quite a burden on Draco; The Dark Lord expected him to find a wife suitable to produce the next generation of Death Eaters.

As Draco was only seventeen and still in his last year at Hogwarts, this seemed like a completely unreasonable request. If he married now, he’d never ride through Paris with his beautiful French lover and the warm wind in his hair. Oh wait, yes he would. He didn’t have to be faithful to his wife…just make babies. “Hum,” he thought, “making babies could be fun, with the right girl of course.”

Although the obvious choice would have been Pansy Parkinson, Draco wanted to sow some Death Eater oats. He wanted to force a girl to marry him; he wanted to see tears and sorrow and feel power. Pansy would just be all together too willing. Draco surveyed the Great Hall. By far the most physically attractive girl at school was Parvati Patil. Draco decided he would simply kidnap her and marry her. He enlisted the aid of his minions or goons or whatever you prefer. The kidnapping went very quickly and again entirely to easily. Parvati didn’t kick or bite or anything. She just allowed herself to be carried over Crabbe’s shoulder while continuing to buff her nails and sing quietly.

“Will you shut up,” Draco Barked.

“Oh, sure. I’m sorry, “ Parvati whispered as she continued to buff her nails. “Hey, Draco?” Parvati continued.

“Yeah? What do you want, you silly little wench?” Draco tried to incorporate as much menace, superiority and evil as he could.

“Are you kidnapping me? ‘Cause, if you are, I was wondering if we could stop by my room? My mother sent me the most beautiful yellow Yves Saint Laurent bag and it is just perfect for a kidnapped damsel in distress, you know?” Parvati lifted her left hand in a flourish as she spoke the last part.

“No,” Draco returned somewhat unnerved.

“No, you’re not kidnapping me or no, we can’t pick up my bag?” Parvati inquired in a completely unaffected tone.

“Yes, I’m kidnapping you. You’re going to be my wife, and we’re going to produce Death Eaters. I am forcing you to marry me.” Malfoy tried to stay calm. This was not going as planned. He was supposed to spark terror in the hearts of good, muggle-loving folks. He was supposed to carry her off screaming and kicking and pleading.

“Oh, I love a wedding. But, I guess I’ll have to have my seamstress whip something up in black. Merlin, it’s a shame we can’t stop by my room. I have a lovely Mid-evil Cross necklace. I could be so Gothic.” Parvati was obviously completely unaffected by Malfoy.

“Crabbe, put her down,” Malfoy turned to Parvati, “I’ve decided to spare you. I’ve changed my mind. Get out of my sight.” He was starting to get angry. His eyes flashed and he imagined that he must look absolutely terrifying. Yet, Parvati seemed to disagree. She stepped closer to him and touched his hair. He felt a rush of emotion, “probably lust,” he thought.

“Are you sure, Draco? I’ve always thought you were kinda cute.” Parvati ran her hand through his hair. He shivered, “I’m sure. Get out of here.” She turned and walked out of the corridor.

This was not at all right. He wasn’t getting anywhere. She obviously had no objection to being carried off and forced to marry him. For a moment, his ego inflated. He must be really good looking to have made her overlook the fact that he’s an evil Death Eater. That or, he thought, “I must be absolute rubbish as a Death Eater.” No, his enter monologue supplied. It wasn’t him; it was her problem. She had strange priorities. With that rationale, he decided to choose another matrimonial candidate.

Chapter 2: Luna Lovegood
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A/N: Guess what? I own nothing.

Chapter 2 Luna Lovegood

Draco stomped down the hall with his minions or goons or whatever you prefer. “This is ridiculous,” he said aloud. Suddenly, two girls stepped out of the corridor. Draco considered both to be very pretty. Yet, the one on the right, with the flaming red hair was an impossibility. A Malfoy could never marry a Weasley. So, Draco chose the strange, but pretty, blonde, Luna Lovegood.

Draco motioned to Crabbe, who immediately hid along the wall and grabbed Luna towards him. Ginny just kept walking and failed to notice the disappearance of Luna. But, even if she had noticed, given that it was Luna, she probably would have just shrugged and continued on her way.

“Oh…Hello,” Luna sang as Crabbe tossed her over his shoulder. “This is very rude indeed,” Luna continued.

Draco considered her response: it was certainly a better start than Parvati. “Perhaps,” he thought, “I can get her to try to bite me or plead with me to leave her with her mudblood-loving friend.” Draco turned to Luna, “Shut up, you loony little wench.” Draco reflected on how strange it was that he was calling everyone “wench,” but quickly disregarded the thought and continued to walk towards her. Luna drew her wand from behind her ear; she aimed at his throat and stated, very clearly and with no fear, “Have your goon or minion or whatever you call him put me down, now.”

