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Draco Malfoy And The Wormies

By Libertine


"Draco, get your head out of the jug."

Lucius Malfoy, presently involved in his favoured upper class passtime of tax evasion, barely glanced in his sonís direction as he spoke. Five year old Draco, head firmly wedged inside a crystal antique vase (circa 1810), made fish-faces at his father and then toddled off into a wall. Lucius rubbed his chin with one hand, eyeing up a series of numbers which claimed, in no uncertain terms, that the Malfoy estate owed two point five million galleons to the Ministry of Magic. With his free hand he felt for his wand, directing its tip toward the vase currently constricting his sonís breathing.


With a sucking sound, the vase shot from Dracoís head, leaving the boy rolling on the floor shrieking, covering his sore ears with both hands. Lucius snatched the vase from mid-air, and set it down neatly on a bulky copy of Malfoy Legal Precedents, 1526-1529. "Draco, stop eating the carpet," he said calmly, and returned to work.

A few minutes of silence elapsed, during which Lucius discovered a loop hole in the Magical Services Tax and Draco swallowed three paperclips, a gold cufflink Lucius had presumed missing for the past fortnight, and a hefty wad of carpet lint. Digesting the last of these gave Draco some trouble, but it wasnít anything a quick-thinking Ďaccio lintí from his father couldnít fix. Draco spluttered and coughed up a ginger coloured furball, which made Lucius breifly wonder about the mental health of the family cat.

The magical intercom on Luciusí table buzzed. Lucius tapped it with his wand.

"Looshie, we have company," his wife trilled down the line. "Is Draco ready?"

Lucius looked at Draco, who hiccuped.

"Are you ready, Draco?" he asked.

"I think I have wormies," said Draco, scratching.

"Heís ready," Lucius told Narcissa. "Iíll send him off to you, shall I?"

"Do hurry, Looshie, darling. The little Crabbe boy is here and I need Draco around to distract him from mauling the cat."

Lucius clicked off the intercom and stared down at the grubby little child scuffing at the carpet with his bare feet. Dracoís lower lip was puckered outwards in deep concentration. Rising slightly from his chair, Lucius ruffled his fingers through the blond boyís hair, then wiped them conscientiously on a hankerchief. "You heard your mother," he said gravely. "Off you go, then."

"Wormies," said Draco, turning on his heel and shuffling towards the door.

"And, Draco?" Lucius called, before the boy had vanished into the corridor.

Draco paused obediently, one foot over the threshold.

"Put on some pants."


The corridors of the Malfoy manor were decked in banners of green and black, and strains of orchestral music filled the air. A massive sign engulfed the back wall of the entrance hall, offering a gaudy welcome to all those who had chosen to attend ten year reunion of the 1975 YMDA (Young Menís Death Eater Association). Couples, most with their prettied-up offspring tagging along behind, stood around sipping expensive champagne and commenting on the decor. Narcissa Malfoy, whoíd decided to make a fashion statement by wearing nothing but three strategically placed diamonds, was flirting shamelessly with Mr. Avery, while assorted Crabbes, Goyles, Parkinsons, Zabinis, Mulcibers, unimprisoned Lestranges and Rookwoods made short work of the appertifs.

Wearing his underwear and a blue lacey number his mother had laid out hopefully on the end of his bed, Draco shuffled into the room, his eyes fixiated on the couscous. Narcissa spotted him immediately, and dashed over, scooping him into her arms. "Darling!" she breathed into his hair. "You look simply stunning!"

"I have wormies," said Draco, affectionately.

Narcissa made a hmph noise under her breath, and set him down again rather quickly. "I see, darling," she said. "Now, look, your little friends are here." Gently, she spun him around, and pointed toward the corner. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were attempting to kick each other in the nuts in a friendly fashion, while their respective mothers smiled and cooed. "Why donít you take those nice boys outside and play with them, Draco?" Narcissa enthused.

"Donít want to," said Draco, sticking out his lower lip.

"Whyís that, dearest?"

"Because theyíll just push me over in the mud and pee on my head again," said Draco, pouting even harder.

"Yes, dear, but thatís what boys do," said Narcissa, patting his head. "Your daddy spent most of school getting urinated on too, and look at what a fine man he grew up to become."

