Draco spent the rest of dinner throwing hateful glares at Potter while trying to help feed the Mudblood. He was rather disgusted with the entire affair; he wondered how long it would take before he would develop his own wandless magic to curse himself and end his miserable existence.
First, the Mudblood spent the entire dinner calling him ‘Fewat’ and demanding she feed him; but once he would begin feeding her, she threw a fit.
“I don’t like that!” she pouted, pointing at the offending vegetable innocently laying on the dinnerware.
“Enough, Mud-Granger. Eat it: it’s good for you,” he admonished sternly, not necessarily caring either way for her health, but putting up a good show for Potter and crew.
“No!” she screamed, picking up the broccoli and throwing it across the room where it smacked Remus on the forehead. Draco scowled at the Mudblood, Remus snickered, Potter laughed, and Mrs. Weasley coyly smiled at the Mudblood’s childish antics.
“Granger, apologize,” Draco muttered half-heartedly, trying his best to look scandalized at the toddler’s behaviour but secretly glad that it had hit the werewolf.
“NO! I want a cookie!” she answered, crossing her small arms over her chest in defiance.
“No! Eat your vegetables,” he replied, locking his eyesight with hers in a battle of wills.
“COOKIE!” she screamed.
“Malfoy just give her a cookie,” Potter cried out, covering his ears with his hands.
Draco narrowed his eyes at Potter before replying over the screaming, “She’ll ruin her appetite, Potter. And I do not fancy staying up taking care of a sick child should she actually get sick from the blasted cookie.”
“He’s right, dear,” Mrs. Weasley piped in as she began clearing the table, not paying attention to the screaming child sitting next to her.
“Are you taking his side, Mrs. Weaslely?” Harry asked, looking scandalized at the thought.
“Harry, shame on you, I’m not taking anyone’s side. Draco is taking care of Hermione right now, and I believe he’s right in not wanting her to eat cookies for dinner. Goodness knows that I hardly ever allowed so much sugar at the dinner table,” Mrs. Weasley mentioned, eyeing the red-faced toddler who had run-out of breath during her screaming, and appeared to be readying herself for a second tirade.
Draco smiled smugly at Potter as the git stared darkly at him from across the table. He couldn’t help but feel that he had won a small battle. A tugging on his sleeve broke Draco from his reverie; the Mudblood was yawning and rubbing her eyes with one small fist.
“Why don’t you get her ready for bed dear?” Molly Weasley prodded with a gentle, motherly voice.
Potter raised an eyebrow at Draco. “He’s getting her ready for bed, Mrs. Weasley? Isn’t that…wrong? He’s a prat, and she’s, well…she’s Hermione.”
Mrs. Weasley furrowed her eyebrows in consideration. “I know who she is, Harry. Besides wasn’t it your idea for him to take care of her?”
The bespectacled boy stared blankly at the red-headed woman before reluctantly nodding his consent. “I suppose.”
Feeling uncomfortable and angry, Draco picked up the small girl from her high chair and began carrying her to her bedroom. He couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes burning onto his back as he retreated into the grim old house. To his surprise, the Mudblood climbed off his arms halfway up the stairs, and began walking next to him. However, when they reached the landing, he felt a sudden insistent tug on his robes.
As he looked down, Draco noticed that Mud-Granger was readying herself to throw another temper tantrum. He toyed with the idea of leaving her screaming on the landing, but thought better of it since Potter was still downstairs, probably whispering conspiratorially against him.
“No sleep,” she muttered.
“But you’re tired, Mud-Granger.”
“No sleep.”
“Granger! I don’t have time for this. It’s getting late, you need to sleep, and I need to find a way to reverse this disaster.”
“No sleep!” she defiantly pouted.
Frustrated beyond belief, Draco voluntarily picked up Granger and carried the kicking child the rest of the way to her room as she began bellowing about wanting Bob. He unceremoniously dumped her on her tiny bed and began searching for her pyjamas, desperately trying to complete this chore called bedtime. The former Slytherin was so focused on his mission that he failed to notice when the cries from the girl mysteriously ceased.