Draco considered his options. She was in Ravenclaw; she had to be smart, and she looked very menacing with her wand so strategically placed. He turned to Crabbe, “Fine, let the wench down.” Crabbe lowered Luna onto her feet and, to Draco’s surprise, she placed her wand back behind her ear and said, “I prefer to walk on my own, thank you.” Draco just stared at her. He expected her to try to escape, but it was clear that she was prepared to follow him to wherever he was taking her.

“I’m kidnapping you, wench,” Draco tried to hide his confusion with what he imagined to be an evil Death Eater tone of voice.

“I gathered that,” Luna sang back. “I suppose your evil master, the Dark Lord, Voldemort, Tom Riddle, He-who-must-not-be-named, or whatever you prefer, has ordered you to find a suitable wife and breed Death Eaters. Daddy’s favorite reporter uncovered the plot ages ago. It was in the Quibbler, you know, towards the back flap. Daddy found an amazing pair of Boojums, which was obviously on the front page.” Luna continued to smile at Draco while she divined his entire plan and incidentally, the plot of this story.

“Yes, that’s the plan. Now shut up, you wench, and get moving.” Draco decided that he’d better get a move on; the Dark Lord’s patience had been wearing thinner and thinner after a certain pretzel incident earlier that year.

“Oh, this is so exciting. I suppose I’ll see a real Death Eater and perhaps the lair of the Dark Lord, Voldemort, Tom Riddle, He-who-must-not-be-named or whatever you prefer. Daddy will love this for the Quibbler. ‘A Death Eater wedding;’ well, it doesn’t have the same ring to it as ‘The Hunt For The Crumple Horned Snorkack,’ but it will definitely fetch a place on page three.” Luna appeared to be almost out of breath with excitement.

Draco couldn’t figure out what was more irritating: the fact that Luna was actually excited to marry a Death Eater, that his marriage wouldn’t even fetch the first page or that he wasn’t, to Luna, a “real” Death Eater. He decided the first two were just silly. “I am a real Death Eater,” he shouted, louder than he intended to.

“Oh, are you?” Luna asked as she reached down and pulled up the hem of his robes. “You look like Draco Malfoy to me,” Luna continued, “Daddy says Death Eaters wear green Dragon skin trousers to hide the disfigurements caused by joining the Dark Lord’s legions.” Draco was momentarily shocked by the fact that Luna didn’t continue her rant on the Dark Lord’s multiple names and simply called him “the Dark Lord.”

“Why did you call him “the Dark Lord?” Draco asked, curiosity obviously getting the better of him.

“Well, if I’m to be a Death Eater wife, I ought to start acting like it,” she proclaimed.

Between her willingness and “Daddy,” Draco could take no more. He turned to Luna, “Get out of here. I’ve changed my mind.”

“Oh, too bad. I think Daddy would have liked the story for the Quibbler,” and Luna promptly turned to go. Draco stared at her and, for a second, thought he saw her start to run.

Humph. Draco couldn’t find a suitably petrified candidate for marriage. He thought on the scene with Luna. Did she, Luna Lovegood, just out smart him, Draco Malfoy? Nah, Draco decided that she really didn’t care about anything but the Quibbler. He had to find someone smart enough to be scared to death or scared of death or at least scared of a Death Eater. He reassured himself, “Green dragon skin trousers or not, I very much am a Death Eater.”

Chapter 3: Lavender Brown
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A/N: Do I own any part of this story? No.

Chapter 3: Lavender Brown

Draco Malfoy and his goons or minions or whatever you prefer walked into the great hall. Draco glanced around the room, scouting out matrimonial prospects, when something absolutely unacceptable and a bit terrifying happened. Parvati Patil arose from her seat at the Gryffindor House table and waved at Draco. He cringed. Didn’t she realize that he was a big, bad, but dashingly handsome, Death Eater?

Parvati reached towards the girl formally seated next to her and grabbed the arm of her robes. The girl stood and looked at Draco while smacking Parvati’s forearm and whispering frantically. Draco tried to turn the wheels of his brain as quickly as possible. “Isn’t her name Purple or Grape or something? No, Lavender, Lavender Brown,” he decided. “She’ll work,” he growled as she prettily flipped her hair to the side.

Draco and his goons or minions or whatever you prefer stood in anxious anticipation as a large group of Gryffindors exited the Great Hall. In their wake, Draco searched for the girl; “what was her name, Plum or Violet? No, Lavender, Lavender Brown.” Lavender and Parvati materialized directly in front of Draco, much to his surprise.

