A/N: Hello there! Before you begin reading I'd like to say a few things here:
This will be a HP/DM slash, so if you're uninterested in reading that sort of fic, I hope you have better luck finding one that suits you :).
These will be long chapters, but overall a pretty short fic.
Warnings: Some angst, definitely fluff, some drama, some sexual content, adult language, and this fic is an AU after Deathly Hallows, ignoring the epilogue completely. I'm going to do my best to keep the characters similar in personality as they were originally written, but I can't promise 100% in-character behaviour, as circumstances are different now than they would be if I'd included the epilogue. I don't have anyone betaing this story, so please forgive any typos. If you notice any big ones, please point them out to me and I'll do my best to fix them.
That's all for now! Hope you enjoy. Please feel free to leave reviews. I would love to hear what you readers think.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter related, I make no money off of this story. I'm only doing it for fun.
"Shove it up your arse," was what Harry desperately wanted to say. Instead, he took the papers being offered to him from Monica, his secretary, and said thank you.
"Oh, and you've got a meeting today at━"
Harry closed the door to his office, not bothering to listen to the time of his appointment. She'd told him four times that morning and at least twice as many the day before. Sometimes Harry wondered why he didn't have Kingsley fire the obnoxious woman. It wouldn't be difficult to replace her position, not with the amount of people in need of jobs since the war. Harry popped his jaw hinge in aggravation and sat down. He knew that he wasn't really upset enough to get her fired, no matter how many times she repeated herself, misplaced important documents, or showed up nearly an hour late. That wasn't the sort of person he was.
But it will be the sort of person I am if she tries to make another pass at me, Harry thought as he shuffled through the papers she'd handed him. Harry felt it was insulting and embarrassing that an employee of his should feel it acceptable to resort to sexual harassment in the workplace.
They'd had a single, failed 'date,' if one could call it that, and now Monica assumed she had some sort of chance at love with Harry. He hadn't known that's what she thought it was. As far as he'd known, they were just work-friends going out for a few drinks after a long day's work. It became painfully obvious that she thought it more than that when he'd felt her hand groping for his groin under the bar, however. His first reaction was to grip her hand hard enough to convey a clear warning and shove it away from him. The hurt look on her face at his reaction was no consequence to him, but she was a pushy woman and hadn't taken his refusal seriously. Throughout the evening she became more grabby and, with every drink she consumed, braver and more certain she could convince Harry he wanted her in return. After so long trying to keep out of her reach and failing miserably, Harry had left the bar in a rush, quickly shoving a couple galleons at the bartender before returning home feeling disgusted and ashamed.
What an awful night that was. He could wish it would've ended there, but his wish would remain ungranted; Monica continued to express her desire to be with him during the work day, something Harry resented more than he could say. No matter how many times he told her he wasn't interested in her she would not take him seriously.
Harry realised his eyes had glazed over while he'd been thinking and forced them to focus on the papers in his hands. More victims of the war in need of financial assistance, housing, in-home care, and sometimes childcare. His eyes brushed over the first page. A woman, thirty three, named Hildy Edmonds. Her house was burned down in a Death Eater raid and she required housing.
Harry set her file down in the 'housing' pile on his desk.
The next page was a file on a one hundred seven year-old man named Brutus Worstly━ an unfortunate last name, in Harry's opinion━ who was struggling to do simple daily activities on his own and required in-home care.
Harry set his file in the 'in-home care' pile.
There were several more files much to the same tune as those, none of them catching his eye, none of them out of the ordinary. That is, until Harry came across a file with the name 'Lucius Malfoy.' His eyebrows pinched close together in the middle and his eyes became wide as he read through the paper. Apparently the Malfoys had spent a large sum of money after the war, most of it going towards families who felt personally wronged by Lucius Malfoy during his Death Eater activities, some going toward Ministry repairs, some towards the rebuilding of Hogwarts. Harry had no clue, absolutely none at all, how one of the richest families in British Wizard society today could lose enough money to come crawling to him. Of course, the Malfoys would want to stay out of Azkaban, dementors or no, regardless of the price. They'd lost their good standing in society. How bad was losing their fortune, as long as it kept them from prison?
Shaking his head, Harry got up from his desk. He knew he had a meeting at one, as Monica had reiterated time and again, but he didn't know with whom. As much as he hoped the meeting wasn't with the Malfoys, he couldn't be sure unless he asked. Opening the door to his office, he poked his head outside of it and immediately had Monica's attention.
"Who is the meeting with today?" Harry inquired.
"The Malfoys, of course," Monica said with what she probably thought was a charming smile. "I thought I'd already told you."
"You didn't." Harry scowled and shut the door to his office again. Of course the meeting was with the Malfoys. Harry wasn't allowed to have more than one good day per week, with his job. No, that would only make my life easy, and we can't have that, now can we?
It wasn't wrong of him to hope that the youngest Malfoy wasn't there for the meeting, not after all that had happened between them in school, even if it was a childish hope. Harry was an adult with a career, a house of his own, and friends who loved him. Why should it matter if he had a meeting with the Malfoys? What was this meeting going to change in his life, aside from a couple hours of it being worse than if he'd had a meeting with Mr. Worstly? Nothing. Harry was determined that it would change nothing. He would not let this get to him. There were still two hours to prepare for the meeting anyway.
Sitting back down at his cluttered desk, Harry returned to the files he had been looking through. There were appointments to make, people to Floo, and lunch to have before he had to force himself to be kind to people he couldn't stand. I don't owe them kindness, he told himself. I'll be civil, and that's the most anyone could expect at this point.
The house was much smaller than the manor. Much, much smaller. Harry couldn't picture the Malfoys living in such a little house, though he hadn't known what to expect when the time came for him to Apparate to the Malfoy's home. There wasn't much time to think on it, however, before he began walking up the short, cobblestone path to the front door. He knocked three times and waited only a few moments before Narcissa Malfoy answered.
"Harry Potter?" she asked. Her face became confused for only a moment before she regained composure over herself. Strangely, standing in the doorway of such a quaint house didn't dim the elegance and importance that emanated from the Malfoy matriarch.
"Yes, I'm here for our meeting. You've requested━"
"Come in," Mrs. Malfoy ordered icily, cutting off his statement about her needing financial assistance from the Ministry.
Harry silenced any remarks he could've made about lacking money and still being proud as he stepped over the threshold. Looking around he never would've assumed that a once-wealthy family like the Malfoys lived here. There were no family photos in frames, as he'd seen in many other homes he'd visited on occasions like this. The furniture was modest, the decorations sparse. It looked a lot more comfortable than the manor had, but Harry had only been there in a situation where his life was at stake, so perhaps he didn't have a very good basis for comparison.
