Title: In For A Knut, In For A Galleon
Author: 
abusing_sarcasm
Team: EWE
Prompt: 2. "Time is Galleons, little bro, time is Galleons."
Wordcount: ~6,200
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mostly just silliness and innuendo with a splash of boys kissing. Oh, and some spanking.
Summary: Draco's in a race against the clock and all Harry wants to do is distract him.
Author's Note: HUGE thanks to all my teammates, particularly supergreakchibitoasteraoifeneaki_hoshibryoneybrynn
In For A Knut, In For A Galleon
Thursday 26th August 1999 10:22 AM
It was a shop. Not that Draco was particularly surprised, since he'd been expecting a shop, but there was something tragically plebian about it. The words Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes were splashed on every available surface, which probably didn't help. Draco heaved a sigh and averted his gaze from the lurid window display of tricks and gewgaws designed to entice passerby to purchase.
Draco had a momentary urge to knock before realising that it was business hours. He marched inside, clutching his attaché case under his arm. He strode to the counter and slapped one hand down, startling the girl working the till. "Draco Malfoy, Esquire, Senior Account Advisor, Morgan, Hopsbott, and Freem, LWP, here for George Weasley. And I haven't much time, so please don't dally."
The girl looked suitably impressed. "One moment please, sir," she said, scurrying into the back room. Draco smiled. He'd created the fictional title in the shower that morning. The "Esquire" was a particularly brilliant touch, if he did say so himself. Phillmore Hopsbott hadn't bothered to give him an official title for the same reason he was in the godforsaken shop — Hopsbott hated him.
It had been nearly two years since The Great War, and Draco had really thought people would be over the whole "Death Eater" thing by then. He'd been cleared of all but the most mundane charges anyway. It ought to have been forgive-and-forget time, however, certain people — cough-Hopsbott-cough — still held grudges.
So naturally, when the very most odious, distasteful and nigh-impossible task had turned up at MH&F, it had passed from office to office like a hot potato before being unceremoniously plopped on Draco's desk with a sneered, "Best of luck," from Hopsbott.
And all this was in spite of the fact that Draco had never been given a real case before. However, Draco had decided then and there that he would not only do the job, he would do it well, and he would put the folder, stamped with a merry red "File Closed," directly on Old Man Morgan's desk. It was his ticket to escape the world of crunching numbers under Hopsbott's dirty thumb. He couldn't wait to see the look on his face when —
"Malfoy?"
Draco turned away from the counter only to find himself face-to-face with one Harry Potter. Delightful.
"Potter."
"What do you want? Belinda said there was someone important here to see us, but now I see that she was mistaken."
Draco clenched his teeth. Knowing Potter's relationship to the business he was currently standing in, Draco had known there was a slight chance Potter would show up. However, Draco hadn't really expected to see him, and he really hadn't expected the twisting feeling that standing face-to-face with Potter was causing in his gut.
"Pardon me, Potter. I'm here to see George Weasley. On important business. Thus, I am an important person. I don't know why you're standing about here, although my sympathies if you've nothing better to do."
"I work here, you git. And George is out. So if you have business, you have it with me. I'm his second-in-command." Potter said this last part with the sort of pride in his voice that one would have when saying, "I slew the Dark Lord," or something of the like. Come to think of it, Potter had never sounded particularly proud of that, yet here he was bragging that he was an underling to a shopkeeper. Draco didn't even want to attempt to comprehend.
"Fine. Do you have an office or a back room? Or should I prop my paperwork here on this shelf of," he squinted at the contents, "colour-changing hair dye, and we can conduct our business here in the flow of traffic?"
"I have an office," Potter said darkly. "Now, stop blocking the 'Multi-Colour Hair Flair.' It's one of our biggest sellers this season."
