Undesirable #1

Mutually Agreed Upon Neutral Zones: None

St. Mungo's, 12:30 pm, the Next Day
"Well done, Gred."
"Smashing job, Forge," Fred agreed.
They lurked in the corner of St. Mungo's waiting room, well disguised by Polyjuice Potion. They let out identical snickers as yet another supporter of the new regime burst through the doors with their skin positively smothered with painful, rainbow colored boils that let out farting noises whenever you touched them.
Apparently, that was what happened when you ate expired Skiving Snackboxes. Fred and George couldn't have been more proud.
The crowd started to thin. Fred stood and stretched. "Replaced the last of the peppermints yet, brother mine?"
George smiled wickedly. "Toffees, every last one."
"Fresh, I hope?"
George sighed dramatically. "I fear they were all expired. I hope they won't mind too badly."
They looked at each other for a long moment. Then they burst out cackling.
They were laughing so hard as they slipped out the door that they didn't even notice who was coming in the other way.
This set of Death Eaters didn't have a single boil to their names.

Draco Malfoy had asked for fifteen items for his fifteenth birthday. He had wanted only the best, of course. A new broomcare kit, new robes, chocolate from France . . .
Right now he would seriously consider cutting of his left arm for another vial of dittany. Failing that, he'd settle for some sleep.
Wood still didn't believe him, he could see. The idiot refused to take a break anytime Draco was working, no doubt afraid he'd start killing off patients if Wood dared take his eye off him for a second. He hadn't entirely given up the other angle either, although he was more subtle about it than before. This one was a pureblood, this one hadn't intended to fight and had only been caught in the crossfire, that one had been hit with a memory charm so powerful they probably wouldn't remember their own name when they woke up . . . Wood himself was as fanatically anti-Voldemort as he was pro-Quidditch, but while he might be willing to die for his beliefs, it was clear he was trying to save as many others as possible.
He might have thought it was almost touching if he just wasn't quite so tired.
He shoved his wand into his pocket and rubbed his eyes as he stepped out of paths Bones girl's room.
"Malfoy!" Wood's voice roared.
He spun towards the door. All too familiar black robes filled the frame.
"Expelli-"
"Avada Kerdava!"
Wood collapsed sightless to the floor.
Malfoy stumbled back, swallowing hard. Run, run, he had to run, now -
"What's happening?" Susan yelled. Those patients well enough to hear took up the call.
Forget the damage Mudbloods could do to a peaceful pureblood society. It paled in comparison to the damage they were doing to his common sense.
Instead of disapparating like a sensible person, he ran back into the room and grabbed Susan Bones by the arm.
"Let go of me, you - "
He grabbed his wand. Seconds later, they were standing on the field the Quidditch World Cup had been held at.
"Oh," she said in a small voice.
Good, you saved one of them, now just stay here and -
And he was already back in the hallway fighting his way toward Angelina's room before he got halfway through that sentence. Great. This hero stuff must be catching.
He hexed Crabbe Sr. and managed to force his way into Angelina's room. She'd better appreciate this.
She was already on her feet, werewolf bites notwithstanding. She'd managed to grab her wand and was holding it in hand that was only slightly shaky.
Might be willing to keep her head down. Yeah, right, Wood.
He grabbed her arm before she could do anything stupid. The world twisted around them, and they were back on the Quidditch field with Bones.
Angelina fell to her knees and threw up. Draco was feeling a little green himself. Apparating that much that quickly couldn't be healthy.
"The others?" Bones demanded.
"Dead."
She paled. "They can't be. You have to go back for them."
"There's no point, idiot! There are Deatheaters everywhere, I'm not risking it - "
"Then give me your wand, and I'll do it - " She reached for it, too.
"Fine!" He threw his hands up in the air. One last time. He couldn't let a girl outdo him, after all.
Smoke was everywhere. He hadn't been lying when he said the others were probably dead by now. The Deatheaters were going from room to room, methodically mowing them down. Although, to the wounded's credit, he spotted evidence of multiple hexes and at least one black eye.
"Malfoy!"
He turned and ran. His old friend Blaize was two doors from the end.
Blaize turned, eyes widening in shock. "Traitor!"
"Stupefy!" Draco yelled. Well, tried to. It came out as something between a rasp, a squeak, and a pre-vomit gurgle, but it worked. Blaize collapsed.
He peeked in the rooms as he ran past. Dead. Dead.
"Get him!"
He dodged a curse and ran into the last room.
Charlie Weasley had woken up.
Several Deatheaters had attempted to corner him.
Draco thought he'd heard somewhere that Charlie Weasley worked with dragons for a living.
He believed it.
Weasley hadn't had a wand. He hadn't had any proper weapons at all, really.
So he'd done what anyone would do. He'd yanked his pillowcase down over the head of the first person to walk through the door, presumably, and hit them hard enough to knock them out. Then he'd snatched their wand up and held off the next five people who'd tried him.
Draco Malfoy was not impressed. The only thing that ever impressed him was himself.
He wasn't impressed. He was just . . . mildly flabbergasted. In a general sort of way.
"Stupefy!" he yelled. He hit one of the Deatheaters in the back. Another turned to duel him.
"Alright there, Malfoy?" Charlie called.
"Apparate out already, Weasley!"
"Can't! Protego! Why, can you?"
The Dark Mark, he realized. It must be the Dark Mark. That explained a lot, actually.
He gritted his teeth and shouted a Blasting Charm. He was going to sleep for a week after this. He barreled through the temporarily disoriented Deatheaters and grabbed Charlie's arm just as another one appeared in the doorway, shouting a charm that sounded vaguely familiar.
Something silver flashed through the air as they Disapparated.
He fell to his knees on the field, feeling like he'd been kicked in the stomach. Was he going to throw up like Johnson?
"Well done, Malf-"
He looked down.
It appeared dear Aunty Bella had shared that knife throwing spell with someone.
Charlie had noticed. He hissed something in Romanian. "Dittany! Tell me one of you has dittany!"
He must have been shouting, but it seemed rather far away. He couldn't quite understand the girls' responses, but they seemed very concerned. That was nice of them. He couldn't remember anyone sounding quite so worried about him before. Wood sounded worried too, but that couldn't be right, Wood was dead, dead like Katie Bell and Lavender Brown and Seamus and Dean, but they all sounded worried about him, even though he had said some things he perhaps should have apologized for - But they were dead, weren't they?
A camera flashed. Colin peeked out from behind it. "That was great! Just wait until I show my brother this! You don't mind if I put it in my DA album, do you? Hey, will you sign it?"
Draco got to his feet and took the pen automatically.
Why not?

Author's Note: The birthday present thing came from the Berinfell Prophecies series to give credit where credit is due.