The sudden sound of magical static filled the room, followed by an ear-splitting beeping noise. The intercom was malfunctioning again. Narcissa released her son and walked over to the intercom in the hall, apologising to the YMDA members and their wives as she passed by them. "So sorry, silly house elves," she said, and started to fiddle with the dial.

"Looshie, dear... Iím having a bit of trouble understanding you here," Narcissa called into the mouthpiece. "Let me just see if I can..."

Luciusí voice suddenly blasted out of the speaker.

"Cissy, I canít find my favourite wanking socks!"

Narcissa looked behind her, taking in the shocked expressions of her guests. "Er, darling..." she began, quietly.

"I looked everywhere, but I canít find them," Lucius continued, unaware he was being broadcast around the entire manor. "This vexes me. I canít masturbate without my socks." A burst of static followed, then: "...and for godsake, Cissy, if Lobelia Crabbe starts making moves on you, have the bloody decency to fuck her in one of the closets this time. And, no, you canít use my fur-lined cuffs to chain her to the hangers, so donít ask."

Mr. Crabbe stared goggle-eyed at his wife, whoíd suddenly become extremely interested in the fairy bread.

"Lucius, darling, light of my life," Narcissa hissed into the intercom, "the machine is broken. Everyone can hear you."

There was a lengthy silence.

"Hi, guys," said Lucius finally, in a very different tone of voice. "Whatís happening?"

"You blonde bitch," said Mr. Crabbe, to Narcissa.

"It was an accident, honey," Lobelia protested. "I just slipped and fell into an ouchie chair."

"He he, isnít Lucius a card," said Narcissa, fanning herself with her hand.

Meanwhile, Vincent and Gregory had spotted the befrocked Draco and were advancing upon him, twin grins spread across their gormless faces. Vincent socked one fist into a meaty palm, while Gregory poked a finger into Dracoís chest.

"Long time no see, pissboy," said Vincent. "Want to take a walk?"


Half an hour later, Draco was lying in the mud outside, while twin streams of urine squirted onto his head. Despite the smell, it didnít feel so bad -- rather like having a warm, sticky shower. Nevertheless, Draco was unwilling to open his mouth or his eyes. He balled his hands into his dress and thought happy thoughts: daddy, mummy and wormies. When the shower trailed off to a trickle, Draco carefully raised himself into a sitting position, and wiped fastidiously at his face.

"Iím going to kill you both," he said, coldly.

"In your dreams," said Vincent, buttoning up his pants.

"Ha ha, you got peed on," said Gregory, whoíd never been very good at snappy retorts.

Draco glanced toward the manor, and then back at the two boys. "Iím going to tell my father," he said firmly. "And my father will tell your fathers, and your fathers will spank you."

"Oh, poo," said Vincent, frowning.

"Ha ha, you got peed on," said Gregory, who wasnít much for variety, either.

Huffing to himself, Draco rose haughtily to his feet, or as haughtily as he could while reeking of urine. He smoothed back his hair with one hand and looked down his nose at them. They were both such... ignoramuses, was the word his father used. (Darling cuties was the word his mother used, but Draco didnít really feel it was applicable in his current situation.) They were wholly unworthy of pissing on the head of a Malfoy. Draco smirked, and waddled off toward the house.

"I have cooties," he called over his shoulder. "Now your pee pees will have cooties too."

"Aah!" said Vincent, scratching.

"Ha ha, you got peed on," said Gregory, though there was a note of worry in his voice by this stage.

"Shut up, fatso," said Vincent, cross at his lack of foresight and worried about the unenviable prospect of pee pee cooties. "And, dammit Greg, would you pull up your pants."


The house elves caught up with Draco before he could wander, stinking, into the dining room, where the other YMDA members had settled. With a little house elf magic they managed to get the Malfoy heir into a decent state. Draco got tired of their pestering after a while, and bit one on the nose. The house elves took off, shrieking, leaving Draco to enter unencumbered by both smell and escorts. Narcissa, seated at the head of the table, indicated for him to take his place at the far end, between Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini.

Draco struggled onto the chair. Pansy batted her eyelashes at him. "Will you be my boyfriend?" she asked.

