Malfoy Manner: Business Time
Part the First: Risky Business
"So you see, Mr. Malfoy, investing in Pondershott Potions opens up some incredible doors for financial gain. Especially now that they've absorbed Barton Brewmasters. It's a sure shot – a blend of the trusted and the fresh! We're already seeing record gains with percentages as high as I'm a bloody arse bugger and a wet noodle to boot. I'd also like to blah blah for fourteen hours while yakkity yakkity who gives a shiny pink puckerhole and more professional sodding opinions that mean gobshite and fuck-all –"
"Mr. Lewis." Draco interrupted the solicitor with a calmly raised hand.
"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?" The mole of a man licked his lips and straightened his stiff collar.
"Would my father have done it?"
Here, the lawyer looked away uncertainly. "Well…" A sigh. "No, sir. He would have said it was too risky. And I understand his –"
"Do it." Draco was rising from the uncomfortable leather chair.
"I said do it," Draco repeated. He straightened his own collar. It was hot as balls in his office. "And anything else on that parchment that my father would not have done?" He pointed to the roll the solicitor held. "Do that, too."
Lewis Lewis (really) was taken aback. He stammered and nearly left the safe bastion behind his modest oak desk. "But! Surely you're not serious, sir! You can't just – "
Draco turned to him sharply. "Yes, I can," he said. "I'm a Malfoy." And he left the solicitor's office with a great relieved sigh. The sun shone brightly on Diagon Alley, but a cool breeze heralded fall's imminence.
Lunch in a courtyard would be nice. The Hermitage had a lovely shaded patio and a fine filet mignon. He headed that way with something akin to a smile. It frightened passing pedestrians.
Oh, and across from The Hermitage was that quaint little jeweler. He would stop in and find some ridiculous trinket for his mother. If chocolates guaranteed him oral sex, he imagined diamonds could buy him anal. It was worth a shot…
Oh, hell. He stopped only yards from the restaurant and turned. "Hello, Harry." Don't you dare hug me in the street, you scurvy lout.
Harry hugged him one-armed in the street. "What are you doing here?" He asked.
Draco ignored the new stares. "Business, I'm afraid. Boring, stuffy old solicitors with sound advice and tiny spectacles. You know."
Potter was laughing. "Well, I had similar business for Hogwarts procuring books. Glad it's done. Fancy lunch? I was thinking the Leaky Cauldron."
"Er…" Draco looked behind him. "Potter."
"I want a steak."
Draco bit his lip uncertainly. "I'll buy this one, and you get the next?"
Potter grinned. "Alright, then."
Harry had never eaten at The Hermitage. He remarked on everything from the serving staff's uniform to the table décor to the tenderness of his chicken.
Draco nodded and ate. His steak was perfect. "I can't believe you didn't have steak, Potter. It's almost…amoral here."
"Oh. Well, I've never been a big steak fan," Harry explained.
Draco shook his head, and Potter moved their conversation forward. "So. What are you up to these days?"
Malfoy gave him a blank stare. "This," he said, gesturing with both hands. "I meet with lawyers and accountants and goblins who tell me what to do with my money, then I eat lunch, go home, chat with mum and eat supper." He didn't go into any of the activities that often occurred after supper.
"Oh. Well." Harry wiped his mouth. "Sounds…fun."
Draco shrugged. He had no complaints.
"Why don't you go out, mate?"
"Out?" Draco flagged down a server and requested a dessert menu. "Out where?"
Potter winced. "Just…out. You know. With friends. Meet witches. Have a few pints."
"Ah!" Draco nodded. "Out. Yes. Well." He fingered the edge of the table cloth. "I've…never been a big 'going out' fan. I guess."
"Oh." Potter blinked. "Well. What about dating? Do you…see any witches or anything?"
"What?" Why the hell was Potter asking him these things? Draco's upper lip formed a thin sheen of sweat. He wiped at it discreetly behind the delivered dessert menu.
