The Art of Betrayal by katehathaway

Lost A Couple Screws

- NOT MY STORY!! ALL CREDITS TO @katehathaway ON A03!!

24 December 1924

BELOVED BACHELOR MISSING: A REFLECTION OF HIS LIFE AND LEGACY

By Rita Skeeter

Mr. Draco Malfoy, a decorated war veteran and formidable ally of law enforcement, was one of the most notable faces of the opposition to the rise of communism in Great Britain. He stood proudly beside King George V at his 58th birthday celebration to voice his support of the London Metropolitan Police in their attempt to rid the city of its communist and Irish Republican Army (IRA) enthusiasts.

Mr. Malfoy was, in fact, so entrusted by the police that Chief Inspector Horace Slughorn hailed his unfailing knowledge in an ongoing investigation. "The young man is quite well-connected," Chief Inspector Slughorn told us. "He is infallibly clever, just like his father. I have known Mr. Draco Malfoy for nearly all his life! We are quite close, I would say, and I trust him as I would my own son. An honest and kind man, through and through, he is." Despite the Daily Prophet's best efforts, no more can be said about the investigation, but we do know that Mr. Winston Churchill himself has approved of Mr. Malfoy as a confidential informant on the case.

Furthermore, due to the quiet and almost predictable show of Mr. Draco Malfoy in public throughout the last two or so years, we can presume that he was so enthralled in assisting the police with their civil duties to better London to make more than the necessary appearances. It is because of his generosity and usefulness, that we cannot fault him for not gracing the public more often during those years.

Per usual, Rita is entirely off course.

At this point, I would say she was so beyond the scope of reality that she practically made up history as she saw fit. Though, I suppose at this point in time I am quite bias seeing as I have spent years beside Draco and know precisely how he feels about law enforcement (hint: it's not fucking supportive).

You know what else? I wish – I wish – the past few years had been as boringly quiet as Rita and all of London would have liked to believe. If there was any reason as to why Draco did not grace the bloody public as often as he usually did and smile for the cameras and insist that the Most Charming Smile award go to blubbering Lockhart for the umpteenth time, it was definitely not because he was generously aiding Slughorn's investigation.

I would know. I was in the fucking middle of what actually happened.

At least she got one thing right, and that was Draco's loud opposition to any communists or IRA in the city. Though, being not entirely dim-witted as Slughorn would like to believe (not that he ever spoke to me, but simply because I was a woman and that was apparently evidence enough; the fucking sexist buffoon), I highly doubt he or the King himself approved of Draco's methodology for ridding the city of its invaders.

Ah, well.

It's not as if I was above violence by then, either.

See one, do one, teach one or some fuckery like that.

3 May 1922

"Nott!" Astoria bellowed, sweeping into the dimly lit man cave in the back of one of Theo's pubs and smacking him upside the head. "Nott, wake the fuck up!" He jumped up immediately, swinging his arms wildly, brandishing a blade. She expertly missed his groggy and drunken attacks and moved on to the other men in the room.

"Oi, Satan!" Theo groaned, slicking his hair back and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "What the fuck did you do that for?"

Hermione chuckled and leaned against the banister, watching as Astoria promptly ignored him and poured a jug of water over Marcus and Blaise's heads. "Wake up gentlemen! Rise and fucking shine!"