Written for round Twelve of the Quidditch League

Team: Pride of Portree

Chaser 1: write about Ron and Draco in an employer / employee relationship

Prompts: 7: (dialogue) I've forgotten what it's like to feel young, 12 (Phrase) a man is known by the company he keeps, 13: (object) blouse

Word count before author's note: 2993

With thanks to Oni, Sarah and Tee for all your Beta efforts - you guys are amazing!

A/N I've tried to stick to the Epilogue and Cursed Child canon as much as possible. Astoria still suffers from the blood curse which eventually kills her.

In Search of Gainful Employment

'You have been offered a three month period of probation at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, 93 Diagon Alley.'

Draco crumpled the sheet of parchment into a ball and tossed it in the fireplace.

"What utter rubbish. I wouldn't take that job if it was the last one on earth."

"It might as well be." Astoria removed the letter from the cold grate and smoothed it out again. "You're not going to be able to do anything else until you've served at least twelve months in a Ministry-approved post, you don't just need to complete the probation period — you need to make them like you enough to offer you a year long contract. It's this or indefinite house arrest."

"Fine, I'll stay under house arrest. The last five years haven't been so bad." Draco folded his arms across his chest and pouted.

"You've been miserable." She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. "And I've been miserable too. I want us to be together in the real world, Draco."

She placed her other hand on her belly. "I don't want to be standing all alone on Platform Nine and Three- Quarters in eleven years' time."

Two weeks later Draco was thoroughly regretting having capitulated so easily.

"What is this?" He poked at his uniform with the tip of his wand. "It looks like a blouse."

"It's not a blouse." Astoria shook out the offending item. "It's a floral shirt, some sort of Muggle synthetic I think." She examined the label.

Draco snatched it from her hands and flung it to the floor. "I'm not wearing a Muggle shirt."

"It's not a Muggle shirt, urgh!—" Astoria threw up her hands in frustration and levitated one of Draco's silk dress shirts from the wardrobe. She painstakingly transfigured it into a perfect facsimile of the rejected uniform.

"That's perfect, thank you." Draco felt a little embarrassed at having thrown such a tantrum.

"No problem." Astoria reached up to tie his necktie. "It's okay to be nervous you know. You've barely been outside for five years; this must all seem a bit daunting."

"I'm not nervous," Draco scoffed.

He couldn't let Astoria see how terrified he truly was. She had stood by him through so much already spending five years confined almost entirely to his family home. She had accepted that they had never been on holiday together or even a date without a word of complaint.

He had to do this, had to regain his freedom; for her.

"Of course you're not." She patted his chest, completely unaware of his inner conflict. "You know, if you give this job a chance you might actually like it, it could be fun playing around with jokes and tricks all day." She plucked ruefully at the patch of grey hairs over his left temple. "It might do you some good to feel young."

"I've forgotten what it's like to feel young," Draco groused as he quickly placed a glamour over his premature greys.

Ron watched Draco's progress along Diagon Alley from his vantage point in one of the upper windows. He realised he had never really seen Malfoy on his own before. At school, he had always been flanked by Crabbe and Goyle and during the war by hordes of Death Eaters, or at least his parents.

He looked smaller; somehow diminished. Ron almost felt a pang of sympathy for the solitary figure as it made its way toward the shop door. He quickly repressed the feeling, reminding himself that this was Draco Malfoy: spoiled snob and former Death Eater; pity was the last thing he deserved.

He braced himself for the inevitable.

Draco hooked two fingers beneath the tie Astoria had insisted on tightening just a little too much and took several deep breaths before knocking on the door. Within seconds, it was pulled open and the Draco was confronted with the unwelcome glower of one Ronald Weasley.

"Malfoy."

"Weasley."

Neither spoke for a moment as the tension crackled in the air between them.

"I thought this was your brother's shop? Given you a Saturday job, has he?"

Weasley scowled. "Actually, Malfoy, I'm the co-manager, and I happen to be solely in charge for the next six months while my brother's on paternity leave."

He stood back to allow Draco entrance into the building.

"Most of the employees call me Ron, but you can call me Sir."

"I don't think so." Draco felt the colour rise in his cheeks as he prepared to verbally flay Weasley as he'd so often done at school; and then...he didn't.

Like it or not, this man was his boss and the last thing he wanted was to get himself fired on his first day. He thought of Astoria and lowered his chin.

"I look forward to working with you, Wea— Sir."

Weasley looked stunned.

"Er, great, well then...come in and I'll show you around."

Draco trailed after Weasley, trying his hardest not to gaze around in awe. The shop was truly amazing. The value of the stock the shelves carried must have been colossal.

He would not have been a true Malfoy if he were not impressed by wealth, and he would not have been a wizard were he not equally moved by the magical ability evident around him. The skill involved in developing and mass-producing some of the products was incredible. He began to think that perhaps working here wouldn't be so bad.

"Alright, show's over." Weasley handed him an elbow-length pair of rubber gloves. "The staff toilet's blocked; your first job is to sort that out."