"Thank you for coming," Mrs. Malfoy said, interrupting Harry's thoughts.
"Not at all, it's my job." Narcissa's smile was tight in response.
She led them to a compact drawing room and offered tea, which Harry declined respectfully. Just as Harry was sitting down in an armchair, Lucius Malfoy entered the drawing room, and of course his son stood behind him, peering around his shoulder. Harry stood once more and waited for his two least favorite people to sit before he did again.
"Welcome," said Lucius coldly. Harry wasn't sure if that was his typical tone of voice, or if it was reserved for people he disliked. He didn't intend to find out, but it was a curious thought.
Harry nodded, unsure of a better response. Not wishing to prolong this meeting anymore than he needed to, he got right to the point of his visit. "I'm here as your caseworker. I'd like to discuss your financial aid request. I have some questions I need answered before I can approve or deny your request. Do I have your permission to gather information and to share this information with other Ministry departments, should the need arise?" The look on Mr. Malfoy's face said that the answer to his question was obvious. The question itself stupid, but it was mandatory that Harry ask it anyway.
"Yes," Narcissa answered as she peered down her thin nose at Harry. "We'd be glad to answer your questions, Mr. Potter."
Harry nodded and pulled his briefcase onto his lap, took his wand from his sleeve, then silently unlocked it with several charms. He had the questions memorised by now, but he had been informed that it appeared more friendly if he used the papers as reference, even if he wasn't really reading them.
"Now," Harry said, glancing up from the papers. "What bills are you required to pay at this time, and what are the monthly amounts for each?" It took all Harry had in him not to glare at the youngest Malfoy, but it wouldn't matter if he had. Malfoy was sitting next to his father staring away from Harry as though he weren't even in the room. If only I could be so lucky as to not be here.
"Water, heat, and gas," Narcissa said. If she felt uncomfortable, her expression didn't betray that. "The total cost of the three is one hundred seventy three galleons, four sickles, and twenty eight knuts." Harry blinked. That was rather expensive, for only three bills. He briefly wondered if someone in the billing department of the Ministry was charging them more simply due to who they were. A matter to investigate later, Harry told himself.
"How many people are under your care, financially, and how many are working citizens?" Harry already knew the answers, but it was, again, required that he ask.
"Three," Lucius answered. "And none." Harry had assumed correctly.
"What do you pay in taxes every year, for your home?"
"Six hundred sixty three galleons, eleven sickles, and twenty two knuts."
"And what is the total sum on money in your Gringotts vault?"
Narcissa brought her voice to a whisper and looked at her pale hands. "After selling the manor, what we have left is two hundred thousand, eight hundred three galleons. Some sickles and knuts, but that is all." It took every effort for Harry to refrain from letting his eyes grow large. That was a quarter of what he had in his own vault, and he'd only been adding to his funds for the past year and a half. There was no way they could live off of so little for very long, unless one or all of them started working.
"How much would you say you spend on food every month?" he asked, trying to sound neutral. It shouldn't bother him that the Malfoys were more poor than he was, not after what they'd done. It shouldn't make him feel sorry for them.
"A little over forty galleons."
"What area of your finances are you requesting assistance for?"
"Bills," Narcissa stated simply, haughtily, as though it was beneath her to say anything more than the singular word.
"Er, which bills?" Harry swore he could hear a snort coming from Malfoy's direction, but it was so quiet and short that he couldn't be sure. It wouldn't surprise him if Malfoy did snort at his lack of eloquence. He wasn't raised with pureblood standards of conversation and was often scoffed at because of it.
"The three previously mentioned, of course." Narcissa's laugh was light, tinkling, and innocent, if one didn't examine it too deeply. To Harry it sounded purely condescending, and the irony wasn't lost on him.
"Alright," Harry said, struggling to keep his personal feelings from entering his tone. "Do you understand that it is mandatory for at least one household member to be working in order to be granted financial aid from the Ministry?"
"We understand," Narcissa began, her voice soft once more, "however, no one will hire a Malfoy. We all have tried to find work. We all have failed."
"That's going to be a problem," Harry admitted. "I'm afraid there's no way I can approve your case unless someone is working." The three Malfoys stared at him. Apparently at this news the youngest Malfoy found it possible to acknowledge him.
"Does it not matter that we have attempted to fulfill this requirement?" Lucius asked. The low volume of his voice did not hide the indignation behind it. "Does it not matter that we have been discriminated against?"
It was only the threat of losing his job that kept Harry from asking the questions he felt the urge to. Did they not realise that they had aided in attempted genocide? Did they not realise that they had followed the darkest wizard known to man and caused the deaths of hundreds of people? Instead of causing yet another war in the drawing room, Harry began packing up his papers in his briefcase.
"I'm afraid there's not much I can do for you," he told them grimly as he stood up.
He'd made it as far as the drawing room door before someone caught the arm of his robes and tugged gently. Turning around, Harry was surprised to find Malfoy looking at him with fear in his silver eyes.
"I've heard━ there's been rumours that your department is hiring," Malfoy said in a hushed way, as if he didn't want his parents to know he'd been following gossip. It's more likely he doesn't want them to hear their son begging for employment.
"That's interesting," Harry said, just barely containing his resentment. "I would've thought I'd hear such rumours, if that were the case."
"Please, you don't understand…" Malfoy looked as though he wanted to say more, but Harry waited and nothing more was spoken.
"You're right. I don't understand." Harry tugged his arm away from Malfoy and turned from the look of despair he was given. It wasn't his problem if the Malfoys were destitute, he told himself. It wasn't his fault that they'd chosen the wrong side of the war, and it wasn't his fault that they'd been forced to spend all their money in lawsuits and reparations. Thoughts like this stayed with him until he was safely in his office again, sorting through another pile of files from Monica.
Harry gritted his teeth. This wasn't the first time his secretary had seated herself on his desk with no regard for the papers she crumpled or workplace behaviour. He could wish it were the last time, but this wasn't grounds for firing.
"So," Monica asked. "How did the meeting go?"
"Is that any business of yours?" he asked rudely. If she was going to ignore common decency, so was he. The hurt look on her face in response to his harsh question was prize enough for him.
"Why, Harry, I'd thought━ after our date━"
"Is that what it was?" Harry feigned confusion. "I was under the impression it was sexual assault. How strange that I could misinterpret something so severely." Monica flushed red and abruptly stood up.
"How can you say something like that?" she whispered.
