October 12, 2017
Author's Notes: I think this is my favorite chapter in this story. *cackles* Reviews appreciated!

Malfoy's Patented Daydream Scheme

Chapter Four: Customer Service

For the next few days, Draco took his dinners at the Hog's Head, all the while telling himself that he was not hoping to run into Weasley again.

His last encounter with her must have been a fluke or his imagination. He'd been on edge because he'd spent that entire afternoon thinking of her, so maybe it wasn't a coincidence that she'd been there at the pub, almost as if waiting for him. He had started to believe some magical residue from the charms had created an hallucination of her in the real world, bringing a daydream to life.

If he had convinced himself that the encounter hadn't happened at all, why, then, did he find himself stepping inside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes one sunny afternoon at the conclusion of his lessons?

The shop was surprisingly busy for a weekday, but there seemed to be just as many pre-Hogwarts children tugging exasperated parents around the shop as there were unaccompanied adults. Draco would have sneered at the immaturity of full-grown adults frequenting such an asinine shop if he wasn't one of those customers himself. Though he had no intention of purchasing anything this visit, he couldn't deny the hypocrisy of judging someone else's shopping habits when he had bought items from this store himself recently.

That was in the name of research! he told himself.

He scoffed. "Yeah, sure, Draco."

"I'm sorry?"

He spun around, confronted by those excruciating orange robes and the red hair to go with them. In the midst of the blinding mess were brown eyes that produced a flush in Draco's chilled cheeks.

"You," he said, not deigning to explain himself.

"Me," Weasley replied, a grin flitting to her lips and staying there.

Draco didn't say anything further, instead distracted by her mouth and all the things it had said and done inside his fantasies. He gripped his hands into tight fists at the memory of that mouth warm against the corner of his, not quite bestowing a real kiss, but rather an innocent tease of one. It had been so real; how could it not have happened?

Weasley's brow arched, her expression dubious. "Can I help you find something?"

"No, I've come to make a complaint," he heard himself say, though that had not been the reason he'd stepped foot in the shop. In fact, now he couldn't remember exactly what had motivated him to venture inside.

"Were you unhappy with a purchase?"

This she said with a disbelieving roll of her eyes, as if the thought of Draco patronizing her store should be as absurd to Draco as it was to her.

Draco drew himself up but glanced around him to see if any of the other customers were paying them any mind. Convinced of their privacy in the middle of the sales floor, he continued. "Yes, actually. I purchased a variety package of the Patented Daydream Charms, and every one of them was faulty."

If he'd expected laughter, it didn't come. Weasley's brow furrowed in concern, and she took a step closer to him as if finally taking him seriously. "What was the problem?"

"Well… you see—It's just that—What I mean to say—The charms—"

Weasley leaned in, her voice lowering. "Would you prefer to speak about this privately?"

Draco could only nod because he was struck dumb by how good she smelled. Whatever shampoo or perfume she used was floral and soft, not an assault on the nose, but a pleasant scent that made Draco think about tumbling in a field and pinning Weasley to the ground while wide-eyed sunflowers hovered over them and gawked.

He nodded with more enthusiasm, this time in approval of the ridiculous fantasy that had just crossed his mind. But he couldn't help his body's reactions to such thoughts. It had been such a very long time since Draco had participated in a horizontal tango. Even Neville Longbottom was getting laid by someone.

"All right, then. The shop closes up at seven. Why don't I meet you at Hogwarts afterwards to discuss your problem?"

Without giving Draco a chance to demur, she jumped back into the fray of customers, her customer service smile as bright as her robes. Maybe even brighter.

Draco spent the rest of his afternoon in a state of anticipation. Why, he hadn't the slightest idea. He just knew he hadn't had the concentration to tackle his newest project, and had almost forgotten his old ones bubbling away in the center of his office. Only when one of the cauldrons sent liquid sparks into the air in warning did he jump to attention and attend to his ongoing research. He passed the rest of his hours listlessly marking his students' assignments, with considerably less acerbic commentary than usual, and pacing, which nearly drove him mad because the length of the longest wall in his office spanned only ten strides. Hardly enough distance for him to get his thoughts in order before turning around.

As seven neared, Draco returned to his quarters and checked the tray of edibles the house-elves had provided at his request. Weasley had sent an owl along earlier, and he reread her note to make sure he hadn't misunderstood the circumstances of their meeting:

All right if I Floo directly into your rooms?

He'd replied in the affirmative, his pulse racing at the thought of Ginny Weasley sullying his living space with her presence, hair shining, floral scent invading.

Great. See you at 7.

Too late now. She was set to arrive any minute. There wasn't time to cancel the meeting anyhow.

Promptly at seven, the fireplace flared to life with green flames, and Weasley stepped onto the hearth. She'd exchanged her work uniform for Muggle attire that did wonders for her figure in that it did little to conceal the shape of her. Denim conformed to her thighs and hips, and the shirt she wore was just a little short, meeting the waistband of her trousers but revealing a thin sliver of skin at her stomach when she moved. Draco had never appreciated Muggles and their awful clothing more than he did now.

They stood in silent awkwardness until Weasley finally looked away, scanning the sitting room in curiosity.

"So this is what the teachers' quarters look like."

Draco loathed small talk, so he gestured to the sofa. "Won't you sit?" She did, and Draco sat next to her, avoiding the armchair adjacent. He didn't want to think about the daydreams he'd had while sitting in that particular chair, instead lifting the teapot from the tray the house-elves had left for them.

"Tea?"

"Please."

He was abundantly aware of her staring at him as he served her. The air felt thick around them, and Draco's pulse began to pound slowly but insistently in his throat. Her teacup clattered against its saucer as he passed it to her, his hands shaking as he recognized this feeling, this atmosphere, as similar from the daydreams. Her eyes only lowered when she took a sip, and Draco sighed heavily, as if her gaze had belayed his breath.

