Notes: Thank you very much to emansil_08 for the brilliant beta as always! Written for the 2012 hp_getlucky fest on LJ to a prompt submitted by mayfly_78: Draco is fed up of being treated like a pariah and of having his potion business flounder because no one will give him a chance, so he decides to invent a subtler, cheaper and safer version of felix felicis to give himself some well deserved luck. Only he ends up getting lucky in far more ways than he had counted on, and now he doesn't know what to do. Draco/Neville is my preferred pairing for this prompt but if you can make Draco/Percy work, go for it! Special Requests: humour, plot.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
The thing about luck, Draco mused, was that even when you made your own, you couldn't stay in control of it. His legs ached as he trudged across the shop floor to turn the sign on the glass door from Open to Closed . He could have saved his legs by using his wand, only he'd exhausted most of his magic for the day, too.
And this was exactly what he'd wanted; these were the side effects of a successful business. Two weeks ago he would have given his mother's last kidney to have been this tired and to have had a cash drawer too full to shut. The thing was, though, that the day was still far from over. He was going to need a whole lot more energy for what was going to happen next. First, he was going to have a date with a war hero followed – if previous nights were anything to go by – by some strenuous sex (also something for which he had been desperate a fortnight ago).
He wouldn't even be able to sink into sweet sleep post coitally, because after he'd been thoroughly buggered by one prominent member of the New Order of the Light, he was going to have to shower, get dressed, and go out dancing with another Important Man of the Day. And when the ball was over, he'd be very surprised (and disappointed in all honesty) if he wasn't expected to thrust vigourously into said Important Person, probably over a desk.
He knew how he'd ended up in this predicament, but wasn't entirely sure when he'd lost control of his life. However, he did know for sure that he would rather be here, brewing a quick Pepper Up , pulling his new dress robes out of his shopping basket and hoping he'd manage to stay awake through the next few hours, than still be living the life that he had been living two weeks ago.
Day after day he had sat hopefully at the window of his off-off-Diagon Apothecary, just hoping that he would have a customer. Most days, he spoke to nobody between breakfast (with his mother) and supper (also with his mother). On the bad days he would be harangued by some former victim of his father's who was now far more powerful that the Malfoys were. Even then all he got to say to them was "Sorry."
He wished he'd been born lucky like Potter: famous for the sacrifices of his parents, brought up safely away from the Magical World, while his reputation grew, welcomed into Hogwarts where he always got away with breaking rules and then got praised for his annual saving of the school. After some fluke had gone his way and he had managed to defeat Voldemort, things had got even better for Potter and for all of his friends and hangers-on. Meanwhile, poor Draco found himself sitting in his little shop, paying rent out every month while his till remained empty.
So, two weeks ago, Draco had decided to change things round. If luck was always to be denied him by fate, then he would just have to make his own. Literally.
Felix Felicis took ages to brew and the ingredients were ridiculously expensive. It was too well-known, too. That meant that there were traces and legal limitations. However, if there was one thing which Draco was bloody good at, it was making potions. It was just selling the damn things which gave him problems. On that fateful morning, two weeks prior, he had pulled out the scroll of parchment on which he had been working the night before. He read over it one last time, and added in yet another correction, then placed it with some determination on the counter, before casting a fire under the cauldron on the floor behind it.
He worked diligently for three hours, but when he had finished an acrid, puce smoke filled his shop. The liquid itself was an unappetising greyish-greenish colour. He ladled a sample from the cauldron into a vial and sniffed at it. Gross. He was going to have to work on artificial scents, flavourings and colours if he was going to sell this. Firstly, though, he would test it out on himself. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, mustering all his courage. And then...
He put the vial down and opened a window at the back of the shop. He never had been blessed with oodles of courage. That was another way in which Potter had lucked out. Draco had been a coward as a First Year in the Forbidden Forest, he had been a coward when he had submitted to the Dark Lord at Malfoy Manor, and he was still a coward now. He opened the front door to encourage the smoke to clear and cast some air freshening charms.
He knew that he was a brewing genius. He had no doubts on that score. But it would be rather reckless – and bad practice on top of that – to start ingesting any new product which had not been checked over by another Potions Master. He wasn't quite that desperate yet. Not quite. What he needed was a guinea pig. He wondered what Gregory was up to.