"Or…" Potter seemed to be sweating now, too. "Do you fancy blokes?" He seemed to be regretting having brought this subject up at all.
"Nothing!" Harry sighed and settled back in his seat. "I just…knew a chap who asked," he said. Then, quickly, "Anyway. Doesn't matter."
Draco looked astonished and stricken. It couldn't be attractive. He lost his appetite for dessert. "How's Hogwarts, then?" He blurted too loudly.
Potter was relieved at the recovery of civilized conversation. "It's good! It's good."
"Good." Draco had not stopped nodding. He was hypnotizing himself. "And, uh…McGonagall?"
"Really funny," Harry said. "You wouldn't expect it, but she has quite the sense of humor."
"Actually, looking at her hats, I'm rather unsurprised by that revelation, Potter."
"Oh, yeah." Harry laughed nervously. "They're…they're pretty crazy."
Silence fell and seemed to make sport of the pair. When the waiter came for their dessert orders, they both declined, seeming to accept that they'd made a valiant effort but were willing to accept defeat. Draco asked for the bill.
"Thanks for lunch," Harry said. "You were right. Excellent food."
"I can't believe you didn't have steak."
"Let's…" Potter put both hands on the table. "Let's try to forget about the steak."
Draco couldn't contain a grin at the scarhead's annoyance. "Right. I'm, uh…still working on forgetting the questioning my sexuality, myself, but you're right. Beef is a far greater conversation stopper."
Potter blushed. "I'm sorry about that."
Draco waved it off gracefully. "When's the first quidditch match?"
Harry shook his head, looking a bit pained. "Oh, I thought you knew about that." He frowned. "No matches this year."
"What the fuck do you mean 'no matches,' Potter?" Heads turned toward them. But Draco was accustomed to this, so continued losing his gob. "What are those kids going to do with no bloody quidditch? And why? What's the old Scotch witch's problem? I thought she enjoyed –"
"It's not McGonagall, Malfoy!" Harry interrupted, using Draco's surname to get his attention. It worked. "It's a matter of funds, really. I mean, the pitch would have to be completely rebuilt. New brooms, equipment, uniforms. And after all the repairs to the school, the new classrooms and dorms, new books, teachers, memorials… What's left has been set aside as emergency discretion and to pay salaries." He shrugged sadly. "Quidditch just isn't important as getting these kids taught and taken care of and…re-acclimated, I guess."
"Re-bloody-acclimated?" Draco tossed his serviette to the table. "I'll tell you what will re-bloody-acclimate the little buggers." He stood, pushed in his chair, waved his wand over their bill and leaned toward Potter. "Quidditch. And I'll be damned if there's no quidditch at Hogwarts this year. Or any other year. Good day, Harry. I'll be seeing you soon, I imagine." And he left.
Speechless, Harry was left giving an uncertain wave.
Again in the busy street, Draco was stewing. Nearly frothing. A matter of funds? What did they do with all my bloody money? Teacher salaries? That should be ministry responsibility. Who the devil is running the Board of Governors for Hogwarts now? A trained pygmy puff? An untrained one? Fucking hell.
He dodged into Lilith & Co., still attempting to cool his heels. An older wizard greeted him from behind a gleaming display case. "Good afternoon, young sir. May I be of assistance?"
Draco took a deep breath. "I need something…nearly utterly ridiculous," he said, glancing about the elegant jewelry shop.
"Ah." The gentleman touched the side of his own nose. "Are you in trouble?"
"No." Draco leaned conspiratorially toward the shopkeep. "But I'm always looking to prevent future trouble."
"Smart man." The wizard gestured Draco to a more shadowed display unit across the way. Their shoes tapped the parquet as they approached. "Is this for a girlfriend, wife, mother or lover?"
Draco sucked air through his teeth and rocked on his heels a bit. "Would you understand if I said she was…a bit of all four?"
The man nodded his salt-and-peppered head as if this was not unheard of. "You do need something special." With a minor flourish, he whisked a velvet covering away from a compact case that was heavily warded.
