Title: 9 Ways Draco Malfoy Never Went Insane (Holy Ministry Crack, Batman!)
Pairing[s]: Harry/Draco; Draco/rubbish bin; Seamus/everybody (implied)
Warning[s]: Disregard of canon, except where convenient. Very bad language.
Disclaimer: JKR owns. I only play. You do not sue.
Length: 3400 words
Summary: Meet Draco, twenty-three years old. Fed up with life and the way things are going, he decides to go insane in a variety of ways. (You know what, Potter? I don't like your attitude...)
Note: I sincerely apologise for the abuse of the swish and the flick. evilsource made me do it. She also made me abuse Sir Mix-A-Lot.
Concrit: Always welcome and appreciated.
1. At lunchtime, sit in your parked car with sunglasses on and point a hair dryer at passing cars. See if they slow down.
Ron walked into the office he and Harry shared at the Ministry, flapping his arms about in a vaguely threatening fashion. "Hey, Harry, I totally evaded a cop pulling me over just now. He was sitting out in the car park! Is that even legal?"
"Oh, that's just Malfoy," said Harry tiredly, because he was tired of motherfucking Malfoy at the motherfucking Ministry. "He's commandeered one of the Ministry cars for an 'investigation'."
"What's he investigating?" asked Ron, his arms ceasing to flap.
"We're not really sure yet, but he might seriously be trying to measure vehicle speeds with that Muggle hair dryer." Harry pulled his glasses down and rubbed the bridge of his nose, because everyone who wore glasses always did that.
"Well, why are we letting him get away with it?" asked Ron, indignant. "I nearly pissed myself-- Thought I was going to get a ticket--"
"The Unspeakables think he might be onto something."
Malfoy walked in, still wearing the sunglasses. They were too big for him and made him look like a ferret with sunglasses on. "You were speeding," he said, pointing an accusing hair dryer at Ron.
Ron's mouth imitated a jellyfish, because imitating goldfish was so post-OotP. Malfoy smirked in a significant Malfoy Way and turned the hair dryer on Harry. "I'm watching you."
He flounced out, the cord of the hair dryer trailing insignificantly behind him.
"Mental," said Ron, staring after him.
2. Page yourself over the tannoy. Don't disguise your voice.
Harry was staring at a sheaf of reports when the Wizarding Tannoy crackled to life. It was Hermione's newest invention and was therefore installed in the Ministry without question, because Hermione was the brightest witch of her age and invented the coolest doodads.
"Attention," said Malfoy's voice from the invisible speakers. Connected by invisible Extendable Ears to an invisible microphone. "Attention."
Harry paid attention, mostly because he had no choice: the tannoy speakers were so loud that it was impossible to do anything whilst they snapped, crackled, and popped with static. Malfoy did have a rather nice voice, when he wasn't using it to screech at people. Very manly, and also pointy in a way, because Malfoy was pointy.
"Attention. Would Draco Malfoy please proceed to the Atrium? There is a special delivery there for you from That One Place Everyone's Heard Of."
Harry stared at the invisible speakers overhead, dumbfounded, even as the sound in them fizzled into emptiness.
Ron burst into the room. "Did you hear that? Malfoy's got a delivery from That One Place! I'm going to go and see what it is!"
He bounded off towards the lifts, and Harry fought the urge to do that thing everyone in glasses always did.
3. Every time someone asks you do to something, ask if they want chips with that.
"Malfoy, can you collate these reports for me?" asked Harry with some trepidation. It had been a week since the sunglasses-and-hair-dryer incident, and three days since the tannoy announcement, but he could never be sure, with Malfoy.
"Would you like chips with that?" asked Malfoy, accepting the reports from Harry.
"I'm sorry, what?"
Malfoy just stared at him expectantly, making no move to get to work.
Harry shifted from one leg to the other and decided he didn't want to know. He fled from Malfoy's office and did not return until, at three in the afternoon, the reports still weren't collated. Harry peered around the doorframe cautiously for reasons he could not quite express to himself, and found Malfoy sitting at his desk, head propped up on one hand and a Self-Walk-The-Doging YoYo in his other hand.
"Uh, Malfoy?" ventured Harry.
Malfoy glanced up, looking quite amenable to polite conversation.
"Do you think you could get to those reports today?"
"Would you like chips with that?" asked Malfoy.
"Uh... no," said Harry. "Just the reports, thanks."
Malfoy pulled the pile of reports to himself and started sorting through them, humming the theme from Trogdor the Burninator under his breath. Harry backed out, realising rather belatedly that perhaps the sunglasses, the hair dryer, the tannoy, and the chips were all part of a diabolical pattern known only to Malfoy.
