not your typical annihilatrix (furiosity) wrote,
not your typical annihilatrix

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Fic: Mr Personality [Harry/Draco; NC-17, crackfic]

Title: Mr Personality
Author: furiosity
Genre: Crack
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warning(s): Unabashed and total crack. Also chickens, because I am just that awesome.
Disclaimer: JKR owns. I only play. You do not sue.
Length: 6K words
Summary: Draco goes to Texas. Yay! Also, Harry is slightly insane, because he is just that awesome.
Beta: goneril, accio_draco
Note: Written for the Draco Schlongathon.
Concrit: Always welcome and appreciated.

Mr Personality

"You're joking," said Draco, and promptly knocked his wineglass over. Sighing, he Vanished the resulting puddle and began to pour himself more wine.

Blaise smirked and gave a little shrug. "Afraid not. It's the only one I could find on such short notice. I still don't understand why you can't wait--"

Draco held up a hand. "I will not wait. I want this done as soon as possible."

"Fine, whatever you say. I'll make the appointment, then," said Blaise, looking far too amused for Draco's liking.

"You do that." Draco lifted his glass and tipped it slightly in Blaise's direction. "Texas, here I come."


"I'm not going on a cruise around the world, Pansy. I'll be back tonight."

Pansy stood back and surveyed Draco critically. "You've got to blend in," she said in a disapproving tone. "You're going to have to go through Muggle areas to get there!"

"I go through Muggle areas every day," said Draco, scowling.

"Yes, but that's London. Who knows what the American Muggles are like? Their wizards are certainly odd enough." Pansy waved her wand and Draco felt something appear on his head -- something he was sure looked as ridiculous as the rest of his outfit. He looked up at the mirror and saw that in addition to blue jeans, a crisp white shirt and a pair of the most ridiculous-looking boots he'd ever seen, he was now wearing a bona fide cowboy hat.

"Pansy!" he said and stomped his foot. The heel of the boot reached the floor sooner than he'd been expecting, and Draco was left somewhat disoriented by the experience. He shook his head. "Are you quite sure this is what the Muggles in Texas dress like? They can't be all that fashion-challenged!"

Pansy scowled. "I did research, you know."

Draco rolled his eyes at her, then at his reflection. "Fine. I just want this over with. Tell Blaise I owe him one." He stepped away from the mirror and pocketed his wand, which had been lying on the bed.

"Why are you going there again?" asked Pansy, her tone careful. She picked up a candle from Draco's bedside table and began to inspect it very closely, as though the answer to her question wasn't something she'd been trying to find out for two weeks.

Draco gave her a sceptical look. "Do you really think I'd tell you now? Honestly, Parkinson. I'll be back before dinner."

He just had time to see the disappointed expression on Pansy's face before he Apparated to an abandoned petrol station just outside West Odessa, Texas.

Draco stared around himself for a moment. To his left was the shop; everywhere else he saw nothing but desert, with a few small hills off in the distance to the right. The shop's windows had yellowed newspapers plastered all over them. The sun was shining, and a slight breeze blew red dust low across the ground. Aside from an abnormally large cactus a few feet away, there was no vegetation. How people could live here, Draco didn't know.

He saw the mud-splattered pickup truck parked next to the shop and felt in his pocket for the keys Blaise had given him. He approached the pickup and opened the driver's side door -- well, it would have been driver's side if he'd been in England. Muttering, he shut the door and went around to the other side of the pickup, then got in. He started the engine, which roared to life instantly, startling Draco for a moment -- he was far too used to the low purr of the Ministry sedan he drove (the only job he'd been able to get since the war, driving ministry wonks around).

It took him a few moments to get used to everything being on the wrong side. He wouldn't have to drive far, and he'd given himself plenty of time before his appointment. At this rate, he'd be four hours early. Draco checked his reflection in the rear view mirror and slowly drove onto the motorway, which seemed as abandoned and empty as everything else around. Pansy had worried for nothing.

He drove for about twenty minutes when he suddenly realised that he could no longer feel the rumble of the engine under himself or in his hands on the steering wheel. Oh, great. Wonderful. Blaise couldn't even make sure he got a functioning vehicle; what was next? Draco carefully eased the pickup onto a lay-by. It rolled softly on for a few more feet, then stopped in front of a sign that announced that the turn-off to Draco's destination was fifty miles away. Draco got out of the pickup and cursed. Just what he needed.