Draco stared after his boss' retreating back. There was no denying it, the Weasel King had really just ordered him to unblock a toilet and he really was going to do it.

"For Astoria," he muttered under his breath.

For the next week Ron watched Malfoy like a hawk. He had promised Hermione to give the ferret a chance, no more than that. If the little blond ponce put so much as a toe out of line Ron would have him out of the shop faster than you could say U-No-Poo.

Much to his disappointment, Malfoy seemed equally desperate to keep his job. He had unblocked the toilet without complaint every day. As a result, stocks of Toilet Tarantulae (guaranteed to create a blockage even your granny can't shift) were perilously low and Ron had to pay the suppliers overtime. He was going to have to step things up a gear if he wanted to force his childhood nemesis out.

At the beginning of his second week, he pulled Malfoy into the stockroom.

"Right, Malfoy, you've done a good job unblocking the toilet and making me cups of tea but it's time we put you to work doing something a little more useful."

A spark of interest lit in Malfoy's grey eyes and again, Ron almost felt a pang of pity. He squashed it down before it had time to take hold.

"These are Metamorphmagus Mallows." He held a box of pink and white sweets out, Malfoy took them with some reluctance "They temporarily transform you into your Animagus form. I need you to test one from each batch."

He gestured to an enormous pile of boxes.

"Give me a shout if you have any problems." He strolled away with an air of forced nonchalance which he quickly dropped as he sprinted to his hidden peephole just in time to witness Malfoy's first ignominious transformation.

In the end, Ron didn't manage to achieve much that day. It was too amusing watching Malfoy run around chasing beetles and occasionally urinating on the stock — Ron would get him to clean that mess up later. After Draco transformed back to his human form, he would spend a few minutes rocking on the floor before doggedly getting to his feet, taking down the next box of Mallows and beginning the process all over again.

Ron was still glued to the peephole when Hermione walked in carrying a clipboard and a brown paper bag.

"You forgot your lunch."

"Thanks." Ron smiled and stashed the bag away, not wanting to admit that he'd forgotten on purpose so he could enjoy fish and chips at the Leaky Cauldron rather than Hermione's sub-par sandwich-making efforts.

"No problem." She looked around. "Where's Malfoy?"

Probably rocking in a corner somewhere. "In the stockroom, why do you ask?"

She patted her clipboard fondly. "I'm here on Ministry business; to do his initial check up. I'll start with you since he's not around. Has he exhibited any subversive behaviour?"

"No."

"Has he been punctual?"

"Yes."

"Has he willingly carried out his allotted tasks?"

Ron opened his mouth, wanting to say something damning and shut it again with a snap.

"He's been a model employee."

"Excellent, well if you don't mind I'll just go and ask him a few questions." She waddled off in the direction of the stock room, wincing a little with each step. Ron couldn't help but grit his teeth in sympathy, she had been suffering from back pain for weeks now and the healers didn't seem able to do anything about it.

He morosely ate his sandwich whilst waiting for his wife to emerge and all hell to break loose over his mistreatment of Malfoy. He was surprised when the two appeared together. Hermione was actually laughing.

"Thanks, Malfoy." She touched his arm gently. "I'll see you at your six-week check."

She pecked Ron on the cheek and bustled out of the store her clipboard firmly fixed under one arm.

"What did you say to her?" Ron fought the urge to pin Malfoy against the wall by his lapels.

His employee gave a nonchalant shrug. "Why nothing but the truth, Sir. I told her that I had been given free rein to work on domestic spells and I was now a valued member of the product testing team. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment with a box of Metamorphmagus Mallows." He strolled back toward the stockroom as if he didn't expect to be turned into a ferret at least four more times that day.

At the end of the month, Draco was surprised when Ron handed him a brown envelope. "What's this?" He shook it suspiciously.

"It's your payslip. The money goes directly into your Gringott's account but this lets you know how much you've earned. "

Draco ignored his employer's patronising look and tore open the envelope. He'd never earned wages before; it was a good feeling. He frowned as he began to add up the columns in front of him.

"Hold on a minute—" He looked up at Weasley "—my pay's been docked almost every day."

"That's because you're almost always late."

"But I stay behind at the end of the day; I was here until seven yesterday."

"Overtime is only paid when authorised by the manager." Weasley stuck his chest out in a belligerent manner. He was just waiting, Draco realised, waiting for an excuse to sack him. Well, he wouldn't give him one. He placed the wage slip back in its envelope.

"I'll try to be more punctual in future, Sir."

The final week of August was the busiest of the year as Hogwarts students and their parents mobbed the Alley. Even Draco had been allowed out of the back room to help with the crush of willing customers. He had proved himself to be an able salesman. Far from sneering at the products, he seemed to delight in demonstrating them and Ron had noticed quite an increase in revenue from the previous year. Ron watched, flabbergasted, as for the third time that day Draco willingly consumed a Canary Cream. He shook off his feathers grinning unreservedly at the crowd of students who surrounded him and proudly carryied their enormous piles of purchases to the till.

