WWN Listens
V: "Speakeasy"
931 words

"This is Draco Malfoy," Harry explained, locking the door to his flat. "He's my employer now."

"Is that right," Mrs Binns muttered, sounding vaguely unimpressed. She turned to Malfoy, who was standing nearby with a haggard expression. "Well, get on with it, boy, you aren't stepping foot in my shop."

Malfoy glared at her. "I'm not here for you, Madam," he grouched.

Smiling, Harry pocketed his house keys. "Lucius is celebrating Draco's Mastery in Healing tonight," he went on. "You can tag along if you like, Mrs Binns."

"Healing?" Mrs Binns straightened from watering her carnivorous flowers. "You work at St Mungo's now, Potter?"

She was a quick one, Harry noticed with a mischievous smile. "Not at all, Mrs Binns. And neither does Draco. Seems we'll be having some fun tonight, eh?"

Malfoy cleared his throat. "Well, if you're both done gossiping at my expense," he sneered, straightening his robes, "we've got somewhere to be. Mrs Binns."

Then he dragged Harry down the street, towards the speakeasy.

"What was that?" hissed Draco as he finally let go of Harry's arm. "This isn't a joke, Potter."

"It isn't?" Harry was unconvinced. "Your father thinks you're a Healer. I'd say you're brilliant except for how bloody stupid you are, lying to Lucius Malfoy."

"I know," came the harsh, whispered reply. "I know, believe me."

Ruffled, Draco ran a hand through his hair and resumed walking. "He's conservative in literally everything. Especially his politics. He'd murder me if he ever found out about WWN - if someone," Draco punched Harry in the shoulder, "ever told him. I'm your employer, remember? You did a hell of a job on the Minister, let's not ruin things for anyone else… particularly me."

Harry sighed. "Right. It's just that -" they stepped into a bar and Draco picked up an antiquated telephone on the wall. "He's bound to find out, you know?"

With a glare, Draco growled, "Whisky dropper, two," and replaced the receiver. A door appeared next to the telephone and they stepped into the venue.

Vermout Rosso met them in the parlour of the establishment, extending his hand. Instead of a handshake, Draco gave him his coat. "Who's arrived so far? Anyone I care about?" asked Draco, scanning the room.

"Mr Malfoy, I am Vermout Rosso. Welcome. Your father came early to secure arrangements. Mrs Malfoy is there, by the bar. The Greengrass family, and yes, Mr Zabini are over by…"

"Brilliant." Before Mr Rosso could finish, Draco was already walking towards the bar.

"Charming, isn't he," added Harry, taking off his hat and jacket.

Rosso nodded. "A pleasure, Mr Potter. Do stop by the open bar," he murmured, and passed their jackets to a waiting house elf.

It was a strange establishment, with floating lights that cast a mild glow over an assortment of leather sofas, worn rugs, and high-backed chairs. It was intimate, and looked nothing like the tacky, overpriced venue Harry had pictured in his mind.

There were several Ministry higher-ups, some of which he had only ever seen portraits of, chatting nearby. From a niche he noticed two pairs of eyes - Astoria Greengrass and Blaise Zabini's - watching him like a fly under a microscope. Greengrass raised an eyebrow, and Harry quickly decided he needed a drink.

"Here, Potter," said a familiar voice as a glass was shoved in his hand. Harry stumbled into Draco on his way to the bar, feeling just a bit off-kilter. "What is it? You look as though someone died."

"We shouldn't be so lucky, Draco," Narcissa murmured, coming up behind them. "Though you do look ill, Mr Potter," she added, leaning in. "The powder room is just there, should you need it."

"Thanks," he returned dryly, ignoring Narcissa as she turned around. Harry cleared his throat. "Malfoy, I shouldn't even be here. Clearly I don't belong."

"Clearly," Narcissa echoed.

"It's Father's doing," explained Draco, running a hand through his hair again. It seemed to be a terrible habit reserved for any thought of his father. "He's got a soft spot for you, Merlin knows why. Go entertain him and stop pestering me."

Harry sighed and turned around, a nest of snakes meeting him. Perhaps, Harry quickly decided, it was a good thing they all thought he and Draco were Healers. He swallowed a mouthful of whisky.

A firm hand grabbed him, shaking his shoulder. "And don't do anything stupid," a low voice growled in his ear.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Mother."

Staying out of everyone's way was easier said than done. Lucius eventually ambushed Harry by the toilets, where he had hidden, splayed out on a settee.

"I'm pants at this," Harry started without introduction, gesturing vaguely to the sounds of light conversation and jazz.

"Mr Potter, a pleasure to see you again. I would offer to top you off, but it seems you have been attended to. With some regularity."

Harry looked at his glass, then set it down on the nearest surface. "True enough," he admitted. "Malfoy doesn't trust me to talk, so I've got to keep my mouth occupied somehow."

"Drinking is one choice," Lucius agreed, glancing at Harry's mouth. "Though there are others."

"Right," he replied, confused. "Er, I should be going. Thanks for the invite, but this really isn't my cup of tea."

Lucius gave him a serene smile. "Tea has nothing to do with it, Mr Potter. I see that Draco took care of bringing you here. As your host I would be remiss if I allowed you to leave, especially before you have enjoyed yourself."

A pale hand reached towards him.

"Come."