Draco glared at the back of his head as he followed him in between rows of shelves. It had been two years since he'd seen Potter. The newspapers had been relatively quiet on the subject, and Draco assumed Potter had paid them off to leave him alone. Now it appeared that perhaps he literally hadn't done anything newsworthy. He seemed to be living the life of the petty bourgeoisie, right here on Diagon Alley. Draco would have been embarrassed for him, except that it was Potter.
"In here," Potter said, opening the door to a cluttered office that was full of a plethora of toys and other juvenile paraphernalia. Potter brushed two Fanged Frisbees off a chair and motioned to Draco to sit. He stood, watching Draco expectantly, while Draco sank into the chair. Immediately the air was rent with a loud flatulent noise. Draco jumped back up.
"What was that?"
Potter giggled like a schoolgirl and reached under the tattered cushion. He produced a round, pink, balloon-like object. "Whoopee cushion! You should have seen the look on your face!" Waving the offensive object, Potter sank into his own desk chair — soundlessly — and dissolved into guffaws.
"Do you greet all your important guests thusly?" Draco asked, setting his attaché case gingerly on the floor.
"Yes. Especially the foreign dignitaries."
Draco rolled his eyes and reached for his folder. Clearly, two years was not long enough for his hatred for Potter to abate. Also, even more clearly, Potter had gone quite mad in the interim. "Are you sure we shouldn't wait for your business partner?"
Potter shrugged. "Hop to it, Malfoy. We're burning daylight."
Unsure what the time of day had to do with anything, Draco declined to comment. "Yes, well, it appears that you and Mr. Weasley and any other partners you have stashed around here, have been failing to pay your WC."
"Our what?"
Draco sighed. "Your Wizard's Compensation. It's part of your payroll taxes. It goes to recompense witches or wizards who are injured on the job. And considering the excessive claims of bodily injury that your company produces, the higher-ups at the MRS are becoming irritated at your refusal to pay."
"I'm pretty sure we pay all our taxes," Potter said, his brow furrowing in confusion.
Draco sighed again, more dramatically this time. "That's what I'm here to find out."
"What's this about, now?"
Draco turned to see George Weasley hanging in the doorway, his ruby-red robes making him look as if he were aflame. Draco curled his lip. "I'm here to do an audit. And it's confusing Potter."
George's face softened. "I'll take it from here, Harry," he said, motioning for Draco to follow him. Draco stood, gathering his papers, and Potter rounded the desk to stand beside him.
"Good to see you again, Malfoy," Potter said, clapping Draco companionably on the back. Draco flinched at both the words and the feel of Potter's hand on him.
"Likewise," Draco said, lying through his teeth. He wasn't sure what Potter's game was, but he wished to be as far from him as possible.
He followed George across the hall into another office. It was larger, but equally full of garish accoutrements. "If I sit, will there be any sound effects?" Draco asked, eying the chair suspiciously.
"Ha! Harry got you with the Whoopee cushion? He's been instrumental in bringing Muggle jokes and gags into the store. He's really quite the businessman," George said, looking inexplicably sad for some reason. "Oh, and turn around, will you? There's a good lad."
"Turn around? Why?" Draco narrowed his eyes. If George Weasley was an arse man, Draco had no desire to know about it.
George reached around Draco's shoulder and plucked at something on Draco's back, tenting his robes until the adhesive pulled away. He handed Draco a piece of paper, upon which was written, "Hello, My Name is Pointy Ferretface."
Draco exhaled sharply through his nose. "What is the meaning of this?"
George laughed nervously. "Well, our Harry's a bit of a prankster these days."
"And you let him do things like this to people who come into your place of business for very important reasons?"
"Well, he's had a bit of a hard time, hasn't he? He needs to blow off some steam. Besides, it's harmless. Mostly." He waved his hand dismissively. "Anyway, what's this about our taxes? I do them all myself, and I'm sure they're in order."
Draco shuffled his paperwork. "Well, I'm hoping it will be easy to get it sorted. I simply need access to your records for the last five years. Payment records, income statements, what-have-you."
