|[||music|||||Little Red Corvette-Prince||]|
Title: Revenge Is A Drink Best Served
Disclaimer: Still don't own Harry Potter. I'm working on it though. What with two hostile take-overs pending. By the time I'm done we shall have manditory slashy sex scenes every chapter. Just kidding. Warner Bro., assorted suits, and J.K. Rowling are a little out of my league.
Summary: Draco's revenge upon Harry for the dinner party.
Chapters: 1/1, companion piece to "Dealing Under The Table"
Genre: Post-war fic
Read "Dealing Under the Table" Here
Draco eyed the papers spread across his desk. They were tired documents—even if all of them bordered on the vaguely insane. He glanced at one note that had just arrived via owl and sighed. Another one of Pansy’s sons was facing criminal charges, and Pansy, yet again, wanted his expert legal advice.
He flung the piece of parchment onto his desk and leaned back into his chair. There were many things he’d rather be doing right now: eating dinner out with Harry, reading the latest E. T. Ascomb magical mystery novel, ironing his shirts, cleaning grout out of the shower tiles. However, Harry was at a late meeting with the PM, Draco had misplaced the damn novel yesterday, and he still had to read seven stone of depositions.
He pushed a hand through his famous blond hair and tried to think of ways to procrastinate that didn't require leavint the office. Nothing was forthcoming. He was just staring a hole into the first page of a deposition when a face popped up into his fire place.
“Merlin’s balls, Granger! Do you have to do that?” Draco started and took a sip of the cold tea sitting on his desk.
“Sorry, Princess Draco,” the head of St. Mungo’s replied gaily. “I just thought you should know that you and Harry got Playwitch’s ‘couple of the year’ award.”
Draco set the cup down with a loud thunk, an expression of extreme displeasure engraved upon his face. “What?”
Hermione dropped a glossy magazine on to the hearth in front of her. Draco blew out a frustrated gust of air and accioed it into his hand.
“Page 93,” Hermione said helpfully, a very large grin at the other man’s annoyance stretching her face.
Draco flipped to the page in question and groaned at the spread before him. A picture of Harry and himself standing back to back stared up at him. Photo Draco’s right eyebrow was nearly at his hairline, mouth twisted into a grimace, but his left hand was clasped tightly in Harry’s right. Harry had that mysterious smile which had gotten him the award of sexiest politician from that muggle magazine “British Vogue” last year. Draco gritted his teeth. It seemed they would never be out of the public eye.
“Well, now that you’ve seen it, I’ll be off.” Hermione said awkwardly. Her former nemesis and chief-thrower of insults just waved a disinterested goodbye at her and continued to stare at the photo, deep in thought. The spread had reminded him that he still owed Harry for the little stunt that he had pulled last week at Madame Ekatarina’s dinner party.
Draco rolled his eyes and threw the magazine into the fire. It exploded in a gush of purple and gold colored flame, voices from the various portraits screaming as they were incinerated. Draco made an irritated noise and left the room. He had plotting to do. Harry was not going to get away with his naughty little trick.
Draco’s plan was sheer brilliance, or, at least, that was what he himself thought.
Harry was probably the most magic-sensitive person he had come across. However, the politician had an incredible weakness when it came to potions. It still mystified Draco that Harry had managed to pass that class, even with the help of Snape’s old text-book. He had been banned from the kitchen after their second year together.
When he got to 10 Downing Street, Draco was thankful for perhaps the first time in his life that Harry had opted to be in muggle government. If Draco had started walking around the Ministry of Magic no doubt he would have been earmarked at once and a thousand paper planes would have gone flying to Harry to alert him of his partner’s arrival.
Muggles didn’t do things like that. Granted the receptionist at the PM’s often cooed and giggled when he showed up to see Harry but at least he wasn’t announced with a giant fanfare of flying objects.
Katie, the receptionist, did her usual giggling routine as he stepped in through the doors (he might have hit her too hard with Imperius that one time), and then made out a visitors’ badge for him. If he used magic to get in again, Harry would be in a towering rage and ban him altogether. Being persona non grata in Muggle Parliament? Too embarrassing.
Waving carelessly to the annoying chit, Draco moved off through the long corridors, nodding at the people who saw him whenever Harry was speaking with the PM and the imperious young Malfoy thought it a good idea to stop by. Granted the entire muggle world knew about Draco Malfoy, because he was life partners with Harry Potter, England’s next rising star in the political arena. Gay politicians didn’t exactly languish in the backwaters, especially with the young liberal crowd currently yowling about revolutionizing the government.
Draco didn’t enjoy the fact that the public thought he lazed about on his arse all day with his piles of money instead of working. Malfoys were never ashamed to work, and they were never so gauche that they had nothing to do. However he could hardly come out and say he was a lawyer when he hadn’t passed the Muggle bar.
Draco snuck into the room where tea was prepared, thankful that nobody was in the little kitchenette with him. He quickly had a steaming cup of oolong, Harry’s favorite, prepared. Looking about himself suspiciously he poured a lesser known potion into the tea, adding a spell to make the taste undetectable. It was a genius piece of work, and it had only taken a few minutes to accomplish.
As an afterthought, he pulled out a sappy note he’d decided to write at the last minute. Reading it over he had to force himself not to gag. He never did things like this, but he was sure the muggles would think it was darling.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Malfoy,” one of the interns said as she stepped into the room to prepare her own cup of tea.
Draco was sure he’d never met her before. “Hello, could you do me a favor?”
