Tooth Fairy Fights and Wisdom Teeth Wars: Draco and Harry's Great Big Dental Adventure
Prompt: # 247
Career Choices: Starring Tooth Fairy!Draco, with Toothache!Harry
Summary: Harry never had a visit from the Tooth Fairy when he was a boy, but now that he's had his wisdom teeth pulled, he's tempted to try again. He knows it's silly. Obviously it is. Ridiculous, really. But then, sometimes it feels nice to believe in a little magic.
Warnings/Content Notes: Expired potions, excessive silliness, and mild Hufflepuff bashing. May contain nuts and lulz.
A/N: Thanks to my brilliant prereaders and betas, sapphirescribe, twilightmundi, con_riley, and arcadianmaggie. Check under your pillows, girls. You'll find heaping helpings of my love and gratitude waiting for you there.
This fic was originally written for the H/D Career Fair fest over on LiveJournal. Many thanks to the fabulous mods for running a fantastic fest.
Draco flipped the page of the newspaper spread out on the table before him. Absently twirling the quill in his hand, he perused the The Prophet's classified adverts.
A social worker at Mungo's.
An intern at the Ministry Press.
An apprentice at Ollivander's Wand Shop.
A volunteer for S.P.E.W. Some poor sod to clean the owl droppings from the statuary in the Ministry's public gardens. And a rent boy to cover the street corner outside Borgin and Burkes on Saturdays after dusk until one hour past curfew.
No. No, thank you. Not bloody likely. Not so much. Absolutely, positively not. And how is that even legal?
Was there no job for a smart, fit, 23-year-old man with a host of Outstanding N.E.W.T.s next to his (admittedly tainted) name? And if that young man happened to have wings that occasionally extended themselves at slightly inopportune times, well, what was it to his employer, provided it didn't interfere with his job?
Draco sighed dramatically for the benefit of any house elves that may have been lurking nearby before flipping the page again and turning to the next set of postings.
No, No, No... Hmm, perhaps?
Fortescue's was recruiting. That might not be so bad, handling ice cream. He read closer. Someone was needed to add the almonds to the Boogie Woogie Brussels Sprout and Thestral Tracks ice cream flavours. Draco frowned. That wouldn't work; he was allergic to nuts. And Hufflepuffs. Whinging children too, for that matter.
If only his mother wasn't so insistent that he find a job. Technically, she had only demanded that he stop moping and get out of the house once in a while. But with his friends all departed for the continent after the War, he was at a loss for a place to actually go. His mother suggested volunteering, but any good Slytherin knew better than to give without getting back handsomely in return.
Nor did his mother seem to accept his recent Veela transformation as an excuse.
"Just tuck your wings in, dear," she'd said, causing Draco to roll his eyes as dramatically as his anatomy would allow.
As though the wings were the only issue. Unfortunately, they weren't the only part of his body that had a tendency to pop up when least wanted. But then he couldn't exactly explain to his mother that he hadn't even for one single moment stopped thinking about sex since he came into his Veela heritage a few months back.
"Just tuck your penis in, dear." Draco shuddered involuntarily as he imagined her instructing him on that, too.
He certainly suspected that his fixation on sex was due to being a Veela, but who knew for certain? Maybe the all-consuming desire to put his cock in tight places was simply because he was a virile young man. Too bad he was a Malfoy; otherwise, that rent boy position might have worked out rather well under the circumstances...
He glumly turned back to the adverts.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
He scanned through the last of the ads quickly, having already given up hope that he'd find something suitable.
And that's when he saw it, tucked all the way in the corner at the bottom of the page. He grabbed his quill and circled the posting as he read the headline again, a smile slowly spreading across his face.
Merlin, it was bloody perfect for him and he'd be brilliant at it. He read the details, getting more excited by the moment. They'd hire him on the spot, he just knew it. He'd be completely fantastic! Absolutely brillian-
Draco's wings popped out in his excitement, making their customary swooshing sound as they unfolded from his shoulders in a glorious array of feathers. But instead of cursing the extra appendages as he normally would have, he simply grinned and put down his quill. It was a beautiful day for a job interview.
Harry rubbed his jaw for a moment before taking another forkful of his meat pie and chewing it thoroughly. Australian food wasn't so very different from what he was used to, he thought, licking a drop of gravy from his fork. They had proper fish and chips, for example, and sausage rolls. He hadn't had his usual quota of pumpkin juice, but that was mostly because he, Ron, and Hermione were staying with 'Mione's Muggle parents.
He was wondering whether it would be rude to ask if he could have a third helping of dinner when he noticed Hermione's parents exchange a meaningful look. He glanced over at Ron and Hermione, wondering if they'd seen it, but they were engrossed in their own food, as well as their game of footsie that Harry was certain was being played beneath the table.
Deciding not to worry about her parents' shared glance, he absent-mindedly dropped his mouth open and stretched his jaw once or twice as he speared the last chunk of meat from his plate and brought it to his lips.
"Harry, is your jaw bothering you?"
Harry looked up in surprise at the question from Hermione's mother. Rubbing his jaw, he had to admit that it wasn't feeling quite right. He'd been ignoring the slight bit of discomfort for a few days. Now that he thought about it, it was a bit painful, wasn't it? A bit worse today than it had been the day before, too. But it wasn't terrible; he'd survived worse, that was for certain. Plus, he wasn't entirely comfortable with the strange gleam in 'Mione's father's eyes. "Eh, no, I'm fine," he mumbled, setting down his fork.
"Are you certain? Maybe we should just take a look?" Hermione's mother pressed, reinforcing Harry's opinion that Muggle dentists were somewhat of an odd lot, wanting to poke around people's mouths all day.
"Yeah, I'm all right," he said again. After all, it was nothing that some paracetamol couldn't solve...
"Bloody hell!" Harry woke up with a sharp pain cutting through his sleepy haze. He rubbed at his jaw, a weak attempt at massaging the pain away until he could locate some painkillers. Too bad Hermione's parents wouldn't have any pain potions in their medicine cabinet, but then, maybe Hermione had some in her extendible suitcases. He stumbled from his guest bedroom, stepping over a snoring Ron who had crawled into his sleeping bag on the floor sometime after midnight, and headed towards the room where Hermione slept.
Harry knocked cautiously on her door. " 'Mione? Are you awake?"