"Easily, in fact. Leave me, before I change my mind about reporting your actions towards me." Monica left with the air of someone who'd just been smacked across the face. Harry took a deep breath and tried to steady his nerves. The woman was insufferable. He doubted that working with Malfoy as his secretary would be worse than working with her, but then shook the thought out of his head just as soon as it entered. Nothing could be worse than working with Malfoy, though Harry had to admit that being Malfoy's boss would bring about a certain kind of satisfaction.
No, I refuse. Knowing him, he'd just twist things until it seemed as though he was the one with power over me. I won't let him get that chance.
"Do you understand, Draco, why you'll do this?" Narcissa kept her slitted eyes on Draco, pinning him in his place at the dining table.
"Yes, Mother," Draco replied obediently. His hands were hidden beneath the table cloth, but he still felt as though his mother could see the way his knuckles turned white from clenching his hands.
"You will not beg him. That is below us, no matter how much or how little money we have. You must make him trust you, slowly, over time. How you do so is up to you, but I should like to see a more permanent form of building trust."
"Of course," Draco agreed. "What would you advise me to do, Mother?" Narcissa smiled, the smile of a cat about to capture its prey.
"Do not think me blind. I have seen the way your eyes lit up when you spoke of him during your years of education."
Draco willed his cheeks to stay their normal pale shade as his mother spoke of his most hidden secret. He hadn't thought she knew, but her eyes were like that of a hawk's, able to see through any denial, any pretense he might bring forth should he disagree with her, from miles away. The sharpness in them now told him that well enough. Of course she knows. Draco resigned himself to listening patiently as he silently scolded himself for not having more self control when it came to Potter.
"I have witnessed the difficulty with which you refrained from speaking his name. I am also aware of the possessiveness that is in the Malfoy man's nature━ something you must control in this, a situation so delicate. You will capture his attention, make him seek you out without knowing why. Give no hint that there may be hidden motives behind your efforts."
"Yes, Mother." Draco spoke as calmly as he could, but he felt his mother's disapproval through the single twitch of her index finger towards her wine glass.
She could see the way he restrained himself, it seemed, and wished he were more enthusiastic about the task she had entrusted to him. How could he be? It would be perfect, a literal dream-come-true, for Potter to know of Draco's feelings and return them in kind; however, what his mother was asking him to do would inevitably sour any relationship that would come from his efforts. If his plan━ or her plan, rather━ succeeded, what would Potter do if he found out the real reason behind Draco's sudden 'change of heart?' If Draco earned Potter's love… and lost it, how could he live?
"And once I've gained his trust?" Draco tried to drown the sick feeling in his chest with a sip from his own wine glass.
"Why, you'll marry him, of course. Our funds are too low for any alternative, and most purebloods who would have been considered for your marriage prospects have fallen from wealth as we have." Narcissa laughed, the same laugh she'd used the day before when Potter had been asking embarrassing questions. Draco detested that laugh, especially when it was directed towards him. "Have him share ownership of his Gringotts vaults with you, name you heir in his will, whatever it takes to ensure a comfortable life after his untimely death."
"What?" Draco's wine glass spun gently on the table where he'd set it down carelessly in his shock, creating a crystalline echo in the small room. Surely his mother didn't expect him to act out this ridiculous scheme.
"You don't expect that the marriage will be a true one, do you?" Narcissa's eyes narrowed. "It won't. Any hope you have of that will be dismissed this instant. After Potter is taken care of you'll marry a fine, pureblood witch, have children, and continue the Malfoy bloodline." She paused dramatically, as she was wont to do when she wanted to drive her points home. "There's no other way."
"And have you brought this up with Miss Maybell?" Kinsley asked, a tone of mild alarm coating his question. Harry was seated in the Minister's office and had explained to him what had been happening between himself and his secretary. At first Kinsley shrugged it off as Harry's celebrity causing exaggerated admiration, but after Harry went on and listed the events in which Monica had sexually harassed him, he took it more seriously.
"I have," Harry answered. "She takes no hints, and even blunt disapproval doesn't seem to work. I don't know what else to do, sir."
"This is a problem." Harry had half a mind to say 'obviously,' but held his tongue.
"It is. I've warned her that if she kept on with her advances I'd have to bring it up with you, and that it could mean her losing her job. She doesn't seem to care."
"Well, if she won't take heed from the warnings you've given her already, I'm afraid there's not much I can do aside from write her a letter of dismissal."
"Thank you, sir," Harry breathed, a weight he hadn't previously known the extent of lifting off his shoulders. Just hearing that he wouldn't have to witness her 'subtly' raised skirt flashes, not-so-subtle caresses━ always unwelcome━ and her sitting on his desk anymore made his future look much brighter.
"Not at all, Harry." Kingsley reached over his desk and shook Harry's hand. "I'll have the letter finished by the end of her shift.
"Let's hope I can make it that long," Harry muttered under his breath. Kingsley's eyebrows raised in question, but Harry shook his head and left the room.
It wasn't easy to contain his satisfied grin as he passed by Monica's desk. She was seated there, batting her eyelashes and smiling at him, provocatively leaning forward to expose the line of her cleavage. It was less easy for Harry to refrain from gagging dramatically in response, but he managed not to.
Harry kept that satisfied smile on his face throughout the remainder of his workday, which he spent comfortably behind his own desk sorting through papers and files. All in all, it hadn't been an awful day. It wasn't even ruined when Monica came strutting into his office, slammed her letter of dismissal on his desk and demanded to know what the meaning of it was.
"Clearly it's a notice from the Minister stating that you're no longer needed here," Harry had explained with what could easily be interpreted as an innocent smile.
"But why?" Monica squeaked. "Haven't I been a good secretary? Haven't I fulfilled my position well enough?"
"Maybe. I wouldn't know; I've seen very little work being done on your part aside from the usual harassment you seem to think appropriate in a place of work."
"Harass━ what do you mean, harassment?"
"Don't play stupid," Harry said with a slight curl of his lip. "You know just as well as I do what you've done and I'm finished putting up with it. You're not welcome here any longer. Pack up your desk and leave."
Monica opened her mouth, let out a cry of outrage, kicked his desk, shouted in pain, and then limped from his office, slamming the door behind him. As soon as the door was shut, Harry began laughing at the scene that had just played out. If he was being honest, he hadn't really thought of what her response would be to being fired. He hadn't exactly cared, either. It was certainly more entertaining than he could've expected it to be.
After packing up some work to take home in his briefcase, Harry locked up the door to his office, cast several wards of protection around it, and Floo'ed home.
