Draco Malfoy's Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day

by Taryn

...with my apologies to Alexander.

NOTE: This is the result of both conversations with my shampoo bottle and Telanu's "Oh Professor Snape, you sexy bitch" challenge from snapeslash, though I didn't succeed in making it the first line. As everyone else's challenge responses were lovely, I went the other direction entirely. This has also not been beta read, which means mistakes are most certainly entirely my own, and I apologize for them in advance.

SPOILERS: Um... maybe the first four books, though if you recognize anything resembling a spoiler, you're probably trying too hard.

RATING: No more than R, as much is implied. Maybe closer to PG-13.

PAIRING: Oh, where to begin? Crabbe/Goyle, Pansy/Millicent, Snape/Harry, Lupin/Black, Ron/Justin/the Patil twins, MacGonagall/Sprout, Neville/Colin, Dumbledore/Hagrid, Lucius/Fluffles- aka the Wizard Formerly Known as Voldemort, Fred/George/Lee, Fred/George/Lee/Draco, Ginny/Hermoine. Still with me? I'm impressed.

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, I own nothing. This was written solely for my entertainment, and as suing me is an exercise in futility, please just let it slide. J.K. Rowling is my Goddess.

WARNINGS: This is a parody. If you can't stand parodies, any of the pairings listed above- just trust me, all right?- or excessive commercialism, hit delete now. Go on. I dare you.

Draco Malfoy, Evil Student Extraordinaire, sat on the edge of his bed in the Slytherin seventh-year dormitory at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with his robes slightly askew and his ash-blonde hair falling carelessly into a tangled mass that nearly obscured his cold gray eyes. A hairbrush was clenched in one fist. Thin, elegant fingers curled around the wooden handle as his mind dashed frantically down dark long-unused corridors, ducking cobwebs and trying desperately to remember the words to a perfect-hair spell. Surely there had to be one somewhere, but Draco couldn't seem to remember ever having heard it, and the singed spots on his face where his eyebrows had previously resided were a constant reminder of the dangers of experimentation.

Cursing to himself with every vile oath he'd ever heard escape from his father's mouth, Draco gave up and threw the offending hairbrush across the room. He was rewarded with the satisfying tinkle of breaking glass as the wood smashed into the floor-length mirror next to the door. The satisfaction was brief, however, and eventually Draco had to haul himself up and begin to search for his hat and- worst of all- his shoes. Imagine, a member of the Noble Aristocracy- the Landed Elite, even!- having to dress themselves. This, he reminded himself savagely as he sifted through the discarded piles of clothing hiding the dusky stone of the floor, was all that mudblood Granger's fault. She and her damn House Elf Liberation Front were behind this. Well, Granger and a rather large quantity of unwashed smelly socks, but Granger was definitely the important part, and she'd definitely be the first to go when Voldemort finally came to his senses, defeated Dumbledore, and became Ruler of the Universe.

That, however, was in the glorious future, and in the interim there was still the problem of shoes. Finally Draco managed to unearth a pair of loafers from beneath a pile of homework essays someone had bought off the internet at the Hogsmeade Internet Café- someone was going to pay for that idea too, Draco was positive, which was a shame, really- and gave the pile one last savage kick he pulled the loafers on his feet, stuffed someone's hat on his head, and stomped towards the door.

The worst part of it all, even more so than the horrifying lack of a single enslaved house elf to do laundry or, better yet, yell at, was that today was Saturday. Normally this wouldn't be such a bad thing. Actually, Saturday's, with their complete lack of classes, usually ranked right up at the very top of Draco's list of favorite things. Today, however, was obviously going to be one of those days.

He'd been woken at dawn by odd noises originating from the bed next to his. Convinced that his henchmen were hard at work already coming up with ways to implement his plans for the day- Draco's mind never did work at its best at 6 A.M.- he'd jumped up and thrown back the curtains, a malicious smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He'd been totally unprepared for the sight of Crabbe going down on Goyle, who had his thrown back and a look of something approaching an actual expression on his troll-like face. Draco had blanched and stayed frozen to the floor, his eyes as wide and unblinking as those of someone confronted with a horrific accident.

Which, of course, this obviously was. Crabbe and Goyle worshipped him. They weren't supposed to have lives of their own. They lived to serve, period. That was the way the world worked.

"What do you think you're doing? I didn't-" The words died in his throat as his mind processed that his tone of voice didn't sound nearly as much like a roar of indignation as he would have liked. One would think, if one didn't know who he was, of course, that there was almost a hint of a squeak involved. Silence under the circumstances was probably a much better option.

Then the unthinkable happened. Not only did Crabbe and Goyle both ignore the glory of his barely-clad presence- pajamas had been the first thing to go into the piles on the floor, directly before the last of the underwear and socks- but one of them mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "bugger off" before the bed curtain was yanked out of Draco's hand with a surprising air of finality.