"Harry?" she called back, sleep making her voice scratchy. "Yeah, come in."
Relieved, Harry opened the door and caught her mid-yawn. He felt bad for waking her, but the prospect of potion to relieve the pain overruled any guilt he felt.
Unfortunately, Hermione hadn't brought any pain potions to Australia, and worse, she saw fit to wake up her parents. They, in turn, refused to give him anything stronger than paracetamol unless he acquiesced to a dental examination. And that is why he found himself lying prone on a leather chair in their office while Hermione's mother and father stuck various instruments of torture into his mouth, and all before half eight in the morning - before he'd even had the chance to have tea.
When he finally left that same chair hours later, Harry had forgotten entirely about tea or the drinking thereof. In fact, Harry was barely able to think about anything at all, thanks to the anaesthesia and pain pills he'd been given. He'd also been given a tiny blue plastic treasure chest containing two of his wisdom teeth, which he clutched firmly in his hand.
Though Ron and Hermione refused Harry's offer to show them his treasure, they gathered him up and took him home to sleep away the afternoon. Hermione's parents checked in on him periodically, proud of their work on a patient who was, per Hermione, "kind of a big deal."
Harry, unaccustomed to being fussed and fretted over, found the attention overwhelming at first, and undesirable soon thereafter. He knew how to deal with pain, but preferred to handle it privately, not in front of his friends and hosts. He also felt guilty for spoiling the last days of Ron and Hermione's Australian vacation with the untimely removal of his wisdom teeth. Despite their many protests, it wasn't long before he was Firecalling the International Portkey Office to change the date of his return trip.
By dinnertime the next day, he was back at Grimmauld Place.
He was still in significant pain, but he'd promised to Firecall Hermione or her parents if he had any trouble, or to visit St Mungo's directly if there was an emergency. Beyond that, Harry was mostly glad to be home on his own couch, dressed in his most comfortable pyjamas, under his favourite blanket with his head on his fluffiest pillow.
By that night the swelling in his cheeks had gone down, thankfully, though he was still in quite a lot of pain despite the medications the Grangers had given him. Harry thought they made him more woozy than anything else.
In fact, he thought as he got up from the couch to make his way to bed, he might make a stop at his medicine cabinet first. The Muggle painkillers were so clearly insufficient that a potion was obviously in order. He dug through the various items in his cabinet until he found the green pain potion he sought. He uncorked the small glass bottle and took a swig of the thick liquid, frowning at the taste. The potion hadn't tasted quite like he remembered. Wiping his mouth, Harry corked the bottle, only then noticing the green colour was slightly darker than he'd first realized. Flicking on the light, he blinked against the brightness then studied the bottle more closely. Bugger. Definitely the wrong colour. He shook the bottle, stirring the liquid. He groaned; it was expired Wiggenweld Potion.
Setting the bottle aside, he peered back into the cabinet. Surely there'd be no unfortunate complications if he took the pain potion as well, he thought as he lifted up various bottles, sniffing the ones he thought might be the one he sought.
He should have listened to Hermione and used one of those Muggle sticky label makers, as she'd suggested. He sniffed another lime green liquid with an odour strong enough to make his stomach turn.
Eventually, he found the right potion and took a swallow or two, which he judged would be sufficient. Perhaps he should've looked up the correct dosage, but by then he was eager to get to bed. Especially since everything around him appeared to be somewhat more curvy than he remembered. Curvy and purplish. And was that portrait waving at him?
Oh right, he giggled, his head feeling much lighter now. Waving portraits were fine. Waving portraits were good, even, now that he was a wizard. Perfectly normal. The lamp that saluted him as he entered his bedroom was slightly more concerning...
Harry finally made it to his bed despite the way the floor seemed to roll beneath his feet. Stripping down, he collapsed awkwardly onto the bed with a grunt, followed by another set of somewhat uncontrollable giggles. He wondered whether the potions he'd taken were interacting with each other, or even with all of the Muggle medicines and antibiotics already running through his blood. He blinked slowly as he pulled the blanket up to his chin, resting his head against his pillow. Even if they were interacting, he doubted the combination was dangerous. He felt fine, after all. Better than he had felt in days. Or possibly ever. He giggled again as he watched the small night table by his bed alternately grow and then shrink back down to house elf size before returning to its normal height. It was odd, though, the way his head felt so very light while his eyes were heavy, heavy, heavy.
Blinking slowly, Harry used his wand to turn out the lights then set it down on the night table, alongside the little blue treasure chest from the Grangers. He smiled and took off his glasses, trying to ignore the fact that the room was spinning a bit. He'd never been given a little trinket like the treasure chest when he lost teeth as a child. Instead, Aunt Petunia had simply yelled at him because Harry used up more than his allotted tissues for the week with his ridiculous bleeding, not to mention that it scared her precious Dudley. And certainly Harry'd never had a Tooth Fairy visit him in the dark dusty cupboard where he'd slept.
He shook his potions-addled head at the image of a little Tooth Fairy trying to pick the lock Uncle Vernon had placed on the cupboard door in an effort to deliver him some coins that Dudley would likely have likely stolen anyway. Yet another childhood experience he'd missed.
But then... what if it wasn't too late? Harry reached for the little blue plastic container, popping it open and looking at the two teeth inside.
Well, there was magic, after all, wasn't there?
Couldn't there be a Tooth Fairy as well?
He knew it was ridiculous, but then, what was the harm in trying? Deciding he'd very well need to ask Hermione in the morning about what exactly was in those potions he'd taken, he dumped the two teeth into the palm of his hand, accidentally dropping one to the floor in the process. Just the thought of leaning down over the side of his bed made Harry's head spin though, so he ignored it for the time being - he could always find it the next day - and he tossed the little treasure chest back on his night table before sneaking his hand under his pillow and leaving the tooth there.
Settling down under the covers, he yawned once more before whispering a soft goodnight to whoever was listening - the saluting lamp included - and closed his eyes.
He knew it was silly at his age to hope for a visit from a Tooth Fairy. Obviously it was. Ridiculous, really.
But then, it just felt so nice to believe in magic, sometimes.
Harry stirred in his sleep. A noise - no, a voice. Gods, was the lamp talking to him now? He must be dreaming, he decided, rolling over and pulling up the blankets that had bunched down at his waist during the night.