4. Put your rubbish bin on your desk and label it 'IN'.
The first thing Harry noticed when he walked into Malfoy's office the next day was the large rubbish bin that occupied most of Malfoy's desk. A Magical Post-It -- because any Muggle implement can be transferred into the wizarding world for plot convenience by being prefixed with Magical or Wizarding -- was stuck to the bin. On it in precise handwriting stood the letters I and N. IN. Malfoy's rubbish bin.
So fascinated was Harry by the presence of the bin on Malfoy's desk that he did not notice Malfoy's bare arse until he actually looked at it. Malfoy stood with his robes hiked up to his chest, and he was holding his cock in an intimate way familiar only to men who have been known to masturbate. Only instead of masturbating, Malfoy was sort of... swinging his cock like a golf club. Under his breath, Harry heard him muttering, "Swish... and flick." He was aiming for the rubbish bin.
Holding his head, Harry backed out of Malfoy's office, shutting the door tightly. Perhaps it would pay to discuss with Kingsley just what exactly Malfoy's function at the Ministry was, considering that he had a no-good Death Eater father, a career Death Eater Wife mother, and a shady past that rivalled only Harry's in the amount of trouble he would get into (or so the Wanted posters said). Not exactly the ideal candidate for a responsible position in the wizarding world's highest government authority.
Still, it couldn't hurt to try the swish and flick with his cock, Harry decided. His own, not Malfoy's. It was an example of one of those times when italics for emphasis were invaluable. Though the idea of swishing and flicking Malfoy's cock also had merit. The thought occurred to Harry out of the blue. Or perhaps out of the grey, because Malfoy's eyes were grey and everything had to be Deeply Symbolic.
It was only when Harry got back to his office that he realised that he'd forgotten to hand Malfoy more reports to collate. Well, he'd just stop by during lunch and put them into Malfoy's IN bin.
5. Finish all your sentences with "in accordance with the prophecy."
"I've finished your reports," said Malfoy, "in accordance with the prophecy."
"Huh?" asked Harry, staring at the pile of parchment Malfoy had just deposited on his desk. "What prophecy?"
Malfoy gave him a look full of smug superiority and walked out of the office.
"Malfoy, wait!" yelled Harry after him, but the blond prat was gone. Prophecy? Harry had had enough of prophecies to last him a bloody lifetime. Still, it wouldn't hurt to ask Hermione what the hell Malfoy was on about this time.
Hermione was severely unhelpful. "I don't know what he's talking about," she said, crossing her arms. "The Hall of Prophecy hasn't got any new ones and most of the old ones were smashed in the war."
Harry sighed. "It's really amazing how many things were smashed during the war, isn't it?"
"Convenient," said Hermione. "Less work for us. Though I've been working on replenishing our Time Turner stock..."
"Granger, I'm tired of waiting for Derrick's report about the high incidence of speeding outside the Minstry," said Malfoy, entering. "In accordance with the prophecy."
"What prophecy?" asked Hermione, but Malfoy just walked off again, looking smug as ever.
Harry caught up to him in the corridor and turned him round. "Malfoy, if there's some prophecy we need to know about, you'd better tell us, or--"
"Unhand me, Potter," said Malfoy, "In accordance with the prophecy."
"Wait, the prophecy involves you? But you're only a secondary character, if that!"
Malfoy turned pink. "You're a prat in accordance with the prophecy." He wrenched himself out of Harry's grasp and stalked away down the corridor, every inch the prowling small rodent.
Maybe he knew Harry had seen him do the swish and flick, and this was his revenge. Harry supposed he could live with that.
6. Sing along at the opera.
"No more talk about prophecies," muttered Harry, as he and Malfoy strode up the wide staircase to the Wizarding Opera House. They were conducting an investigation into Death Eater Shenanigans. Harry was the one dressed like a girl because he'd lost the coin toss.
"Oh, my, God, Potter, look at her butt," said Malfoy as they took their seats. "It's so big," he added, pointing at the prima donna and scoffing. His voice was suddenly nasal and even more drawling than usual. "She looks like, one of those rap guys' girlfriends. But, y'know, who understands those rap guys?" Malfoy scoffed again. "They only talk to her, because, she looks like a total prostitute, 'kay? I mean, her butt, is just so big!" Malfoy scoffed once more, clearly oblivious to his comma abuse. "I can't believe it's just so round, it's like, out there, I mean -- gross. Look!"
Harry closed a hand round Malfoy's wrist and whispered, "I don't know what the hell you took before coming here, but you need to shut up. People are staring."
The music swelled around them, and Harry squinted, looking for the Death Eaters who were surely hiding in the woodwork somewhere. The prima donna began to sing, but Harry became aware of a different song issuing from the seat next to him.