He kicked the front wheel a couple of times, paced a bit in front of the pickup, then took out his wand. Whatever was wrong with this thing, he could surely fix by magic. In his mind's eye, Blaise scowled at him. Do not use magic once you get there. He's very particular about this, and he'll be able to detect any magic done within two hundred miles of the place.

Draco sighed, pursing his lips. He looked hopefully at the motorway, willing another car to appear. At this point, he wouldn't mind having to ask Muggles for assistance -- he was stuck in the middle of nowhere and he couldn't use magic. However, Sunday seemed to be considered a lazy day even in America. After twenty minutes of waiting, Draco turned around and kicked the front wheel again, feeling an edge of panic creeping into his chest. He suddenly noticed a building off in the distance -- excellent! He would go and ask the Muggles who lived there for help.

The trek took fifteen minutes, during which Draco determined that he would never willingly give up magic for anything. Really, being in the middle of a desert and not being able to conjure up a glass of water? Preposterous. As he approached the low, squat building he felt something odd tugging at the base of his stomach, like a memory buried deep but not quite lost. He shrugged it off -- this place reminded him of nothing, really -- it was by all appearances a shabby dwelling. A couple of chickens were pecking at the ground outside the large wooden door. Above the door hung a crooked sign that read "The Burrow: Mark Two". Muggles were odd.

Eyebrow raised, Draco gave the door three sharp knocks.

"I told you, we don't want Jesus in our lives," said the door as it swung open. "Now, get off my property before I call the cops -- what the fuck?"

Draco put on his most charming smile and hooked his thumbs into the belt loops on his jeans. He looked up at the Muggle--

Except it wasn't a Muggle. It so wasn't a Muggle that it wasn't even funny, how un-Muggle the person who opened the door was. It was Harry Potter, wearing faded jeans ripped at the knees and an unbuttoned plaid shirt, beneath which hung the legendary locket which had ultimately been the downfall of Lord Voldemort.

They blinked at each other for a few very long moments before Draco found his voice again. "Potter?"

Potter looked like he was trying to make some sort of crucial connection in his mind (never a pretty sight). "Er," he offered.

"I'm not even going to ask what the hell you're doing here. Will you help me fix my truck?"

Potter looked perfectly blank. "Truck?"

"Yes, truck. Motor vehicle, four wheels, gets you from point A to point B. I saw one parked behind this... building, so I'm sure you know what a truck is."

Potter shifted his weight from foot to foot and blinked, then pushed his glasses unnecessarily up the bridge of his nose. "Um. Malfoy?"

"That's my surname, don't wear it out. Well?"

Potter made a small strangled noise, then folded his arms across his chest. "How did you find me?"

Absolutely infuriating little tosser! "I wasn't looking for you, you prat. Believe it or not, I'm here by accident, or twist of fate, that cruel wench." Draco tapped his foot impatiently and glared at Potter. "Now, about my truck."

"Harry, who's there?" came a female voice from the back of the house, and a moment later, Ginny Weasley -- correction, Potter, they'd got married before their disappearance six years ago -- materialised next to the statue that was Harry Potter. "Draco Malfoy?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, c'est moi, now can one of you please stop staring at me like I'm a ghost? I'm quite solid, I have somewhere to be, and you two are going to help me."

"Harry, step aside. Malfoy, come in and have some tea," said Ginny in an even tone.

Draco breathed loudly in through his nose and shook his head. "I don't want any--"

"I said," said Ginny crossly, "come in and have some tea, God damn it."

Potter moved aside as though hypnotised and made a face as if to say, "You'd better listen, or else."

Draco raised his hands skyward for a moment, then stalked past Potter into the cool interior of the house. He followed Ginny down a long hallway into a cosy sunlit kitchen, where a kettle was whistling merrily on a gas stove. A wide table covered with a checkerboard cloth held the remains of what had undoubtedly been breakfast.

"You hungry?" asked Ginny, opening a cupboard next to the stove and retrieving a stout clay mug. "Sit down."

Fuming, Draco pulled out a sturdy wooden chair and sat down, looking back where he'd come from to notice Potter standing in the doorway to the kitchen, still staring at Draco as though he were on exhibit at the zoo.

