I whistle contentedly in my comfy ministry chair in my extremely overdone ministry office. I'll bet you knew this would happen, eh? The great war hero Harry Potter working as head of the Defense Against the Dark Arts Department at the Ministry of Magic? Well, I sure as hell didn't. I had no idea what I was going to do with myself until the war ended. I had killed Voldemort barely three days ago when I was offered this position. A cushy Ministry job with little work and lots of pay. Thank you. I think I'll take it.

I barely had to do anything really. Most of the work is handled by the officers I appointed to keep track of things. There wasn't much resistance left. The war had ended two years ago. Voldemort dead. Death Eaters disbanded. Loyalists scattered hopelessly across the globe. What little I did have to do was taken care of quickly because, lets face it, Harry Potter is a natural at this stuff. Here I was, twenty years old and with nowhere to go but up. This job is what every wizard dreams of. It's the perfect environment for a war veteran in recovery. And you know what?

It's reeeeeeeally boring.

Mind-numbingly boring.

I am now at the point where I'm prepared to throw things across the room… just to hear the impact.

At a loss as to what else to do, I get out of my chair, stretch my legs, walk to the door and poke my head out. "Ron?" I ask.

Ron is my personal secretary. I had to beg him to do it, mostly because he was afraid the employer / employee thing would mess up our friendship. Not likely, but it was an uncomfortable possibility. There was also the little work for lots of pay thing to deal with. Ron hates the thought of charity. It took me weeks to convince him that it wasn't charity, that I just wanted him to be there for me and help me when I needed a friend. And when THAT didn't work, I pinned him with my most pitiful 'PLEEEEEEASE, RON!?' stare, and the discussion was over. I was determined to do this for him. Of all the people in the world that actually deserved to have a good job, it was Ron. He'd fought at my right side the entire war. He'd been there coaching me on when I killed Voldemort. He'd always been there for me before as a friend and protector. Now I was repaying him for it. And I paid him well.

He looks up from his simpler desk (though he still complains it's too much for him). He seems to have been busy doing something. Oops. "Uh, I'm sorry, Ron… Were you busy?"

He blushes slightly and shakes his head. "Nah, Boss. Just writin' to 'Mione."

It's my turn to shake my head now, "Again? She's married you know. To Victor?"

"Yeah," he sighs sadly. "What is it, Boss?"

"Why do you insist on calling me that? I thought you didn't want this to mess with our friendship?"

"I call you 'Boss' because you ARE my boss, Harry." he answers cheekily. Then he smiles at me sheepishly, "And it irritates you."

"Ah." I state simply, rolling my eyes.

"So, what did you want?"

"Company. It's so bloody boring in here that I'm tempted to see if I can break my unbreakable quill."

He snickers and stands up, entering my office while I hold the door open for him. It isn't long before we're both lying on our backs on my abnormally large desk, drawing pictures on the ceiling with our wands. Now the ceiling has a weird pattern on it.

----- --

Like I said. Boring.

But it was just about to get very interesting. It was just past lunch when there was a knock on the door. We jumped off the desk and quickly pretended to be doing something. I coughed nervously before inviting them in. Two men that looked very familiar to me came in carrying a large square object covered with a red satin veil. It could have been anything. A dangerous animal I needed to take care of, a cursed object that ought to be locked up or destroyed… I was suddenly kept entertained simply by imagining what could be inside it. I was even more amused when the men announced what it really was.

"Mr. Lucious Malfoy sends a gift for Mr. Potter. Sign here please."

Oh, come on. I know better than that. "I'm afraid I cannot accept such a generous offer. Please send Mr. Malfoy my apologies."

"He thought you'd say that. He said that if you don't want to open it, you're welcome to destroy it. He doesn't want anyone else to have it but you."

I'll bet he doesn't. "Fine" I said, and signed for it. When they were gone I examined the box more closely, much to Ron's dismay. Ignoring the 'be careful, Harry', I looked it over. It was about three feet in height and likewise in width. I wanted to pull the veil off, but Ron stopped me with another one of his warnings. After shooting him a meaningful glare, I moved to open it. This time I heeded his gasp. "You can leave if you want, Ron." He shook his head. "You sure?" A nod.

I wasn't going to push it. I pulled the veil off and saw nothing than a cherry box with gold hinges. There was no lock. I took the lid and slowly lifted it. The box collapsed when I did that, the sides falling open to reveal a red velvet bag tied with a gold ribbon. Griffyndor colors. Huh. Nice touch Malfoy.

Ron nearly pissed himself when the bag moved. I quickly shushed him and pulled the ribbon. Now I nearly pissed myself.

Curled up on the floor of my office was an indescribably beautiful young man with platinum blonde hair, silky white skin and stormy grey eyes that were currently void of any emotion. He was dressed in nothing more than a pair of skin tight black leather pants. The lean form slowly righted itself to a kneel and looked up at me like a confused puppy.

"Hallo, Malfoy." I said coolly.

Draco didn't so much as blink in response. He straightened himself and stood before me (at this time I noted he was about five or six inches shorter than me) and bowed his head in submission. Ron gasped and moved forward, wand drawn. I waved him away. I already knew what was going on. I could feel the curse flowing through Draco, and I needed to hear him say what he was sent to do before I countered it.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" I said, more of a statement than a question.

His head raised and his hands went to my waist, resting there but not moving otherwise. We both ignored Ron's growl.

His voice was blank, "I am here for you. I am yours."

"I assume your father is giving you as a peace offering."

"Yes." Draco replied. He was moving forward and pressing himself to my chest, wrapping his arms around my back and clutching at my shoulders.

You poor boy… "What am I to do with you?"

"Whatever you want. Beat me, curse me, fuck me, kill me… I am yours. Do whatever you want with me."

I closed my eyes at this point. It was so very sad. Lucious would do anything for his own personal gain. It made me sick. "I want…"

"Yes…?" Draco pressed against me harder. "What do you want? Tell me how to please you… I am yours."

I took a deep breath and steeled myself. Then I pushed Malfoy away from me and pinned him to the floor, holding his hands above his head with one hand and drawing my wand with the other, which I pointed at his chest. Ron yelled.

"I want to help you, Draco. FINITE INCANTATUM!"

My magic surged through him, countering with the controlling curse and probably causing a significant amount of pain. Draco screamed, but I kept on. Draco Malfoy would rather die than live under a curse like that. I held him tighter, his squirming making it more difficult to concentrate on the spell. Not that I could blame him.


I know you can hear me you bastard. How could you do this to your own son? Release him, or he'll die.

Draco wailed in agony one last time, then went limp as my magic overcame that of his father's. He was free. Ron had collapsed and covered his ears during this. He never had much tolerance for the flashy showdowns. I got off Draco's unconscious form and went over to Ron.

"You okay, Ron?" I asked, placing my hand on his shoulder.

"Bloody Hell, Harry… Malfoy really did that to him. He sent his son to be slaughtered… or worse!" he gasped, close to tears.

"Not so much of a prat now, is he?"

"I'd be a prat too, if it'd save me from that. He never really hurt us, he was just frustrating."

I nodded at that. It was true enough. Sighing, I took off my robe and wrapped Draco in it, laying him on my couch. Looking at him now, I realized he was thinner than I remembered. Come to think of it he had been taller than me before, now he almost looked sick, bottom ribs painfully obvious and cheeks slightly sunken in… Damn that Death Eater trash. "What are you going to do with him, Harry? You can't send him back there." Ron said the latter with finality. I smiled mentally.

I thought you said you'd never forgive him?

"No." I agreed. "Besides, It'd be rather rude to refuse such a wonderful gift."