I like big butts and I cannot lie
You other brothers can't deny
That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist
And a round thing in your face
You get sprung, wanna pull out your tough
'Cause you notice that butt was stuffed
Deep in the jeans she's wearing
I'm hooked and I can't stop staring
Malfoy was really getting into it now, waving his arms about and nodding along with a nonexistent beat. Harry, his blood alternating between extreme heat and subzero cold, murmured apologies to the people around them as he dragged Malfoy out of the theatre. Harry's thong was digging into his arse, his makeup was running down his face in sweaty rivulets, and here was Malfoy, still singing about big butts, whatever those were supposed to be.
Then turn around! Stick it out!
Even white boys got to shout
Baby got back!
Harry clapped a hand over Malfoy's mouth and dragged him into an alleyway behind the opera house. "What do you think you're doing?" he hissed after they Disapparated. "You just completely embarrassed yourself in front of everyone in the wizarding opera!" At least no one would know that Harry had been with him.
"Opera?" said Malfoy mildly. "Oh. I thought you said Oprah." He pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket and brandished it in Harry's face. "I even got this from the interwebs and memorised it and everything. It said they were going to talk about the negative portrayal of females in today's-- Potter?"
Harry was not listening. He was slamming his head repeatedly against his desk.
7. Put mosquito netting around your work area. Play a tape of jungle sounds all day.
A week after the opera incident, Harry finally felt confident that he would not throttle Malfoy on sight, so he stopped by Malfoy's office to check on yet another batch of reports that needed collating. As he approached the office, however, he became aware of weird sounds issuing from beyond the wall. A bird of some sort was crying shrilly. In the background, some group of small animals chattered excitedly about things known only to small animals. Even deeper in the background, Harry thought he could make out the steady beat of drums.
Harry opened the door to Malfoy's office and at first thought that he must've accidentally ended up in Experimental Charms, because Malfoy's desk was cocooned in thick black netting and Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. The jungle sounds were so loud here that Harry's head began to hurt.
Then he saw the telltale magenta of a Magical Post-It peeking through the black netting. Malfoy's rubbish bin. Which meant that Harry was in the right office. And there was Malfoy, crouched over his desk and scribbling something on a report, a wide-brimmed hat obscuring most of his face and his pretty blond hair.
"Malfoy?" asked Harry tentatively.
"Shhhh!" came the reply. "Be very, very quiet. I'm hunting orcs."
"Orcs! Now shut up and let me work!"
Harry walked out, shaking his head, only to come face to face with a shotgun-toting Ron.
"Oi, Harry! I was looking everywhere for you! Malfoy says there's orcs in the Ministry! Come on!"
He ran off without bothering to check if Harry was following. Which Harry wasn't. He stood motionlessly with his back to Malfoy's office door, mouthing, alternately "orcs" and "crazy sod" and wondering if he, and not Malfoy, was losing his grip on sanity.
"Mwee hee hee!" cried a bird, and Harry sprinted away down the corridor, not caring who might've been watching.
8. Tell your friends over drinks, 'Due to a downturn in the economy, we're going to have to let one of you go.'
Every former Hogwarts student who worked at the Ministry -- and most of them did, except for the ones who were teaching at Hogwarts -- went for drinks every Thursday night. It was one of those grand traditions that made for awfully convenient shagging, because alcohol was the one true path to one true love. Malfoy always went along on these jaunts to the Leaky Cauldron, because Malfoy really wasn't so bad now that a few years had passed since the war. It was a truth universally acknowledged that people changed, even if the author couldn't be arsed to show why or how.
In sum, Malfoy was invited for drinks with the rest of the Hogwarts gang, and frankly, Harry dreaded whatever new crazy shenanigans Malfoy would get up to.
As they all drank their Gillywaters, Firewhiskies, Butterbeers, and pumpkin juice, because no other authentically magical drinks existed in the wizarding world, Malfoy cleared his throat. In a grave, solemn voice, he announced, "Due to a downturn in the economy, we're going to have to let one of you go."
"Oh, please not me," said Seamus, and eyed Draco appreciatively. Seamus eyed everyone appreciatively, after which he usually proceeded to shag them blind. Well, not this time. Harry put down his Firewhisky resolutely and dragged Malfoy to his feet. "Please excuse him," he said. "He's had a bit too much to drink."
"I have not," protested Malfoy as Harry shoved him bodily out the door and Side-Along Apparated him to Malfoy Manor.