When he turned around to disgustedly face the Mudblood, holding a pair of pink pyjamas with fluffy white kittens all over, Draco panicked. He instantly realized that she wasn’t in her bed where he had previously left her screaming and kicking.
“Merlin’s beard!” he cursed, throwing the pink pyjamas on the floor in anger. He ran out of the room in search of the girl, and hoped that he would find her before Potter, or the red-headed busy-body found out she was missing; he didn’t fancy getting an earful from the Weasley matriarch about keeping a watchful eye on children.
He frantically searched the top two levels of the house before nonchalantly walking downstairs with the false pretence of getting more milk for the Mudblood.
As Draco walked out into the kitchen, he saw, to his horror, that Potter had the Mudblood cradled on his shoulder rather expertly. Worse yet, the four-eyed git looked rather smug about it. Draco didn’t want to look like an incompetent idiot in front of the ‘Chosen One.’ Therefore, channelling his inner Slytherin, Draco decided to turn the attitude back on Saint Potter.
“Potter! What do you think you’re doing?” he retorted, stomping over to the ex-Gryffindor while reaching for his charge.
“What am I doing, Malfoy?” laughed Potter, allowing Malfoy to take a sleeping Hermione from his arms. “I should be the one asking what you are doing; it appears, to me, that you misplaced my best friend in less than an hour. You can’t keep track of a four-year old, Malfoy?”
Draco scowled at Potter, re-arranged Granger on his hip, and made sure she was asleep before calmly replying. “Nonsense, Potter. Of course I can take care of a four-year old. It seems to me that you’re the one who purposely took Granger out of bed to make me appear like a berk. I was merely coming down here for an extra glass of milk before bed, and found you with her looking smug and almighty annoying.”
“I did no such thing, Malfoy,” Potter retorted. “In fact, Hermione was the one who came to me, crying about not being able to sleep because the Ferret hadn’t given her Bob, like he promised earlier.”
“Well, Potter, I would have Transfigured another Bob if I had a wand in my possession. Seeing as I don’t have one, no thanks to you, then I can’t exactly keep my promises to her now, can I?”
“I’m not giving you your wand back, Malfoy,” snapped Potter, standing abruptly.
“Then how do you propose I take proper care of your Mudblood best friend, Potter?”
“I already told you, Malfoy, the same way Muggles have done for centuries--without magic. Maybe that way you’ll learn that living without magic isn’t so despicable.”
Draco narrowed his eyes in anger. Potter defiantly stared back. They stood like that for a long moment before Harry continued:
“Let’s get one thing straight, Malfoy: I don’t trust you. You don’t trust me. The only reason you’re here is because I was on that tower the night Dumbledore was murdered by your snivelling godfather. You’re rather useless, if you must know; we can’t use you as a spy, you’re an annoying spoiled Slytherin brat, and no one likes you. Your only useful skill is your potions making ability, and the fact that Hermione is now one-fourth of her original age is your fault! After I defeat Voldemort, you will go to Azkaban to rot with your father-- or better yet, be permanently exiled from the wizarding world. If you so much as step out of line while taking care of Hermione, I will hunt you down, Malfoy, and then you’ll be begging for your Dark Lord.”
Draco stared blankly at Potter as a torrent of emotions danced across his face, from anger and hurt to fear and confusion. However, he quickly hid them behind a mask of indifference before Potter had a chance to analyze them, turned his back on the four-eyed git, and walked away from the half-blood’s offending presence.
However, being the Slytherin that he was, he couldn’t help but try and cast some fear on his nemesis. Stopping at the door, Draco muttered darkly from the shadows, “If I’m as useless to the Order as you claim I am, Potter, you’d better watch you back more carefully---you wouldn’t want to be murdered in your sleep now, would you? If the Dark Lord ever taught us anything, it was that you don’t need magic to kill someone“sometimes Muggles really do have better techniques.”
Draco, The Babysitter by mgle_teacher
Chapter Notes: Props to my beta: Gmariam. *loves*
Also, thanks to all of you who emailed asking for updates XD
You're the best!
Hope you enjoy this chapter - I think it's the best by far; even though, it's not very funny.
Yes, Harry is a jerk. I have my motives. >>