Dinner eaten, work complete, Harry sat on the sofa in his sitting room reading and listening to the muggle radio he'd purchased some time ago. A sense of utter contentment and relaxation seeped into his bones as the sounds of classic rock filled his ears and the prospect of a Monica-less workday brightened his outlook. His evenings usually went like this; tranquil, comfortable, and uneventful. Sometimes Ron and Hermione would stop by, but most nights he was alone and gratified to be so.
This made the knock on his front door not only unexpected, but startling.
Harry set his book down in a way that would gain him a cry of outrage from Hermione, got up from the sofa and walked through his house until he reached the front door. Looking through the peep-hole he saw that Draco Malfoy was standing on his front stoop, looking incredibly nervous, but also as if he was trying to conceal that he was. Confusion pooled in Harry's brain momentarily and before he could think better of it he opened the door.
"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry asked, not bothering to hide his lack of appreciation for Malfoy's presence.
"I need to speak to you," Malfoy said in a low voice. He glanced around him as though he was afraid he'd been followed.
"About?" Harry leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. "I thought we'd discussed everything we needed to the other day."
"I…" Malfoy seemed to be arguing with himself silently before his face settled on remaining blank. "There's something I need to tell you."
"I gathered that," Harry said with a snort. He could hear Malfoy's teeth grinding and guessed he was probably struggling not to shout. Their rivalry may have been a school-based one, but that didn't mean their feelings about each other hadn't come with them into adulthood.
"You've got a position open for your secretary," Malfoy finally said in a tight voice.
"Not for long, I should think. With so many people needing jobs I'll probably find another secretary waiting for me on Monday morning."
"But…" Again Malfoy seemed to struggle to put his thoughts into words. Or, more likely, words that Harry would listen to without slamming the door in his pointy face. "I could do this job," he said firmly. "If you would let me, I would do it, and I wouldn't complain." Harry allowed one of his eyebrows to raise at that information.
"Doubtful." Harry delighted in the way Malfoy's lips tightened in obvious disagreement. "Really, Malfoy? You'd really keep your mouth shut if I ordered you around like you order your house elves?" Harry laughed in a cruel sounding way. "Right, you can't afford those anymore since Hermione passed the House Elf Salary Law."
Abruptly, Harry's face fell from the smirk he'd had to one of shame. When had he dropped so low as to make fun of someone for their financial status, be it a Malfoy or anyone else? Wasn't it his job to help people with little-to-no money without judgement? As he was pondering these things he recalled the way Malfoy used to make fun of Ron and the rest of the Weasleys for their financial situation. Do I really want to compare myself to him this way? I shouldn't even be able to…
"Listen, Malfoy," he began, his tone more civil. "I'm sure it took a lot for you to come here and ask for this job, but you're not a good fit for the position. Do you really think you could handle me as your boss?" At Malfoy's blank stare, he continued on without pause. "You would have to go on errands for me, grab my coffee, sort papers, be to work on time, follow orders… That doesn't sound like the sort of job you would do willingly." Harry thought he saw a look of anguish cross Malfoy's features briefly, but wasn't sure why, or if it had actually happened at all. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, or lack thereof.
For a while, Malfoy seemed to simply think over Harry's words. Good, Harry thought. Maybe he'll come to his senses and stop with this nonsense. We both know it wouldn't work.
Finally Malfoy spoke.
"You're right," he said softly. There was still an edge to his tone, but one of determination. "I won't like this job. I don't usually take orders from anyone besides…" He seemed to think better of his next statement before continuing. "I don't usually take orders, but I need this job. My family needs me to get this job. We're going to run out of money eventually, and as much as I dislike needing assistance, there is no avoiding it." Malfoy closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them again, there was a glint in them, hard as steel and just as inflexible. "If you give me this job you'll see that I can handle it. I can handle whatever I have to do if it keeps my family afloat. With no complaints," he reiterated.
That gave Harry a lot to think about, and not much time to do it. He looked at his wrist watch and glanced back up at Malfoy before letting out a defeated breath.
"Come in and sit down," he muttered begrudgingly. Damn this soft heart of mine.
Harry ushered Malfoy in and directed him to the sitting room he'd just been in before the interruption. Malfoy looked around a bit before sitting in one of the leather armchairs near the fireplace. As uncomfortable as the blond looked, Harry couldn't get any fulfillment from it after the shameful way he'd handled the situation so far. He sat in his usual spot, the left side of the loveseat directly across from the fireplace, and angled his legs to rest beside him.
"Thirsty?" he asked, purely out of habit.
"No, thank you," Malfoy replied stiffly. The only hint to how uncomfortable he was feeling was the artery twitching along his throat. Harry decided pointedly to ignore that and just let the information Malfoy had given him sink in.
So, Malfoy was desperate enough to come to Harry for a job. Or, Harry considered, he thinks he has better luck with me, since everyone seems to think I have this hero-complex… Pushing that notion farther back from the forefront of his mind, he decided Malfoy was simply desperate. He thinks he can be my secretary, with no objections, even though all his life he's been in the position to give orders rather than take them. He thinks he can handle this job, even though he's never had a job before in his life.
Harry stewed on this when another thing came to light. Kingsley. What would he think if Harry went to him on Monday and requested that Malfoy take up Monica's position, when he was fully aware of the type of relationship the two of them had had in school? He'd think I'd gone mad and want to test me for the Imperius curse' effects, he decided. If he decided to give Malfoy this job, and it was a big if, that was something he thought he could handle.
"You won't whinge or protest," he asked, "if I tell you to get my lunches for me?" He could hardly picture the proud Malfoy doing such a menial task for someone he despised.
"I won't," said Malfoy, with no hesitation. Harry nodded reflexively.
"You'll remember to give me important paperwork?" The countless times Monica had done just that, forcing Harry to apologise to people he otherwise wouldn't have had to, fresh in his memories.
"I'll remember." Surprisingly, there was no tone of resentment to Malfoy's agreement.
"And you'll keep to yourself? You won't come to me with stupid questions about how to do your job after I've trained you to do it sufficiently?" This was more of a test than anything. Let's see how he responds to being treated as though he's not intelligent.
"Really, Potter?" Malfoy spat. "If you train me to do my job correctly the first time, there will be no need for me to ask 'stupid' questions." This had been the expected response, of course. Test failed.
"That's exactly the sort of attitude I can't have from someone who works for me," Harry said. "If you can't handle being asked that sort of question, then I don't see how you'll manage working as my secretary." Malfoy swallowed and looked to be collecting himself, then let out a low breath.
"My apologies." His tone was more docile than before. "I didn't mean to react that way. If you hired me as your secretary you would not have to deal with any… attitude from me. I give you my word."
