Thanks to all who have read my demented work. I hope you're not scarred for life. Special thanks to my dear dragon for unfailing inspiration, and to Europec, who has impeccable manners and always asks ever so nicely for more. Here it is.
Malfoy Manner: Paper Pushers
Morning fell softly on the gothic spires of Malfoy Manor. The sun edged its way into the enormous windows, stretched across highly lacquered mahogany floors. The early birds were catching worms, and in the courtyard, a peacock's mournful cry echoed. All in all…it was a perfect beginning to any day.
Draco's eyes, however, clenched tight against the bastard sun. He wrapped his pillow around his head, blocked the damned peacock's infernal squawking. He groaned, not a morning person.
A sweet little sigh answered his groan, and the feather mattress shifted. He propped on one elbow, willing to surrender to wakefulness if it meant taking care of his morning erection. A smile graced his thin lips. His bedmate was a wonderful thing to look upon in the mornings; one creamy, shapely leg curled over the duvet, her sculpted back bared to his fingers and lips…
He kissed his way down the intricate column of her spine and she roused. "Mph." A curtain of black and silver floss obscured her face save for her sleepy, eye-slits. "What do you want?"
His smile became a grin. She was even less a morning person than he. Beneath the duvet, his hand slid over her arse, dipped between her thighs. "Good morning, mother."
He sidled up to her hip, letting her feel his hardness press against her side. "Can be."
He engaged the 'full snuggle' maneuver and slid her hair aside to nuzzle her ear and neck. "So beautiful in the morning, mum."
"I look like hell in the morning."
He chuckled and made to climb atop her back, but was barred by her raised elbow. "Not now, Draco. We've a meeting this morning, remember?"
"Not for…two hours at least." He pushed her elbow down.
She raised her elbow again. "It shall take me two hours to prepare."
He grimaced and slid a leg between hers. "Ridiculous. I can be quick."
She twisted her hip to extract herself. "Of that, I've no doubt."
"Don't be cruel, mother." He pushed her elbow down.
She raised her elbow. "Don't be annoying, Draco."
"I'm not annoying," he said. "I'm in my prime." His kisses resumed upon the offending elbow. "Plenty of witches would appreciate this kind of attention."
She swatted him away. "Go find them."
He caught the hand that swatted him and awkwardly pulled her against him. They tussled for a moment before he managed to pin her, holding her hands over her head. "I could rape you," he told her.
She blew stray hairs out of her face. "It's hardly rape if you've warned me beforehand."
He thrust against her pelvic bone. "You're saying I've spoiled the surprise."
"I'm saying get the hell off me."
He groaned into her neck, but released her and rolled away. "You can't let me go about like this all day, mum." He gestured to his crotch and watched her sit up. "It isn't right." Narcissa stretched languorously until Draco's hand cupped her right breast.
She tisked and pushed the hand away. "I'm going to have a bath. You should do the same."
"You should ride me, mum. Come on."
But she was sliding off the edge of the bed, ignoring him entirely.
"Really?" he asked. "Can I at least wank onto your tits?"
She knotted her dressing gown. "You're a disgusting boy. I'll see you at tea. Be ready to leave post haste, please."
"You're an evil witch."
She laughed aloud, a rare music. "You've no idea."
Draco was at tea well before Narcissa was. She clicked into the dining room still affixing her earrings. "Am I dressed for business?" she asked.
He gave her a baleful once-over. "Depends on the business, I suppose. That skirt seems a bit short."
She stopped and looked down at the red flaring a-line that skimmed her knees. "I've worn this skirt once before and you did not complain of its length."
"Was I fucking you while you were in it?"
She sat and surveyed the tea tray. "I do wish you weren't so profane, son."
"And I wish you were a bit more, mum."
Narcissa glanced at the front page of the Daily Prophet. The Ministry of Magic was proudly announcing its plans to establish a trust for Hogwarts. The school was still recovering from the battle that had nearly destroyed it, and was in sore need of funds for everything from repairs to professors' salaries. Many businesses and establishments were leaping onto the fundraising effort, and she was quite certain Minister Shacklebolt intended to invite the Malfoys to contribute. And they would, of course…
Draco gestured to the paper. "Are we to be called upon to supply school ties for the less fortunate mudblood children of Hogwarts? I'm not feeling particularly generous at the moment."
She glared at him. "Oh?"