Except when Harry looked around, he realised that he had Apparated not to Malfoy Manor, but to Grimmauld Place. Malfoy was looking around the drawing room with interest when Harry tried to fix his mistake and go to Malfoy Manor instead, but Malfoy released him and walked over to have a nice, pleasant chat with Mrs Black's portrait. Or perhaps to examine the Black family tapestry closely with a deep, brooding look. The portrait and the tapestry were the only items of interest to a Malfoy in Grimmauld Place, after all.
Then Harry decided that since Malfoy was here anyway, sucking his cock would be a grand idea, but really, it would be wildly inappropriate to write pornography about a children's series, so a curtain fell, and slurping sounds were heard.
9. In the memo field of all your cheques, write 'for sexual favours'.
"Oh, thanks," said Malfoy, accepting the still-hot container of curry from Harry. "How much do I owe you?"
"Sixteen Sickles," said Harry, relieved. He'd been expecting Malfoy to start talking about prophecies again or to put the food in his rubbish bin, which still occupied half his desk. Not to mention that he sort of hoped Malfoy had been too drunk last night to remember what they'd done.
Malfoy pulled out his Gringotts chequebook, scribbled on the top cheque, tore it off, and gave it to Harry.
"For sexual favours?" spluttered Harry, reading the memo field. "I haven't given you any sexual favours!" He was lying through his teeth, obviously, but this was Malfoy. He deserved to be lied to.
Malfoy looked at him with avid interest. "No? Would you like to?" Oh good, he didn't remember.
"I-- that is not the point, Malfoy, the cheque is for lunch. LUNCH. Think you can spell that?" Harry slammed the thing down on Malfoy's desk and glared at him.
Malfoy dithered over the cheque, quill poised. Finally, he scribbled something in the memo field and handed the cheque back to Harry. It read for sexual favours at lunch.
"That's a lie," blurted Harry. "I'd hardly call eleven o'clock at night 'lunch'."
"Do you want your money or not?" asked Malfoy in that really annoying drawling voice that meant he was feeling superior again.
Harry stared at the cheque, knowing that there was no possible way he could take it to Gringotts and not have it end up on the front page of the Daily Prophet, shook his head. "It's okay," he said, and handed the cheque back to Malfoy. "Lunch is on me."
He walked away, not bothering to check if Malfoy was smirking. Of course he would be; Malfoy's specialities were smirking, drawling, and sucking cock. Harry strode through the halls of the Ministry, scowling at no one in particular. Halfway to his office, he bumped into Ron, who was looking shifty.
"Where are you off to?" Harry asked him.
"Oh, just Gringotts. Malfoy's given me a cheque for sexual favours--"
"What?" snarled Harry, quite surprised to be so incensed at the idea of Malfoy providing sexual favours to his best friend. These things always did creep up on him unnoticed, like the Chest Monster Spell Ginny had cast on him in sixth year.
Seamus appeared out of nowhere and threw an arm round Ron's shoulders. "He gave you one too? He's owed me money for some Quidditch equipment for ages. This morning he gave me a cheque for the full amount, and wrote 'for sexual favours' in the memo field. It must've happened that one night in April." Seamus sighed wistfully. "I just wish I could remember it."
"Me too," said Neville, also appearing out of nowhere. They were wizards. They could do shit like that and get away with it.
"What are you doing here?" asked Harry, peevish. "Aren't you supposed to be teaching Herbology at Hogwarts?"
"Yeah, but I had to deposit my cheque, right? For sexual favours."
Seamus, Ron, and Neville walked off in the general direction of Gringotts. Harry stared after them for a moment, then turned on his heel and headed back towards Malfoy's office.
"I want it back," he said, without preamble, as he walked into the office, where Malfoy was rooting around in his IN bin.
"You want what back?" asked Malfoy without looking up.
"The cheque. Everyone else seems to have got one, so I should have one too."
"I thought you said lunch was on you?" drawled Malfoy with a sneer.
Harry sighed. "Dinner is on me. Now give me my cheque back."
He walked out of Malfoy's office twenty minutes later, looking dishevelled and a bit distraught, but on the whole uninjured.
"Your flies," said Luna, floating up next to him. "Don't show me them."
Hastily, Harry did up his flies, blushing so much that he thought his head would explode. "So did you get a cheque for sexual favours, too?"
"No," said Luna. "I made Draco a biscuit once, but I eated it."
"I take it he wasn't very impressed."
Luna shrugged. "Crazy people are crazy."
In his office, Draco Malfoy adjusted his cravat as he stared, frowning, at a piece of parchment on his desk. The words across the top read: How to Keep a Healthy Level of Insanity. Below it, in much smaller letters, were the words And Drive Other People Insane.
Considering that he'd just sent half the Ministry to Gringotts with personal cheques for sexual favours and got into Harry Potter's pants after months of trying, Draco supposed it was a pretty good haul.