August 17, 2010
399 words, according to OpenOffice word count.
Warning for naughty language. :P


Anger boiled in his blood, coursing through his veins faster than a potion, faster than anything he'd ever felt or experienced before. It took all of his will power to keep the broom in his hand from smashing against Livingston's face, wand be damned.

"Well, Malfoy? We don't pay you to just stand there, now do we?" Livingston said, his lips turned up in such amusement, you would think he and Draco were old friends. He slapped his mate's shoulder next to him and guffawed. "It's hilarious to think it—ha, ha, ha—a Malfoy is going to clean up after me, but it's really the only place for them, isn't it?"

Draco had too much dignity to take this shite. He was a Malfoy. For Merlin's fucking sake.

"I'm not cleaning that up," he said, his grip on the broomstick so tight, the wood would have suffocated if it had had the life to.

"No?" Livingston had this annoying way of talking in questions that Draco had loathed since he had begun working at the Floo Network Authority a few months ago. Livingston had found it so amusing that a Malfoy worked for Magical Maintenance and had taken advantage of Draco's inferior position as often as he could.

"No?" he said again. "I've spilled my milk, Malfoy, and I put in a work order to have it mopped up, didn't I? So you'll clean it up, because that's your job and that's all you are good for, won't you?"

"You fucking poured that out right in front of me, and I'm not cleaning it up," Draco said.

Livingston stood up from his desk, his face crumpled into an ugly expression of anger, but Draco didn't back down.

"Your daddy isn't here to pay me off. If you don't show me some respect and do as I say—"

"You'll what? I'm not going to clean up your damn milk, nor anyone else's. I fucking quit!"

Draco threw the broom on the ground, a surge of magic forming spiderweb-like cracks in the floor.

What he had wanted to do was smash Livingston's head in, but he was still trying to rebuild his family's image and figured such an action would be frowned upon. Instead, he marched to the lift, exited at the Atrium, Floo'd home, and then crawled into his bed and slept.