George shuffled his feet a bit. "And you're going to… what?"
"Audit you," Draco said, allowing himself a small smile. People did so hate that word.
George smiled back. "Be my guest. All the records are in this cupboard." He gestured to a door next to his desk. "We don't owe any fines or some such, do we?"
"Not as long as we finish it by the deadline."
"Well, that's up to you, I'd think. That's what I pay you blokes for, isn't it?"
Draco grimaced. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was the sort of armpit of a client that no firm wanted, and Draco doubted anything, short of a free lifetime supply of those little sticky notes, would make Mssrs Morgan, Hopsbott and Freem happier than cutting them loose and letting someone else have the headache. But there wasn't exactly time for that.
"Well, I'm afraid the deadline is… looming. Time is of the essence," Draco said, eyeing the cupboard, hoping that Weasley kept good records.
George raised an eyebrow. "When is the deadline?"
"Tomorrow. Nine AM."
With a sheepish look on his face, George stood and opened the cupboard. Scraps of parchment fluttered out to land on the floor at Draco's feet. In the ensuing gust, a paper fluttered down to settle atop the detritus. "Hello, My Name is Pointy Ferretface" stared up at Draco, taunting him.
George smiled, tapping one finger against his eyebrow thoughtfully. "I suppose I ought to offer you some tea." Draco sighed yet again.
Thursday 26th August 1999 12:41 PM
Draco's knee cracked as he shifted on the hearth. He'd been listening to Hermione Granger prattle on for the better part of ten minutes. "Yes," he said, interrupting her, "but they simply do not have any copies of Form 13-K. I thought you were supposedly their business consultant, Granger. This is the best you can do?"
She sniffed. "I'm not a 'business consultant' in the least. I'm simply the person who nags them to get their paperwork in order. I'm the one who recommended using Morgan, Hopsbott and Freem, actually. I've dealt with Thad Freem on a few projects at the Ministry. I had no idea you worked there, though."
"Why would you? Not as if we exchange Christmas cards," he said, turning up his nose at her. The truth was that no one knew where he worked or what he did. The very idea of his classmates at large finding out that he was nothing more than a pencil-pusher, an accountant of the lowest degree, was completely sick-inducing. Hence the creative titles.
"There's no need to take that tone with me," she said, her own tone indicating that she was gearing up for a lecture.
"Hullo, Malfoy. I've brought another pot of tea. George thought you might be ready for it."
Draco looked up to see Potter standing just inside the office door, holding a teapot. Draco hazarded a small smile. Any port in a storm. "Be sure to thank Weasley for me. You can set it on the desk. You must excuse me, Granger. Potter's here."
"Hermione," Harry said, waving at her. "How're things in the Department of Mysteries?"
"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," she said, completely straight-faced.
Draco got to his feet and poured himself a cup of tea. He took a sip and smiled with satisfaction. Immediately Potter began hooting.
"Hermione! Hermione! He drank it!"
"What are you talking about," Granger asked from the fireplace.
"I put our strongest Sneezing Serum in it!"
Draco immediately dropped the teacup, which shattered on the desk, spewing drops of tea and shards of porcelain all over. "Potter!" he thundered. "You had best be…" Before he could finish his sentence, he was overcome with a sneezing fit.
Vaguely, he heard Granger haranguing Potter, but he was too overcome with sneezes to pay them much heed. He doubled over, collapsed in the chair, and hung his head between his knees, sneezing like a madman.
Then someone shoved a vial to his lips. "Drink this." It was Granger's voice, so he did as he was told. The sneezing subsided.
Granger was standing there, tapping one foot and shaking her head at Potter. "That's not funny, Harry. He's spit all over his tie."
Draco looked down and saw that she was right. Bugger. "Potter!"
He jumped up, planning to strangle Potter once and for all, but Granger stopped him with a hand on his damp tie. "Stop it! Harry, go back to your office. I'm sure you have something to be doing. And do not slip Draco potions again, do you understand me?"