Draco turned to Crabbe and pointed speechlessly. Crabbe grabbed Lavender with rapid trepidation only to experience the predication of Lavender’s misinterpretation. In other words, she bonked him on the head.
Draco’s heart leapt. Here was a struggler, someone who he could torture and who would try to bite him and plead with him. He started to imagine the things he would do, the ways he would harass her: he would say Death Eater over and over again; he would call her a wench until she cried; he would—

“Put me down you big oaf. I thought I was to marry Draco,” Lavender screamed as she bonked Crabbe on the head several more times. Draco looked at Lavender curiously. “How did she know?” he wondered. Then, a small shining object around her neck caught his eye; it seemed to be a “lovely mid-evil cross.” Draco knew instantly that Parvati must have told Periwinkle about Draco’s need of a wife.

“Shit,” Draco said, calmly. He looked at Lavender and said, “You are to marry me, Draco Malfoy, Death Eater, you over-eager wench. No, harlot…you over-eager harlot.” He thought that perhaps the use of “wench” had been his downfall.

“Professor Trelawney will be so proud. I told her, over my tea leaves, that something extraordinary would happen on…what day is it?” she looked towards Draco.

Crabbe looked at the still struggling Lavender and put her down. He turned to Lavender and touched her hair. “You pretta,” he groaned.

“Oh, for the love of the Dark Lord,” Draco sighed. “She’s mine Crabbe,” Draco held his wand ominously close to Crabbe’s ear. Crabbe threw Lavender back over his shoulder.

“Merlin, I saw that whole scene in a dream three nights ago. This is so amazing. Of course, in my dream, you were a large turnip and you were a carrot and you were fighting over a fork, but it was still very similar…not that I’m a fork. But then, I do have fork characteristics—“ Lavender swung her harms from side to side over Crabbe’s shoulders as she spoke. Crabbe smiled stupidly.

Draco was at the end of his rope. It was bad enough that Crabbe looked like a big pile of mush with such a disgustingly big smile on his face, but Lavender’s divination rant was grating on his nerves. “Will you shut up, you stupid wench, no harlot, you stupid harlot?” Draco hit Lavender on the butt as he said it. She quietly squeaked, “Oh, my.”

The smile on Crabbe’s face disappeared, and he looked quite menacing again. They walked on in silence for a few moments. Draco was starting to believe he would be successful, Violet Brickhead, would be his wife, when he noticed something very strange: whispering. Upon slowing down to allow Crabbe and Lavender to catch up, the whispering got louder. He could hear Lavender’s voice as she whispered into Crabbe’s ear, “and then, you’ll never believe it, I saw your face in the crystal ball. I didn’t put it together; I mean, how could I? But, it is all so obvious now. I hope Draco let’s us be friends. I think he will because Professor Trelawney said just the other day that I would make a very dear and close friend in the next week.”

Draco could take no more. She thought that she could be a friend to Crabbe? And, Crabbe was just walking along smiling again and listening to her. Not to mention, the divination thing was driving him to St. Mungo’s. He rounded on Crabbe, preemptively drawing his wand. “Put her down,” he demanded. Crabbe’s face turned from a very large smile to a disgruntled frown. “Do it Crabbe,” he reiterated. This time, Crabbe obeyed. Draco looked intently at Lavender, “Get…the…Bloody…hell…out…of…here,” he said each word in a loud violent tone. Lavender gawked at his very red face and responded, “Okay, okay.” She leaned towards Crabbe’s ear and whispered, “I’ll owl you” and turned to go. Draco turned around and started on his way.

After about ten steps he noticed that his goon or minion or whatever you prefer was still staring at the slowly shrinking image of Lavender Brown.

“How can the girls in this school be so ridiculously stupid,” Draco thought. “Now, that had nothing to do with me or being a Death Eater, “ he tried to reassure himself. “I need to choose more wisely next time,” he tried to rationalize. “How could she WANT to talk to Crabbe,” he was starting to become angry. “I am far more attractive than Crabbe,” he accidentally whispered aloud. Shocked that he would expose his thoughts, he rapidly followed with, “and She was terrified because I’m a Death Eater, that was it.”

Having satisfied his ego, he returned to his mission. “A suitable wife must exist in this abominable school,” he thought, in an obvious attempt to encourage himself. He remembered the previous attempt with Luna and admonished, “I remember, I told myself to pick someone smarter next time.” He thought on this a moment and came to an odd realization: he realized that he liked to talk to himself quite a lot and that he needed to find a girl with brains.