"I'm not hungry, thanks," he said to Ginny. He noticed that at no point at all was she using her wand. What was going on? Now that he was being forced to tarry, he found himself growing curious of what these two were doing here.

"So, this is where you disappeared to," he said to no one in particular.

Potter walked over to the table and sat down across from Draco. "Yeah. How did you find us?"

"I told you, I wasn't looking for you," said Draco, exasperated. Ginny set the mug of tea down in front of him and disappeared from the kitchen without another word.

Potter gave him an odd look. "You know, lying is one of the most common symptoms of antisocial personality disorder," he said with a smug look.

Draco gaped at him. "Excuse me?"

Potter nodded, seeming not to notice the expression on Draco's face. "Are you taking medication or are you in therapy?"

"Potter. I think between the two of us, you're the only one in need of heavy medication. I just want you to help me fix my truck. I have no idea why your wife wanted me to come in and have tea, considering she's not even here--"

"Oh, she's got obsessive-compulsive disorder. Has to have everyone who calls over for tea."

"I do not!" came Ginny's angry voice from the doorway. She was holding what appeared to be a cowboy hat made out of tin foil.

Potter gazed at her, his expression serene. "You're just in denial."

"What's wrong with him?" Draco asked Ginny, starting to feel a bit apprehensive. Of course, it all made sense -- Potter had gone insane after defeating the Dark Lord, and he'd been hidden away here, forced to live as a Muggle. It all made sense.

Ginny tossed her hair to one side and scowled. "Don't worry, he does it to everyone. It's why the neighbours refuse to come 'round, they always leave feeling far too paranoid about their mental health." She crumpled up the tin foil hat and threw it onto the table. "Or his mental health," she added with a smirk.

Potter gave her a dark look. "Don't be so negative. Deepak Chopra--"

"Oh, shut up," snapped Ginny. "I'm going to Bingo." She turned on her heel and left. A few seconds later, the front door slammed and then Draco heard a truck rumble by. He remembered his own quandary and set his mug down, looking up at Potter.

Potter was wearing a sly look. "That's her code for 'I'm going to get pissed with my girlfriends, take the piss out of everyone else, and then maybe go to Bingo when it's time'. What's wrong with your truck?"

Draco blinked. "You--"

Potter waved a hand. "Yeah, I know. I do it to annoy her."

"Trouble in paradise?" asked Draco before he could stop himself.

Potter cocked his head to one side. "You could say that. So what's wrong with your truck?"

"It just stopped," said Draco. "I have no idea what to--"

"Well, of course you don't, why would you? I'm surprised you're driving one, pure-blood son of a Malfoy that you are."

Draco rose to his feet and glared down at Potter. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Potter got to his feet as well, then rounded the table. "You expect me to believe that toss about a broken-down truck? You'll have to try a bit harder, Malfoy."

"Except -- I'm telling the truth," said Draco, momentarily distracted by the hollow at Potter's throat, which was surrounded by the two sections of the locket's chain. "I am driving a truck, for reasons that needn't concern you, and it's broken down."

"I can tell you're angry, Malfoy," said Potter quietly. "You don't have to try and hide it. Unless you've got schizoid personality disorder--"

"What's with you and disorders?" snapped Draco, looking away from Potter's neck.

"I've been studying psychology in my spare time, from Muggle books. It's really amazing how fucked up people can be," said Potter in a soft voice.

"Right," said Draco, "how about you tell me on the way to my truck?"

Potter folded his hands across his chest. "Are you actually serious?"

Draco sighed and shut his eyes for a moment. "Of course I'm serious, you wanker. I didn't come here for you. I wouldn't go anywhere for you."

Potter snorted. "I'm crushed, really."

"It's my pleasure."

"All right, show me to your truck. But I'm warning you, Malfoy. I know kung fu."

"Bless you."

"Oh, forget it. Lemme get my tools."


"Yes, those are usually required to fix trucks, you idiot."

Draco's exasperation was absolutely indescribable at this point. "Fine, just... hurry up. I've got somewhere to be."

They walked back towards the motorway in relative silence. Draco kept trying to fall behind Potter to get a better look at his arse -- hey, no harm in looking -- but Potter didn't seem to have any interest in walking in front of Draco.