Potter nodded meekly and left the room. Granger turned to Draco and tsked at him. "Have you got your wand? Your tie…"
Draco pulled his wand from his pocket and cleaned his tie. "Why do you all indulge his childish behavior?"
"Why do you lie about your job title?" she returned.
Draco positively hated when people answered questions with questions, so he ignored it. "Really, has he been hit with some curse or suffered some brain injury that's caused him to regress to the mental state of a very annoying child?"
"No," she said, looking down at her feet. "It's been hard for him, since the war."
"Yes, I can imagine that being everyone's hero must be hard," Draco said, striding over to close the door. "All that preferential treatment! The adoration! The ceremonies! The parades! It must have been simply brutal. If it had been me, I would have skipped over the second childhood and gone straight to opening a vein."
Granger scowled at him. "I'm sure it's been difficult for you as well, albeit in a different way, but the expectations he's had heaped on him… Well, you have to understand that the burden was so great that he decided that he preferred a life of more limited responsibility, shall we say."
A life of limited responsibility! Draco bit his tongue to keep from shrieking. "Must be nice to have that option. Why endure the limelight when you can sit about all day poisoning people?"
"He didn't try to poison you. Don't be melodramatic. He's had a lot of… stress these past few years."
"I do wonder what it would be like to have stress," Draco muttered.
"So, accounting, hm?" she asked with a small smile. Draco suppressed the urge to smack her. He did owe her one.
"I enjoy numbers," he said stiffly.
"I'm certain that you do. Now I must get back to work. I haven't time for this, I'm afraid." She turned to the fireplace and then looked back, her face soft. "And do go easy on Harry, please. He's been through a lot."
"And I haven't?" Draco asked, but Granger had already stepped into the Floo. If she heard him, she didn't respond.
Draco sighed and dropped back into the chair. He brandished his wand and said, "Accio Form K-13!" No forms rushed into his hand; however, his wand did turn into a large rubber chicken. "Potter!"
Thursday 26th August 1999 3:17 PM
"Well, well, well. Look what the kneazle dragged in. Draco Malfoy in a suit and tie here to make sure all our I's are dotted and our T's are crossed."
Draco looked up from his stacks of papers. He'd been sorting for several hours and he finally had things in some semblance of order. What he didn't need was Ron Weasley oozing into the room like a large ginger mould sent to infect him. "Weasel. You're looking as wrong-side-of-the-tracks as ever."
"Nice one, Ferret. I'm an Auror. You're an accountant. I wonder which one of us makes more money now. Shame the Ministry took your daddy's fortune, but then, if he wanted to keep it, he probably shouldn't have done all the nasty little things he did."
Draco clenched his fist around his wand. "I assume you've been waiting two years for a chance to say that to me. You've had it. Now leave."
Weasley shrugged. "Maybe I've got more things I'd like to say. Heard you've been bothering Harry."
"That's preposterous! I haven't done a thing! He's been doing horrible things to me since I arrived this morning! He switched my wand for a fake one! He put Sneezing Serum in my tea! He put a sign on my back!"
"Oh, really? What did it say?"
"It said 'Ron Weasley has a prick like a runty gnat.' Now if you don't leave the premises immediately, I'll…"
"You'll what?" Weasley asked, realising just how empty the threat was. "Scowl at me until I weep like a little girl?"
"Do you just enjoy keeping me from my work? You know your brother is going to owe quite a sizable penalty if this isn't finished, and dealing with the likes of you and Potter is not helping in the least."
Weasley cracked his knuckles menacingly. "Leave Harry alone. He's had a hard time of it, killing V-Voldemort and all. He needs to be able to relax, and having gits like you around is not helping."
"Yes, I'm sure my excessive minding-my-own-business and my flagrant just-doing-my-job is terribly irksome."
Cracking his knuckles again, Weasley said, "If you do anything to him, I'll hex your arsehole where your mouth is."
