emmagrant01 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
emmagrant01) wrote2011-01-09 09:03 pm
emmagrant01) wrote2011-01-09 09:03 pm
FIC: Five Times Draco Malfoy Got Sacked (And One Time He Didn't) (H/D, NC-17) 1/2
While everyone else is posting their ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hd_holidays fics, I'll post mine too! This was written for a very, very specific prompt -- it was about two pages in Word when I printed it all out! I was intimidated for about 4 minutes, and then realized that the characterizations ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
faithwood wanted were exactly the ones I like myself. And then it kind of wrote itself! I didn't expect it to be as well-received as it was, since it's not the sort of story that tends to be popular in these sorts of exchanges. It's just a sweet story about Draco growing up and finding his place in the new world -- and finding his Harry, of course. :-)
Title: Five Times Draco Malfoy Got Sacked (And One Time He Didn't)
Author: Emma Grant
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Summary: After the Dark Lord was destroyed, Draco Malfoy had to start all over. He had no idea it would be quite so difficult.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Word Count: ~18,500
Author's Notes: Set immediately after the end of Book 7, and definitely heading toward EWE. Written forhd_holidays 2010, for faithwood. Originally posted here.
*****
The day after the Dark Lord was finally destroyed, Draco went to bed. He didn't get out of bed for six weeks.
The days and nights blurred together until he wasn't sure what time it was, what day of the week it was, or even what month it was -- and he didn't care. The only constants were the warmth of the blankets over him, the trays of food Mother set beside his bed at regular intervals, which he sometimes nibbled from but often ignored, and the everpresent feeling of emptiness surrounding him. He felt like he'd been kissed by a Dementor, that his soul had abandoned his body, leaving a shell of a wizard behind.
The silencing spells around his room kept out the ordinary sounds of the household, and he existed in darkness and silence, fading in and out of sleep, plagued by nightmares of what he'd seen and heard and done in the last few years. There were good dreams too, ones in which he felt a shiver of something almost like happiness, but the feeling slipped away like so much smoke once he started to wake again.
The nightmare was over, but what was left of his life?
Once in a while there would be a warm body pressed against him, and the scent of Mother's perfume would drift over him when he inhaled. She squeezed him tightly, and he remembered being a child and sneaking into his parents' bed in the wee hours of the morning, wanting nothing more than to be surrounded by their warmth and safety, to feel completely enveloped by them. Mother always knew he was there, and would drape an arm over him as he snuggled against her. When he woke in the morning, he would lie as still as he could, pretending to be asleep so that Mother would stay with him as long as possible. She would kiss his forehead gently and slip away at last, leaving him alone in the big bed. Father would never be there when he woke, and though he never said anything, Draco knew he didn't approve.
He feigned sleep until Mother left, and then the coldness and emptiness engulfed him again. He couldn't bring himself to let her know he knew she was there, not even with a squeeze of his hand. He thought she knew anyway.
After weeks, maybe even months, he decided it was time to get out of bed. Nothing had changed; he didn't feel any differently. It was just time to get on with it. He sat up in bed, stared around him for a moment, and then got up.
He hadn't shaved or showered in weeks, and he'd forgotten the sheer pleasure to be found in warm water sliding over his skin. His cheeks were covered with blond stubble, too sparse to be called a proper beard, and he had to dig through the cabinets in the washroom to find his shaving kit. His hair needed cutting badly, but he didn't dare try it himself.
He'd expected Mother and Father at least to be surprised when he walked into the kitchen and joined them at the table, but they weren't. Father glanced up from a copy of the Daily Prophet, narrowed his eyes, and looked back at the paper again. Mother smiled warmly and went to fetch him a cup of tea.
He sat at the table, squinting in the strangely bright light. He'd only rarely eaten a meal in this kitchen before. It had always been the domain of the house elves; the family had taken meals in the dining room.
His stomach lurched -- he couldn't imagine setting foot in that room again. Actually, there weren't many rooms in the house he could bear to be in anymore. The small kitchen suddenly seemed quite claustrophobic. This had been his home for his entire life, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could stay here.
"What would you like to do today, Draco?" Mother asked, as if he were home on summer holiday with nothing to worry about until September.
He stared blankly ahead for a moment, then glanced at Father. A picture of Harry Potter smiled demurely from the front page of the paper. Draco's stomach lurched again.
Mother set a bowl of porridge before him, and he wrinkled his nose. Her cooking spells were a bit rusty after years of disuse, but with no house elves left, she had little choice. Manners were bred into him, and so he picked up a spoon and forced down a bite.
"Actually, I'm going to go out and look for a position somewhere," he said, injecting as much pleasantry into his tone as he could manage after not speaking for weeks. He had no idea where the thought had come from, but once he said it aloud, it seemed like a good plan. "It'll give me something to do."
Mother's expression became a bit strained. "Yes, of course, dear. Good luck, then." She looked down into her cup of tea, as if uncertain what else to say.
Father rustled the paper a bit, and said nothing.
*****
[ONE]
It was easier to get a position than he'd anticipated. His first thought had been the Ministry, and he'd simply shown up at the door of one of Father's old colleagues and presented himself as available. He'd expected to be tossed out on his ear, but to his surprise he'd been sent to personnel to fill out the proper paperwork straight away. The Ministry was still in disarray after the War, it seemed, and there was so much work to be done that the staff were a bit desperate.
He was assigned the position of Owl Boy -- only barely above the rank of toilet cleaner, but highly preferable nonetheless. His task was to sort the owl post that came in and route it to the appropriate office by casting flying memo charms. It was mindless work, for which he was grateful.
The worst part of the first day had been when he'd had to admit he didn't have a wand, and had to go to the Ministry's Wand Office to sign one out for the day. That was the first thing he'd buy with his pay, he decided. Working with a company wand was even more humiliating than being an Owl Boy.
He worked long days, partly because there was so much to be done and he needed the money, but also because as unpleasant as it was to step in owl shit all day long, it was still better than suffocating at home. His coworkers steered clear of him, and he didn't care. He did his job, kept his head down, and kept his thoughts focused on having his very own wand again.
He'd been there nearly a week before the supervisor, a squat wizard in his thirties named Pricthard, deigned to speak to him.
"Malfoy, is it?" Pritchard asked with a sniff. His beady eyes raked over Draco's too-short robes, purchased more than a year ago, and Draco felt a stab of embarrassment.
"Yeah."
Pritchard held out a large package. "This one has to be hand-delivered. Thought you might like an outing." There was a strange smile on his face, almost a leer.
Draco took the package and glanced at the label:
Please deliver to :
Arthur Weasley
Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects.
DO NOT SHAKE OR DROP!!!
He looked up, his eyes narrow. "Are you taking the piss?"
Pritchard snickered, an oddly pig-like sound. "I'll take a lot more than that if you don't move your arse and deliver that package."
Draco glared at him and opened his mouth to protest, but paused -- everyone in the owlery had turned to sneer at him -- they were likely all in on it. He straightened his back, forced a polite expression to his face, and nodded. "Fine. I'll be right back."
He heard snickering as he left the owlery, and he gritted his teeth. He'd actually expected to be treated much worse than this, and the week had gone fairly smoothly until now. But it was inevitable he'd run into some of Potter's allies eventually, and he might as well get it over with.
He felt eyes on him as he strode down the corridor, heard whispers behind him in the lift. It became increasingly harder to ignore them, but he managed. As he drew closer to Weasley's department, the knot in his belly tightened. Perhaps he could just leave the package outside the door, then knock and dash away before Weasley saw him. Perhaps he'd be lucky and Weasley would be out of the office, and the package would have to be delivered another time.
He turned the corner to the Department With the Longest Name Ever and stepped through the archway. The corridor was bustling with people, most of whom stared at him as he walked past. He wished he could hide behind the package, but it was far too small. And to top it off, Weasley's office door was open and his annoyingly plebian laugh was tumbling out of it.
Draco paused outside the door and took a deep breath. There was nothing else for it, so he stepped inside, clearing his throat as he did. Two men turned to stare at him, their eyes widening in surprise. One was Arthur Weasley, and the other, to Draco's horror, was Harry Potter.
Draco stood in the doorway for a moment, clenching the package. He felt blood rushing to his face, but there was nothing he could do.
"Package," he managed at last. His voice cracked a bit. He wanted to disappear into the floor.
"Thank you… Draco," Weasley said, and his eyes flicked down to the large security badge pinned to Draco's robe, which displayed his position and department in the most obvious way possible. "You can just… put it there." He gestured to a table by the door.
Draco dropped the package on the table, and it made a tremendous clanking sound. He dashed away without another word, unable to even look at the two of them another moment. He pushed his way through the corridor, ignoring the glares of people he passed. He was a fucking Malfoy, and these people should just get the fuck out of his way. It would probably never be that way again, and the thought made his even angrier.
Potter's green eyes scrutinizing him had been the worst of it. He could have lived out his days without ever coming face-to-face with Potter again -- so why the hell did he have to run into him only a few days after venturing out of his house?
"Malfoy, wait!" Potter's voice cut through the sounds of the busy corridor, far closer than Draco would have liked.
He didn't turn to look as he jabbed the lift call button with his finger, willing it to come. The doors opened and he leapt inside, forcing several wizards in official-looking robes to flatten themselves against the back of the car.
"Close, close, close," he whispered, and the doors obeyed, sliding slowly shut.
"Malfoy!" Potter's face appeared through the grate, but it was too late -- he just stared at Malfoy with an oddly intent look on his face, and then the car flew backwards, and Potter disappeared from view.
Draco exhaled, and pressed a hand to his forehead. He could feel the eyes of the lift's other occupants drilling into his back, but he ignored them. Fuck them all. Let them stare, let them whisper. He'd borne far worse.
He stepped off the lift the next time the doors opened, and wound his way down an unfamiliar corridor until he found another bank of lifts. He got lost two more times before finally making his way back to the owlery.
"Took you long enough," snapped Pritchard as he walked through the door.
"Had to piss on the way back," Draco replied. "That's allowed, isn't it?"