"Wormies," said Draco, shaking his head.

"Iíll be your boyfriend," Blaise offered gallantly.

"You?" Pansy looked Blaise up and down. "I donít even know if youíre a boy or a girl," she said, turning up her nose.

"For five sickles, Iíll let you find out," said Blaise.

Further up the lengthy banqueting table, the adults were discussing adult business over mouthfuls of egg salad and pasta.

"Iíve got a good one," said Mr. Zabini. "What do you get if you cross a Muggle with a chicken?"

"I donít know," said Lucius. "What do you get if you cross a Muggle with a chicken?"

"A stupid chicken," Mr. Zabini shrieked. "A really, really stupid chicken!"

The entire adult gathering, barring the two Malfoys, burst out into hysterics. The widow Mrs. Mulciber slapped her thigh in a highly unladylike fashion, Mrs. Crabbe snorted butterbeer through her nose, and Mr. Rookwood knocked over his glass. Mr. Goyle laughed so hard he almost choked on an olive, and had to be hit repeatedly on his back by his wife.

"Remind me again why we do this, love?" said Lucius, through gritted teeth.

"It amused you last time," said Narcissa, wiping daintily at her mouth with a napkin.

"I must have been drunk."

"You were completely off your face, dearest," Narcissa admitted. "Another glass of champagne, did you say?"

Lucius nodded weakly, pushing his goblet towards her.


When the third course showed up, so did Crabbe and Goyle Jr., both of them looking slightly concerned. They slid into their chairs opposite Draco, and glowered at him. Draco pretended he hadnít noticed, and pushed an anchovy around his plate. Vincent kicked him sharply under the table, and Draco winced, biting his lip. He didnít want to look up. He didnít want to look at all. But then Gregory started kicking him, and he had to.

Gregory smirked. "Youíre a bad person," he said. "When we get out of here..."

"Weíre going to hit you so hard you turn into poo poo," Vincent finished.

Draco shifted.

"Youíll be poo poo boy," said Gregory.

Draco lifted his chin, and gave Gregory a long, cold stare. "Well, Mr. Goyle," said Draco loudly, "Just you watch yourself, or Iíll throw you over my desk, grab that fine round arse of yours in both my hands, and fill your hot fuckhole full of my hard sexmeat until you canít... fucking... take it any more."

There was dead silence at the dining table, interupted only by the sound of Mrs. Avery hunting for her false teeth in the soup bowl. Gregoryís eyes were the size of cauldrons. Vincent had a funny look on his face, the sort he usually made when he peed his pants.

"What?" said Draco, frowning at this sudden attention. "Daddy said it first. I was only repeating."

All eyes now swivelled to Lucius Malfoy. Then, belatedly, to Gregory Goyle Sr., who was cringing in his chair, looking as if he wished the ground would swallow him up. Draco hummed under his breath, and resumed eating.

"You bastard!" Mrs. Goyle screamed suddenly, breaking the silence. "You dirty, dirty bastard!" She hit Mr. Goyle over the head with her handbag, and then rose from the table. The door to the dining hall slammed loudly behind her, causing the crystal plates and glasses to shudder on the tabletop, and the chandelier overhead to swing dangerously to and fro.

Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy assessed the damage, and came to an unspoken agreement

"Ha ha ha," said Narcissa. "Isnít little Draco such a funny boy."

"Donít kids just say the darndest things?" Lucius agreed.

"My life is ruined," Mr. Goyle moaned, his head in his hands.

"Oh, donít be a silly," said Narcissa, patting him lightly on the shoulder. "You havenít even had your pudding yet."


Four hours later, the adults were drunk out of their minds, and the younger generation slunk out, happily missing the spectacle of the well endowed Mrs. Mulciber lapdancing for the equally well endowed Lucius. In the hall, Gregory and Vincent held Draco up against the wall by his shoulders, so that Dracoís legs swung a good two inches from the floor. Pansy squealed at this violence, and Blaise, who could see opportunity knocking from a while off, offered her a comforting shoulder to whine on. Draco wriggled, but the other two boys were far larger and stronger than he was.

"Youíre going to get it now," Vincent chimed.

"Ha ha, you got peed on," said Gregory, warming to the subject.