"...wasting my time with what is clearly an elaborate scam..."
"...doesn't bloody well deserve the children's Galleons..."
"...lodging a complaint with the authorities..."
"...of fucking course Potter sleeps starkers..."
Harry must be dreaming, mustn't he? That voice... Harry never heard that voice outside of his dreams, not since Hogwarts. He groaned and raised his head, trying to sit up and wondering what his unconscious held for him this go around. Groggy and certain he was still doped up on various medicines, he opened his eyes and looked in the direction of the muttering coming from the foot of his bed.
Just as quickly, he shut them again.
He must absolutely, positively be dreaming.
Because if he was not, then there was definitely a problem.
Peeking one eye open, he glanced once more in that direction.
Oh, dear gods. Still there.
He rubbed his eyes to clear them but to no avail. Right there, hovering just over the bottom of Harry's bed, was a furious man stomping back and forth through the air, aided by a pair of sizeable white wings.
Not just any man. Draco Malfoy. Glowing in a sparkly sort of way, and gorgeous. Definitely gorgeous. And nearly naked, as well. Right there in Harry's bedroom, he was, and in nothing but the tiniest of loincloths, with a vast array of feathers splaying out from his back.
Huffing as he paced several inches above Harry's blankets, Malfoy was apparently throwing some sort of temper tantrum, if Harry was correctly reading his wild hand gestures and the occasional angry flap of his wings.
Harry blinked slowly when Malfoy stopped and focused on him, his grey eyes blazing.
"Potter, you prick. Have you no respect for the sanctity of this honourable position? Or are you poor as the she-Weasel now, needing to take Galleons from the poor children whose teeth you evidently stole? Gods, have you no dignity? This is beneath even you, you classless, undignified, arrogant prat. And don't you dare try to defend yourself!"
Malfoy flounced across the room before turning back to Harry once more. "Don't just sit there staring at me with those fucking green eyes and that fucking bed head and fucking exquisitely defined chest of yours. I'll have you know that I'll be reporting you to the authorities. Not even Harry fucking Potter gets away with-"
Dreaming. Harry was definitely dreaming. His subconscious clearly needed to be sorted, but that's all this was: a dream. Some crazy fucked up dream. Probably caused by all the potions. Yes, definitely due to the potions. Even if the floor was no longer rolling, and nothing was spinning anymore, and the lamp was... well, behaving as a lamp ought; it was all just a dream.
Sliding back down under his covers, Harry closed his eyes and tried to forget about the unbelievable sight of the golden Malfoy, with his glistening smooth skin, and his platinum hair long around his face, pinked with rage. And his wings! Since when did Malfoy have wings?!
Merlin, he was never taking another unlabelled potion ever again, Harry told himself as he covered his ears with a pillow in an attempt to muffle the tirade that continued to rain down on him from the foot of his bed. Yes, he was definitely, one hundred percent certain this was all one crazy potions-induced dream. He closed his eyes once more and didn't fight the drowsiness that fought to pull him back into sleep.
Absolutely. Positively. Just... a... dream...
Harry awoke to a raging headache and equally sore gums, but after the absurd dream he'd had, he vowed to take nothing stronger than paracetamol until everything else had worked itself out of his system. Deciding some tea and a shower would help, he set about his morning routine, and by the time he got out of the shower, was feeling a bit better about the world and his prospects of one day being able to chew again.
He wrapped a towel around his waist and headed back to his bedroom to dress for the day, even if that only meant sweatpants and a tee, as he planned to spend the majority of the day on the couch in the company of the telly. Once he'd pulled on his clothes and socks, and towelled his hair dry, he went about making his bed. He couldn't help but smile at his own ridiculousness when he spotted the empty little blue treasure chest on his night table. He guessed he might as well put the little toy in the rubbish bin, as it was difficult to feel very sentimental in the light of day about a few wisdom teeth.
Remembering that one tooth had fallen to the floor the night before, he reached under the edge of the bed until he felt it with his fingers, plucked it up, and returned it to the blue case. That solved, he lifted his pillow to find the other.
"Huh," Harry said aloud to the universe. "That's odd."
In place of the tooth, just where that little tooth should have been, three small coins lay in its place. Three worn, bent, damaged, little Knuts. One had a chunk missing. Another actually looked like it had bite marks on it. But they were definitely Knuts. And they were also very definitely covered in some sort of glitter. He picked one up, finding the shimmering dust now covered his hands as well.
Harry's brow furrowed as he examined the coins, and the glittery substance, which, if he wasn't mistaken, very strongly resembled fairy dust.
It couldn't be, could it?
Harry's first reaction was a flash of disappointment that the Tooth Fairy was apparently quite cheap and gave gifts almost as terrible as those Harry'd received from the Dursleys. Rolling his eyes at himself, Harry decided that this simply must be a misunderstanding of sorts. He was, after all, far too old to believe in a Tooth Fairy at all, much less one that took the form of a pissed off and unexpectedly feathered Malfoy.
"Hermione?" he called out, hoping to hear a giggled response coming from his guest room. Perhaps she'd sneaked in while he'd been in the shower. "Ron?" Ron was less likely to find a tooth fairy joke funny as his parents weren't exactly in the dental field, but then, he certainly wasn't above pranks. Even Ron was more believable than the only other alternative Harry could imagine.
He dropped the coins on the night table and put his pillow back on the bed after searching one final time for the tooth that was most definitely no longer there.
Shaking his head, Harry proceeded to finish making his bed, entirely dismissing as odd coincidence the little bits of glitter he found concentrated at the foot of his bed. And as for the elegant, snow white feather he found snagged on his chest of drawers, well, that was best ignored as well.
Deciding he was in need of another cuppa, a lie down, and possibly an intervention by a Muggle mind healer, he left his bedroom, flicking out the lights and closing the door behind him.
"Harry!" Hermione's head popped up in his fireplace as she called out happily to him. "We're back! Can we come over?"
Harry agreed and watched as, a few moments later, she and Ron stepped out of his Floo.
"How are you?" Hermione asked, sounding concerned, as Ron handed him a treacle milkshake and some mashed pumpkin Happy Wizardlet baby food.
Harry accepted the treats, but admitted he was still in a certain amount of pain, though he baulked when Ron suggested taking a potion. "I'm not sure that's a good idea," he admitted. "I may have had a reaction to the potion I took last night."
