draco/(eminem) part 3
'r' for language. getting more cracked out by the sentence.



Draco’s mouth drops open. After a few seconds he shuts it, carefully. The ghost is still smirking at him, sitting in the air three feet above the carpet.

“Who the bloody fuck are you?”

The ghost crosses its arms behind its head.

“Marshall Mathers. Who they think you are.”

He nods his head towards the door through which Jermaine exited. Draco follows the gesture with his eyes. The ghost watches him.

“What?” The word comes out flat and unemotional, which is good. A Malfoy should remember that composure is his most important possession. Draco folds his hands demurely in his lap.

“See, dog, I didn’t understand it neither. But being dead, you got all this clarity and shit goin’ on. I figure I worked it out.”

“Worked what out?” Draco definitely doesn’t screech.

“Okay, you was on the street in Manchester, a’ight? When those terrorists or whatever showed up? So they was tryin’ to kill me, stupid motherfuckers, and they did, on’y you jumped out like some fuckin’ superhero and everybody thought you saved my life by sacrificin' yours. Coulda got there sooner, dog, ‘cause I ain’t too happy about being dead.”

Draco blinks. “You mean…Potter and the others, that body they were crying over – they really did think that was me?”

The ghost shrugs. “You mean the scrawny guy and the big nigger? Go figure.”

“You can’t say nigger.” Draco has retained a scanty few pieces of information from his enforced Muggle Studies lessons. Bloody Dumbledore and his mudblood love.

“You gonna stop me?” The ghost, Marshall, is scowling at him. For someone Draco can see right through, he’s remarkably threatening. He decides to change the subject.

“Okay, all right, so – what? Your friends think I’m you?”

“’Bout that way.”

“Well,” Draco is beginning to panic, his suspicions confirmed, “tell them they’re wrong! Take me back to Potter IMMEDIATELY! I can’t have these people thinking I’m you; they look like they have diseases and, and GUNS.”

Draco isn’t entirely sure what a gun is, but if anyone is likely to have one it’s the men in the next room.

“Yo, pussy, you just diss my friends? ‘Cause I don’t take kindly to that shit, a’ight.”

“I DON’T CARE,” Draco shrieks, “I want to get out of here!”

“Not yet, dog. And shut the fuck up, you gonna have people in here thinking there’s a riot. So calm the hell down and we gonna talk about this.”

Draco compresses his lips into a thin white line. His chin quivers a little bit.

“Now, first you gonnna tell me yo’ name, ‘cause I know you ain’t a normal person like the rest of us. I ain’t never felt magic before but I felt it just then. I guess you get to notice stuff like that when you dead.”

Marshall sounds bitter, which pleases Draco more than he cares to admit. Also, if ‘Big-D’ is a normal person, Draco will eat his hat. Acting wisely for once, he chooses not to share this with the ghost.

“My name’s Draco Malfoy. I’m a wizard Auror and you were killed in a Death Eater attack on an unspecified Muggle target. I was there to intercept them, only things got a little - out of hand.”

“Uh huh. I didn’t understand almost nothing of what you just said. You called yo’self a wizard. You sure you tellin’ the truth?”

Draco’s eyes crease with indignation. “Hey, ghost, I am whatever I say I am. If I wasn’t, then why would I say I am?”

Marshall looks taken aback, then sniggers. When he laughs, he shimmers in and out of focus disturbingly.

“Whatever, dog. So we in a real fix, huh?”

“You’re in a worse fix,” Draco points out, “because you’re dead. I’m just stuck in a strange hotel with people who think I’m someone else.”

“Yup. You figure you gonna be missed?”

“I don’t know. I – wait, what? Of course I’m not going to be missed, because I am leaving here right NOW and going back to, to…”

Marshall quirks an eyebrow. “Uh huh. You ain’t going nowhere. See, maybe I didn’t explain this, but I got a lot of people countin’ on me for shit. I can’t just die. My record label would shit themselves.”

“Your what?” Draco really doesn’t feel like he’s contributing anything to this conversation. It’s worrying. Malfoys are masters of eloquence.

“Record label, wizard. You know, music and shit. I’m a rapper.”

Draco knows about rap music. Potter is very fond of a wizarding rapper called 8 Sickles, with whose last hit, “Let my wand work its magic on you, girl”, he annoyed Draco by playing it repeatedly in their office for about a month.

“Right.” Draco reverts to his father’s favoured method of conversation when out of his depth. “And do you enjoy that?”

Marshall rolls his eyes and flips himself over so he’s floating on his stomach.

“Look, I’m halfway through a tour. Was halfway through a tour. I got to see it out, dog. If I was to die before my next record comes out, that’s ok, I guess. People all be like ‘hey, I saw Eminem his last tour before he got killed’, and then they go out and buy ten copies of the record. That kinda thing gets you publicity, you know – like TuPac.”

Draco has no idea. About anything.

“But, if I die halfway through a tour, you got thousands of people never got to see me when they already bought the fuckin’ ticket, a’ight. And I don’t give a fuck about their disappointment or what the fuck ever, but they gonna feel cheated and they gonna make sure I’m remembered as a selfish fuck that didn’t have the decency to finish touring before getting a cap busted in his ass.”

“That was really cynical .” Draco, despite himself, is impressed.

“Well, whatever, dog. But you see my point?”

“I suppose – wait. How does this involve me, exactly?”

There’s a pause, during which the room begins to shake with a bass beat that comes from next door. It makes Draco’s teeth ache.

“You gonna have to cover my ass for me, man.”

[part four]