It's back. You asked for a sequel and here it is. Okay, maybe you didn't ask, but that girl in the back -- the one with the orange shirt, waving the 'Weasley is My King' banner – she asked. So here it is.
To understand certain things in this fic you will have to read Fellytones and Fuzzy Slippers: A Love Story. This story picks up immediately after that fic dropped off.
I'll wait right here while you catch up.
Special thanks to Diana: a beta and a friend.
Fellytones and Fuzzy Slippers 2: When Blondes Attack
Chapter One – The Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs
Draco Malfoy was not a morning person.
He much preferred getting up at the crack of one o'clock, when the foul and offensive sunlight that threatened to burn his sensitive eyes was beginning to dissipate. This morning, however, his beloved slumber was interrupted by something nudging him. Something was curled around him, nuzzling his neck, and disturbing his beauty sleep. That something had better be incredibly attractive or there would be hell to pay.
He slowly opened his eyes to see a head of long, wavy black hair. Other parts of that head were otherwise occupied with his chest and abdomen. 'Well at least she was making herself useful,' he considered with disdain. He let out a sigh and she giggled. Draco rolled his eyes in reply. 'Now who the hell was this?' he thought indignantly. 'What was her name?'
He tried to remember the evening before. Ministry party - dull. Foreign delegates -boorish. Women swooning around him - what else is new? But which one of them had black hair? France? No, that was that blonde twit who refused to eat anything domestic. Germany? No, that was the large, square-ish woman who kept staring at the French twit like she was an éclair. Draco shuddered at the thought.
Italy? That's right. It was the Italian girl. Rose? Rosita? Rosario. Her name was Rosario. Daughter of the Italian Ambassador. Blue eyes. Scandalous body. Quite …enthusiastic. They drank wine. Lots of wine. And she giggled - at everything he said. Annoying that, no challenge at all. Now the tricky part: How to eject said Italian girl from house without sparking international incident. He didn't want another Norwegian fiasco on his hands. But who could blame him, really? They were twins.
How to play this?
"Rosario," he whispered through a sleep filled voice.
"Draco, you are finally awake." An otherwise sexy smile was ruined by that ridiculous shrill giggle. "What are we going to do today?" she asked coquettishly, while stroking his chest with a long, red fingernail.
Draco's defensive instincts immediately kicked in. 'Danger, Danger! Time to think quickly!'
He calmly smiled and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I have several meetings to attend this afternoon and this evening, love. I'm afraid I will be rather busy and mostly unreachable. I will be free later tonight and we could have a late dinner. How does that sound?"
She smiled, seemingly very pleased at his proposal. "Perfect. I will just shower and leave-"
"Rosario, darling, I hate to bring this up but there will be a delegation from Spain here is twenty minutes and I need to get ready. Would you mind showering at your place?" His apologetic words were interposed with kisses along her ear and cheek.
She giggled again.
"Of course. I should hurry anyway. Poppa will be asking many questions," she purred. "Until tonight." She leaned in and kissed him, pressing her naked body onto his. She got up and began retrieving the trail of clothes that ran from his bed to the front door. He waited until he heard her shut the front door before he summoned his Dicto-Quill and began speaking:
Senior Stregavario,
I am please to inform you that the Ministry of Magic has approved your request to join the delegation to Asia. We ask that you leave immediately for India where the first leg of the tour is already underway. A portkey has been prepared to transfer your family and staff early this afternoon. We will have your things packed and forwarded to you straight away in order to expedite your trip. We trust that you are the proper person for this prestigious assignment and that you will do all you can to bridge the gap in communications and trade.
On a personal note, I will be saddened to see you go. I've enjoyed having your family.
Respectfully,
Draco Malfoy
Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs.
He gave a smirk as he reread the last sentence of his note. Sometimes it was just that easy.
He placed his seal on the note and handed it to Russell, his falcon, for quick delivery. 'Owls were so bourgeois.'
As he showered he wondered if he had time for a manicure before his lunch with the representative from Nepal. He had his niece with him, didn't he? What was her name?
It would be late in the evening when Draco returned home. Despite the attempt of many a young women and a couple of young men, Draco decided to return home alone. He did not like having his usual ten hours of sleep interrupted, especially after three or four rounds the night before. Had she no etiquette? Appalling, really.
