I love you, Fewat!
The words kept repeating themselves in his head.
I love you, Fewat!
Sighing, Draco tossed and turned in his bed, wishing he had never heard those four words in the first place. Everything had been fine and dandy until that morning when he had heard those words uttered at him. Afterwards, he’d unknowingly been extra vile to Mud-Granger. He had scolded her for dropping her milk, and she spent the rest of the morning in the corner, scowling at the wall.
When Mrs. Weasley had inquired as to why she was being punished, he had blushed, stating she’d spilt milk. Mrs. Weasley then just raised her brow, but didn’t say anything more than, ‘Children drop a lot of stuff, Draco.’
By lunchtime, Draco felt worse than ever for being so harsh towards the little girl. To make it up to her, he had agreed to play ‘dolls’ with her, much to his chagrin. Mud-Granger had insisted they use ‘real’ dolls, so he had spent a good deal of the afternoon with the brunette in the attic looking through trunks full of the belongings of his Black ancestors. They found several old raggedy dolls that had clearly seen better days; old diaries with dangerous locking charms should anyone try to break through; scruffy looking teddy bears; heirloom dress robes passed down for generations; and books whose pages were so yellowed that they looked close to falling apart at any minute. Mud-Granger also found an antique looking china tea set that had weather many ‘tea parties’ by the looks of it; several of the cups were chipped, or missing handles.
They set up in the dining room because it was conveniently located next to the kitchen, and Mud-Granger insisted on having ‘real’ tea. After some sneering, Draco gave in to the petulant child and her make-believe game. Within minutes, Draco was horrified to find that he was actually enjoying the make-believe play because Mud-Granger was just so creative; it reminded him of the pureblood society he had grown up in with all the subtle scandals that often revolved around people. However, the most humiliating part of his time with her was when Potter and the Weasel walked in on him and Mud-Granger. He’d been holding a makeshift rag doll in the middle of serving tea to Miss Butterman, the doll with the missing eye, when the Dunderhead Twins walked in bickering. His body went rigid with tension.
Silence encompassed the room as all three boys met eyes. They stared at each other; blue and green eyes frozen in disbelief; grey eyes in shock and embarrassment at being caught. Scarhead raised an eyebrow, a smirk gracing his face. Weasel stood with his mouth wide-open, eyes bulging out. Draco’s fingers twitched for a wand as sweat formed on his forehead.
All three boys were frozen in their statue-like representations of petrified people, Mud-Granger continued happily chattering with the dolls while chomping on a biscuit. Seconds passed in complete silence until Mud-Granger’s childish voice broke through their stares of disbelief and shock:
“Fewat! Miss Buttewman wants more tea!”
Howls of laughter filled the room shortly. Anger flushed through Draco; he did not enjoy being made fun of “ especially by Potter and Weasley.
“Bloody hell, Ferret! Dolls? You’re a pouf, aren’t you?”
“I didn’t know you had it in you, Malfoy.”
Draco glared and sneered at them both before he stood up, roughly throwing the rag doll on the floor.
He picked up a nattering Granger and pushed past them; ears flushed red as their merry laughter followed him all the way up the stairs. Draco burrowed himself in the library, forcing himself to work harder on finding a solution to the freak potions accident his temper had caused. Granger began crying when Draco refused to continue playing dolls with her, and it made his research that much harder with a wailing toddler throwing a tantrum. He began forming a headache right between his eyes, and he wished to Merlin that he had a wand for the millionth time.
If only he had a Time-Turner; he’d go back and slap himself for throwing that hellebore into the unstable potion. He slammed his face on the desk, groaning in frustration.
“Fewat! I want to play dolls again!”
“No, Mud-Granger! Just leave me alone for a bloody minute! I need to think, and I can’t think with your constant jabbering. Just go away!” he cried.
The young girl scrunched her face, cheeks blooming with anger, before she began screaming bloody murder.
“I HATE YOU, FEWAT!”
The words stung at Draco.
Pushing his chair back angrily, he began pulling books off the shelf at random, clearly throwing a temper tantrum himself. He ignored the screaming in the background, or when the crying seized. He punched one of the bookshelves in hatred at the situation of his life, and then took deep calming breaths, trying to regain his emotions. That was when he heard someone clear their throat. Dropping his shoulders, he hung his head in shame. Turning around, Draco found himself staring into the angry eyes of Potter, who held his charge in his arms.