About halfway there, Potter spoke up. "So where is it that you need to be?"

"That's none of your business," said Draco tartly. "I'm not asking you stupid questions, am I? Please do return the favour."

Potter shrugged. "Just making conversation. Though you might really want to see a psychologist. I'm no expert, but I certainly detect a whole bouquet of symptoms in your speech style and mannerisms--"

"Potter. In case you have forgotten, I live as part of the wizarding world. We don't have many mental deficiencies, and when they do occur, they are healed by magic."

Potter was quiet for a few moments before speaking again. "I heard about your family's house being destroyed. Where do you live now?"

"A flat in Brighton, not that that is any of your business, either."

"Brighton?" Potter's voice sounded noticeably shriller.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yeah -- why do you sound so surprised?"

"I just didn't think you were gay," said Potter. As always, he was approximately as subtle as a marauding pack of overexcited parakeets.

"Not everyone who lives in Brighton is gay," said Draco. They were almost at the truck now, which meant the end of these stupid fucking questions.

"Are you saying you're not?"

"I'm saying that my sexual orientation is none of your concern, Potter," said Draco quietly. "Here we are."

"You really weren't lying about the truck, were you?"

"You should try appearing on one of those talking-box game shows that test your intelligence, Potter. You'd take home the bank."

Potter ignored him and climbed up onto the driver's side. Draco handed him the key to the ignition; their hands brushed for a moment and Draco wished they hadn't. While meeting Potter out here hadn't been in his plans at all, feeling pleasurable jolts from touching Potter definitely shouldn't have been in the equation.

Potter tried the ignition, to no avail -- the engine whined but wouldn't start. Potter studied the dials mounted into the dashboard for a moment, then turned to look at Draco. His smirk was making Draco's mind go to many very bad places at once and he looked away, staring at Potter's knee. Which was sticking out from the rip on Potter's jeans and Draco wanted to lick it. For fuck's sake.

"You didn't put any gas into this thing, did you?"


"Gas. Petrol. Fuel."

Draco looked back up at Potter. "It needs to be fuelled? The Ministry cars don't."

Potter rolled his eyes. "What would you know about the Ministry cars, Malfoy?"

"I drive one for a living," said Draco, exasperated. Why the fuck did Potter have to assume the worst all the time?

Potter's mouth fell slightly open. "You what?"

"You heard me, Potter, and -- why are you even acting like this is news? It's not some big secret."

"I've been gone for a long time," said Potter.

"And you should stay gone," said Draco heatedly. "It's much better without you around."

Potter looked amused. "I still say you should see a shrink. Borderline personality disorder--"

"Oh, would you shut the fuck up," snapped Draco. "I have approximately four hours to get where I need to go, where can I get fuel for this rust-bucket?"

"How far is it?"

Draco pointed to the sign at the side of the road.

Potter glanced at the sign and shrugged. "I've got a spare canister out back, it should last you there and back again."

"Well, let's go get it."

Potter climbed out of the pickup and slammed the door shut. "You're welcome," he said, still looking amused.

On the way back, Draco kept staring ahead of himself and deliberately avoided looking at Potter. This did not deter Potter from talking his ear off about advancements in Muggle psychiatry. Draco gritted his teeth and walked resolutely on. The sun hung high above them, hot and blistering. Draco's hair was plastered to his scalp beneath the hat and his feet were itchy. How the fuck Muggles -- and Potter -- lived in this hell, he didn't know.

"So really, where is it that you need to go?" asked Potter as they neared the house.

Draco frowned. "What's it to you? Honestly."

"I'm just curious. Look at it this way -- you'll never have to see me again, and I won't have to see you. Who's it going to hurt if you tell?"

Draco smirked slowly. His truck would get fixed in a matter of an hour, which meant he had at least two hours to spare. Yeah, he would tell Potter, and he'd make good use of the reaction, too. After all, Potter was right -- they wouldn't see each other again.

"When I was three years old, my father performed a very complicated charm on me that prevents me from doing myself physical harm," he said. "What my father did not foresee was that I would be afflicted with something that only happens once every eighteen Malfoy generations."

"The suspense is killing me," said Potter.