He smeared a scone with marmalade. "No. I've been emotionally and physically abused by a frigid, spiteful mother."
Now she smiled. "I'm so sorry, my dragon. Is it because I wouldn't let you pleasure yourself upon my decolletage this morning?"
He pointed the spreading knife at her. "Precisely."
"Well." She sipped her tea, pinky finger raised daintily. "I shall be sure to explain that reasoning to the Minister when he asks why we shan't participate in the fundraising."
That gave him pause. "Oh, please, mother. I'm certain you shall have your way in the matter, as always."
She patted his hand. "Remember, son. When I get my way, you get yours."
He raised a brow. "Indeed? Trust me. I'll remember."
The Ministry lobby was crammed with working witches and wizards when they stepped from the floo. Draco pulled up short to avoid being overrun by a stout witch carrying a basket full of oversized cockroaches. He didn't ask questions, but followed his stately matron to an iron-gated elevator. They squeezed into the compartment with 13 other people, and held on for dear life as the machine traversed its course.
After what seemed a hundred stops, they arrived at the 39th floor. It was a spacious, open area of ornate marble surrounded by sturdy oak walls. Portraits of Ministers past alternately smiled or scowled at them as they approached the receptionist's ovular desk.
"May I help you?" She was a pretty witch; young, with a sweet round face and boisterous brown curls.
Draco bowed curtly to her and gave his rakish smile. She blushed brightly. Narcissa growled lowly. "Malfoy," Draco purred. "We've a meeting with the Minister at 10 a.m., I believe?"
The witch glanced at a schedule on her desk. "Yes, sir! He's left a message to send you in as soon as you arrive. Right through those doors there." She pointed. "I'll alert him you're coming."
"Thank you, kindly." Draco winked at her. She tittered, then sobered almost frightenedly when she saw Narcissa's scathing stare.
A phoenix was carved into the imposing double doors of the Minister's office. As they approached, Draco sought his mother's eyes; they stared straight ahead, not acknowledging him at all. Her lips were pursed. He was worried a little. "All right, mum?"
"I'm fine." But her voice was tight and strained.
He swallowed. This wasn't good. "Mum. You're not on about that girl back there?"
"Of course not!" She answered too loudly, too condescendingly. "If you wish to make a greater ass of your yourself than your father ever could have, by all means continue in that vein!"
Well, that stung. He realized too late that he'd truly pissed her off. But her jealousy was like nectar and he lapped it up, taking her by her elbow just before she pushed open Shacklebolt's door. "Mum," he whispered. "Stop."
She paused and looked at him pleasantly, knowing the receptionist could see them. "Yes?"
"I was just…larking about. Really." He couldn't so much see as feel past her façade…the small hurt there. She was a more sensitive witch than she seemed; injured, in many ways, like himself. It was easy to forget that because she was put together like a complex clockwork and dressed like she owned Diagon Alley proper. He wanted to touch her face, cup her cheek…but she would bolt like a colt and he knew it. So he breathed and took the more difficult route. "I apologize, mother. I didn't mean to embarrass you."
Her lips relaxed. For a second, she seemed flummoxed. She touched the soft blonde hair at her temple, then waved towards the doors. "No apologies necessary, Draco. Let's get this done, shall we?"
He nodded, and pushed open the doors.
The Minister of Magic's office was ridiculously large and ostentatiously circular. In the center of the plush-carpeted room set a cherry desk that could comfortably seat 12. Two pairs of thick velvet chairs faced the desk, and behind the desk sat Kingsley Shacklebolt, all but devoured by the desk. All over the desk were scrolls and documents and quills and parchment…but still, there was visible desk. It wasn't charmed in any way – just enormous.
Kingsley stood and smiled widely at them when they entered. "Mr. and Ms. Malfoy! Come in!" He gestured to chairs. "Sit, please!" A nervous aide bowed his head to them quickly. "Pattinson." Kingsley addressed the aide. "Fetch us a tea tray, please."
The aide shuffled off as the Malfoys sat. Draco saw Kingsley's eyes drop when his mother crossed her ankles properly. He supposed he couldn't blame the Minister. They were lovely legs.
"Thank you for having us, Minister." Narcissa had on her 'flattered social butterfly' face. "And may I say your office is extraordinary?"