"As charming a picture as that is, I'm afraid I have no desire to do anything at all to Potter other than to give him a wide berth. Now if you'll excuse me, time is of the essence here."
"Yes, yes," George Weasley said, appearing behind Ron and clapping an arm around his shoulders. "Don't waste Malfoy's time. Time is galleons, little bro. In this case, many, many of my galleons if he doesn't get this done on time. Come on." With that, George dragged Ron away, heading towards the front of the shop.
Draco rolled his eyes. He was just getting back into his sorting when he saw something moving near the doorway. It was a small toy turtle, lumbering slowly into the room. Before Draco could react, its shell opened, spread to the sides like a beetle about to take flight, and what could only be described as a miniature windstorm erupted from the back.
There was no time to save any of his piles. The various defensive spells he cast had no effect, and all he could do was clutch the arms of the chair while all his hard work swirled around him like a tickertape parade.
The wind had barely died down when Draco heard snickering. Of course. He leapt up and rushed for the door. "Potter!" He ran headlong down the hall and out among the merchandise. Customers scattered left and right, and Draco hurried blindly after the half-mad laughter he could still hear. "Potter, so help me!"
He made two laps of the floor and another of the offices, but there was no sign of Potter. He must have slipped outside at some point. Draco walked back into George's office and surveyed the damages. He would have to start over from scratch. Draco pressed his fingers into his temples and prepared to allow himself a blood-curdling shriek.
"Got you with a Tornado Tortoise, I see."
Draco turned around to find George starting at him with something akin to sympathy. "I'm about one minute from walking out that door and letting you deal with the MRS on your own! And Hopsbott can go to blazes for all I care!"
"Draco, I am sorry," George said, sounding legitimately sorry, for once. "It's just that since the war, Harry's been — "
"Yes!" Draco snapped, cutting him off. "I'm well aware of what Harry's been! Now let me get back to work!" He shouldered George out of the way and slammed the door in his face, not considering the fact that it was, in fact, George's office.
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Draco surveyed the wasteland. It wasn't as if any of them had enjoyed the war, was it? Who enjoyed that sort of thing? But letting Potter go into some sort of fugue state and act like a complete flaming moron hardly seemed the solution for a bit of post-traumatic stress.
Draco wondered why Potter couldn't just get drunk and then get laid — repeat as necessary — like the rest of them. But then, Harry Potter had never been normal. This was just the most recent in a long string of not-rights.
Giving his forehead one last rub, Draco grabbed his wand. "Accio payroll forms!"
Thursday 26th August 1999 6:36 PM
"Mr Malfoy? Are you hungry, dear?"
He looked up and saw Mrs Weasley, whose first name escaped him, extending a tray of sandwiches. He shuffled forward and grabbed a sandwich. "Bless you."
She laughed. "If it weren't for me, none of these boys would eat. The lot of you are skinny as rails. You know, a woman likes a man she can hold onto."
Draco refrained from telling her that he didn't like women at all. The less these Weasleys knew about his personal life, the better. "I'll keep that in mind," he told her, once he'd swallowed his mouthful. He took another huge bite and she watched him chew for a moment.
"Well, perhaps I'll just leave a few of these and go. The others need to be fed, too. Particularly that Harry. He'd go to skin and bones if you let him."
Draco scoffed, privately thinking that the best thing for Potter would be starvation. Mrs Weasley narrowed her eyes at him. "Have you had a run-in with Harry?"
He managed not to roll his eyes but it was a close thing. "I've already had the lecture from everyone else, I don't need it again. I'm to leave him alone and let him do whatever vile things he wants to me, and I mustn't bat an eyelash."
Mrs Weasley shook her head. "Not at all, young man, not at all! I've been saying for over a year that the last thing that poor boy needs is to wallow further. Sometimes I think all his acting out, what he really wants is for someone to call him on it, someone to stop him. It’s like with small children. They need limits. They might not like it at the time, but it keeps them safe and it lets them know that someone loves them enough to keep them safe. If it were my boy in question, I'd put him over my knee!"