Draco rolled his eyes inwardly, but went on. "This affliction is also known as 'having a gigantic cock'" He heard Potter make a small choking sound. Draco smirked. "I can't make it any smaller myself, because it counts as self-injury, so I have to rely on someone else to do it for me. I couldn't ask Blaise, he's so jealous he'd shrink it till it was the size of a peanut, and no one else knows that I'd like it smaller."

"Why would you want it smaller?" asked Potter, sounding strangely strangled. They rounded the corner of the house and headed towards a neat row of chicken coops out back.

"It's a matter of principle," said Draco. "I wanted to make it smaller one night, using magic, because the ma-- person I was with was afraid it would be too big. It didn't work, because of the charm. I was furious, and here I am."

"You couldn't find anyone to do it for you in England?"

"I could, but I didn't want word to get out. Blaise recommended the wizard who lives nearby -- Francis Jacobus -- he's very discreet."

They were at a small shed next to the chicken coops. Potter opened the door and hauled out a large, foul-smelling canister. He put it carefully down on the ground and straightened up, facing Draco. "You know, you're a real piece of work, Malfoy. Only you would go through so much trouble just to get what you wanted."

"That's what separates the powerful from the pathetic and the Slytherins from the Gryffindors," said Draco with a smirk. "We stop at nothing."

"Is that why you're driving a Ministry car for a living?" Potter shot back, matching Draco's smirk.

Draco felt heat creep up his neck. "You have no idea--"

"--what I'm talking about, I know, so you've said. What I really want to know is why you expect me to believe this ridiculous story, Malfoy. I mean, I'll admit I'm not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer but I'm not completely stupid."

"It is ridiculous. Unfortunately, it's also true."

Potter tilted his head to one side, his smirk firmly in place. "Yeah? Let's see it, then."

Draco did a little mental jig, but assumed a stony-faced expression. "What are we, twelve?"

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," said Potter in a mock falsetto.

Draco scoffed. "Please, Potter. I'm not interested in seeing yours."

"Fine, I won't show you, then. But come on -- if you've got this gigantic cock, I've got to see it for myself. It might be the only thing you ever beat me at," goaded Potter.

Draco would have liked nothing better than to strangle the smug son of a bitch right then and there, but he had to admit the idea of finally besting Potter at something -- even if it was cock measurements -- had definite appeal. He reached down and undid his zip, then pushed his jeans and pants down, biting his lip to try and stem the arousal that began to flood through him at the thought of standing within two feet of Harry Potter with his cock out.

Potter stared down at Draco's crotch and licked his lips. Draco's insides gave another squirm and he felt himself starting to get hard.

"You call that a cock?" said Potter in a hoarse voice. His eyes looked out of focus. He reached down to his belt buckle and slowly unfastened it. Draco could only watch. A moment later, Potter pushed his jeans down his hips, freeing a cock that was not only considerably larger than Draco's, but also fully hard. "This is a cock," said Potter.

Draco felt something coppery under his tongue; he'd bitten his lip hard enough to draw blood. He flicked his tongue out to lick the wound, still staring at Potter's cock.

"Nghh," said Potter, and closed the distance between them faster than Draco could react. Then Potter slammed Draco against the chicken coop, eliciting loud squawking from the inhabitants. "Going to fuck you," growled Potter into Draco's ear, his breath hot. Draco couldn't quite come up with anything other than "Yes, please," so he wisely chose to keep his mouth shut.

His hat fell off and then Potter's fingers were tangled in Draco's hair, pulling hard enough to cause Draco to tilt his head back. Potter's tongue swept across Draco's neck, sending shivers down his spine, causing Draco to arch into Potter with a whimper. Draco reached up and pushing Potter's shirt off; Draco's own shirt was ripped from him moments later. Potter kissed him, tongue sweeping across Draco's bitten lip, teeth pulling at it, while Potter's hands worked on pushing Draco's jeans further down, until Draco was wearing nothing but the confounded cowboy boots.

Potter didn't seem to notice, though; he took a wand out of his pocket and muttered a spell; Draco felt something slick and cool filling him. Before he had a chance to wonder about Potter's magic-use and whether it would be detected by Jacobus, Potter lifted Draco off the ground and slammed into him, all fifteen million inches deep.