He stood at the open door and looked out onto the quiet street, vaguely wondering whether a gullible subject might be about to wander across his path, while simultaneously knowing that good luck like that was never going to happen to him unless he swallowed the noxious potion behind him. A figure appeared at the end of his street and he peered out to see if it was anyone he recognised. He thought it probably was. Someone from school maybe?
Shit! He knew who that was. He shut the door and stepped back into the shadows of his shop. Don't let her come in here. Don't let her see me. His bad luck knew no limits! It was only bloody Katie Bell, the bint he'd nearly killed with that bloody necklace! The last thing he needed was another slanging match with another embittered victor. The empty street would magically fill with ear-wigging ill-wishers as it did every time he was cornered. It did nothing to help to advertise his Apothecary.
She was still walking this way. What could he do? He scurried to the back of the shop. Knowing his luck, she'd be bound to spot him anyway. He was going to have to change his luck, then, wasn't he? He picked up the vile vial. She walked past his window and then stopped, she looked into the shop. No!
He put the glass to his lips and tipped his head back. Searing fumes hit his throat first, and then his mouth was filled with the texture of curdled milk and a taste similar to ammonia. He was never going to be able to sell this stuff! He swallowed. His stomach spasmed with nausea. He looked out through the window. Katie Bell had her hand on his door handle! It hadn't worked. He had swallowed the gross concoction and it had done nothing! She opened the door. He straightened up. Here we go!
"Excuse me," she said.
"Hello. Yes," Draco replied, stepping forwards, every muscle tensed.
"Oh. Is that Draco Malfoy?"
"Erm." Lying was an option. "Yes, I'm afraid it is." It was clearly not an option he was taking, then.
"Apothecary. Cool. You always were pretty good at Potions. I was looking for something for my broom, actually. It's a bit past its best but I'm very fond of it."
She wasn't screaming or hexing him. He looked down at the cauldron which was still spitting puce smoke at him. Had it worked? He felt compelled to speak. He went with it. "You know, I'm really sorry about that cursed necklace thing. Back in school."
"Oh, yeah. I'd forgotten that was you."
Shit! He shouldn't have followed that compulsion.
"I don't believe in living in the past, throwing blame out all over the place. It's time to move forwards. I never think about any of that stuff any more."
Draco grinned. Maybe his invention was working after all.
Katie continued: "They haven't got anything for reviving the original Charms on a Quidditch broom anywhere in Diagon Alley. Can you believe it? Have you got anything like that? Like a polish or anything?"
Draco started to shake his head, but then he remembered something. "Ah. Not specifically. There's something that's meant to be for restoring tired wands, but I don't see why it wouldn't work on brooms." He came out from behind the counter and pulled his wheeled step ladder over to the wall of display shelves. "Have you got a match coming up, then?"
"Couple of weeks. If I make it onto the first team, but that's doubtful. I've had a bit of a run of bad luck lately."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Really?" He couldn't sell it in this state, though, could he? "If you come back in tomorrow, I might just have a little potion which might help with that bad luck."
"I can't afford Felix Felicis and anyway, it's banned. We get tested for it before every match."
Draco shook his head. "This is something different. I've just developed it. Just had the first trial sample myself, actually, and you are my good luck as a result." He gave her a pot of Wand Unguent. "Seventy Sickles please." His first customer handed over his first takings.
When she had gone, Draco turned to the tricky problem of making his new potion palatable. He began to think about potential ingredients and then stopped himself. He didn't need to bother with thinking anymore, not when he had luck on his side. He spun himself round on the spot a couple of times and then thrust out his hand and picked up the first thing he touched. Buffalo Wart Essence. Perfect. How much? He shrugged and tipped it into the cauldron. A smell like walnuts and figs drifted up to him as he watched the potion turn a delicious butterscotch colour. He had a little taste. After all, a bit more luck wasn't going to hurt, was it? Taste and texture were perfect.
The next morning he discovered that fig and walnut was Katie Bell's favourite cake and at the very moment that she swallowed the potion in her favourite flavour, the first team Chaser began the fall from his broom which would break his ribs and ensure her a place in the next game.
