( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Twas a dark night. 

Puddles splash as I walk on them; my cloak billowing behind me. 

Some water fell on me. Yuck. It was too wet.

I walk into an alley and wait. I take out my pocketwatch |11:23pm| and check my perfect blond Barbie hair in the glass. 

I hear footsteps behind me. A blond eyebrow raises at the watch |11:58pm| and then at the person standing behind me. ‘Your late’ I say.

They are 6’6 tall with broad shoulders. Only a pair of yellow eyes was visible from the hood. ‘Sorry’ said a squeaky voice. ‘I got held up. Got the stuff?’

I open my briefcase revealing eight strawberry tarts. 

‘The deal was nine’ they say.

‘I’m just the delivery guy’ I say conscious of the lovely strawberry taste in my mouth. 

Silence. 

‘The deal is off.’

I scoff. ‘Your blushing. Who would say no to these perfect tarts?’

They blink. ‘Bluffing?’

‘Yes sorry. Stupid autocorrect.’

‘This is a verbal conversation.’

‘Is it now.’

They stare at me. I stare back. 

‘The tarts are not perfect. There aren’t enough strawberries in it and the base looks squishy.’

I snarl with feral blond energy. ‘They’re the right amount of squishy and crunchy! The strawberries are the right amount. The tart melts in your mouth like marshmallow!’

‘Aha! So you did eat one.’

Before I can even blink, they fly towards me with their wings and hold a gun to my chest. I gulp. 

‘Any last words?’ They ask me.

I lean towards them and open my mouth. Instead of words coming out of my mouth the tarts go in. ‘Now you will never taste these perfect tarts.’ 

I run. 

BANG. BANG. BANG.

I run as fast as I can and do not stop until I reach pans. With capital P. 

‘What happened to you!’

My gaze falls from her blue eyes to my shirt which was more red than white. One of the bangs got me. 

‘I ate some tarts.’

Her nose scrunched. “Your covered in tart?”

I licked some of the red stuff. 

‘Hmmmmm. No I think its my blood’.

Pans’ eyes widen. ‘You’re bleeding!’ 

She pulls me into her room. ‘Stay put while I call Rye.’

‘No!’ I scream. “No Rye!’

‘Stop moving!’ Pans screams back. ‘You’ll die of blood loss!’

“Blood loss? No I know exactly where my blood is.”

I look down to my bloodstained shirt as I speak. Some of the blood may have falled on the road I ran on but I knew where it was. 

‘Drayyyyyy’ came a whine.

‘Ryeeeeee’ I whine back.

A scrawny girlie boy enters the room with his potion kit in one hand. Sewing needles in another.

Rye pushes me onto a chair and tears my shirt. 

‘Kinky’ I say before I faint. 

I wake up to begbuds yelling at me ‘wake wake!’. 

My chest tingled. There were stitches on the not=a=wound=anymore spot on my skin. 

‘Dray’

‘Rye’ I say

‘Pans’ Pans say

We look at her. 

‘WHAT’ she says ‘It was the only name left’

I sniff. ‘Don’t be gauche.’ It was bad enough that her hair wasn’t as blond as mine. Then again I couldnt expect perfection from a non=Malfoy.

‘But how is that gauche?’ Rye frowned.

‘Shhh’ I say. ‘Dray is sick’

‘Your sick?’ Rye say back.

‘How dare you call me sick you greasy hair wannabe!’

Rye frowns harder. ‘But you said=’

‘Nuh=uh! No butts!’

I get up from my chair, take Lockhart Lovely cream from my briefcase and throw it to RYe.

‘Hey!’ It hits him in the face. 

‘Use it. I don’t want friends with frown lines.’

Pans grumbled ‘Why? Is it too gauche?”

‘Yes’ I say the last word and walk out of the house. 

The breeze wasn’t a breeze. It was windy. 

It was wind. 

Then came rain. Ugh.

I ran to get shelter =into a shady place. Shady because of the shelter and no sun and the smuggling and hags. Twas a bar.

Ａ ｂｌｏｎｄ ｗａｌｋｓ ｉｎｔｏ ａ ｂａｒ． 

Ｂｌｏｎｄ： Ｉ’ｌｌ ｈａｖｅ ｔｅａ ｗｉｔｈ ｓｕｇａｒ， ｎｏ ｃｒｅａｍ．

Ｂａｒｔｅｎｄｅｒ： Ｓｏｒｒｙ ｗｅ ｄｏｎ＇ｔ ｈａｖｅ ｃｒｅａｍ． Ｉｓ ｔｅａ ｗｉｔｈ ｎｏ ｍｉｌｋ ｏｋ ｆｏｒ ｙｏｕ？

Ｂｌｏｎｄ： ＊ｌｏｏｋｓ ｉｎｔｏ ｔｈｅ ｃａｍｅｒａ＊ ａｎｄ ｔｈｅｙ ｓａｙ ｂｌｏｎｄｓ ａｒｅ ｄｕｍｂ

（ｔｈｅｙ’ｒｅ ｂｏｔｈ ｄｕｍｂ )

All tables are full except one.

The woman was hidden behind a newspaper. A woman or a non=woman who liked to paint their nails red. There was a drink in front of her. 

I sit down waiting for my tea.

They close the newspaper. It wasn’t a woman. Red hair and hand=me=down robes.

Twas a Weasley. 

Weasel tilts its head at me. “New here?”

It didn’t sound like a Weasley. It sounded normal. Civilised.

‘Are you a Weasley?’ I ask.

‘No’ they say.

I thank all dragons expect the one that tried to bite me when I was eight. For a moment I thought I willingly sat next to a *shudder* Weasel.

‘Yes. I’m new here’

They grin at me. ‘The name’s Cooper. Rispah Cooper. I’m meeting a friend but you can sit here if you don’t mind more company.’

I give her a Malfoy smirk. Not everyone deserved it but since Rispah wasn’t a Weasley, I was feline generous. 

‘Hello Rispah. I am Draco Malfoy. No I do not mind the company’.

. . . . . . as long as they’re not a Weasel or a drunkard. Malfoys do not associate with either.

Malfoy Rule 32= Better a criminal than a drunkard. 

Rule 33= If you must choose between a Weasley and a drunkard, choose death.

I preferred my father’s version: If you must choose between a Weasley and a drunkard, kill them both and plead Imperius in court. 

I sip at my no=milk tea when someone joins our table.

‘RYE?’

Rye looks at me. ‘No I’m Harry.’

I look at him closely. He looked like a boyish girl. Hmm. 

Then I notice the smell of something. Lockhart Lovely. 

‘If you’re Harry how come you’re wearing the cream I gave Rye?’

Harry giggle. ‘Rye gave it to me’

I sip at my tea satisfied. Rye would never giggle. 

Rispah and Harry talk about things that are too boring for a Malfoy to listen to. 

Rain stops as I finish my tea. 

Ａ ｂｌｏｎｄ ｗａｌｋｓ ｏｕｔ ｏｆ ａ ｂａｒ．

‘You’ I hear a squeak.

I turn around to see a 6’6 figure. 

Oh dragons.

Before I can run, they shoot me and I fall into the wet floor filled with water. 

I open my eyes and jump up on my bed. 

Bed?

I was in my room at the Manor. 

‘Draco honey come down for breakfast!’ called my mom.

I touched my chest but felt no stitches.

Twas a dream. 

It was a good dream. 

A world devoid of Weasleys. 

I sigh happily at the thought, brush my blond hair and walk downstairs to the smell of lovely tarts.