Hermione looked at him pointedly. "What did you take?"
"Well, the Muggle codeine wasn't enough, so I took some pain potion-"
"That should have been fine though!" Hermione insisted.
"That's what I thought!" Harry said. "Except, er, I also drank some expired Wiggenweld Potion too, by accident."
"Oi!" Ron exclaimed. "What were you thinking?"
Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. "Oh, Harry, the clover pollen interacts with the Thestral bogeys after it sits too long, you know that!"
Harry didn't, so he merely shrugged. "Let me guess, it's a hallucinogenic?"
Hermione frowned. "No, a sedative, actually. Especially when combined with the Muggle penicillin you were taking."
"I... oh." Well, that was odd, Harry decided. "Not even when combined with the pain potion?"
Hermione bit her lip and shook her head slowly.
"Hmm, well, all right then." Harry paused to sip his milkshake. "I suppose I wouldn't mind some pain potion then, if you're sure they'd be okay to take together," he said after swallowing.
"I'll get it," Ron offered, hopping up from his chair and dashing off to Harry's medicine cabinet.
"So, hallucinations?" Hermione asked, eyebrow raised, once Ron had disappeared around the corner.
Harry shrugged and concentrated very hard on his milkshake so as to avoid further questioning until Ron returned. When Ron finally got back with the green potion, Harry grabbed it and took a healthy swig before Hermione could lecture him on proper dosage.
"Oi! Harry! Wait! Oh bugger!" Ron yelped as Harry swallowed. "That's the Wiggenweld Potion! I couldn't find the pain potion so I pulled this one so you wouldn't accidentally drink it again. Good plan, that," he sighed.
"You haven't labelled your potions yet? Harry!" Hermione chastised him, grabbing the bottle from Harry, who was thoughtfully licking his lips.
"Welp, that wasn't the Wiggenweld Potion either," he announced.
Hermione snagged it and sniffed it. "Oh for pity's sake. Why do you even have Dragon Tonic?"
"Dunno. Hagrid must've vigen, er, given me to - vigen it to me," he said as a somewhat translucent baby dragon appeared in front of him out of thin air. "Oooh, nice dragon!" he exclaimed, attempting to pet the blue and yellow dragon's neck as it faded in and out of sight.
Hermione looked at Ron with alarm as Harry began wildly patting the air, once, twice, thrice, before promptly passing out.
"The Tooth Fairy's pretty, isn't he?" a very groggy Harry asked when he next opened his eyes a few hours later.
Ron thought carefully about his next words. Hermione had run to the apothecary for guidance on what Harry could or could not take in his present state, so Ron was left alone with his woozy friend. And the last thing Ron wanted was for Harry to start petting the air again.
"Eh, Tooth Fairy?" Well, it wasn't Ron's best moment, but he suspected Harry would never remember anyway.
"Yeah," Harry said, still looking a bit dazed as he turned to stare at Ron. His hair was sticking up, his eyes glassy, and his cheeks reddened from sleep. "D'you believe in the Tooth Fairy? I don't. But I liked his loincloth rather a lot."
Ron blinked. "Loincl- ahh, maybe you better rest, Harry. We can talk about the Tooth Fairy later."
Harry grumbled and flopped over on the couch. "Muggle children think the Tooth Fairy exists. S'not so crazy."
Ron chuckled. Harry was hilarious when he was all delusional on potions. "Well of course it's not crazy. Who else would collect their teeth? Their parents?" Ron grinned.
"Wait. So there's really a Tooth Fairy?" Harry asked from where his face was mashed into the couch cushion.
"Well of course there's a Tooth Fairy! More than one, of course. Gotta keep up with all the children. Tooth Fairy Industries handles the scheduling and geographic ranges of the different fairies. They all have to meet their quotas, after all, or how would wizarding cats wee?"
Certain he hadn't heard Ron correctly, Harry twisted until he was half sitting up. "Cats. Wee?"
"Well, not when there aren't enough teeth, they don't. Obviously." Ron laughed.
"I don't understand. I was just gonna throw mine away," Harry said.
Ron looked incredulous. "But what about the cats? Let me guess; you don't donate your spare eyelashes to the UK Children's Lightbulb Filament Fund either!"
"I, er, the what?"
Ron buried his head in his hands. "Cat litter, Harry. Bloody hell! There's a national shortage of cat litter and here you are, just throwing away your teeth!"
"There are teeth in wizarding cat litter?" Harry grimaced. He couldn't remember where Mrs. Figg's many cats had gone to the bathroom; he'd never paid much attention. "Why not just use clay or wood chips, like Muggles?"
"Well not just teeth, mate. There are other ingredients too, I think, but the teeth make it extra absorbent. Especially the extra fluoride varieties. Those are the best for when you have multiple cats," Ron explained. "And how in Merlin's name is clay going to make everything disappear? Gods, and Muggles can't even vanish the nasty bits." Ron shuddered. "Clay... that's bonkers! I can't wait to tell 'Mione! She's gonna freak, what with the poor working conditions for troll clay diggers!"
Harry scratched his head. "So, you're saying, the Tooth Fairy - no, multiple Tooth Fairies - exist in the wizarding world, primarily to gather enough children's teeth to make litter for wizarding cats."
"And Animagi. Some of them use it too. And they don't take kindly to second class litters, know what I mean?"
"Right. Of course. The Animagi would want only the best litter." Which contained teeth, apparently. Slipping back down so he was horizontal on the couch, Harry pulled a blanket over his head. He was clearly not ready to deal with such a world just yet.
They lapsed into a comfortable enough silence while Harry thought everything over and fought to stay awake despite the various medicines and potions he'd consumed. Eventually, he peeked out from the edge of the blanket to spot Ron chewing on his fingernail. "So, what do Tooth Fairies look like?"
"No one's actually seen one, of course. But mum always told us they were mischievous little imps who stole her extra buttons and made her children grow up too quickly." Ron scratched his head. "I'm not sure that's reliable though."
"I wonder if one could get into Grimmauld Place. The Fidelius, you know? I mean, hypothetically, of course." Harry tried not to look suspicious as he picked at the blanket tucked around him.
"Definitely," Ron said. "Fairies have different magic, like house elves. Why? Thinking of having Teddy stay with you?"