He had settled in his bed when he heard the pecking of a very energetic bird on his windowsill. With some grumbling he opened the window and immediately recognized it as a Hogwarts' owl. He grasped the letter in the bird's talons and stiffened when he recognized Severus Snape's looping signature on the seal. For an uptight, brusque, overgrown bat, he had a decidedly feminine signature.
Draco carefully opened the seal and read the short note:
Mr. Malfoy,
A matter has come to my attention that concerns you. It would be in your best inertest to join me for tea tomorrow afternoon.
S. Snape
'Tea!' Draco thought with a start. That was not a good sign. Severus Snape never took tea with anyone; the Potions master found the entire ritual a nuisance as it meant conversation and congeniality, two things he had little use for. Afternoon tea was a colossal waste of time, unless he was poisoning someone of course, which might be the desired alternative in some cases. For Snape to be offering Draco tea meant he had some bad news, and if it was bad enough to drive Severus Snape to tea, it was very bad indeed.
Draco sat and carefully thought of anything out of the ordinary that had occurred in the last few weeks. He had just turned 22 and celebrated the occasion with all the revelry it deserved. He was a Malfoy, after all, and the illustrious infamy attached to the name aside, it meant something when it came to celebrations. A Malfoy function was an event, an extravaganza. Perhaps the 200 dancing girls was a bit much, but Draco considered it a well deserved gift, one that was easily expensed as a "Consultation Fee." The Minister of Abu Dhabi was grateful for his assistance on that ugly union problem; it was the least he could do to show his appreciation. And, had he thought to do it himself, Draco was sure that he would have.
He doubted that could have caused Snape's correspondence; that paperwork was well buried. No, for Snape to offer tea was like a normal person offering you a cigarette before the firing squad had their way with you.
Suddenly, Draco felt something he hadn't in years – fear.
The dungeons were just as he remembered them: dank, dull and completely lacking in any style. 'Did the man realize that there were other colors in the known universe other than black and green?' He paused to sneer at a particularly atrocious painting on Snape's wall of a snake eating a pig when the familiar silky voice of his professor filled the room.
"Prompt Mr. Malfoy. I see you understand the gravity of my correspondence." Severus Snape looked exactly the same as he did five years ago: pale, thin and coated in a thin layer of some something vile. Whatever he looked like, Severus Snape had the ability to do what no one else would even consider – he could make Draco shut up. With nothing more than a quick nod in reply, Draco sat down on the settee and waited for the gentle swing of the guillotine.
A trembling house elf appeared, and without a word to either of the room's occupants, set a tray of tea and pastries on the table in from of Draco. Upon seeing the plateful of pastries, he almost fainted, getting invited to tea was bad enough; it meant death but at least it would be quick -- Severus Snape was not one to waste time when he tortured his victims. But to actually be offered sweets from the single most sour person on the face of the earth meant a slow and painful death, like being pecked to death by rabid hummingbirds. This was not going to be pretty.
Snape began to speak. "Mr. Malfoy….Draco-"
"Stop," Draco yelled, panicked and shaking. "First tea, then napoleons, and now you call me Dra...Draco. What in blazes is going on? What is so terrible that it would drive you to amiability? Am I dying of some excruciating long term disease? Was I supposed to be in Gryffindor? Am I really a Weasley? Out with it!" His eyes were wild and his hair was sticking out in all directions making him resemble a mad, half-plucked porcupine.
"Dra…Mr. Malfoy, calm down. Leave fits of stupidity to the lower houses, if you please. I merely needed to discuss with you the terms of your father's will."
And the world stopped.
"My father's what?"
Lucius Malfoy was an early casualty of the war. His death by Cornish Pixie trampling prompted Draco to pick a side, and quickly. He chose the one that looked like it would win, not the one that would allow a few million flying purple imps to stampede over a man and let him die slowly over the course of three days. Not that Lucius didn't deserve it, but the bleachers and concession stands set up to witness the flattening was a bit much.
Until now, Draco's access to the Malfoy estate and all its holdings had been frozen until such time as someone in the Ministry took his head out of his arse long enough to file the right paperwork. In the meanwhile, Draco had had to work for a living. Well, work and use the million or so Galleons he had embezzled from his father over the years.
So, something was going to postpone the big payoff. Draco sat down and absentmindedly sipped some tea and bit into a lemon square.
The noose had been placed around his neck. Time for Lucius to tighten it.