Draco looked in a whistled lowly. "You're very good," he said.
"Experience," the saleswizard replied humbly. "Elven silver, sir. The last of its kind, I'm afraid. Never to tarnish. That shimmer you see is the captured earth energy inside." He cocked his head. "Witches claim they feel it…reverberate. But I wouldn't know about that."
Draco tapped his upper lip, considering. Finally he pointed to a delicate necklace shot through with light blue stones. "That one," he said decisively.
The wizard retrieved the piece briskly and held it out to his customer. Draco hefted it. "Gods! It's heavy!"
Another shrug from the shopkeep. "Elven silver," he repeated. "Shall I box it, sir?"
Draco nodded, handing it back. "Elven jewelers must be some muscular little bastards," he muttered. He didn't even look at the bill of sale, just wand-tapped it. Best not to know, really. "May I use your floo, sir?"
The wizard bowed deeply and gestured down a short flight of stairs at the back. "Please, sir." And as Draco turned to go, "It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco smirked. "It has been. I'll probably be back. I usually manage to get in some trouble no matter my precautions."
The shopkeep looked put-upon. "Don't we all, sir. Don't we all…"
Green flames sent the young Malfoy home. He had much to think on, important business to accomplish, and a witch whose approval would be necessary to his ends.
Said witch was seated on a plush grey divan in the drawing room when he flooed in. She glanced up from her needlepoint. "That didn't take long," Narcissa drawled.
He dropped onto the divan at her feet. "You know I can't tolerate solicitors."
She grimaced at the embroidery in her hands. "What did he say?"
Draco blew air through his flapping lips. "Something about investments and percentages and puckerholes…"
"What?" She was alarmed. "Ouch!" In her alarm, she pricked her finger.
"Here." Draco tugged the injured digit to his lips. Her eyes went half-mast when he sucked it. He stroked her hand and wrist. "Dangerous hobby, mum. Why do you do it?"
"I don't bloody know," she whispered. Her quickened breaths suggested a necklace may be unnecessary in procuring sweaty afternoon sex.
"Where's the elf?"
"Mint is grocering, today."
"Excellent." He cast her needlepoint to the floor and pressed her into the divan. She kissed him eagerly, helped him shrug out of his jacket. He slipped free the silk ribbon on her bodice and bared her to his hands and the drawing room's warm sunlight. "Gorgeous," he murmured around a nipple.
She plucked at his shirt buttons. "You never told me what the solicitor said." Her fingers found his bare skin.
Draco hissed. "Um…" She can't really mean to discuss this now? He tugged at her skirt and she arched so he could remove it. "We've invested in some…potioneering firm." This last bit was muffled as he was tugging her knickers down her legs in his teeth.
He spread her creamy thighs, repeating, "Potioneering firm."
"Oh!" His busy mouth spurred her response to a shout. "Sounds lucrative," she whined.
She was hotter than the solicitor's office and wet. She'd been thinking about this – the naughty minx. And that was good, because he wasn't sure how long he could wait to take her.
And he didn't have to wait long. She tugged insistently at his hands on her thighs. "Now," she gasped.
He fussed with his belt buckle while she worked open his trousers. The few seconds gave him just enough time to form a wondrous idea. "Up, mum."
"Wha?" She was not in processing mode. He pulled her to a sitting position, removed her soft cotton corset and turned her. Her left leg was bent over the back of the chaise while her right knee hooked into the cushion. The position opened her up obscenely and Draco groaned, stroked her wide, dripping slit.
She bucked and gave him an over-shoulder invitation. The look alone nearly did him in, and he slid inside her more deeply than he could recall. They moaned in unison.
He started pumping slowly, draped across her back, caressed her arms, breasts and belly. "You're truly developing…a mind for business, son," his mother panted.
"You think?" he pumped a little faster, clutched her hips.
"Oh, yes!" She cried, either in agreement or ecstasy.