He went back to work, sorting through owl post and redirecting letters, but he kept thinking about the look on Potter's face as the lift doors closed, the near-desperation with which Potter had wanted to talk to him. What could that have been about? He couldn't think of any reason why Potter would want to talk to him. Did he want Draco to thank him for saving his life in the Room of Requirement? Did he want a chance to play the magnanimous hero and ask after Draco's health, after his parents' well-being?
Draco snorted at the thought, and flicked the borrowed wand at a pile of letters that were to be sent to the Ministry of Transportation. They flew into the air and went in ten different directions, twirling aimlessly before fluttering down to the owl-shit-coated floor.
"Bugger," Draco muttered, and tried to cast the correct spell. The borrowed wand was not cooperating, and it took several tries before the letters were finally on their way.
He turned to a larger pile he'd sorted earlier; all were headed to the Department of Finance. Potter's face was still hanging in his mind, the sound of his voice calling down the corridor still ringing in his ears.
Of all people to run into, why did it have to be Potter? And why the hell did he have to look so composed, so well-dressed, so… good?
Draco winced; he'd put those sorts of thoughts about Potter out of his head long ago. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine Potter's disappointed face as the lift door closed between them, this time with Draco laughing as the car sped away, and he smirked.
There was a strange sound then, like a sort of muffled explosion, and then there were bits of paper in the air all around him. The resting owls were startled out of their sleep, and they began screeching and flapping about, adding feathers and even more owl shit to the rain of paper all around.
"What the hell?" shouted Pritchard, and Draco realized that everyone in the room was staring at him. He was in the middle of it all, covered with feathers and owl shit and bits of paper -- the remains of the entire morning's post, all the letters that had yet to be routed to the correct destinations. Pritchard stalked toward him, his face nearly purple with rage. "What have you done?"
"Me?" Draco blurted indignantly -- and then realized it must have been him. He couldn't control the borrowed wand very well, and he must have accidentally blown them all up. He groaned, knowing what was coming next.
"You're fired, Malfoy. Fired! Out!"
The others snickered, and a few even exchanged gold, and Draco sighed. It was just as well. He was miserable here anyway.
He returned the borrowed wand, picked up his meager wages, and apparated straight home.
"I'm so sorry, darling," Mother said, pouring him a cup of tea that afternoon. "But of course, it was not the right position for you. With your background and education, they should have offered you something far more dignified, anyway."
Draco didn't respond. He dropped a lump of sugar into his tea cup and stirred. His earned wages were pathetic, barely a fraction of what he'd need to buy a new wand. He knew what the daily wage was when he'd taken the job, but somehow hadn't realized just how little money it was. He'd never thought about how much Father earned working at the Ministry. He'd never thought much about money at all, really -- it was always there, his whenever he wanted it.
But things had changed, and he knew they barely had enough to put food on the table. Mother had been talking about planting a vegetable garden over breakfast that morning, going on about the proper spells for encouraging plants to grow quickly. As far as Draco could tell, they were eating out of the pantry, and no one had bought food for weeks.
He looked up and forced a pleasant expression. "Yes, Mother. I'll look again tomorrow, and I'll find something better."
Mother's smile was almost patronizing. "Oh Draco, you're just not meant to work. Why don't you stay home and rest, get your strength back. You can help me sort out the house, plant the garden. You look so tired, so pale."
Draco's smile hardened a bit. "Don't worry about me, Mother. I'll be fine."
And he would. As soon as he got out of this damned house.
*****
[TWO]
"And then you turn this knob, and cast fuminino, and the coffee comes out here. Got it?" Maya -- Draco seriously doubted that was her real name -- raised one pierced eyebrow at him. Her other piercings were so distracting that Draco had to force himself to look into her eyes when she spoke.
"Right."
She leaned back against the counter and scrutinized him for a moment. "You look familiar to me. Dave, is it?"
"Dave," Draco repeated. He'd decided to give a false name this time around. "I don't think we've ever have met before. I didn't grow up around here. Today was the first time I've been to Diagon Alley in years."
"You weren't at Hogwarts?"
"No. Ah… Homeschooled, actually." She shot him a suspicious look, and he added, "I'm not a squib or anything. Just… my parents were a bit… Swedish." Shut it, Draco.
"Hmmm," she said, though she didn't look convinced. "Well, Dave, here comes your first customer. I'll call the orders, and you wave the wand."
Draco exhaled slowly, trying to calm his nerves. He'd borrowed Goyle's wand for this first day, promising to bring him some pastries in payment, but the few practice spells he'd tried to cast that morning hadn't exactly gone as planned. He had no idea how he was going to remember to make all the different coffee drinks. He didn't even like coffee, and had no idea why London wizards would be lining up out the door for the stuff.
The café opened, and witches and wizards filed in. The orders started coming, and with Maya's help, Draco was able to keep up. Happily, Goyle's wand was obeying his orders, as long as he kept his focus. A half hour in, it began to be difficult to keep it all straight, and before Draco knew it, he had a large stack of orders waiting, and a rather large and irate crowd of caffeine-deprived wizards demanding to know when their drinks would be ready.
"Break time," Maya chirped, clapping him on the back.
"Thank Merlin!"
"For me, not for you." She smirked and disappeared into the back of the café, leaving Draco all alone with the coffee-making equipment. The cashier, who looked as terrified as Draco did, gave him a weak smile.
Twenty minutes later the morning rush was done, and Draco had mostly survived. He'd been yelled at, sworn at, and even threatened by one haggard-looking witch who needed her caramel macchiato NOW-dammit, but he'd managed to keep his cool through it all. He was rather proud of himself.
Lunch time was busy again, and then there was another lull until mid-afternoon. Once again Maya took a well-timed break, leaving him alone with the spotty cashier, whose small voice was difficult to hear over the din of the coffee machinery. He was just settling into a rhythm when he heard a familiar voice say his name.
"Malfoy?"
Draco felt his insides twist, and he hesitated before looking up. It was Potter. Harry fucking Potter, again. What the hell?
"Stalking me, Potter?" he managed, struggling to keep his focus on the machine gurgling in front of him.
"Surprised to see you, is all. How long have you been working here?"
The cashier called out several unintelligible orders, and Draco gritted his teeth. "Just tell me what you ordered, and I'll get it out first." If he could just make Potter's drink, maybe he'd leave. And then Draco wouldn't have to think about the fact that he'd seen more of Potter this week than in the last year. Quite a bit more, if dreams counted.
Potter smirked at him, and Draco had a moment of panic. Potter wasn’t a Legilimens, was he?
"Just a cappuccino."
Merlin, but this was humiliating. Draco cast charms to steam the milk and brew the espresso simultaneously. He had to get this over with, get Potter out of here.
"I need to talk to you, Malfoy. When do you get off?"
"I don't," he retorted, keeping his focus on the machine. "I sleep in the back."
"I'm serious. I really need a word with you." He leaned forward a bit, peering at Draco over the top of the machine. "In private."
Draco's eyes shot up at that, and before he could look away, turn away, or duck behind the machine, his cheeks flushed red. And as if taking pity on him, the coffee machine made a loud gurgling sound and began to shake, drawing everyone's attention.
Draco backed away, pointing Goyle's wand at it. Customers fled the shop. Maya came rushing back around the corner just in time to see a part fly off and crash through a window.
"Protego!" she shouted, and a shield formed around the machine just before it exploded, containing a mass of shrapnel that would have injured everyone present. She turned to glare at Draco, who'd gone pale by this point. "Are you insane? What did you do?"
Draco could only shake his head. He knew what was coming next.
"You're done here," she snapped, piercings jiggling as her face screwed up with anger. "Get out, and don't come back!"
Draco pulled the black apron over his head and left without another word. Potter didn't follow him -- if he had, Draco would likely have hexed him, and considering his wand situation, there was no telling how that might have turned out.
He couldn't bear to go home, so he apparated back to Goyle's house, a summer cottage his family owned and were letting him live in. Draco didn't bother knocking; he just pushed his way in the door. Goyle sat up on the couch, blinking at him, clearly awakened from a nap.
"Oy, Draco. Did you bring the chocolate ones I wanted?"
Draco snorted, and collapsed into a chair. He tossed Goyle's wand at him, and leaned his head back, staring up at the ceiling.
"Got sacked again, did you? Sorry, mate."
Draco sighed. This was not how his life was supposed to go. He was supposed to be looking forward to a future filled with power and prestige, and enough money to buy whatever he wanted. His biggest worry should have been how to navigate the whole gay thing with his parents, but instead, he was just trying to figure out how to make a life for himself in a world where the name Malfoy no longer got him everything -- or even a single thing -- he wanted.
It sucked.
"Can I kip on your sofa tonight? Father will really take the piss when he hears about this." Actually, it was Mother he was more worried about. Father barely said three words to him at a time any more.
"Yeah, sure." Goyle was quiet for a moment. "I've got some firewhisky stashed away. It's some of my dad's good stuff. Want some?"
"Yes," Draco replied, closing his eyes. It was exactly what he needed right now. He'd wasted an entire day in that damned coffee shop, and hadn't even got paid for it. And to make matters worse, he'd run into Potter again. Why couldn't he run into Potter in some more favorable circumstance, one in which he wasn’t humiliating himself in a subservient position of employment?
The last year had taken a lot from him, and it had apparently taken his pride to boot.
They drank most of the night, and Draco spent much of the next day vomiting. He was miserable, but it was oddly cathartic. He felt cleansed, and on the second day was ready to face the world again. He left Goyle on the sofa, still recovering from his own hangover.
"Need to borrow my wand again?" Goyle asked, settling down with a pillow and blanket.
"Actually, yes." Draco picked it up and twirled it in his fingers. "Thanks. For everything."
Goyle attempted to smile, but turned a bit green. "It's nothing, mate. I owe you, you know."
It was the first time the day in the Room of Requirement had come up. "I know," Draco said, and turned to leave. "I'll bring it back tonight."
"And get pizza this time," Goyle called after him.
*****
[THREE]
Draco stepped out of his small flat and headed down the stairs into the bustle of Diagon Alley. The morning was unusually warm and muggy for September, but he'd cast a cooling charm on his new suit before leaving, and was quite comfortable. He was running late, so he darted down the pavement, weaving in and out of crowds of morning shoppers until he reached the door of Twilfitt and Tatting's.
The bell rang as he entered, and he gave a curt nod to the woman standing on the far side of the shop, straightening a display of robes.