"Er, yes. Definitely asking for Teddy." Well then, Harry decided, a Tooth Fairy must've visited him the night before, but the flying glittery Draco Malfoy bit, that was obviously just some messed up delusion of some sort, likely due to the potions he'd taken, no matter what Hermione said about them being sedatives and not hallucinogenics. He decided it best not to mention the Malfoy sighting bit to Ron and 'Mione.
Harry yawned. "So how much do Tooth Fairies leave for children?"
"Dunno, exactly," Ron said. "Can't remember. Maybe a couple of Galleons? Yeah, I think a Galleon or two, depending on how big the tooth is. The bigger ones are worth more, of course. Better for the cats and all."
"Er, right." Harry closed his eyes and snuggled back into his pillow. He loved magic, but he wondered if there'd ever be a time when the wizarding world stopped surprising him. "Imma go t'sleep now," Harry mumbled.
"Okay, Harry," Ron said, turning on the telly and settling on a Cannon's game.
Harry's mind drifted as he dozed, the game commentary soft in the background. "So, more than, say, three Knuts?" he asked some time after.
"You on about the Tooth Fairy again?" Ron smiled at the lump of blankets that was Harry. At Harry's soft grunt, Ron answered, "Definitely more than a few Knuts, yeah. I'd be pissed if I was a kid and that's all I got."
Harry smiled into his pillow, his mind drifting back yet again to the strange dream he'd had. Even if his hallucinated Draco Fairy was extraordinarily cheap, he was rather nice to look at. Those wings really softened the harsh angles of his face, and the lanky, shimmering limbs, well those were nice too. And gods, that loincloth...
"Harry? Did you say something about a loincloth?" Ron asked, poking Harry on the shoulder.
"Mmmmhmmm. Malfoy Fairy's feathers and loincloths. Those're nice."
"Uh, mate? I think that Dragon Tonic is still messing with your head."
"Wings," Harry murmured as he finally drifted off. "And shiny, shiny hair..."
Ron gulped and turned up the telly louder. Next time Hermione could watch over Harry.
Late that night, when Harry was getting ready for bed, he spotted the remaining tooth in his little plastic treasure chest, just sitting there on the night table by his bed.
Pausing for only the briefest moment, he made a quick decision, and, slipping his hand under his pillow, he tucked the tooth against his mattress.
He knew it was crazy, but then, he was only doing it for the cats after all, wasn't he?
Draco watched the sun as it set over Manor's western gardens. Almost time for work, he acknowledged, moving inside to change into his uniform.
Putting the finishing touches on his hair, he looked himself over in the mirror. Excellent, he thought, as the mirror whistled appreciatively in agreement.
The expected owl arrived as he was gathering his robes to wear on the way to work. Plucking the parchment from the leg of the cheeky Tooth Fairy Industries owl perching on his balcony, he gave her a small treat then sent her on her way back to T.F.I. Headquarters.
He glanced at the list on his parchment-the names and addresses for the London children who had lost teeth that day. It was a few more than on a normal night, but not absurdly so. He saw a few familiar names on the list as he looked it over. Really, how did little Billy Burton have any teeth left to lose? And oh, yes, the normal contingent of post-War wizarding babies, just now reaching the age where they were starting to lose teeth. Draco could identify them by their telling names; that night there were no fewer than 18 children on his list who were named Harry, not to mention one Harriet and an even more unfortunate Harriella.
He finished scanning the list: Harry Elfman-Kuntz. Harry Fried. Cindi Johansen. Leila Longbottom. Harry Monroe. Harold Namathe, Harry Oppenheimer, Harry Pott-
Draco stared at the list in horror. No. No, no, no, no, no. Absolutely not. It couldn't be. Not again. He told his boss he wouldn't. He wouldn't.
But there it was. Right there, sandwiched between that greedy little Harry Oppenheimer and Miss Greta Putnam with her messy plaits: one Harry Potter of 12 Grimmauld Place, London. Again.
Draco shrieked and tore his list to pieces, throwing them off the balcony and casting a quick Incendio on them for good measure as they drifted to the ground. He watched the ashes float away through the air.
There was no way. No way he was going back there. Gods! He'd said it right on his job application: Allergic to nuts, hippogriff dander, and speccy gits!
And yet, there Potter's name had been on his list. Draco scowled.
Potter was clearly trying to scam Tooth Fairy Industries. An adult wizard putting a tooth under his pillow... ludicrous. St. Mungo's always took care of adult teeth directly. Potter must've twisted the healers under his thumb to keep his, and all that to mock Draco and steal the children's Galleons while he was at it! That prat! Gods, would he never stop tormenting Draco at every turn? And then Draco had fallen into Potter's little joke, showing up right there in his bedroom, like he was some poor working class sod - because Draco wasn't, even if he sort of was - and Potter hadn't even had the decency to explain himself, ignoring Draco no matter how many times Draco'd poked at the smooth skin on his startlingly muscular shoulder.
No. Draco would not go back there.
Stomping over to his fireplace, he quickly Firecalled his boss. He'd bloody well had enough. He'd rather resign than stoop to being Potter's Fairy.
Merlin! What if Draco went and Potter's sheet was bunched down even further around his waist this time and Draco had to look at the upper bits of that shapely white arse! Draco'd never get that image out of his brain-
Son of a Muggle, Draco thought as his wings popped out from his robes.
Gods. Potter ruined everything.
Bugger. Draco backed away from his fireplace, ending the Firecall.
No, Draco hadn't remembered that his contract required 48 hours written notice of resignation. And no, Draco didn't want to disappoint the children when there was no one else to cover his shift, not even the germ-laden miniature Hufflepuffs. He hadn't even been able to convince his boss to let him skip Potter's house! As if it was Draco's fault he hadn't met his monthly tooth quota; there was always a bit of a shortage when families left London for summer hols.
Which meant Draco had no choice but to go. Fuck. Potter better be wearing pyjamas this time, he thought as he left for work, his wings tucked back into his shoulders until he needed them at the first child's home. He looked at the top of the new list his boss had Priority Owled to him.
Harryina Alderman, 24 Murray St., London.
Draco sighed. He'd best get a move on. With a name like Harryina, she deserved the best Tooth Fairy experience possible. Perhaps some extra fairy dust and some especially shiny new Galleons. It was the least he could do for the poor children named after the idiot Potter.
