Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any part of the HP fandom. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made from this story. At all. Also, all characters depicted in sexual situations are of age.
Title: The Secret Life of Draco Malfoy
Author: icicle33
Rating: M (in future chapters)
Word Count: ~25 K in all (2100 words in this chapter)
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco and mentions of Harry/OMC and Draco/OMC
Warnings: Post War AU, Dracocentric, contains a past relationship and breakup between Harry and Draco, lots of adult language (Draco never learnt to control his tongue), humour and flangst, m/m sex (eventually)
Summary: After the war, Draco was ousted from the wizarding world. With a little bit of luck and the help of some good friends, Draco becomes a successful veterinarian in the Muggle world. His life was slowly starting to come together again―that is―until Harry Potter shows up at his clinic with a sick cat.
Author's Notes: Hello everyone! This story was written for the HD Career fest on livejournal. For this fest, you need to put Draco and Harry in unusual careers, The prompt I claimed was Draco as a veterinarian and Harry as a photographer. This story is complete and I will be updating frequently. I hope you enjoy this unusual story and my attempt at weaving it together with canon. A special thanks to Ashiiblack for her awesome beta skills.
Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the first chapter. Your comments made me so happy that I uploaded the next part early! This part is less angsty and more humorous than the first one.
Enjoy.
Five years earlier...
~8~8~8~
"Draco Lucius Abraxas Malfoy...get your scrawny bottom in here right away."
Uh-oh. Draco knew that voice; he hated when his mother used that voice. It always meant he was in trouble, deep, deep trouble, especially when she used his full name too. There was no sense in hiding from his mother though. She had already seen him walking down the corridor. Instead, he tugged on the sleeves of his shirt and walked into the sitting room.
"Yes, Mother, dear?" Draco said in his sweetest voice. He batted his eyelashes at his mother, who was sitting on a white settee, reading over a letter. He greeted her with a kiss on each cheek. His mother pursed her lips into a sour expression and motioned for him to sit beside her. Reluctantly, he did. A spread of afternoon tea with his mother's favourite rose macarons was laid out on the coffee table in front of them. It was untouched and Draco decided it was best to leave it that way, until he found out what Mother wanted.
"You're looking lovely today, Mother dear?" he added, hoping to thaw her unpleasant mood.
"Don't you dare, 'Mother dear' me, Draco Malfoy. Do you know what this is?" She waved the sheet of parchment that she had been reading in Draco's face, which was pale yellow and bore the Ministry's seal.
Draco gulped. He was pretty sure he knew what was written in that letter, but he wasn't going to betray anything in case he was mistaken.
"No, Mother." Draco tried to keep his voice as even as possible. "What is it?" His mother always knew when he was lying; he had to try to remain composed.
His mother's pretty face contorted into hard lines; her usually serene blue eyes darkened. Waves of anger and strong magic filled the room. And Draco knew that he was fucked. Royally fucked. His mother never lost her cool. For her to be this furious, could only mean one thing. She had found out the truth. May Salazar have mercy on him.
"This very upsetting letter," his mother hissed, continuing to wave the letter at him with added ferocity as if it were a weapon rather than a sheet of parchment, "arrived from your probation officer."
Bloody fucking hell. It was worse than he thought. She already knew everything. He needed to think of some sort of excuse or explanation. And quickly.
"Do you have any idea what he said?"
Draco shook his head and avoided his mother's accusatory gaze.
"How's work, Draco? Are you still getting along with your boss? Selling lots of cakes?"
"Erm...sort of."
"What's that supposed to mean?" His mother's scowl deepened. He could see the long vein in her forehead throbbing, all purple and menacing. Not a good sign. "It's a simple question, Draco. Yes or no?"
Draco blinked, stupidly, and he felt that familiar pinch in his chest. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He had no choice but to come clean. "I was at first," he explained, "Mr Frothenburg was really happy with my cake decorating skills—but then...I-might've-been-fired."