Draco stared at the curtain and his empty hand for a moment before the noises started up again. At that point the only option available to him was to escape the mental image that accompanied the noises, which was too much to handle on an empty stomach at dawn. Grabbing something that looked like his robes in the soft light filtering from the one remaining candle, Draco stormed out of the dormitory. In his haste he nearly tripped over Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulistrude, who were sprawled over the stone floor of the hallway, doing things that appeared even more unthinkable than what was happening in the room behind him. Shuddering and pulling the robes more tightly around himself, Draco stormed off towards the Great Hall and breakfast, determined to get something to eat before going back to bed for the rest of the afternoon while the universe righted itself.

It wasn't until he reached the hall and heard the Hufflepuff Quidditch team snickering that he looked down and noticed the pink fluffy bunny motif of his robes, but by then it was too late. Gathering the shreds of his dignity, Draco shoved his hair out of his eyes and marched barefoot towards the empty length of the Slytherin table. He sat down and waited a few minutes, glancing around expectantly, but despite past experience breakfast refused to appear. Smoky eyes narrowed in a rush of suspicious anger as the snickering at the next table intensified into something that leaned heavily towards outright laughter.

"Hey Malfoy, expecting to be served, are you?"

Draco, who was expecting precisely that, turned a suspicious glare towards the speaker. The Hufflepuff Quidditch captain smirked at him, eyes dancing with delight. Draco noticed absently that his robes were spotless and his hair carefully combed. But then, he was a Hufflepuff, so domestic labor with a smile was to be expected.

Apparently not trusting to his voice, the boy pointed towards the front of the hall before turning back to his teammates and drawing their wandering attention back to whatever hopeless strategy they were developing.

Draco ignored them with the ease of long practice and stalked up to the front of the hall. At the head table rested a loaf of bread, a toaster, a coffeepot, and a crude sign that read "self-service".

"The house elves have today off," a voice informed him apologetically.

Taking a deep breath, Draco grabbed a piece of bread and jammed it into the toaster. It couldn't be that difficult, right? Muggles did it every day. With a dark glare he leaned against the table edge and tried to will his toast to hurry up.

"Here," said the voice, and the Hufflepuff seeker reached over his shoulder and hit a lever on the toaster, making the bread disappear from sight. Draco transferred his glare to her.

"I knew that."

"Sure you did. It'll pop up when it's done." The girl gave him a bright smile tinged with amusement. Leaning over, she patted him on the shoulder. "Nice robes." Her laughter trailed behind her as she made her way back to her teammates.

Drawing his pink fluffy bunny robes tighter with dignity, Draco snatched his toast- only slightly singing his fingers in the process- and marched back out of the Great Hall. Even the sounds of Crabbe and Goyle in the midst of - well, something unthinkable- had to be better than this.


Please excuse us. We'll be right back after a short commercial break, in which the narrator tries to jump back to the present while simultaneously remembering where the story was actually headed.


Wake up every morning with those telltale stains on your bedsheets? Dungeon looking a bit worse for wear? Received word that Ministry officials are planning a raid on your manor? Just try a spray of Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover. So easy to use you won't notice the absence of your house elves, and so quick acting that not even your nosy neighbor and his spy glasses will suspect the truth.

Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover.

Ask for it by name.


Right, back to the story. So today had been horrible thus far, and it wasn't even time yet for lunch. Things could only look up, or so Draco decided as he traded the bunny robes for plain black ones that didn't quite show signs of wear yet. Pansy and Millicent had removed themselves from the hallway, and he had the dorm room- now blessedly quiet- all to himself. That, even given the state of disrepair and the mangled mess he'd made of his normally perfect hair, was enough to lighten his mood. It was with a light step and a song in his heart that Draco made his way carefully around the piles of refuse to the door. Not even his reflection in the mirror- it was a magic mirror used regularly by teenagers; of course it could repair itself- was enough to convince him to give up a perfectly good Saturday in favor of mindless sleep.

And if he was missing the general adoration of his cronies, well, what of it? He had enough stored up to last, and he could demand more at any moment. Crabbe and Goyle's rebuff this morning had after all been in the heat of the moment- Draco's stomach lurched a bit at the thought of which moment that had been, exactly- and after they crawled around like worms for a couple of days he'd graciously forgive them their transgressions.

For today, though, he'd just have to entertain himself. How hard could that possibly be?

Inspiration struck as he stepped out into the main corridor that trailed along the dungeons. Of course! What better way to lighten his afternoon than a visit to his favorite teacher? Snape wouldn't dare rebuff him, and maybe he'd even have some new ideas for the upcoming punishments Draco was sure to be able to deliver soon.

What a cheerful thought.