Chapter 4: Hermione Granger
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A/N: I own nothing. Steal from me. Go ahead because you’re not even stealing from me because I own nothing. With that said…

Now with no more to do or ado or whatever you prefer…

Chapter 4: Hermione Granger

“A girl with brains,” Draco repeated to his goons or minions or whatever you prefer. “Do we know any brainy—“ as soon as he started to say it, he knew the answer: Granger. “We’ll get Granger,” he punched Goyle on the arm as he said it. “She’ll be good and scared, the harlot—“ Draco could’ve continued, but Goyle interrupted him, “But she’s a—“

“Don’t interrupt me,” Draco snapped back. “Can’t you see I’m formulating a plan? You’re meant to just sit there and nod and grunt,” the excitement of torture emanating from his voice.

Draco Malfoy and his goons or minions or whatever you prefer hovered next to the insanely complex spells section of the library. “When she walks into the isle…” as Draco knew she invariably would, Granger being entirely too useful to interject obscure information into the plot at very opportune times. “When she walks into the isle, Goyle, you snatch her and cover her mouth until we get to the dungeon,” Draco spoke very slowly in order to allow Goyle to completely comprehend the instructions.

“But, Draco,” Goyle began, “she’s a–“

“For the last time, Goyle, you’re only meant to nod and grunt,” Draco could taste victory. He could imagine the terror he would inspire in Granger. She would know he meant business. She would fear him and try to bite him and plead with him to leave her be. She would understand that Draco Malfoy, Death Eater extraordinaire, was someone to be feared, someone to try to bite.

Draco heard Granger’s footsteps; he knew that the time had come to fulfill the Dark Lord’s endeavor. As Granger replaced a book, The Hardest and Most Obscure Spells for the Over Achiever/Know-It-All, Goyle stepped out from along the wall and snatched Hermione into his arms and covered her mouth. She struggled, and Draco smiled. Draco even thought he saw her try to bite Goyle.

Upon entering the dungeon, Goyle removed his hand from Granger’s mouth, but retained his grip on her arms.

“What is this about, Malfoy? What do you want?” Hermione was very upset and continued to struggle. Draco couldn’t be happier. He was sowing Death Eater oats; he was going to torture her, he was going to call her a harlot and maybe, even, he was going to get bitten.

“I’m going to take you back to the Dark Lord, and I’m going to marry you, you harlot. You are going to bare forth from your loins the next generation of Death Eaters, harlot.” Draco reflected about what he had just said, “Right, that was good,” he thought. He stood and contemplated a little more and decided that “harlot” was definitely much better than “wench.” Although, “wench” had a certain individual possession connotation that “harlot” was lacking, but what did that matter when “harlot” is obviously so much more effective.

Hermione looked surprised. Draco misinterpreted her surprise as terror and laughed what he imagined to be an evil Death Eater laugh. Without warning, Hermione stomped on Goyle’s feet. Goyle jumped up and down in pain, and Hermione ran into the potions classroom. Draco smiled widely. This was a real Death Eater chase. He would find her and snatch her and she would struggle and try to bite him.

As Draco entered the potions classroom he called out, “Granger? Granger, you harlot; I know you’re in here.” He heard Hermione squawk, “git” from behind an especially large and attractive pewter cauldron. As Draco approached the especially large and attractive pewter cauldron, a very strange thing occurred. He began to shake violently and fall to the floor. Hermione jumped out from behind the especially large and attractive pewter cauldron and transfigured Draco’s especially black and attractive robes into extra-clingy plastic wrap.

“Wow, that’s N.E.W.T. standard, that is!” Terry Boot proclaimed as he jumped out of the especially large and attractive pewter caldron.

“Well now, Terry Boot. We are in our seventh year, aren’t we?” Hermione bobbed her head and spoke deliberately like she was talking to a child.

“Right,” Terry boot proclaimed as he sunk back into the especially large and attractive pewter cauldron.

Draco began to twist on the floor and mumble. Then, to everyone’s amazement, Draco asked Hermione for a kiss. “Kiss me Hermione,” Draco mumbled in a very high-pitched voice.

“Are you possessed by something other than your devotion and love of the Dark Lord, Draco?” Hermione asked in an all too sarcastic tone of voice.

“How’d you know?” Harry Potter asked as he materialized out of Draco’s chest. Hermione stared at Harry with narrowed eyes. Harry looked at his shoes and fidgeted with his hands, “Listen Hermione. I’m sorry I tried to make you kiss me. It’s hard being the-boy-who-lived-but-can’t-get-the-girl, especially when Ron is such a dofuss.”