"You're late, Draco," she warned.
"For what?" Draco replied, pointedly glancing around the empty shop. "You can handle no customers as well as anyone I've ever seen, Glenda." She shook her head, but her lips quirked up into a reluctant smile.
He busied himself with organizing some of the tailoring work that had recently come in, flicking his recently purchased wand at each pile in succession. It had been nearly a month since he'd started working here. After the coffee shop debacle, he'd spent a week flattering the ancient Madame Twilfitt and reminding her just how much money Mother had spent in the shop over the years. She'd finally relented and hired him on a trial basis, and after a week seemed to have forgotten that it was a trial.
His first paycheck had been enough for him to buy himself a new wand, and with the second he'd let a small studio flat above the apothecary in Diagon Alley, allowing him to finally move off of Goyle's sofa. He'd even talked Glenda into letting him borrow clothes form the shop, so had he something decent to wear, for the first time in months. Mother had come to visit him the weekend prior and finally conceded that he was doing well on his own. All in all, he was happier than he'd been in years.
The day proceeded like most others had done, with a bit of busy work here and there and a few customers poking about the shop every few hours. Fancy robes were not in high demand these days, but the shop managed to hobble along. There was a fitting for a bridegroom, a wizard Draco recognized as a Hufflepuff prefect from his first year at Hogwarts, and several older witches who came in to do little more than complain about the high prices.
He was in the back eating his lunch, a humble affair of stale bread and fruit, and when he heard the bell ring to call him to the front. Glenda was wrapping a shawl around herself, despite the warm weather. "I've got to go down and talk to the tailor about a special order. This young man is interested in being fitted for dress robes." She gestured to the other side of the store to where a dark-headed man was flipping through robes hanging on a display rack. Draco's stomach lurched in an all-too-familiar way. The man didn't even have to turn around -- he already knew it was Potter.
"Glenda, wait," he hissed, tugging her back by the elbow. "Can't you do this one? I was in the middle of lunch, and--"
Glenda's sharp glance cut him off. "As I said before, I'll return shortly. You're on your own until then." She nodded at Potter as she left, and the door's bell jingled behind her.
Potter turned then, and the look on his face was priceless: he'd obviously not realized Draco was there until that moment. His cheeks went a bit pink, and his eyes were wide. "I didn't know you worked here."
"Or you wouldn't have come?" Draco raised an eyebrow and gestured toward the fitting room at the back of the shop.
"Perhaps not," Potter replied. "I was nearly blown up the last time I ran into you like this." He almost-smiled, but Draco didn't find the comment amusing. Every time Potter came around, something happened to get him sacked. Merlin knew what it would be this time.
They entered the fitting room, a small semi-private area surrounded by mirrors. Draco picked up a tape measure as Potter stepped up onto the fitting platform, resolving himself to this task.
"I'll just… take this off, shall I?" Potter's hands fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, and before Draco had quite realized what was happening, Potter was stripping down to his underwear.
Draco started to tell him it wasn't necessary for him to remove any clothing at all, but the sight of Potter in nothing but pants, looking incredibly uncomfortable, was more enticing than he would have expected. Not that he was so much to look at -- Potter was too thin, too pale, almost wiry, but there was also an obvious strength to him. Though Draco would have never admitted it, the opportunity to get a close look at Potter's almost-naked body was one not to be missed.
He stood behind Potter, letting his eyes rake over the pale skin at the small of his back. He felt an overwhelming urge to lick up that spine, and felt himself go red. He fumbled for his wand and his tape measure, and was about to cast a measurement charm on the tape, but then he looked at Potter's hand. It was trembling, ever so slightly. Was Potter nervous?
Draco smirked and tucked his wand into his pocket. He could do this the slow way, and if it made Potter squirm, all the better. He touched the end of the tape measure to the back of Potter's neck, and then let his fingers trail down his back, down over the curve of his arse, tucking the tape under at the point where buttock meets thigh. He let his hand linger against Potter's arse a bit longer than necessary before stepping away to write the measurement down. He moved then to the shoulders, stepping onto the platform and leaning into Potter's back a bit, letting his hands glide across those surprisingly broad shoulders.
"When were you last properly fitted for robes?" He saw Potter start slightly as Draco's breath brushed the back of his neck.
"You were there," Potter replied, turning his head slightly. "At Madame Malkin's -- remember?"
"No," Draco lied. He slid his arms around Potter to measure his chest and then his waist. He felt Potter tense against him, almost as if he were holding his breath. Draco let the measuring tape drag over his nipples as he pulled it away, and Potter's breath caught.
Draco grinned as wrote the numbers on the form. This was going even better than he'd anticipated. He moved to stand in front of Potter and measured his arm length and then the girth of his hips, glancing up every so often to see that Potter was staring straight ahead with great concentration, as if he was trying to look anywhere but at Draco.
"Could you step apart a bit?"
Potter did, and Draco slid one hand up the inside of his thigh to touch the measuring tape to Potter's groin. He kept one hand there, knowing that the warmth pressing against the back of his hand was Potter's balls, and stretched the tape down to his ankle to measure the inseam.
Potter exhaled, a sound almost like a sigh, and then put a hand on Draco's shoulder. Draco looked up, but Potter's eyes were closed, his lips pressed into a thin line. Draco's face was very close to Potter's pants, just a layer of thin fabric away from his cock, which he would swear was creating a larger bulge than it had done when he'd first stolen a glance a few minutes ago. He swallowed.
"Sorry," Potter said, pulling his hand away and stepping down from the platform. "I lost my balance for a moment there. Is that all?" He finally looked at Draco then.
"Yes. You can get dressed now." He gestured at the pile of clothes.
Potter nodded, then stepped off the platform to pick up his things. "I've been meaning to send you an owl, actually. There's something I'd like to talk to you about."
Draco blinked at him. Potter was standing there in his underpants, half-erect, and suddenly he was all business. How did he manage that?
"What about?"
"Your wand. Your old one. I still have it."
Draco looked away. "I have a new one now. I don't need it." There was far too much baggage associated with that old wand, things he wasn't yet ready to deal with.
"But it was the first wand that chose you," Potter said, a note of surprise in his tone.
"And then it chose you. It's not mine any more. Get dressed, Potter." He left the fitting room at that, heading back up front to write up the measurements.
He was relieved when Glenda returned just in time to take over the order, and he returned to the back room under the guise of finishing his lunch. He wasn't hungry, though; he sat by the door and listened to their conversation, and was oddly disappointed when Potter didn't ask Glenda where he'd disappeared to.
The door jingled a few minutes later, and Potter was gone.
That night Draco gave in to his fantasies and pulled himself off to images of Potter standing on that stool, this time with no pants, his cock hard and dripping and jutting out from his body, his green eyes staring down as Draco took it in his mouth and sucked until Potter came.
He came into his own hand, and then stared up at the ceiling until well past midnight. He'd always had masturbation fantasies about Potter, though in years past they'd been of a decidedly different nature. And until today, he'd had no inkling that Potter might be interested in him as well.
He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. He had imagined that part of it, he must have. If Harry Potter was gay, surely Draco would have heard about it by now. Not that it mattered. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were not friends, and despite various instances of life-saving and identity-denial in recent months, they never would be.
*****
"I'm what?"
"It's been quite slow, dear, and I did tell you this was a trial hire." Madame Twilfitt's expression was one of sympathy, but her narrow gray eyes were hard. "I'm terribly sorry, but we have to let you go."
Draco clenched his jaw and shook his head. "I need this job, Madame. Surely you know what it's like out there for former--" He caught himself just as her eyes widened. "For someone like me. I've done everything that was asked of me."
"Yes, and Glenda has nothing but good things to say about you. She'll be so sorry to see you go."
Draco was struggling not to let his frustration show. "She's old, and slow and forgetful. I can do twice the work she can. I know she makes a higher salary than I do. If you're really concerned about saving money, it would be wiser to keep me on instead."
Madame Twilfitt sniffed at that, and stood. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Malfoy, but that will be all. Your pay for the last week, plus a bit extra. Please give my regards to your mother." She held out a small bag.
Draco took it, and felt panic start to rise in his throat. The coins in his hand represented all the money he had, and now he was unemployed yet again. How was he going to pay his rent? How was he going to buy food? He'd just spent 20 galleons on an expensive haircut at his favorite salon the day before, a splurge that now seemed incredibly foolish. He'd expected to keep working in the shop, to keep going forward. Now he had to start all over again.
He left the shop and headed back to his flat, uncertain what he was going to do next. The small room already seemed like home, and the thought of having to leave it so soon was almost heartbreaking. He'd done so well these last few weeks, had come so far.
At least Madame hadn't asked for the borrowed clothes to be returned. Without them, he had nothing decent to wear.
*****
[FOUR]
"That's four butterbeers, two plates of chips, and what else?"
One of the girls gave him a sly grin and said, "What can you tell us about your bangers plate?"
Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "What about it?"
The girl exchanged a glance with her friends, who started snickering. They couldn't be older than fourth-years. "How big are they, would you say?"
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Oh, quite big, actually. Too much for you, I'd wager. It's more of a man's plate, if you know what I mean." The girls burst into giggles at that, and Draco was pleased to see the one he'd been speaking with blush as she figured it out. "Just the chips, then." He turned away, and heard a burst of whispering behind him.
He realized he was attractive, but honestly -- had these girls no discretion at all? He'd only been out of school a few months himself, but he felt decades older than the students he saw in the Cracked Cauldron on Hogsmeade weekends. They had no cares, no worries other than upcoming exams and what to wear to the Halloween Ball that was being held in a month. His life had been nothing like that the last few years.
It should have been like that, though. It was still odd to see that the world had moved on, that students were back at Hogwarts, learning charms and potions as if there hadn't been a massive battle in the middle of the Great Hall, as if the walls of the school hadn't been nearly torn down or burnt to the ground. As if people hadn't died there.
He leaned against the bar and looked back at the girls, watching the way they laughed easily with each other and giggled over the pages of a copy of Witch Weekly. They weren't afraid. They were living their lives. It was as it should be.
"Did you tell them you take it up the arse, then?"