By the time she finished her tirade, her chins were wobbling, and her eyes were teary. And Draco's sandwich was squished between his fingers. "Thank you," he breathed. "I was starting to think I was the only sane one."
She shook her head. "Not at all. Those friends of his, they mean well, but honestly! What he needs is to talk about his feelings. Move on. That might actually help him. Until then, he's just going to continue on his merry way."
Draco was beginning to re-think the whole not-liking-women thing, because he was pretty sure he was half in love with Mrs Weasley. "I agree," he said, trying to rearrange his mauled sandwich.
"Well, I must be off. Starvation is never the answer, so I had best feed the lot of them and time's a wastin'. Good to see you again, Mr Malfoy."
"Yes, and you as well," Draco managed. He took another bite of his sandwich and his lip curled upwards, unbidden. Mrs Weasley might have been speaking of 'tough love,' but there was no love lost between Draco and Harry Potter. If the bastard got out of line again, Draco was going to make him wish he'd lost his Final Battle.
Thursday 26th August 1999 9:01 PM
Draco leaned back in his chair, twisting his back left and right. His neck cracked so loudly that it startled him. He really needed to get up and move around. He was making real progress on his audit and he was hopeful that everything would be in order before the deadline. He was going to get a promotion out of this godforsaken project. He could smell it.
He wandered towards the actual shop, which was closed for the night. It seemed otherworldly in the half-light from the streetlamps, with no chattering customers or various noises from the merchandise. He leaned against the front counter and got a good stretch in. He was just about to turn and head back to the office when he heard a noise. He whirled around and came face to face with Potter, wielding some sort of weapon.
Draco barely had time to squeak out a protest when Potter discharged the weapon. Draco's shirt was immediately soaked through. "Potter!" he screeched. "What are you — " He wasn't able to finish the question before he was hit full in the face with a jet of water.
Without thinking, he immediately tackled Potter to the ground. Potter squirmed to get away, but Draco managed to manhandle him face-down on the floor. The he brought his hand down sharply on Potter's backside. Potter immediately let out a yelp and struggled harder. So Draco smacked him again. And again. Over and over, until the fight went out of Potter and he lay limp and pliant under Draco's hands.
Draco immediately rolled off of him. Potter stayed where he was, his face averted. Draco got to his feet. He dusted off his trousers and realized that his palms hurt. Potter rolled to a sitting position and looked at Draco, making direct eye contact for once.
Then Potter flew at him, fists clenched. Draco managed to side-step his advance, but Potter still landed a punch to his shoulder. Draco grabbed him and they, once again, fell to the floor, wrestling.
It had been a long time since Draco had felt the thrill of competing with Potter, and lying on a dirty shop floor in his shirt and tie, trying to keep Potter's knee off his sternum, was the most exhilarating thing that had happened to Draco since… Before the war, anyway.
They tousled for a few minutes, Potter fighting dirtier, but Draco with more technical skill. It appeared that neither could gain the upper hand, so finally they broke apart. Potter scuttled over to lean against the counter, cradling his ribs. Draco fingered his wrist where he was sure a dark bruise would form. He was tired and out of breath, and possibly a little turned-on.
"You're a right fucking bastard," Potter said, rotating his shoulder.
"Probably, yes. But so are you. I've always thought so." Draco shifted, hoping Potter wouldn't notice that parts of Draco didn't think Potter was a bastard at all. "At any rate, time is slipping through my fingers as I speak. I'm going to get back to my work. You can feel free to leave. That is, unless Weasley left you here to make sure I don't abscond with any of your…" He got to his feet, gesturing to the weapon that Potter had cast aside when things got physical.
"Squirt gun," Potter said.