“He’s a lovable dofuss, but it’s okay, Harry. I’m rather busy right now,” Hermione said as she turned Harry towards the door.

Just as Harry left the classroom, Draco broke his arms free from the extra-clingy plastic wrap. Hermione turned her attention to Draco and asked, “Draco, are those green dragon skin trousers?”

“Yeah,” Draco responded with less confidence than usual. “All the Death Eaters wear them.” Hermione began to laugh.

Draco could take no more. Here was someone who was struggling; here was a chance to prove what a great Death Eater he was. Draco adopted a menacing look and stared at Hermione, “Shut up you, you…filthy mudblood.”

“Shit,” Draco declared. “You’re a mudblood,” he sighed. Draco, after hearing loud grunting, turned to look at Goyle. Goyle’s head was nodding up and down with a vengeance. Draco rounded on Hermione, “Get…now,” he screamed. Draco’s face reflected confusion and anger and sadness. Hermione turned and left the room.

“Well, that was anticlimactic. I should’ve killed her off,” Draco said to himself. “I can’t believe I almost married a mudblood.” Draco sat near the especially large and attractive pewter cauldron and questioned his existence. The task imparted on him by the Dark Lord was turning out to be the bane of his existence. Granger had been sufficiently frightened, or at least struggled, but Draco remained without a wife-to-be and, to make matters worse, he still had not sown his Death Eater oats and been bitten.

Chapter 5: The Dark Lord
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A/N: I own nothing.

WARNING: This chapter got a little out of hand. Draco isn’t very Dracoish, the Dark Lord is just plain silly and I’m not quite sure why it exists. It might be best just to skip it, but what fun would that be?

With that said…

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.

Chapter 6: Katie Bell
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A/N: Who owns nothing? I own nothing.

WARNING: This chapter contains what we in the biz like to call extremely subtle sexual innuendoes. And, this chapter gets a bit saucy, but not the entertaining romance novel saucy, more like the feminist rant saucy. So, be prepared.

Chapter 6: Katie Bell

Draco Malfoy and his minions—ah, hell--Draco Malfoy and his minions or goons or whatever you prefer strutted toward Pomegranate Pitch, their heads scanning back and forth, looking for suitable prey. Seas of wizards and witches attended the event. He thought that he could sort out at least a river and maybe a stream or two of exceptionally fine specimens. “Goyle, Crabbe, keep your eyes open for attractive silos in which I can sow my Death Eater oats,” Draco commanded his minions or goons or whatever you prefer, in a menacing evil Death Eater Caribbean pirate kind of way.

Suddenly, Draco noticed an attractive Quiddich fan situated stilly by the stands. In a flash, Draco ordered Crabbe to nick the girl. Crabbe successfully secured the girl over his shoulder and waddled toward a particularly dense section of shrubbery. Draco waited patiently for his wife-to-be and considered what a great idea this had been.

Upon Crabbes arrival, Draco found that he recognized the girl; she had been on the Gryffindor Quiddich team. He remembered her as being quite saucy. “Aren’t you…what is your name? You were a chaser for Gryffindor.” Draco questioned.

“I know you, you, you, you cunning little trollop,” the girl began while attempting to kick Crabbe. Draco reflected on being called a ”trollop.” It did have a nice ring to it, better than “harlot.” Yet, he considered it quite strange that he was called a “trollop,” but oddly arousing and only served to cement his notion of the girl’s sauciness. “You’re Draco Malfoy. And, what do you want with me,” the girl continued.

“Hey, I ask the questions here, and I call people trollops not you, you trollop!” Draco attempted to affirm in very close to a menacing Death Eater growl. Draco reflected on his tone and decided that something good had come from his meeting with the Dark Lord, other than acquiring a pair of dark shaded green dragon skin trousers to better compliment the Sytherin Common Room couch. He had learned to growl more menacingly, and he thought the menacing Death Eater growl had sparked some amount of terror in the girl.

Things were looking up. He was going to finally terrorize and torture. This girl, whatever her name is, the trollop, would be his wife. Actually, deep down in places he didn’t like to talk about, Draco liked the prospect of marriage with the saucy Gryffindor. Maybe, if he harassed her a bit, she would call him a trollop again.

“Girl, trollop, you should feel honored. I’ve chosen you to be my wife, trollop,” Draco stated while poking the girl in the thigh with his wand.

“Oh for the love of Wizarding Wheezes, Malfoy. Your ego has expanded to the size of gigantic…Wood, how’ve you been?” the girl responded as she looked up and saw Oliver Wood in a clearing to the left of Draco Malfoy.