Draco gritted his teeth. Dex was the barman, and he was the worst thing about this job. He was a few years older than Draco, and was a scraggly-looking character. He was rumored to have worked as a Snatcher during the war, though he denied it. He despised Draco, and took every opportunity to make his life at work miserable.
"Yeah, and I even invited them to watch me bugger you in the alley."
Dex snarled at that, and for a moment Draco wondered if he was a werewolf. "Fucking queer. If you ever touch me, you'll be sorry."
Draco gave him an appraising look and then feigned a shudder of disgust. "Indeed I would be. Thanks for the reminder. Four butterbeers to that table."
He headed to the kitchen to plate the chips, swearing under his breath. The gastropub's owner, a rough-looking Romanian wizard named Klabek, was hard at work over the fire, managing a complex set of cooking spells. Large wooden spoons stirred the contents of half a dozen cauldrons, and the scent of cooking meat filled the small room.
"Dex is giving me trouble again," Draco said as he piled chips onto a large platter. "I don't know how much more of his shit I can take before I hex him, Klabek."
Klabek looked up from his cauldrons and grunted. He reminded Draco sharply of Mad-Eye Moody for a moment. "He's a git, all right, but he's a good barman. I said I'd give him a chance, just like I did you."
"You have a heart of gold," Draco said drily. "I'm serious about hexing him, you know. Maybe just a penis-shrinking charm."
Klabek grunted again. "Do it on your own time. No hexes in my place, Malfoy."
Draco carried the plate of chips out to the girls, who still had no butterbeer. Dex was at the other end of the bar, chatting up a witch who looked young enough to be at Hogwarts, so Draco pulled the butterbeers himself. He'd be damned if he was going to get a bad tip just because Dex wasn't doing his job.
He wasn't sure how Dex had figured out he was gay. He'd never told anyone, really -- not even Goyle, though he suspected his friend knew anyway. Dex had hurled insults at him from the first moment they met, and Draco never bothered to deny it. He wasn't sure if that meant he was "out" or not.
He delivered the butterbeers, and took a moment to comment on the dress robes advertisements the girls were examining in their magazine. He'd recently become a bit of an expert in formalwear, after all, and within a few minutes had riveted their attention with advice on which color each of them should wear. He was in the middle of arguing that pink was so not in this year when one of the girls gasped and pointed in the direction of the door.
"It's him!" she squeaked, and they all turned their heads. "It's Harry Potter!"
Draco's stomach twisted as he turned to see Potter walking past the bar. Dex was tripping over himself to get Potter's attention, even offering him a free drink, but Potter made his way over to Draco instead.
Potter's appearance was a bad omen, but Draco was still oddly pleased to see him. Potter held out a hand and Draco shook it, and saw Dex glaring daggers over by the bar.
"I heard you were working here," Potter said. "I was over at Hogwarts today, and thought I'd stop by on my way out."
"I've been here about a month now. Pays the bills."
"Do you have time to talk?" Potter indicated a booth in a far corner, and Draco heard the girls at the table behind him whispering frantically.
He didn't technically have a break for another two hours, but hell -- he was probably about to get sacked anyway. What did it matter? He turned to the bar. "Oy, Dex, bring us a couple of pints." He followed Potter to the corner table, imagining the look of fury he knew was twisting Dex's face.
"I went back to Twillfit's to pick up my robes, and they said you didn't work there any more."
Draco shrugged. "It wasn't exactly what I'd always dreamed of doing with my life."
"And this is?"
"I always told myself that if the whole Death Eater thing didn't turn out, I'd rather like to serve mediocre food and drink in a complete dive like this."
Potter smiled. "You have time to figure it all out."
"Did you come here to give me career advice? I hate to disappoint, but I think it's fairly obvious I'm a hopeless case in that area."
Potter reached into his pocket and pulled out a wand, and set it on the table between them. "That's why I came."
Draco felt a stab of disappointment. He was getting used to being visited by Potter, and though he hated to admit it, he'd been hoping Potter had a more personal reason to find him. "Well, you've wasted your time. I told you I don't want it."
Potter's expression softened a bit. "It's your wand, Malfoy. Take it. Put it in a box, keep it as a backup, or burn it if you like, but it's yours. It belongs with you."
"The wizard that wand chose seven years ago doesn't exist any more." He paused, and then picked up the wand. It didn't feel right to him, not like it had before. He studied it for a moment, and then set it on the table again. He forced himself to look up at Potter. "I know you think you're doing the right thing here, but you don't know what…" He had to look away before he could continue. "What that wand represents to me."
They were silent for a moment, and then the tension was broken by two pints of ale nearly spilling their contents all over the table as they landed. Dex glared at Draco from the bar.
"What the hell was that about?" Potter asked, looking over at Dex.
"He hates me," Draco replied, in the same tone one would use to discuss the weather.
"That Dex Mulligan, isn't it? But he's -- or he was, rather, a Snatcher. He worked for--"
"My side, yes," Draco finished for him. "Let's just say he doesn't like me for another, more personal reason."
Potter's eyes narrowed as he watched Dex for a moment.
Draco took a long drink from his pint after inspecting it to make certain Dex hadn't spat in it. "So thank you for the wand, but no thanks. Though there is something I've been meaning to ask you."
Potter turned back to Draco picked up his own pint.
"Did you know about the Elder wand when you took this one from me that day?"
Potter took a long drink before answering. "No, I didn't. I worked all that out much later. Frankly, I just needed a wand, and you had a handful of them."
"And here all along I thought defeating me was part of your master plan."
"Dumb luck, actually. Most of my accomplishments have gone that way, I must admit."
"I've been saying that for years." They grinned at each other, and Draco felt an odd stirring in his belly, something he hadn't felt in a long time. "But why my wand, then? You took several from me that day, so if you didn't know mine was special, what made you choose it?"
"I don't know." Potter took another drink. "It just… felt good in my hand." His eyes flicked up to meet Draco's, and something about the tone of his voice and the look on his face sent a spark straight to Draco's groin. He felt his cock twitch and a rush of blood and oh fuck he was getting an erection, sitting right there across the table from Harry Potter.
He picked up his pint glass and took a long drink, and felt a trickle of ale go down the wrong way, which left him sputtering. He was sure he'd turned bright red, but he couldn't leave the table, not in his current state.
"Well, that explains it," he managed, trying to suppress the urge to cough. He had no idea if Potter was flirting with him or was incredibly oblivious to his effect on Draco. As far as he knew, Harry Potter was straight. Sure, the day in the fitting room had been interesting, but Draco had assumed he'd just made Potter uncomfortable, not that Potter was actually interested. "I have to get back to work, actually."
Potter picked up Draco's old wand and tucked it back into his coat. "We should have a proper drink one of these nights, at a place where you don't work."
That would probably be this place, if things went as they usually did after a visit from Potter. "Next time you're in Hogsmeade, let me know."
Potter lingered a moment longer, as if trying to think of a reason not to go. Draco didn't offer him one; this weird offer of friendship-or-something-like-it was already a bit too much for one day. Draco didn't have friends. Well, he had Goyle, but Goyle hadn't left his parents' summer cottage in months, so he was hardly good company.
He was most definitely not going to let himself think there could be anything more than friendship between him and Potter. That would be inviting insanity, and he'd had enough close brushes with batshitcrazy to last him the rest of his life, thank you very much.
"I will," Potter said, sliding out of the booth. "Thanks for the pint." He smiled and left, and Draco watched the heads of the patrons turn as he passed. He seemed oblivious to the attention, but perhaps he was just used to it.
Draco took another moment to collect himself before heading back to the bar. People were staring at him now, and he wondered what they were thinking. Were they surprised at the sight of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter sharing a drink together?
Unfortunately, Dex didn't let Draco wonder what he was thinking. "You two looked rather cozy, didn't you?"
"What's it to you, Dex?" Draco busied himself collecting bills for the tables he'd waited before Potter came in.
"I'd like to know if my coworker is getting buggered by Harry Potter, that's all."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Even if I were, it's none of your business, so bugger off."
"You stay away from me, queer." Dex moved closer, pointing a finger in Draco's face in a way he apparently thought was menacing.
"Oddly enough, that was exactly my plan, as you're not my type." Draco made a face and waved away Dex's rather powerful breath. "Not by a mile."
"What do you mean by that?" Dex snarled, looking affronted.
"Are you part-troll? You are a hideous, unpleasant, idiotic arse-hole, and I have NO interest in you. Is that clear?" Their voices were starting to attract the attention of the patrons. Draco tried to walk away, but Dex wouldn't let it go.
"You might as well hang a sign around your neck that says, Queer!"
"Only if you'll wear one that says homophobic prick," Draco called over his shoulder. Dex clearly had issues, and Draco wanted no part of it.
"Don't turn your back on me!"
Draco wasn't sure how he knew a wand had been pointed at him, but he whirled around and had his own wand out before he'd had time to think about it. They hurled curses at each other at the same time. Dex's hex missed him by several feet, but Draco's nose-breaking jinx hit its mark squarely, and a moment later Dex was on the floor, howling and covered in his own blood.
Draco stowed his wand and continued over to the table where the girls sat stunned, and handed them their bill. "I expect a good tip," he said, and they erupted in giggles. Several tables of patrons applauded, while others gathered their things and left. Dex was groaning on the floor behind the bar, still trying to stop his nose from bleeding.
"What the bloody hell was THAT?" The booming voice belonged to Klabek, who had emerged from the kitchen to stare in disbelief at the mess Dex had made on the floor.
"He hexed me," Dex blubbered.
"He hexed me first!" Draco retorted. But he could already see where this was going.
"You're both fired, then," Klabek barked, brandishing his own stubby wand. "No hexes in my place. OUT!"
"But sir," Dex began, sounding incredibly pathetic.
Draco didn't bother arguing. He accio'd his things from the back and headed for the door. He wasn't disappointed, or even worried this time. In fact, he felt a bit giddy.
He was barely ten yards down the pavement when he heard a familiar voice call his name. He turned to see McGonagall standing there, her lips quirked into an expression of amusement.
"Headmistress," he said in greeting.
"I was in the Cracked Cauldron just now." She raised an eyebrow.
Draco shrugged. "I'm not sorry I hexed him. He deserved it."
"I'm not going to chastise you for your actions, Mr. Malfoy. On the contrary, I have a proposition for you. Walk back to Hogwarts with me, and we can discuss it."