It fucking hurt, and Draco bit down on Potter's shoulder with a strangled noise, trying to hoist himself up higher. Potter stopped, his breaths heaving against Draco's chest. "Okay?" he asked, the sound all the harsher for the pain. Potter's glasses were nearly falling off and he shook his head violently, causing them to drop to the ground with a cracking noise.

"You just shoved the equivalent of a small country into my arse, of course 'm not okay," panted Draco.

"Penis envy, Malfoy? Dr. Freud would have very interesting things to say about you and your father," mumbled Potter, and made Draco so angry that he forgot all about the pain. He moved to get out of Potter's grip -- and Potter's cock brushed right there. Draco decided not to be hasty, after all, especially because Potter decided to pick that moment to reach down for Draco's cock.

"Fuck," said Potter, and shifted a bit, making Draco see stars again. "It's like jerking myself off," Potter said, pulling at Draco's cock swiftly. Draco rocked forward experimentally, linking his legs tighter behind Potter's back and bracing himself against the wires on the chicken coop behind him with one hand. The wires held, Potter's hand on his cock tightened, and Draco rocked forward again.

It felt like his insides were liquefying -- the combined sensations of Potter inside him, Potter's hand on his cock, Potter's mouth at his ear were causing him to quickly reassess many things in life, including being blindingly angry. He kept fucking himself on Potter's cock while the movements of Potter's hand grew more and more erratic, until Potter was mumbling incoherent things into Draco's ear, things like "please" and "yes" and "Draco", though that last one might have been a figment of Draco's entirely overactive imagination.

Potter's hand on Draco's cock was turning out to be utterly useless; Potter kept squeezing at all the wrong moments; clearly Potter hadn't done this very often. Draco stopped moving and batted Potter's hand away. "Looks like we've found something I'm better at," he said sweetly, and moved swiftly up and forward before Potter could protest or object. Potter let loose a string of obscenities and moved.

Tears sprang from Draco's eyes and he felt the chicken coop wire break beneath his fingers; the pain was so intense that he thought he'd pass out; he was barely conscious of Potter's cock pulsing inside him, of Potter's harsh scream as he came. After what felt like several decades, the pain finally let up and Draco felt Potter's cock slide out of him. Potter kissed the side of Draco's face, his nose smearing the tears there. Potter lifted him gently up, then lowered him to the ground. Draco saw his jeans and shirt in a heap next to him; he didn't want to think about how he would explain the messy clothes to Pansy if she was still hanging around his flat when he got back.

Draco propped himself up on his elbows and saw Potter moving downwards, his fingers circling the base of Draco's cock. Draco was going to protest, but then Potter's mouth covered his cock and Draco arched up into the heat, ignoring the jolt of pain in his arse. Potter's tongue swept along the underside of Draco's cock and Draco moaned at the tension that began to build in his groin. Potter shifted above him, then pulled back, gazing at Draco's cock, which was once again standing at full attention. Potter took the head into his mouth and teased at the slit with a soft moan.

Draco threw his head back and tried breathing through his nose; it didn't work. Potter was taking him in deeper, until Draco could feel his cock hitting the back of Potter's throat; then Potter did something and somehow Draco's cock slipped past and oh. He froze, biting his lip again despite the dull ache that was spreading down his jaw. Potter kept sucking, too slowly, but Draco didn't care. No one had ever done that before, no one had dared. He felt heat feathering up his spine and willed himself to stay still, which made him want to shove his cock down Potter's throat even more.

Draco's breathing was growing more and more erratic; then Potter moved his mouth up and began to stroke as he sucked, going faster, faster until Draco felt light explode behind his eyes and waves of pure fucking bliss erupt in his lower abdomen; he thrust up into the heat of Potter's mouth until he was spent, collapsing limply and ignoring the dull ache deep inside him.

After some time, Draco sat up, wincing. "I'm not going to be able to walk for a week or so. What do your books tell you about that, professor Potter?"

Potter, who was sitting propped against the chicken coop, looked down at him. "That you have narcissistic personality disorder, because you don't care that I won't be able to talk properly for a week or so." Indeed, his voice sounded hoarse and scratchy.

Draco shook his head and reached for his jeans. "There is one person in this -- enclosure -- who is not right in the head, and I'm not him."

Potter picked up his glasses and took his wand out again. "Reparo," he muttered, and put them back on.