Draco stared, mesmerized by the pert Potter buttocks that peeked at him from beneath the edge of the blanket.
Potter shifted in his sleep, bending one knee as he lay on his stomach, fast asleep. Potter's blanket slipped down a touch farther as he spread his legs slightly.
Draco whimpered from his spot at the foot of Harry's bed. He'd never be able to retract his wings ever again if that blanket dropped any lower - Oh - Oh. Oh gods. Harry stretched his left arm up and tucked it under his pillow, further emphasizing the small of his back, and inadvertently putting even more of his body on display as the blankets remained tangled at his feet.
Fuck you, Harry Potter, Draco thought. Fuck you and your stupid teeth and horrible hair. Your pale skin and broad shoulders and strong back, your muscled arms, and that luscious, luscious arse. Gods, yes, fuck that arse. It was so perfect, Draco wanted to bite it. And then sweep his tongue over it afterwards, soothing the skin he'd claimed with his teeth. And then maybe nip it again, taking those cheeks in his hands and...
Really. How was Draco supposed to go about his job under such conditions? He adjusted his loincloth - he wore his favourite leopard print one that night - and tried to get a grip. The Veela in him made it nearly impossible to turn away though. In fact, it begged to... yes, just like that... give that blanket a little tiny tug, just there.
Draco bit his fist.
Potter's entire arse was on display now, as the top of the blanket rested against the very top of his thighs. Draco could see, well, more than before. Quite a lot more. Glorious. But not quite enough, now was it? He was getting a bit greedy, he supposed, but if he gave just one more little tug, and then perhaps adjusted his placement on the bed, hovering just to the right, and moved the blanket a little to the left, and perhaps got a tad closer, well, he'd be able to see-
"What the fuck!" Suddenly the arse disappeared, a blanket was tugged from Draco's hand and up to Potter's neck as Potter rolled over and sat up in his bed, glaring at Draco.
"I - shit. Fuck you, Potter. God, buy some bloody pyjamas, will you?" Draco snapped back as he scrambled backwards, smashing his wing into the post of the bed in his haste. "Fuck! Ow! Bloody Hell!" Draco scowled as he gingerly straightened his bent feathers. "Potter, you'll pay for this!"
"Me? What did I do? I wake up to find you about two feet from my arse, my blankets in your hands, and you all glowing and sparkly and winged and shit." Potter shook his head. "Why the fuck do you have wings, Malfoy? Fuck, am I dreaming again? For Godric's sake, will someone please tell me what is in those bloody potions I'm taking?"
"The only thing you're taking is the children's Galleons, you imbecile," Draco spit back as he soothed his sore wing.
"You've got to be kidding me." Potter's eyes widened.
"What, Potter?" Draco glared.
"You really are the Tooth Fairy!" he said incredulously.
"No," Draco retorted. "I'm a Tooth Fairy. I cover one quarter of London, Wednesday through Sunday nights, and every other Boxing Day."
"Is that why you have wings?" Harry asked.
"I have wings because I'm a Veela, you tit." Draco rolled his eyes. As if he'd install wings for a job.
"Fleur didn't have wings," Harry said.
"Well Fleur wasn't a virile male in search of a mate, now was she?" Gods, Potter was as dumb as he looked.
"Er, no. I suppose not." Potter narrowed his eyes. "Is it in the Tooth Fairy job description to steal my blankets then?"
Draco rolled his eyes again and flounced over to the window to look out at the sky. Harry was his last stop but he had to get the teeth back to Headquarters before the dawn pick-up time. Since there was no more bare Potter on display, he supposed he might as well get going. He dug into his messenger bag and found an old yellow button and a grimy Knut he'd found along his route. He held them out to Potter, who took them. "Uh, Malfoy?" Potter asked.
"Your tooth, Potter. I need your tooth now."
"What? No! Ron said a tooth like this is worth a few Galleons!"
"Potter, just give me your tooth." Draco tried to sound menacing as he hovered closer and stuck his hand in Potter's face.
"No," Potter said petulantly.
"Potter! Some of us have jobs to do. Hand it over." If he didn't get Potter's tooth, he'd be under his quota for the month, and then he'd have all the other Fairies turning up their noses at him, which was not on.
"No! Some other Fairy can come get my tooth."
"Give. It. Now." Draco landed on the bed, and pinned Potter down beneath him, his wings spread wide above him and his nose nearly touching Potter's.
"No," Potter scowled, though Draco could see his eyes widen as he looked up at Draco.
Draco grabbed Potter's wrists and held them together above his head, leaving his other hand free to try to shove his pillow out of the way to get the tooth. Fucking Potter wouldn't cooperate though, wriggling beneath him, squirming against Draco, only the thin sheet between them.
Fucking Potter. Sitting back over Potter's hips, Draco grabbed the extra pillow next to Harry and whacked him over the head with it. Repeatedly. Feathers danced through the air as Harry sputtered beneath him, trying to extricate himself from Draco's grasp and grab the offending pillow. Finally managing to wrest the pillow from Draco's hold, he chucked it across the room.
"What the fuck, Malfoy?" Harry said, but the anger was gone. Instead he looked up at Draco, breathing heavily, his cheeks reddened, eyes clear and green and bright.
Draco looked at the man beneath him, the blanket gathered down at Harry's waist, where Draco knelt over him. Harry's chest rose and fell as his panting matched Draco's. Gorgeous. Even Harry's perpetual bed hair was appropriate under these conditions. Fuck.
He closed his eyes, trying to regain control of his Veela instincts, when he felt it. There. Hard against him. Potter was hard. Unable to help himself, Draco leaned forward and pressed his own prick down into Potter. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he recognized Draco's own want.
It was then that Draco noticed that the first rays of dawn were starting to peek over the horizon, over the sill and into Harry's room.
It was enough to break the spell. Because, fuck. Draco had an entire night's worth of teeth, and if he didn't get back to Headquarters in the next five minutes, he'd miss the pick-up.
A rush of mortification swept over him. What was he doing lying there with his cock pressed into Potter's stomach? Gods! Horrifying. This was Potter! It was the worst idea Draco had ever had in his entire life. He needed to get out of there immediately. Plucking up the single Knut and the ugly button where Potter had dropped them on the bed, he chucked them at Potter's head before flying backwards off the bed and over to the window, slipping outside and Apparating back to Headquarters, his bag of teeth clutched tightly in his trembling hands.