Draco smiled, then wrapped his cloak more tightly around himself and joined her.
*****
On to part 2
hd_holidays fics, I'll post mine too! This was written for a very, very specific prompt -- it was about two pages in Word when I printed it all out! I was intimidated for about 4 minutes, and then realized that the characterizations faithwood wanted were exactly the ones I like myself. And then it kind of wrote itself! I didn't expect it to be as well-received as it was, since it's not the sort of story that tends to be popular in these sorts of exchanges. It's just a sweet story about Draco growing up and finding his place in the new world -- and finding his Harry, of course. :-)Title: Five Times Draco Malfoy Got Sacked (And One Time He Didn't)
Author: Emma Grant
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Summary: After the Dark Lord was destroyed, Draco Malfoy had to start all over. He had no idea it would be quite so difficult.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Word Count: ~18,500
Author's Notes: Set immediately after the end of Book 7, and definitely heading toward EWE. Written for
hd_holidays 2010, for faithwood. Originally posted here. *****
The day after the Dark Lord was finally destroyed, Draco went to bed. He didn't get out of bed for six weeks.
The days and nights blurred together until he wasn't sure what time it was, what day of the week it was, or even what month it was -- and he didn't care. The only constants were the warmth of the blankets over him, the trays of food Mother set beside his bed at regular intervals, which he sometimes nibbled from but often ignored, and the everpresent feeling of emptiness surrounding him. He felt like he'd been kissed by a Dementor, that his soul had abandoned his body, leaving a shell of a wizard behind.
The silencing spells around his room kept out the ordinary sounds of the household, and he existed in darkness and silence, fading in and out of sleep, plagued by nightmares of what he'd seen and heard and done in the last few years. There were good dreams too, ones in which he felt a shiver of something almost like happiness, but the feeling slipped away like so much smoke once he started to wake again.
The nightmare was over, but what was left of his life?
Once in a while there would be a warm body pressed against him, and the scent of Mother's perfume would drift over him when he inhaled. She squeezed him tightly, and he remembered being a child and sneaking into his parents' bed in the wee hours of the morning, wanting nothing more than to be surrounded by their warmth and safety, to feel completely enveloped by them. Mother always knew he was there, and would drape an arm over him as he snuggled against her. When he woke in the morning, he would lie as still as he could, pretending to be asleep so that Mother would stay with him as long as possible. She would kiss his forehead gently and slip away at last, leaving him alone in the big bed. Father would never be there when he woke, and though he never said anything, Draco knew he didn't approve.
He feigned sleep until Mother left, and then the coldness and emptiness engulfed him again. He couldn't bring himself to let her know he knew she was there, not even with a squeeze of his hand. He thought she knew anyway.
After weeks, maybe even months, he decided it was time to get out of bed. Nothing had changed; he didn't feel any differently. It was just time to get on with it. He sat up in bed, stared around him for a moment, and then got up.
He hadn't shaved or showered in weeks, and he'd forgotten the sheer pleasure to be found in warm water sliding over his skin. His cheeks were covered with blond stubble, too sparse to be called a proper beard, and he had to dig through the cabinets in the washroom to find his shaving kit. His hair needed cutting badly, but he didn't dare try it himself.
He'd expected Mother and Father at least to be surprised when he walked into the kitchen and joined them at the table, but they weren't. Father glanced up from a copy of the Daily Prophet, narrowed his eyes, and looked back at the paper again. Mother smiled warmly and went to fetch him a cup of tea.
He sat at the table, squinting in the strangely bright light. He'd only rarely eaten a meal in this kitchen before. It had always been the domain of the house elves; the family had taken meals in the dining room.
His stomach lurched -- he couldn't imagine setting foot in that room again. Actually, there weren't many rooms in the house he could bear to be in anymore. The small kitchen suddenly seemed quite claustrophobic. This had been his home for his entire life, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could stay here.
"What would you like to do today, Draco?" Mother asked, as if he were home on summer holiday with nothing to worry about until September.
He stared blankly ahead for a moment, then glanced at Father. A picture of Harry Potter smiled demurely from the front page of the paper. Draco's stomach lurched again.
Mother set a bowl of porridge before him, and he wrinkled his nose. Her cooking spells were a bit rusty after years of disuse, but with no house elves left, she had little choice. Manners were bred into him, and so he picked up a spoon and forced down a bite.
"Actually, I'm going to go out and look for a position somewhere," he said, injecting as much pleasantry into his tone as he could manage after not speaking for weeks. He had no idea where the thought had come from, but once he said it aloud, it seemed like a good plan. "It'll give me something to do."
Mother's expression became a bit strained. "Yes, of course, dear. Good luck, then." She looked down into her cup of tea, as if uncertain what else to say.
Father rustled the paper a bit, and said nothing.
*****
[ONE]
It was easier to get a position than he'd anticipated. His first thought had been the Ministry, and he'd simply shown up at the door of one of Father's old colleagues and presented himself as available. He'd expected to be tossed out on his ear, but to his surprise he'd been sent to personnel to fill out the proper paperwork straight away. The Ministry was still in disarray after the War, it seemed, and there was so much work to be done that the staff were a bit desperate.
He was assigned the position of Owl Boy -- only barely above the rank of toilet cleaner, but highly preferable nonetheless. His task was to sort the owl post that came in and route it to the appropriate office by casting flying memo charms. It was mindless work, for which he was grateful.
The worst part of the first day had been when he'd had to admit he didn't have a wand, and had to go to the Ministry's Wand Office to sign one out for the day. That was the first thing he'd buy with his pay, he decided. Working with a company wand was even more humiliating than being an Owl Boy.
He worked long days, partly because there was so much to be done and he needed the money, but also because as unpleasant as it was to step in owl shit all day long, it was still better than suffocating at home. His coworkers steered clear of him, and he didn't care. He did his job, kept his head down, and kept his thoughts focused on having his very own wand again.
He'd been there nearly a week before the supervisor, a squat wizard in his thirties named Pricthard, deigned to speak to him.
"Malfoy, is it?" Pritchard asked with a sniff. His beady eyes raked over Draco's too-short robes, purchased more than a year ago, and Draco felt a stab of embarrassment.
"Yeah."
Pritchard held out a large package. "This one has to be hand-delivered. Thought you might like an outing." There was a strange smile on his face, almost a leer.
Draco took the package and glanced at the label:
Arthur Weasley
Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects.
DO NOT SHAKE OR DROP!!!
He looked up, his eyes narrow. "Are you taking the piss?"
Pritchard snickered, an oddly pig-like sound. "I'll take a lot more than that if you don't move your arse and deliver that package."
Draco glared at him and opened his mouth to protest, but paused -- everyone in the owlery had turned to sneer at him -- they were likely all in on it. He straightened his back, forced a polite expression to his face, and nodded. "Fine. I'll be right back."
He heard snickering as he left the owlery, and he gritted his teeth. He'd actually expected to be treated much worse than this, and the week had gone fairly smoothly until now. But it was inevitable he'd run into some of Potter's allies eventually, and he might as well get it over with.
He felt eyes on him as he strode down the corridor, heard whispers behind him in the lift. It became increasingly harder to ignore them, but he managed. As he drew closer to Weasley's department, the knot in his belly tightened. Perhaps he could just leave the package outside the door, then knock and dash away before Weasley saw him. Perhaps he'd be lucky and Weasley would be out of the office, and the package would have to be delivered another time.
He turned the corner to the Department With the Longest Name Ever and stepped through the archway. The corridor was bustling with people, most of whom stared at him as he walked past. He wished he could hide behind the package, but it was far too small. And to top it off, Weasley's office door was open and his annoyingly plebian laugh was tumbling out of it.
Draco paused outside the door and took a deep breath. There was nothing else for it, so he stepped inside, clearing his throat as he did. Two men turned to stare at him, their eyes widening in surprise. One was Arthur Weasley, and the other, to Draco's horror, was Harry Potter.
Draco stood in the doorway for a moment, clenching the package. He felt blood rushing to his face, but there was nothing he could do.
"Package," he managed at last. His voice cracked a bit. He wanted to disappear into the floor.
"Thank you… Draco," Weasley said, and his eyes flicked down to the large security badge pinned to Draco's robe, which displayed his position and department in the most obvious way possible. "You can just… put it there." He gestured to a table by the door.
Draco dropped the package on the table, and it made a tremendous clanking sound. He dashed away without another word, unable to even look at the two of them another moment. He pushed his way through the corridor, ignoring the glares of people he passed. He was a fucking Malfoy, and these people should just get the fuck out of his way. It would probably never be that way again, and the thought made his even angrier.
Potter's green eyes scrutinizing him had been the worst of it. He could have lived out his days without ever coming face-to-face with Potter again -- so why the hell did he have to run into him only a few days after venturing out of his house?
"Malfoy, wait!" Potter's voice cut through the sounds of the busy corridor, far closer than Draco would have liked.
He didn't turn to look as he jabbed the lift call button with his finger, willing it to come. The doors opened and he leapt inside, forcing several wizards in official-looking robes to flatten themselves against the back of the car.
"Close, close, close," he whispered, and the doors obeyed, sliding slowly shut.
"Malfoy!" Potter's face appeared through the grate, but it was too late -- he just stared at Malfoy with an oddly intent look on his face, and then the car flew backwards, and Potter disappeared from view.
Draco exhaled, and pressed a hand to his forehead. He could feel the eyes of the lift's other occupants drilling into his back, but he ignored them. Fuck them all. Let them stare, let them whisper. He'd borne far worse.
He stepped off the lift the next time the doors opened, and wound his way down an unfamiliar corridor until he found another bank of lifts. He got lost two more times before finally making his way back to the owlery.
"Took you long enough," snapped Pritchard as he walked through the door.
"Had to piss on the way back," Draco replied. "That's allowed, isn't it?"
He went back to work, sorting through owl post and redirecting letters, but he kept thinking about the look on Potter's face as the lift doors closed, the near-desperation with which Potter had wanted to talk to him. What could that have been about? He couldn't think of any reason why Potter would want to talk to him. Did he want Draco to thank him for saving his life in the Room of Requirement? Did he want a chance to play the magnanimous hero and ask after Draco's health, after his parents' well-being?