"Forgiven," Harry said on a sigh. Every instinct in him was shouting at him to order that Malfoy leave, to not give him the job. He could hardly believe the next words leaving his mouth, with all the commotion going on in his head. "We'll see if your word holds up on Monday."
Malfoy blinked several times, his mouth parted slightly in confusion. Then, as if he could see precisely what his face was doing and didn't approve, he regained the composed expression he'd sat there with for the last five or so minutes.
"You're hiring me?" Somehow, Malfoy had managed to ask the question in a dignified manner, as though he was only doing it out of obligation.
"I am, though I can't seem to figure out why." He hadn't really meant to say that last part, but there it was. "Like I said, we'll see if this decision proves to be a good one." I'm sure I'll find out that it isn't soon enough. Nothing involving Malfoy is ever a good decision, he reflected.
Malfoy stood up and crossed the small space between the furniture and held out his hand. "Thank you, Potter," he said, sounding genuine. Harry took his hand and shook it once before letting go.
"Don't mention it." Harry stood and led the way to the front door. As Malfoy stepped out onto the stoop, he said, "Seriously, don't mention it." Malfoy frowned at him over his shoulder before he stepped off the cement staircase and twisted on his heel, Apparating away. "What the fuck did I just agree to?" he asked himself as he shut the door again.
As Draco placed his hand on the doorknob to his irritatingly small bedroom━ yes, room, not rooms as he was used to━ he saw from the corner of his eyes the flowing, light green robes his mother had donned that day. Draco lowered his hand and turned to face his mother, placing his usual respectful mask on before meeting her eyes.
"Mother," he greeted her. "I've been successful in my first attempt to get closer to Potter."
"Very good." Though his mother didn't smile, there was approval shimmering in her greyish blue eyes. "Elaborate, if you would." Draco dipped his chin subserviently before replying.
"As you know, I planned to acquire the position of secretary beneath him." He hated those words slipping off his tongue. Beneath was a word he rarely, if ever, used to describe himself. "Thank you, by the way, for informing me of the opening there━"
"Yes, yes," Narcissa interrupted, clearly not interested in the customary gratefulness she expected from her son. "Onto the rest. How did you succeed?"
"With little effort, surprisingly. I went to Potter's house and requested the job…"
Draco briefed his mother on what had happened at Potter's house, but was unable to answer her questions on why he had approved Draco for the job in the end. Draco wasn't sure, himself, why Potter had so easily decided to employ Draco. Narcissa narrowed her eyes at her son after all her questions were asked, and at first Draco thought his mother would accuse him of lying or omitting information. Thankfully, if she did think Draco had left any details out, she didn't say so.
Narcissa opened her eyes to their usual almond shape and told Draco, "I'm proud of you. This was a large step in the plan━ one I didn't expect to come to fruition. You've outdone yourself, son." Before Draco could thank her, Narcissa moved on. "When do you begin working?"
"In two day's time." Narcissa's cat-like smile tilted the corners of her lips.
"Perfect. That will give me ample time to formulate the next step." And with that, Narcissa walked away noiselessly, her fine robes swishing around her.
Draco exhaled and allowed his shoulders to drop to a comfortable position as soon as he was in the privacy of his room. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wooden door, wishing that there was some way out of the situation he found himself in. How am I supposed to betray him? Even though Draco had had to bite his tongue earlier, when Potter had treated him like a berk, he didn't want to hurt him. How can I disobey Mother in this? Is there nothing I can do, but go along with her despicable plan like a mindless servant? Shaking his head, he stifled the urge to break the nearest object in his room. It wouldn't do to destroy one of the last remaining pieces of Malfoy decor. Not to mention that if he did act out in such a way he would only be letting his mother know just what he thought of this whole ordeal.
Would it really be so bad if I did let her know? he wondered as he sat down on the edge of his too-small bed. In reality it wasn't that small, but it was much smaller than the one he had slept in all his life until this past year. What would Mother and Father really do if I decided to go against their wishes in this? Draco didn't think anything too bad could happen. Maybe he would be disowned, but there wasn't much money to inherit anyway, so would that really be horrible?
As he got ready for bed he listed the pros and cons of the situation.
Draco brushed his teeth and decided it wouldn't truly affect his life badly if his parents disowned him, which he was sure they would do if he disobeyed them in the way he thought he would.
Draco put on his pyjamas and realised that he would have nowhere to go if he was disowned, and being homeless was something he refused to be.
Draco folded his clean robes and put them away as he considered contacting his Aunt Andromeda and making amends. Surely if he explained his situation she would understand and take him in.
Draco lay down in bed and remembered that his and his parents' views on blood purity would put a stop to that possibility becoming a reality.
Draco stared at the ceiling of his room and questioned whether or not he truly agreed with his parents' beliefs.
Where had those beliefs got them, in the end? Nowhere good, was his answer to his own question. As much as he had wanted to believe that his blood status made him better than those around him, even those with the same blood status, the reality that he was just as badly off as most others these days convinced him that he'd spent years believing these things for nothing. What did the purity of one's blood mean if you were subjected to the same daily struggles as a typical Mudblood? I might as well be a Mudblood, for all the good being a blood purist has done me.
A wince shook Draco's body as the severity of that word 'mudblood' finally dawned on him. Having that word turned on himself, even if he was the one doing it, didn't feel good. Far from good, actually. I can't believe I actually called people that, he thought with a new, raw guilt. Granger… I suppose I owe her an apology.
Comprehension dropped into Draco's tiring mind. What am I thinking? This is exactly the kind of thing I can't be thinking. It goes against everything I've been taught, everything I've thought to be true my entire life! Nothing productive would come of this thought pattern, he decided as he practiced clearing his mind in the same way he would during Occlumency.
The only thing these thoughts would do was make him even more restless than he was becoming. Mutiny was the last thing he needed to contemplate, and second to that were the cold feet he was experiencing when it related to his credences. These were dangerous things to be assessing, dangerous on a level he was unfamiliar with. Even during the war, with the Dark Lord residing in his house, he hadn't had thoughts of disobeying his parents. They loved him, they wanted him safe, they wanted what was best for him. Even if the means of getting what was best for him would hurt him along the way, he had to trust that his mother in particular knew what she was doing. I really, really hope she knows what she's doing, was the last thought Draco had before he fell asleep. Because I have no fucking clue.
Monday morning found Harry rushing to get ready for work. He'd been so wrapped up in his late-night ponderings that he hadn't fallen asleep until nearly three in the morning. He had less than ten minutes before he would be late to work, something he'd successfully avoided in the year and a half he'd had this job.