Whistling to himself, Draco tapped the third stone from the bottom of the smoky torch exactly halfway along the corridor and intoned the password- "Oh Professor Snape, you sexy bitch"- to open the portal to the potion master's private quarters. Without a second thought he stepped inside the apparently empty room and pushed the doors closed behind him.


His voice echoed weirdly from the walls as he stopped to examine some of the more interesting specimen jars cluttering the shelves. There was that mind control potion that Snape had mentioned in his last lecture. If he could come up with the recipe, that offered limitless possibilities…

He was entirely unprepared for the sight of a breathless Snape wearing only skintight black leather pants that appeared in the bedroom doorway a moment later. Snape blinked slightly unfocused dark eyes at him. "Malfoy?" His tone, for some reason, sounded oddly breathless.

Malfoy tilted his head to the side in surprise, nearly losing his hat. "Professor, I'm sorry if I woke you," Draco began, not sorry at all. It was only fitting that someone else's day got off to as bad a start as his own. "I needed to ask you about a potion."

Snape blinked, stared at him, looked down at his pants, and blinked again. "Now's not a good time, Malfoy. If you'd just run along…"

His voice trailed off and he glanced back into the bedroom, completely missing the expression of fury that contorted Draco's face. "Oh, I don't think so," he began in a hiss, but even anger failed him as Harry Potter emerged from Snape's bedroom, looking even more disheveled than usual.

"Severus? Who is it?" His startling green eyes turned toward Draco, and Harry sighed with something that sounded amazingly like irritation. "Oh, it's just Malfoy."

Just Malfoy? Draco began to see red. Just Malfoy?!?!?

"Now look here," he began, his voice shaking with anger, "when the headmaster hears about this, I won't be just Malfoy, will I, Professor?"

Snape tried with great difficulty to drag his eyes away from Harry's naked chest and back to the problem at hand. "Who, Dumbledore? What does he have to do with anything?"

Harry ran one hand up Snape's naked arm into his hair, which was dripping with some sort of oil.

Oops. Wait just a minute, please.


The room dims, a sink and large chair with rose print appearing under a single bright spotlight. Snape leaves Harry and Draco frozen in a tableau like statues and crosses to sit down. Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, wearing flowered aprons and appearing in full gay hairdresser mode, sashay on from offscreen. Snape leans back and Lupin begins lathering his hair with something bright yellow while Black turns to speak to the camera. Snape moans wordlessly.


Black turns on his best simpering smile. "Try Herbal Essences shampoo today. Guaranteed to cut even through leftover lubricant and bodily fluids with the merest flick of a hand."

To prove the point, Lupin flicks his hand, sending a spray of rainbow-colored bubbles at Black, while Snape moans again.

"Ohhhh, yesssss."

"Works on even the roughest customers. Try some today!"

Black holds out a hand in a movement perfected by game show hostesses the universe over, pointing at Snape, who sits up and flings his healthy and now miraculously dry dark hair around his shoulders while shouting "yes! Yes! YES!"

Lupin kisses him on the cheek. "Professor Snape, you ARE a sexy bitch."

Black blinks and pulls out the script. "Wait a minute. We're supposed to fade to black."

"I know, but I figured I might as well work that in there again. Kind of an apology, you know?"

Black's eyes narrow. "Oh, really?"

Eyes darting around desperately, the narrator dashes out and yanks Snape out of the chair and back on the set, and makes the now bickering Lupin and Black disappear with a wave of her hand.

Yes, well, that got out of hand, didn't it? Just buy Herbal Essences Shampoo, or I'll send them to YOUR house. Got that? Right. Onward.


Harry ran one hand up Snape's naked arm into the silky black strands of his hair, smirking at Draco with barely concealed glee. "Didn't you know, Malfoy? Dumbledore set us up. He's into matchmaking. Something of a hobby."

Draco blinked. "Wait, what? That doesn't make any sense."

Snape waved one hand impatiently, thereby saving the narrator from having to think up anything else. "Whatever. Look, Malfoy, I'm busy. So if you don't mind, just go away."

Draco blinked again as the door to Snape's bedroom slammed shut in his face. He was reasonably certain that wasn't the way Snape was supposed to treat him, but he was saved from further embarrassment as a murmur of "oh, Harry, ten points to Gryffindor" floated through the heavy door.

Obviously something was wrong with the universe. It was only a matter of time before he found out what exactly it was.