"My father..." Draco began weakly.

"Your father what?" said Vincent, smirking. "Huh, Malfoy? Everyone knows that our fathers are stronger than your father."

"And bigger," Gregory agreed.

"My fatherís bigger than you, though," Draco shrieked, suddenly. "My fatherís going to kill you! My fatherís going to hurt you until you die! And when you die, heíll kill you some more! My fatherís the best father in the world, and he wonít let you pee on my head again! My fatherís going to..."

Gregory hit him.

Then Vincent did.

Pansy started screaming at this point, adding to the commotion, but her terror was mainly due to the fact that Blaise, feeling particularly benevolent, had let her have a quick glimpse of what lay beneath the Zabini heirís overalls, no charge.


Severus Snape turned up at the gathering near dusk, causing quite a stir amongst the company. The last defector to turn up at a YMDA reunion had left with his genitalia in a paper bag, and Mr. Avery muttered darkly about Snape suffering the same fate. But the Malfoys were openly welcoming of the traitor, and so the others were obliged by the conditions of wizard ettiquette to accept his presence. While the group sung bawdy songs about Muggle kills of the past, Snape settled himself down on a chair a little way from the party, swigging a beer and looking extremely nervous and out of place.

Lucius took pity on him, and wandered over. "You didnít have to come, you know," he said, putting a freindly arm around his ex-compatriot. "But I really appreciate the effort..."

"You said youíd emasculate me in my sleep if I didnít," said Snape thinly.

"Oh, yes, so I did," said Lucius, slapping his forehead. "Gosh, that was rather naughty of me. Still, I thought it would be nice to have the old gang back together."

"The old gang," said Snape. He scoffed, and took another swig of his bottle. "Theyíre a bunch of mindless idiots," he said. "They arenít a gang. They donít give a shit about you, and they donít give a shit about each other, either. Theyíre a group of rich fools who thought it would be a fun idea to take over the world, and were too infernally stupid to think of the repercussions. You were there, you saw them. ĎPip pip, folks, Iím off to slaughter another Mud-bloodí... honestly, it makes me sick to think I ever wore the Dark Mark with pride. And now theyíre defeated, I find them even more pitiful. Look at them. Wallowing in their excesses, in their debauchery, in their ignorance, and they still have the arrogance to suppose themselves the superior race."

"Well, we are the superior race," said Lucius.

Snape glared. "Thatís not the fucking point, Malfoy."

"What is the point, then?"

Snape gave up. "Forget it," he said. "Just... forget it."

Standing on a chair wearing only her garter belt, Mrs. Parkinson suddenly clapped her hands loudly. "I have a wonderful idea!" she cried. "Letís tell spooky stories!"

The others chimed their agreement, clambering off the furniture. They settled into a rough half circle, and began to argue drunkenly over who would tell the first story. Snape watched them for a few minutes, and then raised his hand. "Iíll tell you a scary story," he offered.

Mr. Avery smirked. "What would you know about scary stories, traitor?" he snapped.

"Iím a high school teacher," said Snape, mildly.

"Oh, good point," said the YMDA, nodding. "You go first, then."

Snape set down his beer on the head of a nearby house elf, and brushed down his trousuers in readiness for some storytelling. Perching his buttocks on the edge of his chair, he stared at them, one by one, his dark eyes seeming suddenly hollow. His shoulders were hunched in his dark robes, his whole aspect one of menace. "Now that youíre settled comfortably," he began, "Iíll begin." He smiled thinly. "Once upon a time, a time not so distant from now, there was a Dark Wizard..."

"Just like us, dear," said Lobelia Crabbe, to her husband.

"Shut up, you slut," said Mr. Crabbe.

"...as I was saying," Snape continued, "there was once a Dark Wizard. He loved the Dark Arts, and liked to play around with demon rising and the like. He was very rich, and lived in a great big house, where he had a lot of secret items which the Ministry of Magic would have loved to get their hands on. Nevertheless, he was a very respected member of society. He hated Muggles with a passion, and liked to go out to secluded areas and tease them, or bring them back to torture in his bedroom, gaining a perverse pleasure out of watching those despicable creatures squirm."