“Katie, Katie Bell. Oi, it seems you’re in a bit of a pickle. Need some help, there, do you?” Oliver Wood responded, charmingly. Just then, three girls gathered together behind Oliver Wood sighed, “Ah, he’s so dreamy,” in unison.

As Draco turned to see the body that belonged to the voice of Oliver Wood, he was surprised by the proximity of Wood. He looked to his left; Oliver wood stood directly along side Draco. In fact, he was so close that Draco could feel Wood against his leg.

“Do you mind,” Draco began, “I’m trying to fulfill by duty to the Dark Lord and you’re protruding, or no, interfering.” Draco stated. He lost the menacing growl, and he actually sounded like he was pleading with Wood.

“Nope, I don’t think I can do that, Malfoy. It looks like Katie needs a little assistance.” The three girls behind Wood sighed, “Ah, he’s so dreamy,” in unison.

Draco could see that Wood was obviously prepared to stand hard and fast in is determination for the preservation of Katie’s virginal situation.

“I’m not a virgin,” Katie announced to no one in particular. Draco turned to her and poked her in the thigh, again, with his wand, while he spoke, “I knew you were a saucy little whore.”

“Now, Malfoy, the Virgin or the Whore, right?” Katie began while sighing and drawing a great deal of breath. She continued with another sigh, “Do you know how sexist the word “whore” is? I mean, just because a girl understands her sexuality, enjoys sex and is unwilling to commit herself to marriage or a patriarchal idea of a relationship, she is a whore? Boys are expected to sow their oats, Death Eater or otherwise, but girls are expected to be responsible? Girls have every right to experiment sexually, to dress as they please and to dance on tables if they like. Am I easy? Maybe I am, but who says I am supposed to play hard to get? I know what I want, I know who I am and I have power and control. I wont allow your social constrictions to rule my behavior or life. I do not live in your gender binary construct. If that makes me a whore, then I am a whore. And, I wear the label proudly.”

Draco stared at Katie in awe. Yes, he definitely wanted to be called a trollop by her again. In fact, he wanted to do more than be called a “trollop.” Draco admired her sense of self. “Maybe,” he thought, “we can be happy together, if Wood would just disappear.”

“Could you push off or something,” Draco turned to Wood. Wood, apparently, had the same thought, as he stared with his mouth slightly open at Katie.

“Katie, I never knew that about you. I like it, I like that you know who you are. We should go out sometime,” Wood spoke directly at Katie while totally ignoring Draco. The three girls behind Wood sighed, “Ah, he’s so dreamy,” in unison.

“Sure, Wood. If you could just kick this big boor or something, I can handle the rest,” Katie responded.

“Excuse me. This is nice and all, but Katie, no the trollop I mean, is going to marry me,” Draco interjected. He clearly had enough of Wood. Draco considered the situation and decided that leaving a witness would be a bad thing. He turned to Goyle and stated, “Nick Wood, too.” All four of the boys cringed at the thought. “Never mind, I’ll take care of him,” Draco revised.

But, before Draco could raise his wand to Wood, Wood disappeared. “Has anyone seen Wood?” Draco asked the remaining six persons present. “I have,” Katie responded. Just then, Draco felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to find Wood.

“You’ll have to do better than that, Malfoy,” Wood laughed. The three girls behind him sighed, “Ah, he’s so dreamy,” in unison. Goyle, to everyone’s surprise, jumped toward Wood, gripped him hard and proudly announced, “I’ve got Wood.” Katie giggled and Draco smirked.

“What’s so funny?” Wood asked. “It’s not like my last name is Biggerstaff.” The three girls behind Wood sighed, “Ah, he’s so dreamy,” in unison.

“That’s true,” Draco said and everyone nodded, including the three girls, in agreement. Then, without much struggle, Wood broke free from Goyle’s grip. He turned to Draco and pointed his wand at Draco’s nose.

“Let her go,” Wood stated. The three girls—“and will you lot get lost?” Wood shouted at the three girls behind him. “Ah, he’s so dreamy,” they whispered as they walked away.

Draco turned to Crabbe, “Just drop her.” Draco desperately wanted to fight for the trollop. He wanted this trollop, but that scared him, and frankly, Wood is quite dashing. She seemed a little adventurous and said herself that she was easy, damn Wood. But, how could he torture someone who he liked, someone who would call him trollop and probably bite him while breeding Death Eaters. Still, Katie’s power and control intimidated him, sexist.

“That was good, Wood!” Katie screamed breathlessly as Crabbe let her fall to the ground. Wood rushed to her side.