Katie knew everyone who was worth knowing. In addition to that, she was the sort of satisfied customer who just couldn't help telling everyone she knew just how satisfied she was. An hour after Katie left his shop that morning, her best friend Alicia entered it followed soon after by Roger Davis, then Luna Lovegood, and by the time Alicia was leaving she found her exit blocked by Justin Finch-Fletchley and Stan Shunpike who were both trying to push their way in at the same time. From that moment on, his shop was busy until closing time. When he finally got the place to himself, he found that his cash drawer was full and his shelves somewhat depleted. He started brewing replacements with a smile on his face. He was a little late for dinner that night, but luckily it was coq au vin so it didn't spoil.
The great and the good now flocked to his store every day. Whatever their opinions of his family and his war record, they were kept to themselves, because they wanted access to his potions. The most popular of them, of course, was his Get Lucky potion.
Not that it officially existed; if it had done then the Ministry would have started putting restrictions on it. Every one of his customers had to come in and buy some other potion or powder as a cover, before checking round and whispering to him, "And some Get Lucky please."
He would pick up one of the packages wrapped in brown paper which he kept under the counter and pass it over surreptitiously, in exchange for a healthy profit.
Four days after Katie's first visit to his Apothecary there was a sudden and worrying quiet in the store. Draco hastily helped himself to a large dose of Get Lucky and took some calming breaths, while trying not to think, I knew it was too good to last . Then Neville Longbottom walked through the door. He grinned his shy smile at Draco and Draco stopped panicking and decided to enjoy the emptiness of his business.
"What can I do for you?" he found himself asking.
Neville grinned again. He looked around himself but there was nobody else there. "I heard you had a Good Luck potion," he said.
Draco found himself smiling rather than sneering as he said, "Surely a hero like you doesn't need any artificial luck. Not in the current climate."
Neville didn't take offence. Instead he blushed and it really was quite attractive. He'll be straight, of course, Draco thought. Just my luck.
"There are some times where it doesn't help to have friends in High Places," Neville said with a shrug.
With no-one else around, Draco didn't bother wasting a vial. He offered Neville a drink of the potion straight from the ladle which he filled from the cauldron. Neville leaned forward over the counter. Draco held onto the handle of the ladle and bent towards Neville. Neville's lips stretched themselves wide round the silver and Draco pictured them stretching round his cock. He tried to stop the inevitable physical reaction to that thought, but it was impossible. Neville licked his lips when he was finished. Draco watched closely.
"What sort of times?" he asked, aware that his voice was sounding strained.
"Well, like..." Neville's deep brown eyes looked into his. "If you wanted to ask someone out, but you knew that they thought you were a bit pathetic."
"Nobody thinks you're pathetic anymore."
"Not even you?"
"Certainly not me."
"How about dinner then?"
So that evening they had dinner together for the first time and it had been lovely. Afterwards Neville had taken Draco back to his apartment for their first wonderful fucking. In the afterglow, Neville pushed Draco's sweaty hair from his forehead and said, "You're far too beautiful for me, Draco Malfoy. I can't expect to keep you to myself."
"What?" Draco couldn't believe his ears.
"I'll never want anyone else but you to make me happy, but I don't expect you to be faithful to me."
"You're the only man who's shown any interest in months. Years. That's not an issue. I'd just like to do this again."
"Again and again and again," Neville promised, planting a line of kisses down Draco's chest. "But, seriously, I'm not a jealous person. I don't mind sharing you."
And, as it turned out, it was lucky that they had had that conversation when they did, because it became relevant on the very next day.
The store had been packed as usual all morning, with Draco's only problem being finding places to put the coins he was gathering in. Then suddenly at around midday – which was usually the start of Draco's busiest period – the crowds started to thin out. Draco noticed customers edging towards the door and he panicked. Shit! It wasn't working anymore; his luck had run out. Flustered, he ducked down to slurp up some potion. He hadn't had time to keep up his own supply, that's what it was.