“Sure, Mr. Malfoy,” she replied, a slight blush staining her cheeks.
“Be a love and give this to Harry, will you?” He handed her the steaming cup of tea plus potion with the note sitting nicely on the saucer.
“Oh, you’re so sweet, Mr. Malfoy. Of course I will.” She took the glass and smiled up at the dashing dreamy man who MP Potter had been lucky enough to snag. She hurried out of the room, cup held close to her so that she wouldn’t spill.
Draco chuckled evilly at the sight and leaned back against the counter behind him. Now all he had to do was wait.
The new intern, Melissa or Melina something, handed him a cup of tea over his shoulder as he sat around the large oval table, the PM at its head. He looked at the cup in wonder, but still remembered his facilities enough to thank her. She giggled and blushed before scampering off through the door leaving Harry to blink after her. Harry knew just by looking at it that it was his favorite flavor of tea, so without thinking he tossed back a large swallow and then set the cup down so that he could take down a few notes.
As the meeting continued he took several more drinks from the cup. He didn’t have enough time to wonder where it came from, and there were no wizards who’d bother to poison him here.
During a lull in the conversation his aide pointed out the note, “Potter, what’s that?”
“What’s what?” Harry said, single-mindedly going over census sheets.
The aide plucked the note off the cup. “This,” he whispered back and waved the piece of parchment in Harry’s face. Harry looked at it blankly for a minute before taking it. He could see the spidery thin handwriting through the paper and was almost certain it was Draco’s own.
Just thought I should send you a little comfort during your long meeting.
Love you and see you at home,
No. Wizards. Who'd Bother. To Poison Him. Here.
He dropped the note and picked up the fine bone white china that his beloved tea had come in and tilted it in the light. Sure enough there was the faint iridescent residue of a potion.
“That bastard!” Harry muttered under his breath, setting the teacup down with an audible clunk.
“What?” Harry’s aide asked him, thinking the curse was directed at him.
Harry over at him. “No, not you, Jerry.”
“Well, what then?”
Harry shook his head and checked his watch. Thirty minutes from his first sip or thereabouts. Whatever Draco slipped him was going to start working soon. Harry could only hope he wasn’t going to break into boils. That punishment wouldn’t exactly fit the crime of giving Draco an orgasm last week.
“Potter, what do you have to say?” The Minister of Education interrupted his thought process.
“Ah, right, of course.” Harry stood up, and moved to the head of the table. Jerry hooked up the slide projector to a laptop. After a few minutes of fiddling around, various graphs were displayed on the screen. “So according to these figures—” Harry broke off.
His mind went completely blank. He could hear the faint strains of Happy Birthday echoing in his ears.
Harry blinked a few times as the vision passed and breathed out. “Sorry, so according to these figures . . .”
Harry was halfway through explaining the trends in a data-set when his mind whited out again, happy birthday playing louder.
“Potter, are you all right?”
Harry rubbed his forehead. “Yes, yes, quite all right. Sorry, long day.”
Harry continued to stumble through the presentation while he continually blanked out on what he was talking about and was marauded with the ABCs, bah bah black sheep, and Rock-a-by Baby. Finally he realized it was time to call it quits.
“Look, I’m sorry, I can’t do this,” Harry said, letting out a big breath. “I’ve got a splitting headache. My aide, Jerry, is more than capable of doing this with out me.”
“Well, by all means Mr. Potter,” the PM said, eyebrow arched. Harry winced. This might be the last time they trusted him to do anything else.
“Right, I’m sorry,” Harry said after a moment, “I’ll take my leave of you now.”
Without really knowing what was going on the other ministers watched as Harry strode out of the room at a strong clip.
Harry stepped outside of 10 Downing Street and apparated to his office. Another vision quickly overtook him as he appeared in the foyer--the bloody Barney song roaring through his ears.
Harry leaned back against the wall and groaned. His staff members blinked at him. "Sir, shouldn't you be with the PM?"
Harry cast a dark look on the door to his office. "That's all over now." He stomped past them and slammed the door behind him.
“Having fun, love?” Draco asked, his arms propped behind his head.
Harry was just about to reply when another one hit him. Baby Beluga. BABY BELUGA.
“Enjoying your serenade?” Draco questioned when Harry came back to himself. He was clearly quite amused by Harry’s state.
“I should string you up from the ceiling,” Harry growled at Draco, hands on his hips.
Draco made a noise. “Turn about is fair play.”
“I did not give you a hand-job while you were cross-examining a witness!”
“Touché!” Draco pushed up out of the chair and slid into Harry's space. “I take back what I said. I’m a Malfoy, I don’t believe in fair.”
Harry snorted when Draco pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. "Knew I should've taken Oliver Weasley up on his offer."
Draco stepped back. "I know you are baiting me, which is why I refuse to let it work, but I swear, if you say that name to me again, I will tie you to our bed, and leave you there by yourself for weeks."
“I love this suit on you,” Harry said, changing tacks. Draco laughed and kissed him again. “Now that you’ve nearly ruined my career,” Harry added.
"How about I blow you when we get home?"
Harry leaned back on his desk. "Donate some money to Doctors Without Borders and we'll call it even."
"Can I do it anonymously?" Draco rather misliked the idea of appearing the bored philanthropist.
"Nope." Harry shook his head. "Doctors without borders or you're sleeping on the couch." He smiled and started gathering his stuff together.
"How you managed to kick me out of my own bed in my own house, I will never know." But Draco was already making out the check.