Hours later Draco had to concede a rather unwilling defeat. Not only had he been unable to find a single soul willing to listen to his tale of woe- including Moaning Myrtle in the third floor girls' bathroom- but he'd also come to the unfortunate conclusion that everyone in the castle but him was getting laid. Finding Ron Weasley locked in a passionate and messy embrace with Justin Finch-Fletchley and the Patil twins was bad enough, but having too witness Professor Macgonagall emerging from the Professor Sprout's greenhouse giggling like a young girl was almost too much. And if he wasn't mistaken, that was Neville Longbottom down by the lake with Colin Creevey…

Face set in a snarl, Draco stormed off towards the promise of sanity represented by Hogsmeade, resolutely ignoring a cry that sounded suspiciously like "yes Headmaster, I've been a bad boy" emerging from the depths of Hagrid's hut. He couldn't take much more and remain sane. And so help him, if just one more person started singing "Little Bunny Fufu" in his hearing again and snickering about the bunny robes he wasn't going to be held responsible for his actions.

It was with some relief that he entered the quiet streets of the village, noting at once the absence of anyone half-naked and doing something their parents would surely be horrified to learn about. He stopped for a moment, leaning against the cold wall outside Honeyduke's and taking slow, deep breaths of the cold air. Today had been absolutely impossible, quite probably the worst day in existence. Likely worse even than the day he'd received the letter from his father, informing him that he'd run off with the wizard formerly known as Voldemort- now called, for reasons that involved quite a lot of tequila and some high quality Turkish hash, "Fluffles"- to start a resort for reforming dark wizards in Ibitza. Yesterday he wouldn't have dreamed anything worse was possible, but today was certainly straining the limits.

Keeping his eyes half-closed against the dying light, Draco pushed himself off the wall and headed towards The Three Broomsticks. There was nothing like a hot butterbeer on a cold evening to ward off lingering phantoms. That ought to make him forget all this silliness, and maybe the world would right itself while he was distracted.

It was while he was wandering slowly past the new joke shop that the sound reached his ears. It was laughter, but more than that, it was accompanied by the now-dreaded sound of moaning. Draco sighed to himself and glanced up at the "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes" sign that had carefully been placed over the "Zonko's" sign when the former proprietors retired. Gritting his teeth slightly and steeling himself to the inevitable- with the same survival instinct as the opossum that just has to cross the freeway- he pushed open the door.

He had to blink twice to make sense of the sight that greeted him. One of the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan had the other twin- Draco never had been able to tell them apart- bent over the shop counter. Other than that, he refused to contemplate what they were doing. "Why," he asked no one in particular as the three of them jumped apart, "is EVERYone but me having sex today? Is there some kind of curse going around that I should know about?"

He was so busy pondering the ultimate unfairness of it all that he missed the speculative look that passed between the twins and Lee.

"Well," one of the twins began with a wicked smile, "we could help you with that, maybe."

Draco turned back to him, eyes wide as he replayed that sentence through his head. "You could… what?"

The twin who hadn't spoken stepped forward, caught his arm, and pulled him into the shop. Lee stepped forward and turned the sign in the window to "closed". "Oh yes, I definitely think we can come up with something to do with you…" The smile increased as he led the bemused Draco towards the counter.

Everything was finally looking up and heading towards a smashingly spectacular sex-filled ending as both twins pushed Draco back, ripping open his robes-


The screen fades to black.

"Hello. Do not try to adjust your computer screen. We're watching you right now. We see you, hiding in the darkness of ages past, still relying on enslavement for your cooking and laundry and housework. We at the House Elf Liberation Front know you, and we're coming."


A light flips on, revealing a bit of bright red hair peeking out from under a black wrap. An exasperated voice, containing none of the calm menace of mere seconds earlier, emerges as the figure turns. "Honestly Ron, can't you see I'm busy?"

"Doing what? Liberating more house elves? Come off it, Ginny, they're miserable. Can't you leave the poor things alone?"

"No, I can't! Hermoine promised me I could use the handcuffs tonight if I made the new broadcast."

"Oh, that's it! I'm telling mom!"

"No, Ron, wait!"

A hand reaches out and flips off a switch, and the scene fades in to a darkened joke shop.


-and all was right with the Universe once again.

The end.


"Ohhhh, yessss! Sirius, yes!"

A spokesmodel appears, holding a bottle of shampoo, this time colored green. "Herbal Essences. Make your shower time complete!"

"Oh, yes, harder! Harder!"

"Um…" The model pauses, turning towards the bed and flushing bright red. "Oh my. I'm late again, aren't I? Um… Just buy Herbal Essences. Listen. They did."

"Oh, God, Remus…"


Harry rolled over and stretched languidly against the damp satin sheets, turning slightly glazed and completely unfocused eyes up towards the ceiling as his partner threw an arm around his waist. With a smile lighting his face, he relaxed and kissed the silky smooth head resting on his shoulder.

"Professor Snape?"

"What, Potter?"

"You are a sexy bitch."

"Yes, I know. I think we've covered that. Now go to sleep."

And with that, the scene truly fades to black.

The End.


I mean it this time.

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