As he straightened back up, he spotted the reason for his customers' rapid departures. Percy bloody Weasley: the most pedantic stickler for rules in the whole Ministry. He was known to have destroyed Remembralls for being a fraction of a millimetre too wide. He had had the Hogwarts Express stopped en route and searched for an overdue library book. It was rumoured that he carried a tape measure with him at all times and that he used it to verify the accuracy of the particulars the agencies had sent him when he had ordered his rent boys.
No wonder Draco's customers were looking so shifty. Sadly, Draco watched his potential earnings slink out onto the street. His heart started thundering in his chest as the ginger martinet stalked towards him. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant feeling actually.
"Malfoy," Percy began.
"Mr Weasley," Draco found himself squeaking.
"I understand that your stock includes a potion with a similar effect to Felix Felicis. "
Straight to the point, then. Draco's guts twisted nauseatingly. He forced out a denial. This was it, he was ruined!
Percy frowned, his pale, freckled skin puckering up between his ginger eyebrows. His pale, red lashes blinked over his green eyes behind the lenses of his glasses. Draco thought he might be going mad, because although he was terrified, his cock had suddenly decided to start tingling and filling with blood.
"I had it on a very good recommendation," Percy muttered. He looked around him. "Where did everybody go?"
"Who?" Draco asked stupidly.
"Your customers."
Draco experienced one of those potion moments where his mouth set off without his brain knowing where it was going, and yet he knew by now that it was safe to let it do that. "I think your reputation might have scared them off."
"My reputation?"
"And your position at the Ministry."
"Well, now, as it happens that's exactly why I'm here." That was what Draco had been afraid of. "You see, there is a chance that my position at the Ministry might be about to change." Why did Draco's brain keep offering him pornographic pictures every time it heard the word 'position'? "Shacklebolt is stepping down, you see."
"Oh yes. I did hear that."
"Chance is very much the key word here, though. There are other, more senior people who would be more qualified than I for the position." Again, that word affected the snugness of Draco's underwear. "Or if they decide to go with someone young and dynamic, then a lot of my colleagues have rather more impressive war records than I do."
"You want to be Minister?" That sort of position. Not doggy or reverse cowboy...
"Indeed. I would be very fortunate to be offered that position. And so I was hoping that you might be able to supply me with a little boost. To my fortunate-ness."
Draco sighed with relief. "Right. I thought you were going to confiscate it all and arrest me."
"My dear boy, whatever for? It's not illegal. It's not even regulated yet. There is nothing in Ministry rules to prevent you from selling me some."
Draco grinned and sold him a vial of Get Lucky . Percy lost no time, tearing off the paper and pulling out the cork to drink it there and then.
"I'll let you know if it works." A concerned expression crossed Percy's face. "None of the other candidates have been in and bought any of this, have they?"
"I don't really keep track," Draco admitted.
"Well, I'll let you know what transpires."
"I expect I'll hear."
"Hopefully, this now leaves me with only one problem left to solve. I shall need a companion to accompany me to the inauguration ball."
Draco held his breath.
"It's probably a good thing that we have the place to ourselves for the moment," Percy observed. "I wonder whether you would consider escorting me?"
"That sounds charming," Draco managed.
"Perhaps a drink tonight in preparation?"
'Preparation' was another dangerous word. "Well, I have a date for dinner, but perhaps before that? The shop closes at six these days."
"I shall collect you from here at six then."
And so, Percy Weasley had exited the building. After a few minutes, the shop had filled up again and Draco had been kept busy raking in the cash until he closed and Percy took him to a cocktail bar. After a couple of exotic drinks each, Percy had dragged Draco into the toilets and sucked him off so expertly that he climaxed explosively all over Percy's expensive velvet robes. After a little reciprocation and a clean-up, Draco had met Neville for a delicious dinner and a good rogering. The next morning, Percy had been announced as the new Minister.
And so the pattern of Draco's life had been set up. He had two handsome, respectable, sexually adventurous boyfriends (neither of whom was jealous of the other), a successful business and the respect of the Wizarding community. Well, nobody ever called him a profiteering slut to his face anyway. Now all he needed was a few more hours in the day, and inexhaustible supplies of magic and energy. With the ideas he had for improving his Get Lucky potion, though, he might not have to wait too long to get those, too.
Potter might have been born with it, but Draco was very happy that he had managed to make his own luck.