"I suppose it's about time," he grunted. He knelt, used her body for leverage and set a punishing rhythm. She loudly plainted with each thrust. He was flush against her cunt, balls slapping her clit. The smacking sound of their bodies meeting was remarkable echoing off the tiled ceiling. "Narcissa. We should have done this earlier."
She nodded , orgasm overwhelming any ability to articulate a cogent response, wailed into the arm of the chaise and wrung him dry almost bruisingly. They collapsed in an awkward, sweating pile of flesh.
Draco chivalrously helped her extract her leg from its perilous perch. She groaned as feeling returned to the appendage, and he massaged it in understanding. "I think we should discuss business this way more often, mum."
She sighed in contentment beneath him. "Very well, son."
Draco patted her arse like one would a prized filly. "Speaking of business, I may be in the study for a bit. I've some documents to search out."
He grinned. She was shagged out. "Don't fall asleep here, mum. What would Mint think?"
He chuckled as he parted from her and began dressing himself. "You don't mean that. Why don't you have a nice bath and a lie-down?" He bent and kissed above her curvy little bum. "I'll wake you before supper."
"Oh, alright." She pushed up on her elbows and blew bangs out of her eyes. He handed her pieces of her clothing one by one, still smiling rather widely. "Have fun in the study."
He kissed her lips. "I'll try."
Mint had dusted the dreary office it seemed. Draco wandered about it for a moment, not missing the smells of stale cigar smoke and greed. He pushed the rolling chair back and forth behind the great cherry desk for a moment, lost in thought.
His dead dad's spiky handwriting stared up at him from a few parchments left scattered on the blotter. Draco lifted a piece of parchment and stared at it. His own handwriting was neat, with a courtly lean. It bore no semblance to this scratching.
First things first. He swept the stacks of old parchment directly off the desk and into the bronze waste bin. A wave of his wand fired open the thick, cobalt window hangings and light flooded the tall, vaulted room. Better. Another wave fluffed the plush ottoman propped before the floo. Draco suspected he'd be making quite a few calls soon.
In the built-in bookcases behind the desk were rows and rows of spine-dated ledgers. It was simple enough to locate the one he needed and pluck it free. He cracked his knuckles and settled into the leather-cushioned chair. His brows jumped. Rather comfy. "Right then, father." He opened the ledger. "Let's see if you really knew any useful people."
The elf popped in to retrieve him for dinner. "Oh, damn," Draco groused. He hadn't realized how late it was. "Is my mother aware dinner is served."
Mint nodded. "Mistress is already in attendance, young master."
"Hell." He took the steps down to the dining room two or three at a time and skidded to a halt at his seat at the head of the table. "I'm sorry," he said. "I lost track of time."
She smiled. "It's alright. Did you find what you needed?"
He laid his napkin cross his lap. "I think so." Lintel soup. He poked it with his spoon, lip curled.
"Care to tell me about it?"
"I will." He pushed his soup aside and leaned toward her. "First, I'd like to give you the present I got you today."
Her eyes brightened and she leaned toward him. "Present? What's the occasion?"
He shrugged. "Can't a boy think of his mother once in a while?"
"Depends on what he's thinking of her," Narcissa replied.
Draco produced the box from inside his jacket. "Why don't you see if you can guess what I was thinking."
She bit her lip adorably as she lifted away the lid. She froze, eyes widening at the contents. "Draco."
He smiled. "Do you like it? The blue matches your eyes."
Her fingers were over her mouth. Haltingly, one hand reached toward the shimmering strand til she just touched it. "It's…" She shook her head.
Draco stood and walked around her. "Let me see," he whispered. He smoothly draped the piece around her neck, watched it fall on her creamy skin. It was a perfect length, cradled by the peak of her breastplate. It accentuated that dip he loved to kiss. And yes, it set her eyes ablaze.
He swallowed as he re-seated across from her. Perhaps the necklace had been a mistake. Other wizards would definitely notice its dazzling effects. "Perfect," he said.