He ran a comb violently through his hair, then gave up halfway through; it wouldn't make a difference anyhow, his hair was always looking as though he never tried to tame it. Shoving a piece of buttered toast into his mouth, Harry jogged to the fireplace and tossed in a handful of Floo powder from the jar nearby.
"Ministry of Magic!" he shouted, and nearly lost his toast as he was yanked from his own hearth and plopped roughly into another.
Not stopping to even brush the soot from his work robes, Harry sprinted from the Floo Room to the crowded elevators, hoping he could clock in before he was deemed late. As soon as he reached the anteroom to his department, where everyone clocked in, he sent an identifying spark at the receiver, checking the clock and sighing as he saw the second hand reach twelve just after his spark signed him in for the day. Just barely on time was still on time.
He smiled to himself as he opened the door to his department, but the smile was gone as soon as his eyes met the tall figure standing outside of his office. Malfoy starts today, he remembered. Right. It hadn't taken as much persuasion as he'd assumed it would to get Kingsley to agree, especially when he related to him the situation the Malfoys were in. In some ways it was good that the new Minister of Magic was so benevolent and caring for his citizens. Though Harry wasn't sure this would turn out to be a good decision, he was willing to give it a chance. And I suppose that means I have to be nice to Malfoy, he told himself as he walked over to the person he was thinking about.
"Morning," Harry said as he unwarded and unlocked his office.
"Good morning, Mr. Potter." Malfoy stunned him by addressing him in such a respectful way, but he did his best not to let it show.
"Come on in, we'll discuss your duties in here." Malfoy followed him into his office, where they both sat down across from each other.
"Do you need coffee or tea?" Malfoy asked, surprising Harry yet again.
"Er, not yet, but thanks anyway." Harry willed the strange heat in his cheeks to leave. It was odd having Malfoy act so… servile. He supposed it was something he'd better get used to, and something he should take as a good omen. "Your duties are simple, really, and I think we went over the bulk of them the other night. You'll sit at the desk outside of my office most of the time," which shouldn't be too different from what he's used to, the lazy sod, he added silently before admonishing himself for thinking so rudely before he had reason to. "Other people will probably test you by asking you to run errands for them. Don't. You're my secretary, and unless the Minister himself asks you to do something, come to me first.
"People in this division will give you papers and those papers will need to be gone through by you first," he continued. "You'll decide who is really in need of help and the files of those who are genuinely in need, you'll give to me." Harry took a sheet from inside his desk and handed it to Malfoy, who looked over it swiftly. "That's an informational sheet. It will help you deduce who is below the poverty limit and who is allowed to request Ministry assistance. Those who aren't looking for financial aid, housing, or child care will most likely be looking for in-home care," Harry explained, hoping Malfoy was retaining everything. "These people are usually able to pay for this service, or their insurance covers it, so the financial aspect of the informational sheet won't be necessary. This part, here, will be."
Harry went on to explain life insurance policies and what types of life insurance warranted which kind of in-home care an individual could obtain. After that, he went on to explain the rest of the job and all it entailed. Malfoy sat across from him, and although he didn't nod or speak, Harry could tell he was paying attention.
As Harry's explanations came to a close, he asked, "Do you have any questions?"
"No," Malfoy responded. "I appreciate this more than I can say, Mr. Potter." Okay, maybe it wasn't as nice hearing Malfoy refer to him that way as he'd first thought. It seemed degrading, for some reason, that Malfoy should have to call him 'Mister' when they were the same age.
"Listen," he began, placing his hands on his desk. "Since we're working together, you can call me Harry. It'll be weird if you're the only person around here not calling me that." Malfoy raised one pale eyebrow and a delicate frown tilted his mouth.
"Then I suppose it would only be right if you call me Draco," he responded lightly.
"Right. Draco." He let the name play on his tongue, not disliking the way it felt, though he couldn't say why. "Your first two weeks here will consist of your training. I'll be in here if you need help or any questions answered. After that, I hope, you'll have the job down well enough to be able to do most things on your own."
"Thank you," Mal-Draco said. That'll take some getting used to, Harry thought absently.
"Not at all." He watched as M-Draco━ Draco, Draco, Draco, Harry repeated, forcing his brain to get familiar with the name━ stood up and went to the door of the office. "And I'll take that coffee now, if you please." Draco turned around.
"How do you take it?" Harry frowned in an appreciative way. He's getting this so quickly. I wonder how he knows to ask these things?
"With the Italian Sweet Cream flavoured cream and a single cube of ice," Harry replied, then added, "For today, at least. Sometimes I switch up the flavour of the cream, so be sure to ask."
"Of course," Draco said softly. Harry wondered if it caused Draco pain to talk to Harry in such a different way than he had in school. Then again, people do change. "Where do I go to get the coffee?"
"The same place you'll go to get my lunch. There's a cafeteria not far from here, on this floor. Shouldn't be hard to find." It really wasn't, in fact, as it was just down the hall from the room outside his office. In reality, Harry was the one to grab his coffee and lunch on a regular basis. That was before he had a secretary who wouldn't take every chance they could get to harass him, however. Harry was actually excited to have someone else do these things for him, for once. Not that he needed it, but it made his day significantly easier if he didn't have to get up from his desk every twenty minutes, in the morning, to get a coffee refill.
"I'll be back with your coffee in a bit," Draco said before he left the office. Harry's solitude didn't last long, though, before Draco entered again a moment later to ask, "Did you want anything else with your coffee?"
Harry held up his uneaten toast in response. Draco nodded and left again. So far, so good, Harry thought as he began eating his toast. It was cold, but he didn't bother with a warming charm; he had work to get to. The pile of papers at his desk was unsorted, but he wouldn't give it to his new secretary to sort this time; Harry was aware of a pile twice as large waiting on Draco's desk that needed sorting and didn't feel like adding to his first day of work. Again, he couldn't say why he was going easy on the person who was supposed to be his worst enemy. He certainly didn't like the prat. He wasn't sure, now, if he felt bad for him or not, though. After the effort Draco had put into getting this job━ which probably wouldn't look like much effort at all, if one didn't know Draco very well━ Harry supposed that he might feel a little bad for him. I mean, he went to my house, somewhere I'm sure he didn't want to be, and practically begged for this position, Harry recalled. If that doesn't shout 'desperation,' then I don't know what does.
A quiet rapping on his office door interrupted the thoughts going through Harry's head.
"Come in," he replied to who he was sure was Draco. Instead, Ron came into his office, holding a mug of steaming dark roast. "Oh! Morning, Ron. What are you doing here?"
"Harry, do you know who's been hired as your bloody secretary?" Ron nearly shouted as he set the mug down in front of Harry, completely disregarding his friend's question.
