Unusual Cravings
Draco Malfoy was working on a Saturday, and the fact that this was a common occurrence these days frequently gave him pause for thought.
Yes, he enjoyed his job. And yes, the work of the Muggleborn Liaison Office was never done. But really, a Saturday? His younger self would be incredulous. Once he stopped being incredulous at the whole 'Muggleborn Liaison Office' bit.
The fact was, he'd taken the job as a public penance. He'd worked his way out of Wizarding Britain's bad books thanks to Harry Potter's testimony at the great Death Eater trials afterwards, and had kept taking low-ranking Ministry jobs, trying to use what skills he had and what grades he'd managed to scrape together when resitting his NEWTs to earn some kind of income, as most of the Malfoy money had been spent on the war effort, squandered by Voldemort, or donated to charities involved in reconstruction work in order to salvage scraps of the family's reputation. By the time Draco had been offered the job as head of the new Muggleborn Liaison Office – a brainchild of Arthur Weasley and, like his own Misuse Of Muggle Artifacts Office, a subsection of Hermione Granger's Department Of Magical Law Enforcement & Reform – he had come to enjoy working with the reconstruction effort and had jumped at the chance of higher pay, a chance to improve the Malfoy image, and more responsibility.
That had been five years ago.
Of course, working on a Saturday had its advantages, one of which was not having to play 'heroes' with Scorpius, a game that involved the energetic seven-year-old boy running around the manor in toy glasses and a lightning scar Astoria had painted on in lipstick, waving a twig and defeating the Evil Lord Voldamort and his Deaf Eaters (Draco was never sure whether the mispronunciations were natural or a deliberate attempt at cuteness). And of course, there were no prizes for guessing who usually had to play the Dark Lord and his army of supporters.
So yes, all-in-all, the annual backlog of paperwork caused by inane questions sent in by parents of this year's new Muggleborn Hogwarts attendees wasn't too bad. Besides, he was all alone in the office so he had plenty of peace and quiet.
Just as he thought that, one of the fires along the wall flared green, signalling an incoming Floo. Cursing his own optimism, Draco sat up straighter in his chair and attempted to look officious.
Just think of what Percy Weasley was like back in school, he said to himself. Remember that face, picture it in your mind. Become that face. Feel the self-importance, the sense of righteous bureaucratic purpose. Oh, hang on…
He shifted out of busy-civil-servant mode and composed his face into what he hoped was an expression of idle curiosity, barely raising an eyebrow as Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Did-Suicidally-Stupid-Things-In-The-Name-Of-Heroism and current Head of the Auror Office, tumbled out of the fireplace looking dishevelled.
"Potter?" drawled Draco, affecting boredom. "What in Merlin's name are you doing in the Ministry on a Saturday morning, and why aren't you in your own office?"
Potter didn't answer, instead opting to prowl around the room checking that all the windows and doors were magically locked.
"Not that I care about your welfare, but since you're in my office, I really must ask… is something wrong? You're looking somewhat – and I make no apologies for the pun – harried."
The saviour of the Wizarding world turned to look at Draco. The two men had known each other for twenty-two years, through schoolboy feuds and eldritch abominations stalking the school plumbing system and open warfare – not to mention the long-running mopping-up operation after the war – and in all that time, Draco had never seen such sheer horrified powerlessness in Harry Potter's eyes. He looked like a man who had been through Hell and lived to tell the tale.
"It's Luna…" he said, his voice flat and hollow, "she's been getting pregnancy cravings. And today… I dunno why… I can't… I can't believe…"
Draco conjured a glass of water and a comfy chair.
"Here, sit down Potter, and try not to drool on my carpet. So Lovegood's getting pregnancy cravings. I don't see what the big deal is, you must have been through this with Ginevra."
"No," muttered the Auror, "Draco… you don't understand. Today's craving is…"
He trailed off, muttering something inaudible.
"You'll have to speak up," frowned Draco.
"It's me…" came the whispered reply.
Draco collapsed on the floor laughing. After a couple of minutes he stood up, wiping his eyes, to see Potter glaring at him.
"Oh come on, Potter, that's the funniest thing I've heard all month, and that includes the office rumour that Granger's hair is so big because she's using it to store classified secrets rather than commit them to paper where someone else might find them."
Potter gaped at him.
"Do people really think that?" he asked.
"Some of my staff apparently do. I swear, I'd be better off hiring Lovegood, at least some of her conspiracy theories turn out to be true… Actually," he added, with an evil grin, "I could Floo her right now and offer her an immediate interview…"
Draco's hand moved towards the jar of Floo powder on his desk and Potter dived on him. He quickly threw up a shield charm and laughed as Potter bounced off it and made a very rude hand gesture.
"So," he smirked, "what does the Weaselette think of all this?"
"She thinks it's hilarious," Potter groaned, "she wouldn't help me hide or anything."
"Well," began Draco in his best imitation of Albus Dumbledore, "you see, Mr Potter, there's a very good reason for that: it is hilarious."
Potter swore and buried his head in his hands.
"Did you really think I was going to help when the alternative is this entertaining?" chuckled Draco. "It's like you don't know me at all!"
"I was desperate, OK?" Potter retorted, his voice muffled by his hands. "Nobody else would help!"
"Oh, well isn't that just lovely? You'll only come and visit me out of desperation. I don't see why I should help you at all, if that's the case."
Potter groaned again, this time the world-weary angsty woe-is-me groan that had been his speciality in his mid-teens.
"Alright," said Draco, standing up, "I've had my fun. Come on, let's Floo to the Manor. Astoria can give you tea and laugh herself silly at your predicament, and then I can come back here and finish my work in peace. There's a catch, though."
Potter looked at him with something resembling hope dawning in his eyes.
"Anything. Seriously. I'd even get a tattoo of a Dark Mark."
"Oh no," replied Draco, feeling somewhat triumphant, "nothing like that. You just have to play with Scorpius."
A/N: This story was written for the round one of the Teachers' Lounge Ultimate Iron Fic Challenge, which pitted me against the talented camillablue. The theme was frenemies. And yes, I worked in a Mean Girls reference. It was also inspired by a conversation about a year ago in the Teachers' Lounge Daily Query Thread, where in response to the question "During her pregnancy, Luna gets an unexpected craving for_", respitechristopher suggested Harry and I vowed to someday write a fic about that scenario. So here you go, Chris, it's long-overdue!