Her fingers lingered on it, brushing her skin. Her lips pursed and she fixed him with a bold stare. "What do you want?"
"I'm no fool. And I was your father's wife for over twenty years. Wizards don't give witches gifts like this one unless they want something…impossible."
He spread his hands. "I…nothing!"
She slapped the table. "Not nothing! What is this business plan of yours? I have a feeling that's what this is about."
"You think I'm bribing you?" He was incredulous, never expected her to be so suspicious of a gift.
"Ridiculous." He folded his arms.
"Then what is it?"
"What is what?"
"This project of yours. Whatever kept you preoccupied in the study all afternoon."
"I'm going to tell you, dammit!" He huffed.
Mint brought in the main course. Narcissa clammed up. Draco rolled his eyes.
"Thank you, Mint." His mother slid a plate of pasta toward him. She waited until Mint removed the soup and left the room before looking back to her son expectantly.
Draco heaved a frustrated sigh. "I ran into Potter today. We had lunch." Her 'I'm waiting' eyebrow had not abated. "He told me that there is to be no quidditch at Hogwarts this year."
Her 'And this concerns us how' eyebrow joined the 'I'm waiting' eyebrow. "Oh, come on, mother! I want to help give the students their quidditch."
"I see." She dropped her hands into her lap. "And I assume this will cost us?"
Draco held up a finger. "Not as much as you'd imagine." He began enumerating his facts thus far by ticking off his fingers. "Number one, we own a portion of a wizarding lumber company. Number two, the same contractor who built the original pitch at Hogwarts deals with our solicitor and accountants. Number three, the same supply company that father bought the Slytherin team's brooms from is still happily in business and promised him a generous discount should he require their services again. Number four, bulk robes can be acquired cheaply through any distributor. And number five…"
He waved in vexation. "Fuck. I forgot number five. But number five is good." He wagged a finger at her. "Really good!"
She was nodding. "It's your decision, Draco."
"No, it's not. It's our decision," he muttered. "And I'm pissed you thought I was trying to buy you."
"Not on this project, witch!"
"Ah, but you admit you were trying to buy something!"
He blushed. "Maybe."
"What?" She demanded.
"Merlin!" He leveled a beatless gaze at her. "What do you think?"
She blinked a few times, then blushed redder than he had. "Oh."
"Oh," Draco repeated sarcastically. "Not that it was necessary," he added. "But I thought a little incentive… And for fuck's sake it really is gorgeous on you."
She appeared sheepish. "It's the most beautiful piece I own." She fingered it again. "I apologize for suspecting your motives in error."
He smirked. "I suppose I can see your assumption making sense. And honestly, if I'd thought of it ahead of time, perhaps I could have gotten such a ploy right."
"You need no ploys, Draco." Her hand reached across to his. "On either count. I think what you want to do for Hogwarts is admirable. But I have a piece of advice."
"Please." He squeezed her hand.
"Talk to the headmistress before you do anything drastic. Make certain she even wants to consider this option."
Draco's jaw tensed, but he nodded. "Right. I'll floo her tomorrow. I have quite a few calls to make…if she's willing to go through with it."
"Good." Narcissa released his fingers and grabbed her fork. "Now eat. You'll need your strength."
"Mm." She swallowed a mouthful of pasta. "I intend to show you my gratitude for the necklace after dinner. Unless, you'd rather I just gushed like any other witch."
He hardened in his trousers. "No! No." He too prepared to eat. "I look forward to your…unique expressions of thanks, Narcissa."
She smiled. Business, for the moment, was completed.
AN: Thanks to all my loyal readers and my loyal reviewers. Thank you to the dragon most implicitly. Thank you to the contributors to Malfoy Manner's extensive soundtrack, including The Decemberists, Deadly Syndrome, Dresden Dolls, Crowded House, Tori Amos, Timbaland, Prince and (believe it or not) INXS.