"I should," Harry confirmed. "I was the one who suggested to Kingsley that he take the position." Harry had purposefully referred to Draco as 'he' in front of Ron instead of using his first name, which would suggest he and Draco were closer than they were in reality. Ron's response to Draco being hired was expected, of course, only Harry hadn't realised this conversation would be taking place so soon. "How did you hear about it?"
"Did you really not expect everyone to be talking about it?" Ron asked loudly. Harry's lack of sleep, lack of coffee, and the shouting were all contributing to the beginning pangs of a migraine. "That's the first bloody thing I heard about this morning. Everyone's on about 'Malfoy this,' 'Malfoy that.' I didn't want to believe it, but━"
"Could you lower your voice, mate?" Harry asked, picking up the cup of coffee and drinking deeply. "Had a late night."
"Sorry…" Ron spoke more quietly and had the decency to at least look apologetic. "But why would you suggest him for the job? I'm confused as everyone else is right now," he said with a scoff.
"He came to my house the other night and begged me for it. His family is one of my financial aid cases and I couldn't approve them unless there was at least one working person in their family." Ron narrowed his eyes and shook his head.
"So?" Harry sighed.
"So," he drawled, "nobody is going to hire a Malfoy. It's too soon after the war, the wounds are too fresh."
"I'm still not getting why you had to be the one to help him."
"I just told you," Harry said in exasperation. "I can't approve their case━ Ron. Do you know how poor they are now?" Ron sat back in his chair and crossed his ankle over his knee.
"As poor as they deserve to be, I'd wager." Harry took another long sip of coffee before responding, hoping it would rid his head of the pain throbbing through it. "For a Brit, you drink way too much coffee, mate."
Harry disregarded the random, irrelevant statement and said, "They'll be out of money before Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy have passed, at this rate, leaving their son with nothing." Harry tried to use as much patience as he could muster.
"And you should care about that, why?" Ron tapped his fingers on his kneecap in irritation as he waited for an answer that would placate him. Harry had a feeling he couldn't offer such an answer.
"Er, weren't you the one who said I had a hero-complex? Or was it Hermione?" he asked. "Oh, wait, it was both of you, along with a number of your siblings."
"Harry," Ron began, uncrossing his leg and leaning towards his friend in earnest. "You know we were joking, but…"
"But?" Harry verbally prodded when Ron didn't finish his statement.
"But this sort of thing, what you're doing for Malfoy, is what makes that not a joke."
"Then you weren't joking when you said it the first time," Harry retorted with a thin-lipped smile. Ron stared at Harry with a mixture of irritation and concern on his freckled face. After a few moments, Ron exhaled and sat back once again, shrugging his shoulders.
"I trust your judgement most of the time," he said. "You know I do. We wouldn't still be friends today if I didn't. I just don't see why you feel like you need to help Malfoy, of all people."
"Neither do I," Harry admitted. Ron looked startled by this admission, but Harry went on before Ron could cut him off mid-thought. "But this is why I wanted this job. I wanted to help people who were struggling because of the war. I know you wanted me to be an Auror with you, but this is the way I want to help people. This job requires me to be fair and unbiased." Harry chuckled and said, "Believe me, when I first saw the Malfoy's file I wanted to accuse Monica of playing a prank on me. But they really do need help," he emphasised seriously.
"What happened to Monica, by the way?" Ron asked, seemingly accepting of Harry's response. Harry groaned.
"She groped me one-too-many times," he said angrily.
"You're joking," Ron accused him. "I thought she'd left you alone after that time you said you'd get her fired? You really need to start filling me in on these things."
"You know I'm not that lucky in life. No, I'd had enough and finally had to go to Kingsley. I'm glad to be rid of her," he said with a huff. "And, honestly, it's not so bad giving orders to Dr-Malfoy," he corrected himself at the last second. Just as I was getting used to 'Draco.' "It'll do him some good, learning to be respectful to someone he hates." That had the desired effect on Ron, who started sniggering.
"I didn't even think about that! Oh, mate, this is perfect." Ron palmed his forehead and laughed again. "Of course you had a motive like that behind hiring him. It's a fitting revenge, really."
"Right," Harry agreed, feeling the heat spread into his cheeks that usually came when he lied. I'll let him think I did this to get back at Draco, if it'll make my life easier.
"Ah," Ron groaned as he stood up. "Well, I'd better get back before John has my head. We're doing Poisons and Antidotes, this month." The redhead looked displeased about this, to say the least.
"Hey, at least you don't have to deal with Snape," Harry said lightly, though the mention of the late Potions Professor still caused his heart to sting a bit. Even if he wasn't the arsehole Death Eater scum everyone thought he'd been, Harry had to admit that he'd been a dreadful teacher. At least, to anyone who wasn't a Slytherin.
"I'd quit training right now, if that were the case, and I'm nearly done with it," Ron said with a wave and a roll of his eyes as he left the office.
Alone, finally, Harry thought as he finished his coffee. He'd need another refill, but he figured he'd let Draco get some more work done before he asked. The conversation with Ron hadn't been as awful as he'd thought it would be, and it had reminded Harry that he needed to approve the Malfoys' case and have Draco send it to the Financial Aid Department.
It was while Harry was flipping through the 'financial aid' pile that another knock sounded on his office door.
"Enter," he said as he spotted the Malfoy file and pulled it out.
"I brought you a refill," Draco said as he approached the desk with caution.
"Oh," Harry started. He'd never once, not even when Monica had first started working for him, had a secretary bring him a refill with no request to do so. Perhaps hiring Draco hadn't been a mistake. It's still day one, he reminded himself. Don't get your hopes up, yet. "Thanks."
"You're welcome," Draco said as he set the mug on the desk and took the nearly empty one.
"Here, I've got your file." Harry quickly swished his wand, using a nonverbal charm that would stamp 'APPROVED' on the file in large red letters. "Send that over to Financial Aid and your Gringotts vault will be given the needed amount to pay your bills each month, including grocery funds." Draco's cheeks became tinted pink at this information, even as his face remained impassive.
"Thank you."
"It can take up to three weeks to go through, but if your parents have to pay bills before then, they'll be compensated." Draco cleared his throat.
"Thank you," he repeated stiffly. It was clear to Harry that Draco didn't like having to ask for financial assistance. Harry was already aware of this, but it didn't make this any less awkward.
"How far have you gotten with the pile of files out there?" Draco seemed to relax at this question, and Harry allowed the twisted feeling in his gut to ease as well.
"I'm nearly through it," Draco said confidently. Harry's eyebrows rose a centimeter or so.
