By Luke_Morris
From Switzerland, my tour of Europe carried me to the remote villages of Germany for my birthday. No, I wasn't going to head back south for the imitation winter in Australia and visit my family when the country that housed me for about three months was so close by. Especially when I could bill my superiors for accommodation and expenditures. Not that I'd ever really tell them what I was doing with the money, but really, if they hadn't worked it out, then they didn’t exactly deserve my honesty.
And so it was that I found myself in a small bar on the border of the Black Forest, celebrating the end of another day with the natives before I moved on to Munich for some proper festivities. The hour was growing late, and we were all starting to have trouble focusing our eyes, or making out what anyone else was saying, when the door was suddenly kicked open, and three men entered our rather smoky retreat. From the way they were dressed, not to mention the helmets in their hands, you’d think that they were bikers, riding through the country side and enjoying the sights. But, due to the lack of running engines previous to their arrival, that was quickly ruled out, coupled with the fact that this bar was invisible to humans, and involved literally walking into a tree.
Besides, the idea of Crabbe and Goyle on a motorbike was preposterous, and the imagery makes me laugh even now, the same way my drinking companions did at the sight of this shameless bravado.
"I'm surprised your mother let you out of the house in those, Malfoy. In fact, I'm just amazed she let you out of the house in the first place."
Throwing his helmet to Crabbe, the heir to the Malfoy shame crossed the room, as if I was supposed to blanch in horror and make a run for it, but stopped when he was closer, regarding me suspiciously.
"You’re that reporter that made a fool of Potter."
"Indeed I am. What of it?"
Draco signaled to his henchmen, then took a seat across from me, one that had been previously filled. It seemed that, regardless of my lack of concern for the man, my friends still held some sort of respect for him. Or, more likely, they were just scared that he'd hunt their children down. Once a Death Eater...
"I told Crabbe and Goyle that I'd buy the writer a drink, if I ever met him."
"Sorry Malfoy, but I'm celebrating something, and frankly, I don’t want to be wasting time on you."
"Wasting time? Having a drink with one of the richest and most influential-"
"Death Eaters who escaped jail? Cause my readers are going to love that. Sweeten the deal, Malfoy, or you’re going to be buying a drink for an empty seat."
He'd really suck at poker. There was irritation written all over his face, despite the way he was trying to repress it, and, even better, he thought that I couldn't see it. When this was all over, I'd have to challenge him to a game of cards.
"Well, you're a writer, right? What about an interview?"
I wasn't stupid enough to suggest that I had someone better lined up, especially since I'd just been hoping that someone would make a complete fool of themselves at the bash in Munich and I'd have a story to write about.
"Well then... you'd better get that drink."
"So... what now?"
The bar had mostly cleared, except for the bar tender, and Draco's lackeys, standing guard at the door. Really, with the war over, you'd think the paranoia would have died down a little.
"Now, we get straight to it. You were involved in the plot to kill Dumbledore, correct?"
He froze for a moment, glass raised halfway before he slowly lowered it to the table once more.
"I was involved in getting the Death Eaters into the school. Not killing Dumbledore."
"You were supposed to kill him, though, correct? Just chickened out at the final moment."
"The courts thought that I showed compassion."
"Yes, well, everyone knows that the courts are morons. I mean, they let you off with barely a slap on the wrist, right?"
"They had their reasons. Not many people can say no to a rather heavy bag of Galleons."
Really, I shouldn't have been even mildly surprised that Malfoy was still bribing his way out of things, but, for whatever reason, I had assumed that things had changed a bit. Guess he was just going to be the same old self-centered prat for the rest of his life that he had been at Hogwarts.
"Here the world was, thinking you'd changed. I mean, you confessed and everything."
"Well, yeah, the confession was real. I mean, sure, being a Death Eater sounds like a great job, what with the instant gratification of belonging and that superstar status, but when you get right down to it... I mean, who really wants to commit murder and worship a guy who hates you?"
"Feeling bitter, are we?"
"They used me to get to the rest of the Slytherins. I mean, I had so much to offer them; information as a spy, recon since I was attending Hogwarts, but no, they just wanted everyone at the school to join then and help out in the battle."
"While your precious mother whisked you away. Face it Draco, you’re a coward."
"But I'm still alive, and I'm free from Azkaban. I can live with being called a coward."
There were a good dozen other names that I would have wanted to mention at that time, most of which were associated with the clothes they were wearing, probably the only way any of them were even glanced at twice by girls.
"Don't you have a wife to go home to, Draco?"
He scowled, but couldn't exactly comment, since the pub regulars were sick of hanging around outside, and had returned for further drinks. And, of course, I took advantage of the silence.
"And you might want to change out of the Muggle clothes while you’re at it. It'll make a bad impression on darling Scorpius."
Tormenting people is fun, and a great birthday present.