"Oh, shit," said Draco, remembering Jacobus. "Shit. You're not supposed to use magic here."

Potter waved his hand tiredly. "Don't worry about your stupid wonder-wizard. I am Francis Jacobus."

Draco's insides suddenly went very cold. "What?"

"You heard me. I'm the person you came here to see."

Draco pulled on his jeans and shirt, attempting to process this information. "So... that's what you do?"

"Among other things," said Potter unhelpfully. "Though it's mostly Ginny that does it all."

"What's the deal with her?" asked Draco, a cold, uncomfortable feeling settling in his chest. He gestured around himself, not quite able to formulate "you're obviously not in a happy marriage" at that point.

Potter made a similarly vague gesture in response. "She knew what I was, married me anyway. Thought she could turn me straight. Now she's bitter. As you can tell, so am I."

Draco rose to his feet. "So why'd you put on the show, then? You knew why I was here the whole time."

Potter shook his head. "No, I get no names before I meet them. I mean, I guessed after you refused to say why you were here, but--"

"--thought it would be a laugh to fuck with my head. You need to get out more, Potter," said Draco, and Disapparated.


Draco was trying to nap. He had to drive the Senior Undersecretary to a party later on that night, and he would be expected to drive him home as well, so he had to get some sleep.

He had long got used to the constant roaring of the waves outside his window, but the local Muggle children's impromptu rollerblading championship was just not something one could get used to. Their shrill yells and the scrape of the wheels against the pavement grated at Draco, but he was too lazy to get up and yell at them to take it somewhere else. He couldn't use magic to shut them up, either, or he'd be facing Azkaban for thirty days; it would be his fifth offence in a month.

The doorbell rang; the shrill noise startled Draco into sitting bolt upright. Pansy and Blaise had nanced off to the Bahamas, so who could it be? The landlord?

"I paid you last week, Archie!" he yelled, just in case it was the landlord. The bell rang again. Groaning, Draco got up and shuffled to the door, pressing his fingers to his temples. Once he drove the intruders away, he would do something about that headache.

He opened the door and saw green eyes, denim shirt, faded jeans ripped at the knees.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?"


Potter shifted from foot to foot. "We need to talk."

"No, we don't," said Draco, and slammed the door shut. What the fuck? His heart was hammering in his throat, and he cheerfully denied himself the urge to open the door and run after Potter.

The doorbell rang again. Draco stood in front of the door and knew that if he opened it, he wouldn't be able to shut it again. He bit his bottom lip, which had long since healed, and slowly depressed the door handle.

He swung the door open and faced Potter again, who didn't look like he'd moved from his spot. "Please," said Potter.

"Fine, but make it quick. I need to have a nap before work."

Potter walked in, looking around with obvious interest. Draco suddenly felt like he should have tidied up before opening the door again, then cursed himself mentally for being a ridiculous prat.

"So," said Potter.

"Did I not say make it quick?" said Draco, frustrated. "I haven't got time for small talk."

"You know, I think I've figured it out. You might simply be borderline autistic," said Potter.

"Oh, get out," growled Draco, holding his head. "And don't come back until you're done with your psychobabble rubbish. I have trouble enough with the damned kids outside."

"Impervius," said Potter, reached into his pocket, and waved his wand at the window. The shouting and scraping noises immediately ceased, and the flat was in perfect silence. Draco gaped at Potter. Why didn't he think of that?

"Anyway," said Potter, looking sheepish. "I - er."

Draco sighed. "You what? Admit your armchair psychiatry is worthless? Are sorry for being a right prat? Polly wanna cracker?"

Potter shot him a look. "Ginnykindofranoffwiththereallycutegardenerandwefinallyaregettingadivorce. IammovingbacktoEnglandandIwonderedifmaybeyouwouldmindgoingforadrinksometime," he said.

Draco took a step closer, eyebrows raised. "Come again?"

"That, too," said Potter.

Draco smirked. "Meet me at the Ministry staff party at the Leaky Cauldron tonight. We'll take it from there."


Tags: fic:era:post-hogwarts, fic:fandom:hp, fic:genre:crack, fic:length:medium, fic:pairing:harry/draco, fic:post-hbp, fic:pov:draco, fic:type:slash
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