"What was that?" his mother asked, her face still stern and voice cold. "Look at me when I speak to you, Draco."
He took a shallow breath and picked up his head, locking eyes with his mother. He hid his hands behind his back and laced his fingers together, hoping his mother wouldn't notice how much they were shaking.
"I was fired." Draco paused and waited for his mother's reaction. He expected it to be apoplectic and was considering getting up and using the settee as a shield. Perhaps he should call one of the house-elves for backup. As long as he kept her talking, everything would be okay.
His mother's face went blank and she fell silent. Again, not a good sign—but Draco had been preparing for worse. "It wasn't my fault," he insisted. "This whale of a lady came in with her pudgy daughter and wanted to order a cake for her daughter's upcoming sixteenth birthday. I swear I was doing the woman a favour. Children are cruel. I was one of them, so I might've given her just..." He covered his mouth with his hand.
"Just what, Dra-co?"
Draco gulped again and breathed into his sweaty hand, which was still covering his mouth. His heart was hammering against his chest so loudly that he was certain that his mother could hear it.
"Just what?" his mother repeated. Mother never liked to repeat herself. Bad things would happen if she had to do it again.
"Some advice. That's all," he squeaked, sounding more like a five-year-old boy than a grown man.
His mother bit down on her bottom lip, smearing her usually perfect lipstick, and glared at him.
"It was just a misunderstanding. I swear!"
He wasn't lying. Not really. He was just withholding information. That wasn't the same thing. Not at all. He would not go down for that horrid obese lady who he would never see again. Mother was fucking scary when angry, especially when she continued to stare at him violently like she was doing now, as if she were trying to curse him with her mind.
After a long pause and Draco sweating so much that his hair gel was melting, his mother finally spoke.
"What advice did you give her?" She spoke slowly, too slowly, enunciating every word like it was a threat rather than a simple question.
"Erm...well. Nothing special really. Who can remember that far in the past?" His chest was tightening rapidly, oxygen being squeezed from his lungs; if he didn't try to relax himself, a panic attack would overcome him soon. For once, an attack was not unwelcome. Perhaps it would get him a more lenient punishment.
"Draco Malfoy, do not pretend to have a panic attack. Even if you pass out on the floor right this minute...Mipsy will bring you some Calming Draught and I will Enervate you if I have to. Now answer my question." She narrowed her eyes further and placed both hands on her waist. "No. More. Lies."
Draco closed his eyes and took two shaky breaths. Relax. Relax. "I might have offered just the teeniest bit of advice, telling the mother that her daughter didn't need any more cake or they would have to get her School Robes specially ordered next year." Draco exhaled sharply. It felt good to get that off his chest even if it was going to get him into trouble.
"Is that it?"
He looked down at the ground again. Damn it. He thought that he was done with this interrogation. That woman was brutal. No wonder she could handle Father.
"And then I suggested that carrot sticks and celery might be a more suitable birthday treat." He sighed. At this point, he might as well go for the kill. "And then... I might have suggested a membership to the new health club that just opened in Hogsmeade."
Mother let out a high-pitched chuckle at his confession, which was more like a cackle, but he joined in anyway.
His mother continued to laugh, her chest shaking with mirth, but her eyes were still flashing dangerously. "Alright," she said, after composing herself, "this is what you're going to do."
Any hint of a smile had vanished almost as quickly as it appeared, and her face was once again an impenetrable mask.
"You are going to fix your hair, put on a respectable outfit, and then you are not going to return to this house until you have a job. Any job. You will not step foot into this house again or any other of our properties until you have done this. If you do not have an acceptable job by tomorrow, then I will cut you off from all our accounts. If that isn't enough, then I will draw up papers to disinherit you."
"But Mother..."
"Do not interrupt me."
Sparks of electric current shot from his mother's fingertips and shocked Draco's shoulders and neck, causing his hair to stand on end. He took two steps back from his mother and nodded at her in apology.