Draco snorted at the thought, and flicked the borrowed wand at a pile of letters that were to be sent to the Ministry of Transportation. They flew into the air and went in ten different directions, twirling aimlessly before fluttering down to the owl-shit-coated floor.
"Bugger," Draco muttered, and tried to cast the correct spell. The borrowed wand was not cooperating, and it took several tries before the letters were finally on their way.
He turned to a larger pile he'd sorted earlier; all were headed to the Department of Finance. Potter's face was still hanging in his mind, the sound of his voice calling down the corridor still ringing in his ears.
Of all people to run into, why did it have to be Potter? And why the hell did he have to look so composed, so well-dressed, so… good?
Draco winced; he'd put those sorts of thoughts about Potter out of his head long ago. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine Potter's disappointed face as the lift door closed between them, this time with Draco laughing as the car sped away, and he smirked.
There was a strange sound then, like a sort of muffled explosion, and then there were bits of paper in the air all around him. The resting owls were startled out of their sleep, and they began screeching and flapping about, adding feathers and even more owl shit to the rain of paper all around.
"What the hell?" shouted Pritchard, and Draco realized that everyone in the room was staring at him. He was in the middle of it all, covered with feathers and owl shit and bits of paper -- the remains of the entire morning's post, all the letters that had yet to be routed to the correct destinations. Pritchard stalked toward him, his face nearly purple with rage. "What have you done?"
"Me?" Draco blurted indignantly -- and then realized it must have been him. He couldn't control the borrowed wand very well, and he must have accidentally blown them all up. He groaned, knowing what was coming next.
"You're fired, Malfoy. Fired! Out!"
The others snickered, and a few even exchanged gold, and Draco sighed. It was just as well. He was miserable here anyway.
He returned the borrowed wand, picked up his meager wages, and apparated straight home.
"I'm so sorry, darling," Mother said, pouring him a cup of tea that afternoon. "But of course, it was not the right position for you. With your background and education, they should have offered you something far more dignified, anyway."
Draco didn't respond. He dropped a lump of sugar into his tea cup and stirred. His earned wages were pathetic, barely a fraction of what he'd need to buy a new wand. He knew what the daily wage was when he'd taken the job, but somehow hadn't realized just how little money it was. He'd never thought about how much Father earned working at the Ministry. He'd never thought much about money at all, really -- it was always there, his whenever he wanted it.
But things had changed, and he knew they barely had enough to put food on the table. Mother had been talking about planting a vegetable garden over breakfast that morning, going on about the proper spells for encouraging plants to grow quickly. As far as Draco could tell, they were eating out of the pantry, and no one had bought food for weeks.
He looked up and forced a pleasant expression. "Yes, Mother. I'll look again tomorrow, and I'll find something better."
Mother's smile was almost patronizing. "Oh Draco, you're just not meant to work. Why don't you stay home and rest, get your strength back. You can help me sort out the house, plant the garden. You look so tired, so pale."
Draco's smile hardened a bit. "Don't worry about me, Mother. I'll be fine."
And he would. As soon as he got out of this damned house.
*****
[TWO]
"And then you turn this knob, and cast fuminino, and the coffee comes out here. Got it?" Maya -- Draco seriously doubted that was her real name -- raised one pierced eyebrow at him. Her other piercings were so distracting that Draco had to force himself to look into her eyes when she spoke.
"Right."
She leaned back against the counter and scrutinized him for a moment. "You look familiar to me. Dave, is it?"
"Dave," Draco repeated. He'd decided to give a false name this time around. "I don't think we've ever have met before. I didn't grow up around here. Today was the first time I've been to Diagon Alley in years."
"You weren't at Hogwarts?"
"No. Ah… Homeschooled, actually." She shot him a suspicious look, and he added, "I'm not a squib or anything. Just… my parents were a bit… Swedish." Shut it, Draco.
"Hmmm," she said, though she didn't look convinced. "Well, Dave, here comes your first customer. I'll call the orders, and you wave the wand."
Draco exhaled slowly, trying to calm his nerves. He'd borrowed Goyle's wand for this first day, promising to bring him some pastries in payment, but the few practice spells he'd tried to cast that morning hadn't exactly gone as planned. He had no idea how he was going to remember to make all the different coffee drinks. He didn't even like coffee, and had no idea why London wizards would be lining up out the door for the stuff.
The café opened, and witches and wizards filed in. The orders started coming, and with Maya's help, Draco was able to keep up. Happily, Goyle's wand was obeying his orders, as long as he kept his focus. A half hour in, it began to be difficult to keep it all straight, and before Draco knew it, he had a large stack of orders waiting, and a rather large and irate crowd of caffeine-deprived wizards demanding to know when their drinks would be ready.
"Break time," Maya chirped, clapping him on the back.
"Thank Merlin!"
"For me, not for you." She smirked and disappeared into the back of the café, leaving Draco all alone with the coffee-making equipment. The cashier, who looked as terrified as Draco did, gave him a weak smile.
Twenty minutes later the morning rush was done, and Draco had mostly survived. He'd been yelled at, sworn at, and even threatened by one haggard-looking witch who needed her caramel macchiato NOW-dammit, but he'd managed to keep his cool through it all. He was rather proud of himself.
Lunch time was busy again, and then there was another lull until mid-afternoon. Once again Maya took a well-timed break, leaving him alone with the spotty cashier, whose small voice was difficult to hear over the din of the coffee machinery. He was just settling into a rhythm when he heard a familiar voice say his name.
"Malfoy?"
Draco felt his insides twist, and he hesitated before looking up. It was Potter. Harry fucking Potter, again. What the hell?
"Stalking me, Potter?" he managed, struggling to keep his focus on the machine gurgling in front of him.
"Surprised to see you, is all. How long have you been working here?"
The cashier called out several unintelligible orders, and Draco gritted his teeth. "Just tell me what you ordered, and I'll get it out first." If he could just make Potter's drink, maybe he'd leave. And then Draco wouldn't have to think about the fact that he'd seen more of Potter this week than in the last year. Quite a bit more, if dreams counted.
Potter smirked at him, and Draco had a moment of panic. Potter wasn’t a Legilimens, was he?
"Just a cappuccino."
Merlin, but this was humiliating. Draco cast charms to steam the milk and brew the espresso simultaneously. He had to get this over with, get Potter out of here.
"I need to talk to you, Malfoy. When do you get off?"
"I don't," he retorted, keeping his focus on the machine. "I sleep in the back."
"I'm serious. I really need a word with you." He leaned forward a bit, peering at Draco over the top of the machine. "In private."
Draco's eyes shot up at that, and before he could look away, turn away, or duck behind the machine, his cheeks flushed red. And as if taking pity on him, the coffee machine made a loud gurgling sound and began to shake, drawing everyone's attention.
Draco backed away, pointing Goyle's wand at it. Customers fled the shop. Maya came rushing back around the corner just in time to see a part fly off and crash through a window.
"Protego!" she shouted, and a shield formed around the machine just before it exploded, containing a mass of shrapnel that would have injured everyone present. She turned to glare at Draco, who'd gone pale by this point. "Are you insane? What did you do?"
Draco could only shake his head. He knew what was coming next.
"You're done here," she snapped, piercings jiggling as her face screwed up with anger. "Get out, and don't come back!"
Draco pulled the black apron over his head and left without another word. Potter didn't follow him -- if he had, Draco would likely have hexed him, and considering his wand situation, there was no telling how that might have turned out.
He couldn't bear to go home, so he apparated back to Goyle's house, a summer cottage his family owned and were letting him live in. Draco didn't bother knocking; he just pushed his way in the door. Goyle sat up on the couch, blinking at him, clearly awakened from a nap.
"Oy, Draco. Did you bring the chocolate ones I wanted?"
Draco snorted, and collapsed into a chair. He tossed Goyle's wand at him, and leaned his head back, staring up at the ceiling.
"Got sacked again, did you? Sorry, mate."
Draco sighed. This was not how his life was supposed to go. He was supposed to be looking forward to a future filled with power and prestige, and enough money to buy whatever he wanted. His biggest worry should have been how to navigate the whole gay thing with his parents, but instead, he was just trying to figure out how to make a life for himself in a world where the name Malfoy no longer got him everything -- or even a single thing -- he wanted.
It sucked.
"Can I kip on your sofa tonight? Father will really take the piss when he hears about this." Actually, it was Mother he was more worried about. Father barely said three words to him at a time any more.
"Yeah, sure." Goyle was quiet for a moment. "I've got some firewhisky stashed away. It's some of my dad's good stuff. Want some?"
"Yes," Draco replied, closing his eyes. It was exactly what he needed right now. He'd wasted an entire day in that damned coffee shop, and hadn't even got paid for it. And to make matters worse, he'd run into Potter again. Why couldn't he run into Potter in some more favorable circumstance, one in which he wasn’t humiliating himself in a subservient position of employment?
The last year had taken a lot from him, and it had apparently taken his pride to boot.
They drank most of the night, and Draco spent much of the next day vomiting. He was miserable, but it was oddly cathartic. He felt cleansed, and on the second day was ready to face the world again. He left Goyle on the sofa, still recovering from his own hangover.
"Need to borrow my wand again?" Goyle asked, settling down with a pillow and blanket.
"Actually, yes." Draco picked it up and twirled it in his fingers. "Thanks. For everything."
Goyle attempted to smile, but turned a bit green. "It's nothing, mate. I owe you, you know."
It was the first time the day in the Room of Requirement had come up. "I know," Draco said, and turned to leave. "I'll bring it back tonight."
"And get pizza this time," Goyle called after him.
*****
[THREE]
Draco stepped out of his small flat and headed down the stairs into the bustle of Diagon Alley. The morning was unusually warm and muggy for September, but he'd cast a cooling charm on his new suit before leaving, and was quite comfortable. He was running late, so he darted down the pavement, weaving in and out of crowds of morning shoppers until he reached the door of Twilfitt and Tatting's.
The bell rang as he entered, and he gave a curt nod to the woman standing on the far side of the shop, straightening a display of robes.
"You're late, Draco," she warned.
"For what?" Draco replied, pointedly glancing around the empty shop. "You can handle no customers as well as anyone I've ever seen, Glenda." She shook her head, but her lips quirked up into a reluctant smile.