“You deserve each other, dramatic show-offs. Have fun with Wood,” Draco stated as he stormed off.

“Oh, I will, trollop” Draco heard Katie respond. His heart ached for a moment. Being called “trollop” was just as good, well almost he imagined, as being bitten.

“Well,” he thought as he walked back toward the pitch, “I liked her, and we would have no problem breeding Death Eaters if it wasn’t for Wood.” The oddity of the statement escaped Draco as he walked along sulkily. He was starting to lose his sense of menace, his wit and his cutting comebacks. The incident with the Dark Lord and then this incident with Wood really affected his confidence.

He really had been through quite a lot, what with the abductions and the Dark Lord and Wood and all. He considered just returning to Hogwarts and admitting defeat. He could marry Parkinson and still torture her. But, was torture what he really wanted? He knew he wanted to be bitten and now, to be called a trollop, but did he want to torture? Plus, he began to rationalize; he still had years of muggle and mudblood torture ahead of him. This was just turning out to be more trouble than it was worth. He decided to return to Hogwarts and give up trying to be bitten. So, with his head down, in quite defeat, he returned to his quest in the Halls of Hogwarts.

Chapter 7: Ginny Weasley
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I don’t own anyway. I don’t really think I need to say that, but I like to type it.

A/N: Okay, not sure what happened here. I kinda got a little out of control, I sold out a little, but I don’t care. I wanted a happy ending. Plus, Draco just has a mind of his own.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed or read this story. This is it. The End. But, I’m starting a new story about Ginny. Her boyfriends are going to end up dead…again each chapter will be a new boy and a new mystery. It’ll be a lot like this story, new running bits and new jokes though and dead people and Ginny as lead character, so, not all that like this story. Anyway, yeah, um…well here it is…

The Last Chapter of The Bachelor

Chapter 7: Ginny Weasley

Draco Malfoy and his goons or minions or whatever you prefer swaggered into the Great Hall. Draco decided at the Quiddich match that he didn’t really need to torture; he needed to lift a wife before the Dark Lord disowned him. The previous weeks had been tedious and complicated and implausible and completely unsuccessful. Draco considered his situation: “Perhaps,” he considered, “I am not cut out to be a Death Eater. I’ve always liked cooking. Maybe, I should have been a chef--“

Just then, Ginny Weasley strutted past directly in front of Draco. She brushed against his leg causing Draco to lose any Death Eater menace left in his debonair, dashingly handsome body.

“Weasley,” Draco called before he could stop himself. Ginny turned around and stared, “What, Malfoy?”

“I was,” Draco paused and looked around. He turned to Goyle and commanded, “Lift her.” Goyle threw Ginny over his shoulder, Crabbe lifted her wand, and they both followed Draco into one of many conveniently placed abandon classrooms. Ginny squealed and cursed.

“I was,” Draco continued, “wondering…will you shut up a minute?”

“No, why should I? Put me down,” Ginny kicked Goyle as she screamed.

A fleeting thought fluttered through Draco’s mind. Ginny was certainly struggling. Perhaps, he could prove his worth to the Dark Lord, still get to torture, and maybe, be bitten, but then, he wouldn’t be able to be a chef, and secretly, he hoped to go to Paris and ride in a convertible and stay on the Champs Elysees and visit Jim Morrison’s grave.

“Weasel, um…do you want to go to Paris?” Draco fidgeted and looked at the back of Ginny’s head.

“What?” Ginny quietly responded while continuing her struggle.

“Put her down, Goyle,” Goyle did as he was asked, but turned to Draco with his fist raised. “The Dark Lord—“ Goyle began.

“Oh, hang the Dark Lord,” Draco responded. “Why don’t you two push off, huh? You know, Malfoy’s minions are no more. Go get yourself some, some, some….Goyle’s goons or Crabbe’s cronies and fulfill the Dark Lord’s request yourselves,” Draco ended in a sigh. Goyle and Crabbe waddled out of the room.

In truth, his green dragon skin trousers had started to itch in strange places and he’d had enough. The Death Eater life was not turning out to be glamorous at all. He didn’t get to torture anyone, he snatched all-to-willing air-heads, he was outsmarted by Loony Lovegood, he tried to kidnap a mudblood, he hit on the Dark Lord and he was on the receiving end of a feminist rant and liked it. To add insult to well, no real injury unfortunately, he couldn’t even get bitten. The short of it is: he was in a mess.

“Paris?” Ginny interrupted his inner monologue, soliloquy, diatribe or whatever you prefer.