“What’s your problem, Ferret? You think that throwing a fit is going to alleviate the situation?”
Draco sneered at Potter. “Shut up, Scarhead! You’re not the one taking care of the Mudblood while you and your band of merry-men go about gallivanting all over the continent.”
The tension in the room rose incredibly. Draco cracked his knuckles while Potter glared at him. “You’re right, Malfoy. It’s so hard taking care of a four-year old compared to taking down a Dark Lord.”
Just then, Mrs. Weasley walked in, staring in bewilderment at the books thrown all over the floor.
“What happened here, boys?”
“Nothing, Mrs. Weasley. Hermione experienced a random burst of magic and sent books flying all over the place. Malfoy here got knocked about by a couple, and lucky for him, I was walking by to stop the enchantment.”
Mrs. Weasley stared at their distressed states before frowning and leaving the room.
Potter covered for him! Somewhere hell had frozen over.
Draco was stunned into silence. Potter, however, solemnly stared at him. A fleeting moment of understanding seemed to hang in the air between them, until Hermione disappeared from Potter’s arms.
Draco’s eyes bulged out. Potter screamed an obscenity. And they both went into a panic looking wildly about the room.
“Where is she, Potter?” Draco screamed shrilly throwing a pillow across the room.
“I don’t know, Malfoy! She probably Apparated herself away.”
“She’s only FOUR! She can’t Apparate, you twat!”
“Ever heard of accidental magic, Malfoy?”
“I hate you, Potter.”
Scarhead laughed. “The feeling is mutual.”
Then they heard the Weasel screaming bloody murder.
Draco was first to react. He pushed Potter out of the way, running out of the library in a hurry to find Granger. Draco followed the Weasel’s screams and what appeared to be caterwauling in one of the rooms upstairs. Potter was following him closely, screaming to Draco about, ‘Why the bloody hell did you push me, Ferret?’ but he wasn’t listening. He was focused solely on following the tiny screams that he knew belonged to his charge.
“Shut up, Potter!” he huffed out as they both turned the corner to climb the stairs.
“Make me!”
They were now running in synch to each other, keeping pace almost as if they were back in the Quidditch pitch, testing each other’s Seeker skills.
“Let’s set an appointment! Does five o’clock sound good?”
“Peachy,” grunted Potter as he ran past him, pushing Draco towards the floor where he met the floor in a crashing heap.
Draco narrowed his eyes at the form of Potter laughing at him in the hallway. He promptly stood up, pushing Potter out of the way. Then he began climbing the rest of the steps in a hurry while Potter followed, laughing all the way.
To his horror, he came upon one scene he had never hoped to find. The Weasel was naked as the day he was born, with an old yellow towel futilely trying to cover himself, in the hallway, flushed from head to toe, and screaming at Granger to get out of the bathroom. For her part, Granger was covering her innocent little eyes with her small hands, and screaming, ‘Fewat, save me!’
I love you, Fewat!
Draco ran to her and picked her up, cradling her face on his shoulder so she wouldn’t have to see the disgusting male anatomy that was the Weasel.
“Weasley, cover yourself up! There are children running amuck, just in case you haven’t noticed.” Draco sneered, looking the red-head up and down. “Not that there is much to hide, I see.”
“Shut up, Malfoy! I don’t know why Harry insists you take care of Hermione. You can’t even seem to keep her from running away from you!”
“She didn’t run away from me, Weasel. Your golden boy was holding her when she popped in on you doing Merlin knows what.”
The overgrown Weasel turned around and questioningly looked at his friend. Potter shrugged noncommittally, a grin spread over his face. The red-head boy flushed in anger at being corrected by Draco.
“I’m still going to beat you up as soon as I get dressed,” threatened a very red Weasel.
Draco rolled his eyes before huffing in irritation. “If you’re going to beat me up, let’s do it before or after five. Scarhead’s got an appointment with me then.”
Draco, The Babysitter by mgle_teacher
Chapter Notes: This chapter has been some drama to get done and betaed for a couple of weeks now. I'm sorry for not finishing it earlier, but inspiration has been lacking for a long time. However, as mentioned before, I'm not abandoning this story. I will finish it.
Thanks to the wonderful people who betaed it for me: dancingcarrot21 of Ravenclaw, and elyaeru of LJ.
And thanks to the wonderful reviewers I have. You guys are awesome!