Draco dipped his head to hide his eye-roll, while Kingsley began his slow descent into the Malfoy widow's manipulations. "Oh…" He chuckled. "It wasn't my design, I assure you." The door pushed open and the nervous aide set a tea tray upon the great desk. Kingsley poured and offered.
"I won't patronize the two of you," Kingsley said. "I know you've both read the Daily Prophet. You know what we're up to on behalf of Hogwarts." The Malfoys inched to the edges of their seats to reach the tea tray as Kingsley went on. "I know that, in the past…" He hesitated, and Draco knew what was coming. The deep breath, and then: "In the past, Lucius Malfoy was very generous to Hogwarts. To several charities, actually." He spread his hands. "So of course, I call upon you now, Mr. Malfoy, for any assistance you may be able to offer your alma mater."
Draco blinked. "Me?"
Kingsley blinked. "Well, of course, you. You are your father's sole heir, Mr. Malfoy. I assumed you would control the family holdings and accounts."
Draco shot a mortified glance at his mother. She was watching him questioningly. Truthfully, he'd had no idea he was already in control of the Malfoy estate. He'd assumed his mother would control it until her death. 'Doesn't someone tell you these things?' He wondered. But what he said was: "Of course, Minister. I will…take into consideration the…situation of…the circumstance and…upon reviewing the…ledgers and speaking with our – my solicitor…I shall…"
Fortunately he was saved from further humiliating nodding from Kingsley and gaping from his mother when the door behind them pushed open.
"Minister!" It was the nervous aide. "You're needed urgently, sir! The Wizengamot is in an uproar! Some witch on trial for illegal potions trafficking exploded a basket full of giant crotch-biting cockroaches!"
Kingsley leapt from his seat. "Merlin's Meat!" He looked frantically to the Malfoys. "Excuse me for just a moment, please."
They had no time to respond. In a flurry of blue and gold robes, the Minister was gone.
A clock could be heard ticking. All was silent in the office. "Mum?"
"Why didn't you tell me? About the estate? I just sounded like a complete prat before the Minister of Magic!" He stood and began to pace, ran a hand through his lengthening hair.
"It wasn't my place to tell you, son. The solicitor explained it all to you very clearly. Don't you remember?"
He pressed his fingers into his eyes. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Yes, he vaguely remembered the solicitor coming. It had been four weeks after his father's death, and two weeks after he'd fucked his own mother, both events taking place by rather unconventional means. He'd had a lot on his mind. But he concentrated on the moment, anyway…tried to go back to that morning, and the ominous drone of their ancient solicitor.
"This meeting is to discuss the last will and testament of one Lucius Malfoy, husband to Narcissa Black Malfoy and father to Draco Malfoy, who writes hereforth under the bond of magical witnesses on this the 22nd day of Blah. Blah blah blah…and furthermore blah. Blah blah holdings in the sum of blah blah blah upon the time he falls of age. Now, blah blah is the most important blah blah blah. Until the reversal or some such shite and loads of official bollocks and buggering off..."
And at some point, crickets had set in. He sighed. He really needed to pay more attention. Looking out the Minister's ample windows, he addressed his mother. "So…what do I do, then? I mean, now that I run the bloody thing?"
Narcissa shrugged. "It more or less runs itself, Draco. And there are solicitors, accountants and business managers who handle the rest."
He turned sharply. "Just what the hell do we do, anyway, mum? I mean, father never went to work, so to speak…except for the Board of Governors. What are we involved in, exactly, that brings in so much bloody money?"
Again, Narcissa shrugged. "I don't really know…"
She shook her head. "Something to do with wizarding stocks? I think…"
"Yes. Something like that."
"Huh." Draco approached his mother and leaned against Shacklebolt's massive desk. "So. You want to do it, then."
Her eyes widened a bit. "Do…what?"
He didn't allow the scenarios clambering at his brain-door to enter. "Give them money, mum. You want to give them the money."
"Oh! Oh, yes. I think it would be in our best interests at this point to continue the tradition your father started and be…generous."
"I see." He nodded. "How generous? I mean, is he going to name a sum?"
"Doubtful," she said. "I suppose we can consult the accountants. Find out what we've contributed in the past and match it. Or even better it, I suppose."
The door pushed open again with a heavy whoosh, and two blonde heads turned to see the nervous aide again. "Um…Excuse me," he began. "The Minister sends his apologies that he will be delayed longer than he expected. Perhaps a half hour, he believes. He says you're welcome to wait, if you like, or re-schedule your meeting for later."