Harry had long prided himself on never using his war hero status to get special privileges.
Of course, that was before he attempted to meet with the Head Fairy of Tooth Fairy Industries.
But truly, the Head Fairy needed to be told of the highly irresponsible behaviour of T.F.I. employees. And Harry considered the receipt of defective Knuts at below market rates just that, especially in combination with Malfoy's inappropriate language and the fact that the git had thrown a coin at Harry's head.
(Harry would not be complaining about the mostly accidental momentary frotting that occurred, because he rather liked that bit. Same with the leopard print loincloth. That was all right too, he supposed. No use telling the Head Fairy about how the little cloth fell low on Malfoy's hips, displaying the gorgeous lines that hinted at the tantalizing flesh hidden beneath...)
Harry cleared his throat. Right. Not so much complaining about that.
Unfortunately, seeing the Head Fairy proved more challenging than Harry had envisioned.
"Fairies only," said the gruff bodyguard that stood outside of the entrance of T.F.I. Headquarters when Harry arrived early the next morning. The guard's tattooed arms were crossed as he glared menacingly down at Harry, who wondered briefly if the guard was of any relation to Hagrid. There was definitely a similarity in terms of size.
"Please? I just need to see-"
"Fairies. Only," the bodyguard snarled, causing Harry to take a step backwards, partially in fear and partially because he wanted to avoid the spray of spittle that accompanied the words.
Harry considered his options before finally settling on name recognition. "I'm Harry Potter," he said confidently. "I'd like to see the Head Fairy. It's important."
The guard sneered and pointed at the red Fairies Only sign beside the door. "Not unless you're a Fairy."
Harry tried not to fidget under the guard's glare. "Well, I'm one sort of fairy," he tried to joke.
The bodyguard just looked at him.
"Okay, okay." Harry rolled his eyes and backed away until he made it around the corner of the building. This was exactly the sort of situation for which invisibility cloaks were made.
Well, maybe not exactly for situations like this, but Harry slipped it over his head regardless, tossed a Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs firework off in the corridor to distract the guard, and quietly slipped through the door and into the secret back hallways of the T.F.I. Headquarters.
After a few minutes of winding his way through the building, Harry located the precise office he was looking for. He slipped the invisibility cloak off and stuffed it into his bag, taking in the gigantic sign above the closed door.
Office of the Head Fairy, it read importantly, gold with black letters. A little image of a sparkly flying molar was inscribed beside the title.
Excellent. Harry was just lifting his hand to knock when-
"Oh for fuck's sake." Harry turned to see Malfoy approaching. His eyes widened at the sight; Malfoy was still in his loincloth, his robes draped over his shoulders but open down the front. He had sandals on his feet that reminded Harry of some ancient Greek style and he was covered from head to toe in what appeared to be glittery fairy dust.
"What the bloody hell are you doing here, Potter?" Malfoy scowled. "How did you even get back here?"
"Never mind, Malfoy." Harry turned back to the door, determined to ignore Malfoy in favour of the Head Fairy.
"Potter. You're not allowed back here. Fairies only."
"So I've heard. Just go away, all right? I'm here to see the Head Fairy."
"No one sees the Head Fairy. Not even you," Draco said. "Now leave, will you? I didn't even meet my quota last night - thanks ever so - and now you show up in time to ruin even more of my day."
"You leave," Harry retorted. "I'm here to see the Head Fairy." Gods, if Malfoy would just leave him alone he could go back to knocking on that door. Which was what he wanted to do, unlike what he was currently doing, which was staring at the smooth pale chest and slim, defined abdomen peeking out from beneath Malfoy's robe.
"You've no appointment, do you?" Malfoy smirked, stepping up close to Harry. "You're a right bastard, just showing up unannounced, expecting the Head Fairy to welcome you with open wings? What an idiot."
Glaring at Malfoy, Harry tried to ignore the flush that heated his cheeks. "Shut up, you prick." He shoved Malfoy. "Go away!"
Malfoy reached out to push Harry back, but Harry moved to block it, and ended up getting twisted up with Malfoy when he grabbed Harry's shirt. He grasped Malfoy's robe above the shoulder, no longer pushing it away, but grasping it tightly. Looking back at the fierce grey eyes that held his own, Harry found his thoughts had vanished. Time seemed to stand still as his eyes drifted down to Malfoy's pale lips, which twisted up slightly on one side. "Let me go," Harry said softly, even though he didn't actually mean it very much at all.
"What if I don't want to?" Malfoy replied, clinging to Harry's shirt, and pulling him forward until they were almost chest to chest, nearly nose to nose.
Harry blinked. "I-"
Draco's wings suddenly popped out, causing him to curse vehemently as they opened, flapping a few times and rearranging into an array of white feathers. Startled, Harry moved to let go of Malfoy just as Draco tried to twist free and ended up shoving him, causing Harry to trip and fall to the ground, pulling Malfoy down with him.
"Ow! What the fuck?" Harry exclaimed as he tried to roll out from Malfoy, who lay stunned on top of him.
"It's your fault, you tit," Malfoy growled, punching Harry's arm, causing Harry to grab hold of Draco's hair, tugging it as they started tussling on the cool hard linoleum.
It was then that the door to the Head Fairy's office swung wide open and Gilderoy Lockhart strode out, coiffed hair unmoving as he laughed and rolled up some parchment in his hands, a pair of giant brown wings strapped onto his back with a sort of leather harness. "Thanks again, I won't let you dow- Oh!" Lockhart stopped short when he spotted Harry and Malfoy wrestling each other on the floor.
"What's going on out there?" a voice called from inside the door. Harry paused, blinking at the familiarity of it. It was enough time for Malfoy to bite down on Harry's shoulder, causing Harry to yelp accordingly just as a familiar shock of red hair emerged from the office.
"Percy?" Harry was dumbfounded. "You're the Head Fairy? I thought you still worked at the Ministry?"
Percy shifted uncomfortably. "Not since... well, not any longer. But my position here is of utmost importance, of course. As well as highly secretive. Far more important than any Ministry position." Harry watched as Percy gazed down fondly at his perfectly shined name badge.
"Er, right." Harry shoved Malfoy off him and sat up. "Very impressive."