"This is bloody brilliant," he crowed as he rang up sale after sale. "I can't remember when I last had this much fun...actually, I don't think I've ever had this much fun!" As soon as the money had changed hands he threw himself back into the melee, gleefully rubbing Out to Lunch Fake Moustache on his eyebrows until they had doubled in size.

By the end of the day, the whole team was exhausted and Ron planned to lead the triumphant workers to the Leaky Cauldron for a celebratory pint. He noticed Malfoy hang back as the others picked up their belongings.

"You coming, Malfoy?" he asked casually.

The other wizard hesitated before nodding resolutely. "As long as you're buying, Weasley."

He only stayed for one drink and sat quietly in the corner, not really taking part in the conversation. Still, Ron could safely go home that night and tell Hermione he'd been to the pub with Draco Malfoy. Speaking of Hermione; he felt in his pocket for the tiny vial Malfoy had given him.

"Astoria's pregnant too," he said, avoiding Ron's eyes as he spoke. "She gets terrible hip pain. Mother recommended this. It's pretty hard to get hold of, but I can find some more if it's helpful."

He slipped out of the pub before Ron could even decide whether to thank him or not.

Draco was in the stock room sorting through a shipment of Fanged Frisbees, some had been returned after they had bitten the fingers off their owners. Draco's task was to sort out the rogue frisbees from the merely frisky ones. He was so engrossed in his task that he almost didn't notice Weasley enter holding a slip of parchment.

"Letter for you. In future, try to keep the correspondence to outside working hours, right?"

"Sorry," Draco apologised automatically. As he read the note, he felt his stomach drop into his boots.

"I have to go." He stared at Weasley in panic.

"What? Go where? It's only half past three."

"To St Mungo's, it's Astoria. There's — there's something wrong. She's not well." He began to concentrate, preparing to Apparate.

"Calm down." Weasley placed a surprisingly firm hand on his shoulder. " The shop security doesn't allow Apparition and you'll splinch yourself in this state anyway. You can use our Floo connection."

Draco could hardly think as he followed Weasley out of the stockroom. Astoria had been hospitalised by the curse once before; she had hardly pulled through that time and she hadn't even been pregnant. What if—"

"Here we are." Weasley's voice cut through his internal monologue. The ginger wizard took a pinch of Floo Powder and threw it into the fire. "St Mungo's hospital," he said clearly before he pushed Draco into the fire.

Four days later, Ron was opening the shop when Malfoy appeared in the doorway. He was even paler and skinnier looking than usual.

"I suppose I'm sacked," he said.

Ron frowned. "You think I'd sack you for taking a few days off when your wife was ill? What sort of a bastard do you think I am?"

Malfoy didn't answer but gave a relieved half smile and headed in the direction of the stockroom.

"Malfoy wait!"

He looked wearily over his shoulder.

"It's going to be quiet today, so why don't you get some practice in on the till? Terry can do product testing."

Malfoy stopped in his tracks. "Thanks," he said after a long silence.

A few weeks later Ron opened an official looking letter from the Ministry. It informed him that his employee, Draco Malfoy, had reached the end of his probationary period. Either he or Ron was now free to terminate their contract of employment without fear of persecution (provided Malfoy was immediately employed in another Ministry approved post).

Ron called Malfoy into his office.

"So, your probation period is up," he said bluntly. "If you want to go and work somewhere else you are free to do so."

Malfoy gave Ron his most arrogant stare, although the effect was slightly ruined by the dried vomit which stained his shirt; he had accidentally ingested a Puking Pastille whilst putting together a batch of Unlucky Dips.

"I suppose you'd prefer it if I found a job elsewhere." He dabbed ineffectually at the sick.

Ron shrugged. "Well, you know, whatever. You're trained up now, seems a bit of a waste to have to show somebody else the ropes."

"Yeah right." Malfoy looked out the window. "Well it would be equally difficult for me to find my way around a new job, so I suppose, I'll just stick it out here then."

"Yeah, cool."

"Fine." Draco turned on his heel and left the office as fast as humanly possible without breaking into a run.

"You know," Ron said to Hermione, as he cradled their two-month-old daughter in his arms,"Malfoy isn't actually as bad as I thought he would be."

Hermione laughed. "Well, of course, he isn't."

"How can you say that after all the stuff he said to you in school?"

Hermione paused in the act of folding baby clothes to look fondly at her husband.

"Because, in school, Draco was stuck with all the wrong people. His father, spewing pureblood supremacy at every turn. His classmates, all looking up to him and treating him like he was something special. Crabbe and Goyle, willing to do whatever he wanted. No wonder he was a spoiled little toerag."

She reached out to take Rose who had begun to grizzle.

"Now he has a lovely wife, he interacts with customers every day doing something that he's good at, and he has a wonderful boss who gives people a chance even when he doesn't think they deserve it."

She leaned over to kiss his nose. "We're the product of the people around us, Ron, and these days Malfoy's keeping pretty good company, no wonder he's turned out to be a decent human being."

Ron smiled, feeling a surge of pride. "He really has," he agreed. "You know, I might even give him a raise."