"You will do as I say, Draco. I did not survive a war, a house full of power hungry lunatics, and risk my life...for my only son to be carted off to Azkaban because he cannot meet the terms of his probation." She flicked her bony wrist at him and ushered him out of the room.
"That is all," she said. "Do not disappoint me."
~8~8~8~
Draco was wandering aimlessly down the crowded street. Every once in awhile, he stopped and pressed his hands against the shop windows that held pretty things. He couldn't help it if he was attracted to shiny objects. Unfortunately, the sight of shiny clothing didn't have its usual soothing effect. His mother's ultimatum had shaken him to his very core. He didn't even remember Apparating out of the Manor and all the way to London.
Deep down, he knew that his mother was right. He was better than this, more than capable of holding a job, even bred for success. And he really would, if only he were given a job that wasn't so dreadfully boring. He was tired of being held accountable for his short attention span. It wasn't something that he could control. Even in school, his short attention span had hurt him. The only reason he received decent marks was because his father would have disinherited him otherwise. He only excelled in classes that excited him.
Besides, Academia was not for him. Neither was a librarian, office assistant, baker, bartender, shopkeeper, or even personal shopper—even though Draco had been so certain that he would excel at that last one. Le sigh—he was having a bad day. Again. Lately, these were becoming more and more commonplace, and the only thing that made him feel better was retail therapy. Not just any retail therapy either—shopping on Oxford Street. Yes, that Oxford Street, which was probably how he ended up there without realising it.
During the war, Draco learnt many things, primarily that the Dark Lord was barking mad and that his father must have been even madder for following him in the first place. The most important thing he learnt, however, was that Muggles were not half bad. Actually, Muggles had redeemed themselves in Draco's eyes. Completely. Once he discovered his newfound love of Muggle clothing, haute couture, of course—and that like in the wizarding world, money talks a lot—all had been forgiven. He adored this facet of Muggle culture, especially since he no longer had to deal with the judgemental sneers and jibes that were thrown at former Death Eaters in the wizarding world.
Seriously, one little mistake and it was as if Draco were a pariah. It really wasn't fair. But what could he do? For now, he just avoided Diagon Alley unless he was dangling off the arm of Harry Potter. For safety purposes. Only. Not because he liked it. Absolutely not. And definitely not because they were a couple of any sort.
Shopping on Oxford Street was quickly becoming one of Draco's favourite past times. At first, the cars and flashing lights had terrified him. The first time he saw them, he might have possibly hidden in one of those hideous red phoneboxes for over an hour until Potter coaxed him out with promises of chocolates and champagne—but once he realized the cars weren't going to suck out his soul, everything was fine. Potter had been right. There was nothing scary about Oxford Street. The selection of shops was divine and the shop attendants always fawned over him. He loved going where his money was actually appreciated. As it should be. Hopefully, a little shopping could help him figure out this job dilemma.
To be continued...
A/N: Thank you so much for reading and I'd love to hear your thoughts, questions, comments, etc. I always try to respond. How did you like Narcissa? Don't worry, even though I updated this part early, I still plan on doing the scheduled update tomorrow. That was just a little prize for all the awesome reviewers.
Also, I cannot take credit for Draco's Le sigh. That phrase is trademark Ashiiblack, so thanks again to her for being nice enough to let me borrow it.
~Icicle
Review Responses (for guests/unregistered users)
Guest: Thank you so much for reading and commenting! Don't worry even though the first part was really angsty, hopefully this second part cheers you up with its humour. Even though I want to, I cannot address all your concerns, but just trust me that all will work out in the end. Yes, there will be some angst, but at the end there will be so much fluff that you'll be happy. The one comfort I will give you is that I never said Draco and Antonio were happy when they were a couple. Remember, in the beginning of the chapter, he complains about his abysmal lack of love life. Antonio might be an all around great guy, but that doesn't mean he made Draco happy. I hope that helps a little. = D