Narcissa started to rise. "Very well," she said briskly. "We shall speak to the reception –"
"We'll wait." Draco overrode her.
"Fine," said the aide. "I shall inform the Minister." Another whoosh of the door and he was gone.
Slowly, curiously, Narcissa turned to her son. "We'll wait?" She asked, giving him both raised brows.
A plan had formed. Somewhere in the depths of Draco's oft-fevered notion-generator, a delicious and very nearly evil contrivance had sprung forth with geyser force. "Yes, mother," he said mildly. "We shall wait." He patted the desk he was propped against. "Hop up."
She stared at him. "Excuse me?"
He reached out a hand. "Come on, mum. Let's have a go on the Minister of Magic's desk."
She was shaking her head, wide eyes taking him in with pure gobsmacked disbelief. "You…you are…insane," she whispered. She spun away from him. "These – these are Bella's genes talking." She turned back to him warily, placed her hands over her face. "My son," she murmured. "My son is a retrograde!"
"I recall something you said to me earlier, mother." He folded his arms across his chest and shifted to comfort his re-awakened morning erection. "Something along the lines of 'when I get my way, you get your way.' Do you recall that?"
She flung her arms wide. "Oh, you were paying attention to that, but not the solicitor who told you that you were your father's sole heir?" She chuffed and paced a bit, folded her own arms. "Well, that's lovely, Draco."
"I think the whole idea is rather lovely, mum." He was removing his suit jacket as she paced. She saw him and stopped, aghast.
"You may redress yourself right now, young man! For it will never happen," she hissed vehemently. "I will not allow you to use…sex (and he loved how her voice lowered on the term)…as leverage in a matter so important to both of us."
"Both of us?" He was unbuckling his belt. "Bugger Hogwarts, for all I give a damn. It's you who wants to dole out galleons like we have no use for them. So you might as well drop your knickers and hop up here."
Her mouth gaped. She'd stopped behind her chair and was gripping it like a shield before her. "You wouldn't dare."
"Oh, I bloody well would. And if I recall correctly again I'm looking at a witch who fucked me in the cloakroom of the Ministry lobby not a fortnight ago." He unbuttoned his trousers. "So what's the difference,mum?"
"You're a lunatic!" she exclaimed. "I won't do it. And you will comport yourself immediately before the Minister returns!"
"According to my calculations we have approximately 24 minutes til the Minister returns – if he isn't detained further or you continue wasting time with your useless sense of propriety. So. Hop. Up." He patted a short stack of parchment beside him.
She was shaking a little, her grip on the chair whitening her knuckles. He sighed. "Fine. I'll double it."
"What?" She was frightened and a little confused.
He waved her towards him impatiently. "Whatever father gave them, I'll double it. Come on."
Her grip loosened a bit. He saw a patent leather heel slide an inch or so away from the chair. He gentled his tone. "Come on, mum. Don't pretend you won't love it."
Her nostrils and pupils flared. "And if we're caught?" she whispered.
He fought a triumphant grin. "If we're caught?" Finally her hand fell in his and he pulled her against him. "If we're caught, I'll triple it." His mouth hushed any further protestations from hers, and they became a blur of movement.
Narcissa's own hands reached under her skirt as her son devoured her lips and tongue. He turned her against the desk. Her arse bumped the edge of it. She managed to tug free one garter strap, but growled in frustration when Draco demandingly deposited her on top of the desk, jarring her fingers from a second strap. Draco was sucking the spot beneath her ear when his steadying hand slid away from him, carried by some document or other.
His loss of balance pushed them both forward. Narcissa's back hit the rich cherry surface with a resounding thud. She oomphed. "Sorry, mum," Draco rasped.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," she answered, equally raspy. She bent a leg til her chunky heel rested on the edge of the desk, fingers again seeking out an errant garter strap. Draco noticed two things at once: 1. His mother was struggling with her complicated undergarments. 2. His mother was remarkably agile.
He groaned. "Fucking hell, mum. You're a goddamned acrobat." His hands slid into her crotch, finding the lacy edges of her dainties. "Sorry again," he said, not meaning it. He ripped easily the fragile fabric, expecting to incur her wrath later.
But when he looked up, he was stunned into momentary stillness. She was propped on her elbows, watching him, pink cheeked and dewy along her hairline, panting. Her breasts heaved beneath her silk blouse. Fantastic against the deep red wood and scattered parchments beneath her. Simply fantastic.