"Really? That's impressive. It usually took Monica an entire day to sort through one this size." Harry motioned to the pile on his desk.
"Do those need sorting? I could do that for you. It won't take me long."
"Apparently not," Harry muttered. "Er, go ahead, I mean. Bring them in whenever you're finished." Draco nodded and took the pile. "Do you have any questions so far?"
"Only one." Harry waited for Draco to continue. "Where's the lavatory?" Of course he'd use the fanciest term for the loo, Harry joked to himself.
"It's attached to the cafeteria."
The two wizards nodded to each other and Draco left the room. Harry continued to tell himself that this was only Draco's first day, and problems were bound to arise sooner or later, no matter how good Draco was doing so far. He did have to admit that it was nice to have someone competent in Draco's position for once. Hopefully I'm wrong, Harry thought. Hopefully things continue this way with no hitches.
As Draco made his way to the Floo Room, done with his first workday, he went over the events that had unfolded in the nine hours he'd been there and ignored the many hateful gazes that landed on him. His mother would be proud of him, he hoped. That was the only thing he could look forward to, after an entire day of doing Potter's bidding. Or Harry, as I'm supposed to refer to him, Draco corrected himself. It hadn't been as bad as he'd thought it would be, though, he had to admit. He had brought to work with him several phials of Calming Draught just so that he would avoid snapping at Harry and risking his job, as well as his mother's plan, but didn't need to drink any of them. For whatever reason, Harry hadn't piled loads of work on him, hadn't treated him like dirt, hadn't reprimanded him━ not that Draco had made any mistakes to be reprimanded for, but he'd thought Harry would take whatever excuse he could to shout at him━ and overall he'd had a rather nice day.
Well, nice aside from the other people in the office. Other Ministry employees hadn't taken kindly to Draco being there, and it was no mystery why. The name Malfoy was still one that instigated arguments, Howlers, and general chaos. One of the people who had been upset to discover Draco working there was none other than Harry's pet Weasel. First thing that morning, just as Draco was about to deliver Harry's coffee, Weasel had stormed into the room, taken the mug from Draco's hands, and said, "I didn't want to believe the rumours, but I can see that they were true. I don't know who thought it would be a good idea to hire a piece of shite like you, but I can promise you that if I have anything to do with it, you won't last here through the week." Weasel's face had turned an ugly shade of puce by the end of his short rant, but when he'd left Harry's office he hadn't even spared Draco a passing glance.
Draco's reflections of the day were drawn to a close as he gracefully stepped out of the hearth at his house. Narcissa was waiting for him in the small drawing room, a cup of Scottish Breakfast hovering at her elbow.
"Welcome home, Draco," she said, motioning to the sofa across from her. As he sat primly on the edge of said sofa, she asked, "What progress have you made today?"
"More than I thought I would, Mother," Draco responded.
"Do tell."
"We're on a first-name-basis," he began, forming a list in his mind of things he'd need to tell her before she could begin the questioning Draco knew was in store for him. "I made no mistakes today. He was kinder than I'd hoped he would be, assigned me little work, and I suspect he was the reason that Weasley won't follow through with the threat he made at the start of the day." This caught his mother's attention, as he had known it would.
"And what threat is this?"
"He claimed that he would have me fired by the end of the week."
"You mentioned that you don't think Weasley will follow through," Narcissa pointed out. "Why do you believe this?"
"He made the threat before entering Harry's office. Weasley was in a state of violent anger, and had we not been in a professional setting, I believe he would have wished to harm me; however, when he left the office, he didn't bother to look at me. I have reason to believe Harry convinced him that my working there will be beneficial," Draco concluded. Narcissa raised her perfect eyebrows in response to Draco's explanation.
"Then you've already succeeded in gaining enough of Potter's approval, or sympathy, that he will defend you, should he need to," she said in a way that expressed just how pleased she was, though her voice wouldn't sound very different to someone who wasn't a Malfoy. "Draco, you've done well."
"Thank you, Mother," he said as he inclined his head.
"I expect more progress to be made in the coming month. There is, of course, no specific deadline for this strategy…" Narcissa paused to sip her tea, adding that dramatic pause she loved so well. "In any case, I expect you to have gained invitation to dine with Potter by the end of next month."
"Yes, Mother." She blinked once, slowly, and nodded, which was her way of dismissing Draco.
The moment he was within the four walls of his room he allowed himself to relax, as much as he was able to when he was so uncomfortable in his own home. This discomfort was something he had grown used to over his nearly twenty years of life, though, and it wasn't unbearable. He did long for a day when he could go to a home where his parents didn't reside and fully relax without the feeling of being watched constantly. With Mother's plan I doubt that fantasy will ever occur, Draco thought with resentment. Harry's kindness that day had done more than astound Draco; it had also given him a false sense of hope.
Since Draco was eleven years old and had first offered friendship to Harry, albeit in the wrong way, and been rejected, he had longed for it. Around his fifth year, he had done some 'soul-searching,' as he'd heard it called when one looked within themselves deeply, and discovered that his desire for Harry's attention went deeper than simply one for friendship. Well, he discovered and denied it, up until his breakdown in sixth year that also coincidentally involved his failed attempt at killing Dumbledore. Afterward, when his entire world was shaken, the foundation of who he was compromised, he was forced to look even deeper within himself than he had ever done before. That was when he'd realised that he was, at the very least, bisexual, and wanted none other than Harry as his life partner.
His parents knew, even when he didn't realise they did. Aside from them, Blaise had been the only person privy to this discovery, and had labeled it obsession on Draco's part. He disagreed entirely. He wasn't obsessed with Harry, he didn't fawn after him like some fanboy, asking for his autograph. Maybe he'd done things specifically to gain Harry's attention━ numerous things, things that he didn't often like reflecting on━ but he didn't believe he'd been obsessed. Blaise was always ready to list the reasons why he was.
The fact that Draco did have these feelings for Harry made it incredibly difficult for him to go through with his mother's scheme. No part of Draco, now that he was an adult and could see the error of his childish ways in school, wanted to harm Harry. No part of him felt that he could go through with the ultimate end goal of this sick plot Narcissa demanded. Harry's civility towards him━ along with Weasel's lack of hatred as he'd left Harry's office today, that he knew Harry had been responsible for━ had only reinforced the feeling of absolute, gut-wrenching dread in Draco's stomach.
How can I get out of this? he wondered as he waited for his father's call to dinner. What can I do? Draco felt utterly helpless as he tried to formulate some way out of this predicament.
No solution came to him in the time it took for dinner to be served, and by that time he was forced to rid his mind of any thoughts of 'if,' or 'maybe.'