“Yeah, Paris. I was thinking of going to that big pen shop in Montmartre or maybe, visiting Pere Lachaise and seeing Jim Morrison’s grave,” Draco gazed into her eyes as he said it. She was very pretty, and he could see her beautiful hair swaying in the warm wind. Who really cared that she is a Weasley? He could get out of the Dark Lord’s legions; he could be a chef, and they could live in Paris.

“Malfoy, have you completely jumped ship…I mean really do you have some bloody horrific head injury?” Ginny spoke calmly and without any consideration for the dashingly handsome Death Eater’s feelings.

“Right…um…that’s a no, then?” Draco mumbled more to himself than to Ginny. She just stared at him. Draco held his wand toward her lips and moved toward the door.

“Minions, minions are you out there? Come in here,” Draco yelled as he cracked the door open. Goyle and Crabbe walked inside. “Lift her,” Draco commanded to Crabbe.
Ginny turned to Draco, “What are you doing?” she asked.

Draco sighed. He’d been through this so many times. “I’m going to force you to marry me and you’re going to…to…to…whatever. You’re going to pop out, I guess, the next generation of Death Eaters. I know, it’s silly, but I’ve been commanded by the Dark Lord.” Draco ended in another sigh. He was a Death Eater broken. He couldn’t even secure a wife; he was an unbitten failure in green dragon skin trousers.

“Oh,” Ginny whispered. She obviously noticed the tone of his voice and the quiet resolve with which he spoke. “What if I don’t want to go?” she asked the question with already knowing the answer. She just thought he could use a healthy bit of chitchat.

“You have to go. I’ll make you,” Draco stated dully. Ginny began to struggle, really struggle. She kicked Crabbe in a certain place ensuring that no Crabbe Jr.s would populate the wizarding world. Crabbe dropped her and doubled over in pain. Ginny grabbed her wand from his sweaty palm and aimed it at Goyle. “Stupefy,” she yelled just before Draco calmly sighed, “Expelliarmus.” Goyle hit the ground with a thud, and Ginny’s wand went flying.

“It’s just you and me now, Malfoy,” Ginny proclaimed. Draco had an epiphany; dawn dawned on Draco. This was what he had been waiting for. He tried as best he could to regain his menace. He growled just under his breath; yes, he was still a Death Eater. He was going to torture. She was going to struggle. This was the moment of truth, the moment he’d been waiting for.

“Yes, but I’m the one with the wand, tart,” Draco drawled while adding a Death Eater growl at the end. He liked the word “tart,” and if anyone was a “tart,” it was definitely the Weasley girl.

“But you aren’t going to use it, trollop,” Ginny responded taking two steps towards him. Draco reflected on the fact that he had been called a trollop again. He still liked it; in fact, he liked it even more from Weasley’s pouty pink lips.

Draco reached out and grabbed Ginny. He turned her around so her back was against his chest. He locked his arms across her and picked her up. She began to squirm, but, oddly enough, she didn’t kick.

“I’ve got you, tart,” Draco drawled.

“Bloody hell, Malfoy. I don’t think you can handle me,” Ginny whispered. Draco smiled and placed his hand over her mouth. Ginny opened her mouth slightly and…

bit him.

Although it wasn’t hard, just a nip really, no teeth marks even, it was still a bite. Draco removed his hand from her mouth and loosened his grip on Ginny. He stared down at his hand. It had finally happened. He had been bitten, and he liked it. No, he loved it.

“Bite me again, tart,” Draco drawled as he turned Ginny to face him. Ginny tilted her head up and lightly bit his lower lip. Draco smiled.

“Malfoy,” Ginny moaned seductively, “I wont be your Death Eater wife, no matter how dashingly handsome you are.” Draco tightened his grip on her and turned her around to face away from him again. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Will you come to Paris with me?”

“Depends,” she whispered, “Did you ever kill anyone, Malfoy, to get that mark, I mean,” Ginny nodded to his left forearm.

“No,” Draco lied; he was a Death Eater after all.

“Right, then. Yes, I’ll go to Paris with you,” Ginny sighed.

Draco and Ginny left Hogwarts immediately. They traveled to Paris and escaped the wrath of the Dark Lord, who, in actuality, was rather relieved to lose Draco from his legions. The Dark Lord thought that the boy had a bit of an unhealthy affection for him, and he was rubbish as a Death Eater.

They visited the pen shop, stayed on the Champs Elysees and visited Jim Morrison’s grave. Draco became a potions master and a chef on the weekends. They bought a convertible and Draco drove through Paris with his biting English lover and the warm wind in his hair.