"Yes. Unless you're here to keep me from walking off with your squirt guns, you can feel free to scurry on home. I'm in too much of a hurry for your antics. I hope you realise that now." He looked pointedly at Potter's rear end and then marched back to his temporary office, hoping he looked properly regal as he sailed away. He was nearly ready to begin compiling his data. The last thing he needed was Potter bothering him.
Thursday 26th August 1999 10:11 PM
Draco rubbed his hand. It hurt from gripping the quill so tightly as he entered the numbers on the form. The columns were starting to swim before his eyes and he was very glad to be nearly finished. He heard a small scraping noise and whirled around. "Potter?"
Potter was standing in the doorway, bold as brass. No more lurking or scuttling. He looked as if he'd gone to the loo and cleaned up a bit, too. He was empty-handed, but just in case, Draco placed on hand on the paperwork to protect it. "Potter, so help me, if you pull another prank on me, I'll — "
"I won't. Can I come in for a minute?"
"As long as it's only a minute. I'm on a tight schedule, as you well know."
"I know. I just wanted to apologise for setting you back. I know time is tight. I shouldn't have done that."
"No you shouldn't have."
"I'm trying to apologise!" Potter said, tapping his foot in an agitated fashion.
"Fine. Continue."
"Well… I suppose I was about finished."
Draco ticked another box on his form. "Bully for you. Apology accepted, then. You can run along."
Potter shuffled his feet, but didn't leave. Draco wondered if he was expecting an apology in turn. "I'm sorry I… hit you," Draco said, feeling anything but.
"Why does everything have to be about the war?" he asked, and Draco immediately knew what was going through his head.
Draco sighed and put down his quill. "Have a seat, Potter." Potter sat in George's chair, hands folded in his lap, avoiding Draco's eyes again. Draco took a breath. "It's only been a couple of years. Give it time. If you keep working in a shop instead of doing something meaningful with your time, in a couple more years, everyone will have forgotten you completely."
To Draco's surprise, Potter laughed. "Oh, Malfoy. You're really the only one who was never even the tiniest bit impressed by me. That's something I've been missing lately."
"Would you like me to come back tomorrow and follow you around, pointing out your flaws?"
"It would be a welcome change. I've been… Silly as it sounds, I've been waiting for someone to notice me, I think. Everyone knows I'm here, but they walk so far around me, it's like they don't even see me. Everyone says, 'Oh, Harry's had a bad time of it,' but they never ask me how I'm feeling. Does that make sense?"
Score one for Mrs Weasley.
Potter ran a hand through his dark hair, tousled as always, and Draco shifted in his chair. When Potter wasn't acting like a complete loon, he was rather attractive. Draco shook his head a bit, trying to remember what they'd been talking about. "And knocking you down and paddling you like a bratty toddler counts as noticing you?" he asked.
Potter laughed. "It got my attention. You're all right, Malfoy, you know that?" Draco couldn't have been more shocked by any other words from Potter's mouth. "You'll get flies in there," Potter said, and Draco shut his mouth with a click. "Anyway, maybe I could help."
"Help? With the audit? What do you know about taxes?"
"Not a thing."
Draco looked at him. He looked eager and friendly, and, if Draco could admit it, rather shaggable. And the idea of passing muster with Potter, as much as the adult Draco insisted that it didn't matter, appealed to the eleven-year-old inside. "Fine. You can address this envelope. Find your own quill. Good luck getting one that doesn't bite your hand."
Harry laughed.
Friday 27th August 1999 12:51 AM
"Finished!" Draco said triumphantly, sliding the last form into the folder. "Now all I have to do is turn it in at the Ministry tomorrow morning and I'll be on my way to a nice promotion."
"Congratulations, Draco," Potter said. Draco wasn't sure at which point during their time in the office Potter stopped referring to him as "Malfoy," but he was too tired to worry about it.
"Thank you, Harry."
