The Struggle -Of Dealing With Potter- Is Real.

[pekeleke]

Title: The Struggle -Of Dealing With Potter- Is Real.
Fandom: Harry Potter.
Pairing(s): Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter.
Rating: M
Prompt: #2: Summertime/Tropical Christmas.
Word Count: 946
Content: Chapter 2 of my Christmas Series: Threatening To Love You.
Warnings: Explicit Language.
Disclaimer: The characters, setting, and the HP franchise are owned by JKR and not me. I make no profit from writing this piece of fanfiction.
A/N: Unbeated.
Summary: "Would it? Yeah. Maybe. Still, this letter isn't very threatening. It sounds like a come on to me," Potter claims, demonstrating an insulting lack of interest in the idea of catching Draco's would-be-murderer, which, incidentally, happens to be his job.  

The Struggle -Of Dealing With Potter- Is Real.

By the time Draco arrives at the ministry, he is positively fuming. He can’t believe he’s back here on the first freaking day off he’s had in a month. He hurries out of the floo, crosses the atrium at a fast clip, and turns a blind eye to the fact that he’s just spotted Juliet Higgins, his second in command, purchasing a bottle of butterbeer from the cart by the fountain. She’s drinking alcohol on the clock. What a disgrace. Tomorrow, he’ll run around with a ruler, double-checking the spacing between the seasonal garlands she’s supposed to hang above the ground floor fireplaces today. Woe of the acutest kind will befall her if he finds so much as a millimeter of deviation from the specifications he’d outlined in his Official Christmas Decorations Deployment Process. Draco takes his job as Head Of The Department Of Ministry Fetes, Bashes, And Balls very seriously, and so should Juliet. She can’t be drunk while preparing for Christmas. It’s the biggest seasonal event of the year. The department’s reputation is at stake!

To Draco’s further displeasure, the calendar on the back wall of Potter’s eye-wateringly messy office still displays the summertime tropical paradise meant for August, showcasing Potter’s utmost disrespect for the appropriate time of the year and its accompanying seasonal festivities. If Potter wanted to dismiss the very purpose of Draco’s professional endeavors as superfluous and unimportant, he’s found the perfect way to do it without muddying that pretty pouty mouth of his. Not that Draco cares for sexy pouts, let alone Potter’s. Sexy pouts leave him utterly cold, thoroughly unimpressed, and as unexcited as a slug at a beer party.

Potter, the uncaring prat, smirks insufferably when he reads the awful threat Draco has received. His eyes light up with unholy glee, but at least he has the brilliant idea of showing it to Weasley, who chokes on thin air mid-way through reading it. Weasley’s eyes bug out of his head, and he turns the most entertaining shade of red Draco has ever seen. It clashes terribly with his ginger hair. Most unattractive. Poor Weasley.

“You said this thing appeared, out of thin air, while you were on the street?”

“Yes, Weasley. It popped in front of my face and wouldn’t stop fluttering until I grabbed it.”

“That type of unspecified location spell requires an incredibly powerful caster,” Weasley mutters, looking sharply towards Potter.

 “Would it? Yeah. Maybe. Still, this letter isn't very threatening. It sounds like a come on to me,” Potter claims, demonstrating an insulting lack of interest in the idea of catching Draco’s would-be-murderer, which, incidentally, happens to be his job.

Draco gapes, “The thought of mangled and bruised cocks may be a Gryffindor wet dream, but let me assure you, Potter, that nobody sane finds the idea arousing.”

“Oi! I don’t find it arousing either you, wanker,” Weasley intervenes but flashes such a sketchy side-eye Potter’s way that Draco is instantly convinced that Scarhead suffers from some lurid, depraved, and probably unmentionable cock-slaying kink.

“I’m just saying that the tone of this note is really weird. It reads a lot like flirting,” Potter defends his idiotic conclusion so stubbornly that Draco would happily strangle him if he wasn’t way too busy bringing the Ministry’s Christmas Event Calendar to life. He doesn’t have time for a trip to Azkaban right now.”

“That’s not flirting. Anyone who is that bad at it is already aware he’s never getting laid,” Draco scoffs.

Shockingly, Potter chooses this moment to sputter indignantly and turn an unsightly shade of red that rivals the color of Weasley’s hair. Poor Potter, “It’s not that bad,” He grumbles, pouting for no good reason.

“It really is that bad, mate,” Weasley tells him softly, looking at Potter with so much pity that Draco feels instantly indignant. He is the one about to get murdered. There’s no need whatsoever to pity Potter instead.

“Whoever sent this note wants me dead. It says so right beneath the greeting,” Draco reminds them, trying to redirect their tiny Gryffindor brains back to the problem at hand.

The terrible waste of human resources that is the most successful auror on the DMLE payroll scratches the back of his head and says the stupidest thing, ever, “Haven’t you heard of the little death, Malfoy? It’s a french thing. I thought you liked french things. Everyone says you do.”

Draco stares at Potter in horrified bemusement, “La petite mort is not merely a french thing. It’s a sex thing, you unmitigated moron. This— aberrant little note has nothing to do with it.”

Potter has the gall to roll his eyes at Draco, “Fine! I’ll look into your secret admirer, Malfoy.”

“I prefer the term stalker/prospective murderer,” Draco sniffs, “I don’t know why you feel the need to romanticize your job, but it’s rude and unprofessional, Potter.”

Potter sighs loudly, scratches the back of his neck some more, and mutters “Whatever.”

Inexplicably, Weasley bursts into hysterical laughter, hiccuping unattractively, “I told you to go with Bill's advice instead of Charlie's, mate. He's more delicate flower than sex fiend."

Potter instantly protests, "How is he a delicate flower? Have you seen him? He's so hot he should be producing his own steam!"

Draco blinks, and stares from one to the other. He even opens his mouth to demand they stop discussing their sex-lives while on the job, but decides to quit while he’s ahead. He's already logged in his complaint, and talking to any member of the golden trio, especially these two, gives him the most terrible headaches. Today is no different. He'll let them get on with it, and hope for the best.

TBC

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Comments

[pekeleke]

I'm thrilled that you like the boys so much, firefly124. Thank you, once again, for taking the time to both read and review another chapter of this series. Your kind and lovely comment was much appreciated. :)