He busied himself with organizing some of the tailoring work that had recently come in, flicking his recently purchased wand at each pile in succession. It had been nearly a month since he'd started working here. After the coffee shop debacle, he'd spent a week flattering the ancient Madame Twilfitt and reminding her just how much money Mother had spent in the shop over the years. She'd finally relented and hired him on a trial basis, and after a week seemed to have forgotten that it was a trial.
His first paycheck had been enough for him to buy himself a new wand, and with the second he'd let a small studio flat above the apothecary in Diagon Alley, allowing him to finally move off of Goyle's sofa. He'd even talked Glenda into letting him borrow clothes form the shop, so had he something decent to wear, for the first time in months. Mother had come to visit him the weekend prior and finally conceded that he was doing well on his own. All in all, he was happier than he'd been in years.
The day proceeded like most others had done, with a bit of busy work here and there and a few customers poking about the shop every few hours. Fancy robes were not in high demand these days, but the shop managed to hobble along. There was a fitting for a bridegroom, a wizard Draco recognized as a Hufflepuff prefect from his first year at Hogwarts, and several older witches who came in to do little more than complain about the high prices.
He was in the back eating his lunch, a humble affair of stale bread and fruit, and when he heard the bell ring to call him to the front. Glenda was wrapping a shawl around herself, despite the warm weather. "I've got to go down and talk to the tailor about a special order. This young man is interested in being fitted for dress robes." She gestured to the other side of the store to where a dark-headed man was flipping through robes hanging on a display rack. Draco's stomach lurched in an all-too-familiar way. The man didn't even have to turn around -- he already knew it was Potter.
"Glenda, wait," he hissed, tugging her back by the elbow. "Can't you do this one? I was in the middle of lunch, and--"
Glenda's sharp glance cut him off. "As I said before, I'll return shortly. You're on your own until then." She nodded at Potter as she left, and the door's bell jingled behind her.
Potter turned then, and the look on his face was priceless: he'd obviously not realized Draco was there until that moment. His cheeks went a bit pink, and his eyes were wide. "I didn't know you worked here."
"Or you wouldn't have come?" Draco raised an eyebrow and gestured toward the fitting room at the back of the shop.
"Perhaps not," Potter replied. "I was nearly blown up the last time I ran into you like this." He almost-smiled, but Draco didn't find the comment amusing. Every time Potter came around, something happened to get him sacked. Merlin knew what it would be this time.
They entered the fitting room, a small semi-private area surrounded by mirrors. Draco picked up a tape measure as Potter stepped up onto the fitting platform, resolving himself to this task.
"I'll just… take this off, shall I?" Potter's hands fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, and before Draco had quite realized what was happening, Potter was stripping down to his underwear.
Draco started to tell him it wasn't necessary for him to remove any clothing at all, but the sight of Potter in nothing but pants, looking incredibly uncomfortable, was more enticing than he would have expected. Not that he was so much to look at -- Potter was too thin, too pale, almost wiry, but there was also an obvious strength to him. Though Draco would have never admitted it, the opportunity to get a close look at Potter's almost-naked body was one not to be missed.
He stood behind Potter, letting his eyes rake over the pale skin at the small of his back. He felt an overwhelming urge to lick up that spine, and felt himself go red. He fumbled for his wand and his tape measure, and was about to cast a measurement charm on the tape, but then he looked at Potter's hand. It was trembling, ever so slightly. Was Potter nervous?
Draco smirked and tucked his wand into his pocket. He could do this the slow way, and if it made Potter squirm, all the better. He touched the end of the tape measure to the back of Potter's neck, and then let his fingers trail down his back, down over the curve of his arse, tucking the tape under at the point where buttock meets thigh. He let his hand linger against Potter's arse a bit longer than necessary before stepping away to write the measurement down. He moved then to the shoulders, stepping onto the platform and leaning into Potter's back a bit, letting his hands glide across those surprisingly broad shoulders.
"When were you last properly fitted for robes?" He saw Potter start slightly as Draco's breath brushed the back of his neck.
"You were there," Potter replied, turning his head slightly. "At Madame Malkin's -- remember?"
"No," Draco lied. He slid his arms around Potter to measure his chest and then his waist. He felt Potter tense against him, almost as if he were holding his breath. Draco let the measuring tape drag over his nipples as he pulled it away, and Potter's breath caught.
Draco grinned as wrote the numbers on the form. This was going even better than he'd anticipated. He moved to stand in front of Potter and measured his arm length and then the girth of his hips, glancing up every so often to see that Potter was staring straight ahead with great concentration, as if he was trying to look anywhere but at Draco.
"Could you step apart a bit?"
Potter did, and Draco slid one hand up the inside of his thigh to touch the measuring tape to Potter's groin. He kept one hand there, knowing that the warmth pressing against the back of his hand was Potter's balls, and stretched the tape down to his ankle to measure the inseam.
Potter exhaled, a sound almost like a sigh, and then put a hand on Draco's shoulder. Draco looked up, but Potter's eyes were closed, his lips pressed into a thin line. Draco's face was very close to Potter's pants, just a layer of thin fabric away from his cock, which he would swear was creating a larger bulge than it had done when he'd first stolen a glance a few minutes ago. He swallowed.
"Sorry," Potter said, pulling his hand away and stepping down from the platform. "I lost my balance for a moment there. Is that all?" He finally looked at Draco then.
"Yes. You can get dressed now." He gestured at the pile of clothes.
Potter nodded, then stepped off the platform to pick up his things. "I've been meaning to send you an owl, actually. There's something I'd like to talk to you about."
Draco blinked at him. Potter was standing there in his underpants, half-erect, and suddenly he was all business. How did he manage that?
"What about?"
"Your wand. Your old one. I still have it."
Draco looked away. "I have a new one now. I don't need it." There was far too much baggage associated with that old wand, things he wasn't yet ready to deal with.
"But it was the first wand that chose you," Potter said, a note of surprise in his tone.
"And then it chose you. It's not mine any more. Get dressed, Potter." He left the fitting room at that, heading back up front to write up the measurements.
He was relieved when Glenda returned just in time to take over the order, and he returned to the back room under the guise of finishing his lunch. He wasn't hungry, though; he sat by the door and listened to their conversation, and was oddly disappointed when Potter didn't ask Glenda where he'd disappeared to.
The door jingled a few minutes later, and Potter was gone.
That night Draco gave in to his fantasies and pulled himself off to images of Potter standing on that stool, this time with no pants, his cock hard and dripping and jutting out from his body, his green eyes staring down as Draco took it in his mouth and sucked until Potter came.
He came into his own hand, and then stared up at the ceiling until well past midnight. He'd always had masturbation fantasies about Potter, though in years past they'd been of a decidedly different nature. And until today, he'd had no inkling that Potter might be interested in him as well.
He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. He had imagined that part of it, he must have. If Harry Potter was gay, surely Draco would have heard about it by now. Not that it mattered. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were not friends, and despite various instances of life-saving and identity-denial in recent months, they never would be.
*****
"I'm what?"
"It's been quite slow, dear, and I did tell you this was a trial hire." Madame Twilfitt's expression was one of sympathy, but her narrow gray eyes were hard. "I'm terribly sorry, but we have to let you go."
Draco clenched his jaw and shook his head. "I need this job, Madame. Surely you know what it's like out there for former--" He caught himself just as her eyes widened. "For someone like me. I've done everything that was asked of me."
"Yes, and Glenda has nothing but good things to say about you. She'll be so sorry to see you go."
Draco was struggling not to let his frustration show. "She's old, and slow and forgetful. I can do twice the work she can. I know she makes a higher salary than I do. If you're really concerned about saving money, it would be wiser to keep me on instead."
Madame Twilfitt sniffed at that, and stood. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Malfoy, but that will be all. Your pay for the last week, plus a bit extra. Please give my regards to your mother." She held out a small bag.
Draco took it, and felt panic start to rise in his throat. The coins in his hand represented all the money he had, and now he was unemployed yet again. How was he going to pay his rent? How was he going to buy food? He'd just spent 20 galleons on an expensive haircut at his favorite salon the day before, a splurge that now seemed incredibly foolish. He'd expected to keep working in the shop, to keep going forward. Now he had to start all over again.
He left the shop and headed back to his flat, uncertain what he was going to do next. The small room already seemed like home, and the thought of having to leave it so soon was almost heartbreaking. He'd done so well these last few weeks, had come so far.
At least Madame hadn't asked for the borrowed clothes to be returned. Without them, he had nothing decent to wear.
*****
[FOUR]
"That's four butterbeers, two plates of chips, and what else?"
One of the girls gave him a sly grin and said, "What can you tell us about your bangers plate?"
Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "What about it?"
The girl exchanged a glance with her friends, who started snickering. They couldn't be older than fourth-years. "How big are they, would you say?"
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Oh, quite big, actually. Too much for you, I'd wager. It's more of a man's plate, if you know what I mean." The girls burst into giggles at that, and Draco was pleased to see the one he'd been speaking with blush as she figured it out. "Just the chips, then." He turned away, and heard a burst of whispering behind him.
He realized he was attractive, but honestly -- had these girls no discretion at all? He'd only been out of school a few months himself, but he felt decades older than the students he saw in the Cracked Cauldron on Hogsmeade weekends. They had no cares, no worries other than upcoming exams and what to wear to the Halloween Ball that was being held in a month. His life had been nothing like that the last few years.
It should have been like that, though. It was still odd to see that the world had moved on, that students were back at Hogwarts, learning charms and potions as if there hadn't been a massive battle in the middle of the Great Hall, as if the walls of the school hadn't been nearly torn down or burnt to the ground. As if people hadn't died there.
He leaned against the bar and looked back at the girls, watching the way they laughed easily with each other and giggled over the pages of a copy of Witch Weekly. They weren't afraid. They were living their lives. It was as it should be.
"Did you tell them you take it up the arse, then?"
Draco gritted his teeth. Dex was the barman, and he was the worst thing about this job. He was a few years older than Draco, and was a scraggly-looking character. He was rumored to have worked as a Snatcher during the war, though he denied it. He despised Draco, and took every opportunity to make his life at work miserable.