They'd talked about everything under the sun as Draco had filled out, double-checked, and triple-checked his forms, but nothing about their time in school or anything about the war. They'd simply talked about normal things. Like how Harry liked seeing the children laugh when they tried a new product or how Draco had once hexed Mr Hopsbott's left nostril shut. They talked about what they liked to eat for dinner and how the Quiddich season was shaping up. It was entirely mundane and actually quite wonderful.
However, despite enjoying Potter's company, Draco was tired and had a headache that he knew would stick around until morning. He was also worried that he was starting to enjoy Potter's company a bit too much. He wondered what had happened to that Weasley girl. Could Potter be inclined to…? Draco nipped that line of thinking in the bud.
He cleared his throat and added, "And thank you for keeping me company as well, but I'd best go home. It's late."
Potter nodded. "Yeah, I'm knackered. So will you be back tomorrow, then?"
"Whatever for? The job's finished."
"I thought you were going to follow me around. Point out my flaws."
Draco chuckled. "Alas, I already have a job, and listing what's wrong with you would take all day."
"Well, as long as your opinion of me is already low…" Potter came around the desk with an odd look in his eye, and Draco knew, possibly even before Potter himself knew, that he was about to be kissed.
Harry grabbed Draco's upper arms and planted one on him, rather gracelessly and a bit too aggressively. Draco pulled back, staring at him. "What was that for?"
Harry shrugged. "For telling me what I needed to hear. For treating me like a person. For seeing me. For knowing I was here."
"How could I not know? I've been embarrassed, attacked, poisoned, squirted…"
"I did say I was sorry," Harry said, blushing a little. Draco sighed. Even though he hadn't gone around making merry hell for others, Draco could sort of identify – he was making a hell for himself, adding columns of numbers and kowtowing to Mr Hopsbott. They were sort of in the same boat, and sort of always had been.
"Fine. Apology accepted." With that, Draco leaned forward and kissed Potter more soundly, gently rubbing his lips across Harry's mouth, showing him how to be gentle.
After a few long, silky, wet moments, Harry apparently decided to forgo gentle, and pushed Draco against the wall, sliding his tongue along the seam of Draco's lips until Draco let him inside. They broke apart, panting, and Harry smiled at Draco. "You might want to go."
"Why?" Draco whispered, feeling hurt despite himself.
"Because I can't promise that you won't get attacked again. Or squirted."
Draco groaned. "Potter, you are such a complete moron. I don't even know why I'm here."
Harry shrugged and pecked him on the mouth, just once, almost like a punctuation mark. "Maybe because you've got some free time?"
"Maybe," Draco agreed. "But my time is very valuable, so you probably ought to hurry."
Friday 27th August 1999 8:25 AM
"Harry? Draco?"
Draco rolled over and groaned. Harry was draped over him like a large blanket and his back hurt like holy hell from sleeping on the floor. "Weasley?" he asked, squinting at the figure that was towering over them.
"Got it in one. And as eager as I am to hear how this happened, I think you have something to get to the Ministry, am I right?"
Draco shoved Harry out of the way and stood up, fastening his pants as he went. "Thank you for waking me. I better get over there."
"Trust me, I wasn't doing you a favor. I wouldn't get any work done if I had to sit there and look at you two sleeping it off."
Draco shoved his arms into his coat sleeves. Ignoring Weasley, he poked Harry with his toe. Harry rolled over and looked up at him. "What time is it?"
"Time for me to go. I have to drop this file off."
Harry looked disappointed, but he shook it off. "All right. See you later, then?"
"Yes. I'll be back here in an hour or so."
"You're coming back?" Harry asked, hope in his voice.
"Well, I have to, don't I? Someone has to follow you around. Point out your faults. We'll start with making me sleep on the floor."
"Won't happen again," Harry vowed.
"See that it doesn't." With that, Draco gave a curt nod to Weasley and a small smile to Harry. He pulled his wand from his pocket and Apparated as quickly as possible.
After all, he had things he'd much rather be doing with his time.