She set her tea down and flipped open a notebook sitting in her lap, lifting a self-inking quill she'd tucked inside.

"So what happened with the daydream charms?"

Draco nearly choked on the biscuit he'd just stuffed in his mouth and quickly swallowed more tea to wash it all down and prevent him from embarrassing himself by choking to death. He cleared his throat and wished he'd spiked his tea with firewhisky instead of milk.

But he would not be cowed by her, would not embarrass himself by displaying humiliation. He was Draco Malfoy, London's most eligible and previously most hated bachelor. He had no reason to be afraid of a Weasley.

"What happened?" he repeated with a sneer. "What happened is that every single daydream featured you."

She didn't say anything at first, just stared at him, her cheeks staining with color. And when she found her voice, she stuttered, sounding, for the first time since their reacquaintance, unsure of herself. "E-excuse me?"

"There must have been some mistake," Draco continued, bolstered by her bewilderment. "I can't imagine you have a big enough ego to charm yourself into your own product that way, and I can't imagine your brother doing so, knowing that teenaged boys and adults would be fantasizing about his sister."

He'd been pleased with her shock, but it faded before the end of his explanation, the expression evolving into something that made Draco's stomach flip, her eyelids lowering in a hooded gaze that set his blood to boil. Somehow, in the span of seconds, she had regained her equilibrium, and the corners of her mouth twisted upward in slow amusement.

Draco's face heated. Was she laughing at him now? She hadn't thought the idea of him purchasing daydream charms was funny, but her starring in them was? Maybe he'd been wrong about the Weasleys' ethics. Maybe she and her brother weren't above virtually prostituting her image for money.

"The charms worked just as they were supposed to," she said, lips curled in satisfaction.

"Oh?"

"You see…" She leaned toward him again, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "The magic used to make the charms is weak, non-binding. The words in the incantation and the artwork on the packaging are just suggestions. If there's a better fantasy in your head, a stronger one, that's what you will dream about."

Draco thought he understood her, and the blood rushed out of his face as he tried to piece together his comprehension. "So you're saying—"

Weasley placed her hand on Draco's knee, the same knee she'd touched in the first daydream.

"I'm saying I wasn't programmed into the charms. You are the one who put me in them. Your wants, your desires, your ultimate fantasy."

He stared at her hand, at the neatly trimmed fingernails painted an appalling magenta color, at the contrast between her skin and her nail polish against the material of his forest green robes.

"Oh," he said because he couldn't think of anything better to say. No snide remarks, no explanations. He had none. He had been faced with a truth he'd been denying for days, perhaps for even longer than he could fathom, and he couldn't lie or sneer or insult himself out of it because Weasley now knew the truth, too.

She took the cup and saucer out of his hands, discarding them onto the coffee table, and then she did something that made Draco's brain short-circuit. Without utilizing his Occlumency, his mind cleared of all thoughts, going as blank and empty as he imagined the Weasley family's bank vault in Gringotts.

No longer did she occupy the space on the sofa next to him. Now she was straddling Draco, and all of his blood ran south at her sudden proximity.

"What are you doing?" he asked, the words coming out choked as he forgot for a moment how to breathe.

"What's it look like?" Weasley replied, her eyes crinkling in amusement. "I'm making your fantasy come true."

Her mouth covered his, and Draco was glad that he'd forgotten how to think because he probably would have ruined this with his customary insults. Instead, he sat back, pulling Weasley closer to him, reveling in the feel of her fingers in his hair, the weight of her in his lap, the warmth of her, which so reminded him of his favorite cheap alcohol.

Good thing he wasn't capable of thinking at the moment because he might have called her a cheap drink out loud, and then he wouldn't have had the opportunity to learn the feel of her tongue against his, her breasts against his chest, their pounding hearts beating as one.

She overwhelmed him to the point that he didn't even notice when she began unbuttoning his robes. One moment her hands were clenched in his hair, the next they were caressing the expanse of skin she had bared. A shudder wracked his body as she brushed his nipples in her explorations.

A vital part of him awakened under her ministrations, and he rolled his hips against her core, a groan slipping out of his throat as she pressed a line of kisses along his jaw.

Her whole body froze, and she pulled away just enough to look him in the eye, searching his face for some unknown answer. Their breaths came out in little puffs between them. Draco had a difficult time controlling his reaction to her; he trembled from head to toe, inundated with sensations that he couldn't process. Weasley, on the other hand, seemed surprised for some reason but otherwise composed.

Draco had to close his eyes as she smoothed his hair back away from his face and then slid her fingers down his cheek before climbing to her feet. Her absence submerged Draco in cold air and reason. He hadn't comprehended what had happened until she'd distanced herself from him, and even then, bewilderingly, all he wanted to do was draw her back to him, cling to her, pin her to the sofa, and never let her leave.

That thought alone forced Draco to stiffen his muscles until his shivers ceased.

Weasley smiled at him, but there was something strained about it. "I should go. I'm sure you're busy with your work, and I still have to attend to some of mine."

"Of course," he replied. He stood up and adjusted his robes to hide his physical reaction to their snog session. "Thank you for taking the time to check on that issue for me."

"Anytime."

They were both startled to realize that she meant it. He saw the truth of it in her wide eyes, the way she licked her lips, how her gaze flitted down to his mouth and back up again. Yes, it was good customer service to address any issues a customer might have with her products, but if that customer service involved snogging Draco again, she was willing. And so was he.

She left in a flash of green flames. Left Draco bereft, half-hard, and concerned.

"Damn," he said to his empty room. He was attracted to a Weasley.