But he hadn't time to moon over her duplicitous sexuality. He tested her wetness with a finger and shot her an accusing glare. "You, slut." He said. "You've been thinking the same bloody thing this whole time." His finger slid inside her all the way to his knuckle. "You're wet as a mermaid!" He pumped the finger, feeling the muscles of her cunt contract just slightly. She was delightfully tight. He opened his mouth to tell her so when her hand suddenly gripped the back of his head.
She pulled his face close to hers. He felt her other leg bend onto the desk. "Shut your filthy mouth, Draco, and fuck me fast unless you want to cut our Gringott's vault in half for Hogwart's." Then she was on the edge of the desk and he was inside her.
He drew her up to him, hands caressing her taut back as he pumped furiously. The backs of his thighs burned. He heard parchment flutter off the desk to the floor and the bump of a quill following. The tea tray rattled beside them. Her head lolled back, away from his. He watched the pleasure unfold on her face… It was lovely, really; the 'o' her mouth formed, her tightly closed eyes, tendrils of hair loosening with each thrust and her closed eyes opening at last.
That was the thing that did him in. Her eyes meeting his, telling him in the darkened blue depths that he was hers and she was his and this pleasure was theirs. There was a defiance in that look that he didn't understand…might never fathom. But it matched something he felt in himself, something he had always seen muted in his own eyes every time he consulted a mirror.
They brought some long-dead blaze in each other to life, stroked embers to flame. They lit each others' cold worlds on fire… As he emptied his essence into her, felt her arms wrap around his back, he imagined them dancing around that fire…
Her forehead touched his. Even breathless and post-orgasm, she was ever practical. "Help me down, Draco. And dress."
Standing, she peeled a document from her thigh and placed it back atop the desk. Draco turned away as he righted his attire. A true clean-up was definitely in order, but would have to wait. He grabbed the pair of torn knickers from Shacklebolt's desk. Almost shyly, and not looking at her, he offered them to his mother and felt her take them.
She liked a proper wipe. "Thank you," she whispered.
"I'm sure there's a loo, mum."
He heard some rustling fabric. "Yes. I shall find it."
But she was nearly pristine already when he faced her again, stowing the lacy bundle in her purse. She left the office in search of the lavatory and he did some minor straightening. He pulled his wand from his sleeve and restored an inkwell to its place on the desk, vanished the mess it had made on the carpet. He mended a fine, alabaster quill and flattened some crinkled documents. Soon, the desk was merely as messy as it had been when they entered the office.
He sniffed. Cast a freshening charm. Sniffed again. Better.
The door whooshed and he turned. His mother fell against the oak when it closed. "Kingsley is coming down the hall," she said.
"I think everything's back to normal," Draco replied.
She approached and surveyed the area. Finding it to her satisfaction, she turned her attention to him and smoothed his hair. He watched her face. "That was fun, eh, mum?"
She cupped his chin. "Double?"
"Hm?" He was a bit wiped. She cocked a brow. "Oh! Yes, double. I promise."
"Good." She sat in a plush velvet chair and crossed her ankles properly. Draco sat beside her. The door whooshed, and two calm blonde heads turned to accept numerous apologies and supplications from the Minister of Magic. They graciously accepted said apologies and forgave his inconveniencing them. And upon fresh cups of tea, Draco Malfoy addressed the Minister on the matter of the charity fund.
"I shall consult my accountants and my ledgers," he told Kingsley matter of factly. "I should like to know my father's original contribution to Hogwarts. Then I believe…I shall double it." Narcissa watched her son quietly, smiling.
The Minister was overwhelmed. He gushed. He ingratiated. And Draco accepted all this fuss with an elegant wave of his hand. "Minister," he said. "The Malfoys are happy to help in any way we can."
Good-bye's were less formal. Narcissa had her hand kissed. Draco received a familiar pat on the back. They were invited to join the Minister in his box at the upcoming Quidditch World Cup. Draco realized he'd done something right. It felt…nice.
Leaving the Ministry, he gazed wonderingly at his mother. "Did pretty well, didn't we?"
She cut her eyes at him. "Pretty foolish."
He took her arm in the floo. "No, mum. I think the foolishness is finally over. Malfoy Manor."
Green flames took them home.