"Yeah, and I even invited them to watch me bugger you in the alley."
Dex snarled at that, and for a moment Draco wondered if he was a werewolf. "Fucking queer. If you ever touch me, you'll be sorry."
Draco gave him an appraising look and then feigned a shudder of disgust. "Indeed I would be. Thanks for the reminder. Four butterbeers to that table."
He headed to the kitchen to plate the chips, swearing under his breath. The gastropub's owner, a rough-looking Romanian wizard named Klabek, was hard at work over the fire, managing a complex set of cooking spells. Large wooden spoons stirred the contents of half a dozen cauldrons, and the scent of cooking meat filled the small room.
"Dex is giving me trouble again," Draco said as he piled chips onto a large platter. "I don't know how much more of his shit I can take before I hex him, Klabek."
Klabek looked up from his cauldrons and grunted. He reminded Draco sharply of Mad-Eye Moody for a moment. "He's a git, all right, but he's a good barman. I said I'd give him a chance, just like I did you."
"You have a heart of gold," Draco said drily. "I'm serious about hexing him, you know. Maybe just a penis-shrinking charm."
Klabek grunted again. "Do it on your own time. No hexes in my place, Malfoy."
Draco carried the plate of chips out to the girls, who still had no butterbeer. Dex was at the other end of the bar, chatting up a witch who looked young enough to be at Hogwarts, so Draco pulled the butterbeers himself. He'd be damned if he was going to get a bad tip just because Dex wasn't doing his job.
He wasn't sure how Dex had figured out he was gay. He'd never told anyone, really -- not even Goyle, though he suspected his friend knew anyway. Dex had hurled insults at him from the first moment they met, and Draco never bothered to deny it. He wasn't sure if that meant he was "out" or not.
He delivered the butterbeers, and took a moment to comment on the dress robes advertisements the girls were examining in their magazine. He'd recently become a bit of an expert in formalwear, after all, and within a few minutes had riveted their attention with advice on which color each of them should wear. He was in the middle of arguing that pink was so not in this year when one of the girls gasped and pointed in the direction of the door.
"It's him!" she squeaked, and they all turned their heads. "It's Harry Potter!"
Draco's stomach twisted as he turned to see Potter walking past the bar. Dex was tripping over himself to get Potter's attention, even offering him a free drink, but Potter made his way over to Draco instead.
Potter's appearance was a bad omen, but Draco was still oddly pleased to see him. Potter held out a hand and Draco shook it, and saw Dex glaring daggers over by the bar.
"I heard you were working here," Potter said. "I was over at Hogwarts today, and thought I'd stop by on my way out."
"I've been here about a month now. Pays the bills."
"Do you have time to talk?" Potter indicated a booth in a far corner, and Draco heard the girls at the table behind him whispering frantically.
He didn't technically have a break for another two hours, but hell -- he was probably about to get sacked anyway. What did it matter? He turned to the bar. "Oy, Dex, bring us a couple of pints." He followed Potter to the corner table, imagining the look of fury he knew was twisting Dex's face.
"I went back to Twillfit's to pick up my robes, and they said you didn't work there any more."
Draco shrugged. "It wasn't exactly what I'd always dreamed of doing with my life."
"And this is?"
"I always told myself that if the whole Death Eater thing didn't turn out, I'd rather like to serve mediocre food and drink in a complete dive like this."
Potter smiled. "You have time to figure it all out."
"Did you come here to give me career advice? I hate to disappoint, but I think it's fairly obvious I'm a hopeless case in that area."
Potter reached into his pocket and pulled out a wand, and set it on the table between them. "That's why I came."
Draco felt a stab of disappointment. He was getting used to being visited by Potter, and though he hated to admit it, he'd been hoping Potter had a more personal reason to find him. "Well, you've wasted your time. I told you I don't want it."
Potter's expression softened a bit. "It's your wand, Malfoy. Take it. Put it in a box, keep it as a backup, or burn it if you like, but it's yours. It belongs with you."
"The wizard that wand chose seven years ago doesn't exist any more." He paused, and then picked up the wand. It didn't feel right to him, not like it had before. He studied it for a moment, and then set it on the table again. He forced himself to look up at Potter. "I know you think you're doing the right thing here, but you don't know what…" He had to look away before he could continue. "What that wand represents to me."
They were silent for a moment, and then the tension was broken by two pints of ale nearly spilling their contents all over the table as they landed. Dex glared at Draco from the bar.
"What the hell was that about?" Potter asked, looking over at Dex.
"He hates me," Draco replied, in the same tone one would use to discuss the weather.
"That Dex Mulligan, isn't it? But he's -- or he was, rather, a Snatcher. He worked for--"
"My side, yes," Draco finished for him. "Let's just say he doesn't like me for another, more personal reason."
Potter's eyes narrowed as he watched Dex for a moment.
Draco took a long drink from his pint after inspecting it to make certain Dex hadn't spat in it. "So thank you for the wand, but no thanks. Though there is something I've been meaning to ask you."
Potter turned back to Draco picked up his own pint.
"Did you know about the Elder wand when you took this one from me that day?"
Potter took a long drink before answering. "No, I didn't. I worked all that out much later. Frankly, I just needed a wand, and you had a handful of them."
"And here all along I thought defeating me was part of your master plan."
"Dumb luck, actually. Most of my accomplishments have gone that way, I must admit."
"I've been saying that for years." They grinned at each other, and Draco felt an odd stirring in his belly, something he hadn't felt in a long time. "But why my wand, then? You took several from me that day, so if you didn't know mine was special, what made you choose it?"
"I don't know." Potter took another drink. "It just… felt good in my hand." His eyes flicked up to meet Draco's, and something about the tone of his voice and the look on his face sent a spark straight to Draco's groin. He felt his cock twitch and a rush of blood and oh fuck he was getting an erection, sitting right there across the table from Harry Potter.
He picked up his pint glass and took a long drink, and felt a trickle of ale go down the wrong way, which left him sputtering. He was sure he'd turned bright red, but he couldn't leave the table, not in his current state.
"Well, that explains it," he managed, trying to suppress the urge to cough. He had no idea if Potter was flirting with him or was incredibly oblivious to his effect on Draco. As far as he knew, Harry Potter was straight. Sure, the day in the fitting room had been interesting, but Draco had assumed he'd just made Potter uncomfortable, not that Potter was actually interested. "I have to get back to work, actually."
Potter picked up Draco's old wand and tucked it back into his coat. "We should have a proper drink one of these nights, at a place where you don't work."
That would probably be this place, if things went as they usually did after a visit from Potter. "Next time you're in Hogsmeade, let me know."
Potter lingered a moment longer, as if trying to think of a reason not to go. Draco didn't offer him one; this weird offer of friendship-or-something-like-it was already a bit too much for one day. Draco didn't have friends. Well, he had Goyle, but Goyle hadn't left his parents' summer cottage in months, so he was hardly good company.
He was most definitely not going to let himself think there could be anything more than friendship between him and Potter. That would be inviting insanity, and he'd had enough close brushes with batshitcrazy to last him the rest of his life, thank you very much.
"I will," Potter said, sliding out of the booth. "Thanks for the pint." He smiled and left, and Draco watched the heads of the patrons turn as he passed. He seemed oblivious to the attention, but perhaps he was just used to it.
Draco took another moment to collect himself before heading back to the bar. People were staring at him now, and he wondered what they were thinking. Were they surprised at the sight of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter sharing a drink together?
Unfortunately, Dex didn't let Draco wonder what he was thinking. "You two looked rather cozy, didn't you?"
"What's it to you, Dex?" Draco busied himself collecting bills for the tables he'd waited before Potter came in.
"I'd like to know if my coworker is getting buggered by Harry Potter, that's all."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Even if I were, it's none of your business, so bugger off."
"You stay away from me, queer." Dex moved closer, pointing a finger in Draco's face in a way he apparently thought was menacing.
"Oddly enough, that was exactly my plan, as you're not my type." Draco made a face and waved away Dex's rather powerful breath. "Not by a mile."
"What do you mean by that?" Dex snarled, looking affronted.
"Are you part-troll? You are a hideous, unpleasant, idiotic arse-hole, and I have NO interest in you. Is that clear?" Their voices were starting to attract the attention of the patrons. Draco tried to walk away, but Dex wouldn't let it go.
"You might as well hang a sign around your neck that says, Queer!"
"Only if you'll wear one that says homophobic prick," Draco called over his shoulder. Dex clearly had issues, and Draco wanted no part of it.
"Don't turn your back on me!"
Draco wasn't sure how he knew a wand had been pointed at him, but he whirled around and had his own wand out before he'd had time to think about it. They hurled curses at each other at the same time. Dex's hex missed him by several feet, but Draco's nose-breaking jinx hit its mark squarely, and a moment later Dex was on the floor, howling and covered in his own blood.
Draco stowed his wand and continued over to the table where the girls sat stunned, and handed them their bill. "I expect a good tip," he said, and they erupted in giggles. Several tables of patrons applauded, while others gathered their things and left. Dex was groaning on the floor behind the bar, still trying to stop his nose from bleeding.
"What the bloody hell was THAT?" The booming voice belonged to Klabek, who had emerged from the kitchen to stare in disbelief at the mess Dex had made on the floor.
"He hexed me," Dex blubbered.
"He hexed me first!" Draco retorted. But he could already see where this was going.
"You're both fired, then," Klabek barked, brandishing his own stubby wand. "No hexes in my place. OUT!"
"But sir," Dex began, sounding incredibly pathetic.
Draco didn't bother arguing. He accio'd his things from the back and headed for the door. He wasn't disappointed, or even worried this time. In fact, he felt a bit giddy.
He was barely ten yards down the pavement when he heard a familiar voice call his name. He turned to see McGonagall standing there, her lips quirked into an expression of amusement.
"Headmistress," he said in greeting.
"I was in the Cracked Cauldron just now." She raised an eyebrow.
Draco shrugged. "I'm not sorry I hexed him. He deserved it."
"I'm not going to chastise you for your actions, Mr. Malfoy. On the contrary, I have a proposition for you. Walk back to Hogwarts with me, and we can discuss it."
Draco smiled, then wrapped his cloak more tightly around himself and joined her.
*****
On to part 2