The company was warming to the story. They leaned forwards, eyes wide. Behind Snapeís back, Lucius made frantic gestures towards his wife, but Narcissa, too, appeared enthralled by Snapeís tale.

"He led a charmed existence, worshiped by the magical community, while remaining able to enjoy being evil behind everyoneís back whenever he wanted to. He felt powerful, in a sneaky sort of way; he felt untouchable. Everything was wonderful, everything was brilliant. But then... something changed. Something happened that would change his life forever. One day..."

Snapeís voice had dropped to a whisper. The company strained to hear.

"One day..."

The company shivered in anticipation.

"One day..." said Severus Snape, "VOLDEMORT CAME BACK."

"ARRRRRRRGH!" screamed the YMDA, as a whole.

As the Malfoyís guests scooped up their respective offspring and rushed from the building, still gibbering in terror, Lucius and Narcissa stared at each other blankly over Snapeís head. Snape, who was now looking very pleased with himself, settled back on his chair and took in a deep, satisfied breath.

"That felt really good," he told the Malfoys dryly, smirking all the while. "Quite an excitable lot, arenít they? Hm, well, at least they left some couscous..."

"Get out of my house, Severus," said Lucius sternly, "otherwise my wife and I shall be forced to urinate on your head."


The Malfoys discovered their son cowering in the hallway, bruised and whimpering. Narcissa picked him up gently, and then, remembering the wormies, passed him quickly to her husband. Lucius sighed, and ran his fingers through Dracoís hair. "My turn to put him to bed, I assume?" he said. Narcissa smiled, nodded, and vanished up the corridor. With Draco clutching to his neck, Lucius sighed again and made off in the opposite direction.

Draco didnít say a word until Lucius had put him into his pajamas and was tucking him in. "You didnít come," he accused bitterly.

"Daddy was drunk, Draco," said Lucius calmly. He pulled the covers up to Dracoís chin, and knelt by the bed, leaning over to give Draco a goodnight kiss on his forehead. But Draco turned his head, stubbornly. His eyes were damp, but he was refusing resolutely to cry. He squirmed onto his side, away from Lucius, and glared at the wall.

"Draco," said Lucius.

"They were hitting me," said Draco. "I was yelling and you didnít come. I said youíd kill them and you didnít. You were... away. Itís not fair." His voice trembled. "I think you are a poo poo," he said. "I like wormies better than you."

Lucius watched his sonís small body shudder. "I canít be there all the time," he said softly.

"You should be," Draco whispered hoarsely. "Youíre *meant* to be."

A moment passed in silence, then Lucius untucked Draco from the cocoon heíd created. Draco struggled as Lucius picked him up. Lucius held him tightly, moving to the door and pushing it open with his foot.

In the hall, the YMDA decorations were drooping in the dusky light. One or two banners had come unstuck, and dangled lopsidedly to the ground.

"Iím your father, not god," said Lucius briskly, as he carried Draco through the passageways of the manor. "I canít be there all the time, much as Iíd like to be. Iím not going to be here forever, you know..."

"I want you here when it matters," Draco sniffed into Luciusí shoulder. "Síall."

"I am, Draco. I am."

Draco thought this one over, and stopped sniffling. He clung tighter around Luciusí neck, wriggling his head under his fatherís chin.

"And if those boys do trouble you again, Iíll give you a little advice on how to deal with it," said Lucius. "Rather Mugglish advice, Iíll admit, but the little unmagical bastards do have their purpose -- and their place. And this particular piece of advice did serve me very well in the past, before I was old enough to hex their underpants..."

A scantily clad Veela jogged across the hall junction a few metres ahead of them, causing Lucius to breifly lose his train of thought.

"Daddy?" Draco prompted.

"Oh, yes," said Lucius, shaking his head faintly. "Muggle advice..."

"Yes," said Draco.

"Do you know what a cattle prod is, Draco?" Lucius asked.

"Nup," said Draco.

Lucius smiled. "Iíll show you how to use one in the morning," he said, pushing open his bedroom door with his foot. On the marital bed, Narcissa looked up from her book (ĎThe Dummyís Guide to Childrenís Hygeineí), and raised an eyebrow.

"Room for one more, darling?" Lucius asked her, pushing aside the blankets.


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