"But Harry," Percy said, "I'm going to have to escort you out. You're not allowed back here without Permit 963(c)2. You don't happen to have Permit 963(c)2, do you?" Percy's hopeful look disappeared when Harry shook his head to the contrary. "Well, there's to be no fighting in the hallways either," Percy said, pointing at a blue sign on the far wall. Sure enough, there was a sign with the crossed out image of two fairies fighting over a tooth. "Rules are rules," Percy added.
Harry nodded, distracted by the sign just below the one Percy referenced. Did T.F.I. employees really need to be told not to steal teeth? And gods, the one below that? With a giant X over two stick figure fairies who appeared to be riding each other? What in Merlin's name did everyone get up to here after hours?
Harry glanced at Malfoy. His lip was cut and he looked rather disgusted. Likely he wasn't happy that he'd been working beneath a Weasley, if Harry had to guess. Climbing to his feet, Harry thought of offering a hand to Malfoy, but he was glaring at him in such a way that Harry cringed and stepped away. "Yeah, um, sorry, Percy."
"It's fine, Harry," Percy sighed. "Just get a permit next time, okay?" He then turned to Malfoy, who had gotten to his feet and was dusting off his robes. "But Malfoy," Percy said sternly, "You've been late for pick up twice - and I don't care that it was raining and humid and it ruined your hair - and you're under quota for the month. Not to mention that three different mothers have called and complained about your excessive use of fairy dust, and now here you are wrestling in the hallway. I just don't think this is working out."
Malfoy's cheeks pinked and he looked flustered as his wings sagged behind him. "You're firing me? You are firing me?" He dug into his robe pockets and produced a sheet of parchment. "You can't fire me. I resign! I quit, I quit, I quit!"
"Fine," Percy agreed, taking the letter of resignation. "Look, I won't even hold you to the 48 hour requirement. After tonight's run, why don't you come back to Headquarters and drop off your teeth and I'll write you a nice reference? I hear Fortescue's is hiring. You like nuts, don't you?" Turning back to Harry, he furrowed his eyebrows. "By the way Harry, why are you here?"
Harry bit his lip. Malfoy looked angry and slightly embarrassed; he held his robes tightly to himself, frowning and looking defensive as he refused to meet Harry's eyes. Reaching up to touch his cheek where Malfoy had scratched him while they fought, Harry decided his complaints didn't seem nearly so important anymore. It wasn't like he needed the Galleons, after all, and dull, bent Knuts worked just as well as shiny new coins.
"Er, never mind, Percy. It's fine. I'll just leave now. C'mon, Malfoy." Harry grabbed Malfoy's arm and led him down the hallway toward the exit.
"An autograph before you go?" Lockhart asked.
"No, thanks, but glad you're feeling better," Harry replied as he headed off.
"Are you sure I can't call security to escort you out?" Percy called after them, sounding disappointed.
"No, we're fine," Harry replied as they rounded the corner of the hallway. Malfoy struggled to jerk free as soon as they were out of sight.
"I quit," Malfoy growled as he yanked his robe from Harry's grasp. "I wasn't fired by a Weasley."
"I know," Harry said, but Malfoy simply spun around and shoved Harry up against a wall. "Fuck you, Potter. You just cost me my job."
He released Harry just as suddenly and stomped off down the hallway without looking back, his wings dull and sagging behind him.
Later that night, Harry paced back and forth across his sitting room, his blue toy treasure chest clasped tightly in his grip. He couldn't deny that he felt bad about getting Malfoy in trouble. Not that it was all Harry's fault, of course; Malfoy was a git, plain and simple. But he might have held Malfoy up a bit when he didn't hand over his tooth. And if Malfoy didn't meet his quota, Harry might have had something to do with that as well, he thought, as he opened the little toy and gazed at the small tooth that lay therein. And as nice as Malfoy had looked when he was all hot and bothered in his little loincloth, Harry hadn't meant to make him upset.
Chewing on his lip, Harry decided to take action. After all, he was a Gryffindor, wasn't he? He grabbed his nearest quill and parchment and set about writing an apology to Malfoy. He even conjured some sparkly glitter - Malfoy seemed to love the stuff - and added it to the little envelope along with the note. He sent off the missive off with his fastest owl.
And then he waited.
Sure enough, not long after, and just as Harry was finishing off yet another jar of Happy Wizardlet strained squash, he heard the answering tap of his owl at the window. Pleased to see a response tied to her little leg, Harry let her in and untied the bit of parchment, eagerly unrolling it.
Fuck off, it said. In sparkly purple ink. Along side it was his apology note, envelope unopened.
Fine then, Harry thought, patting the little blue treasure chest that he'd tucked into the pocket of his trousers, the remaining wisdom tooth inside. He'd just have to do things the hard way. Harry had it in his head to apologize after all, and so he would, whether Malfoy liked it or not.
Draco puttered around the Manor that afternoon, trying to put the events of the day out of his mind. Again and again, though, he found himself fuming over Potter's obnoxious antics, which had nearly gotten him fired.
Only nearly, of course, because he'd resigned. But even he had to admit that, in this case, they were a hair too close to be entirely comfortable.
Fucking Potter. He loved his job. It was the Hogwarts bathroom all over again; Harry caught him at his weakest and slashed his chest open, leaving his heart a bleeding, bloody wreck.
Well, perhaps it wasn't quite so bad as all that, really, and he supposed he didn't love all aspects of his job. There was the part about it interfering with his potential love life due to the nightly shifts. And he did have to get near all manner of grubby children on a regular basis, and he could spot a future Hufflepuff from a thousand feet.
Still. It was Potter's fault. That was the important bit. Ugh.
It took several hours longer and a manicure from Blimpy in the East Parlour before he'd felt calm enough to retreat to his rooms to nap before his final evening stint as Tooth Fairy.
Which was, of course, the precise moment when Potter's owl arrived, as dishevelled and ill-mannered a creature as Potter himself, and one that that likely bore tidings to further ruin Draco's day. He'd give Potter no such satisfaction though, and sent the envelope back immediately, before deciding that a long soak in the bath was more to his liking than a nap.
Gods, Potter was the one who needed the bath, Draco thought as he slid into the water minutes later. A thorough scrubbing would do the git some good, improve his questionable appearance. Also, a cut and a shave. Did he really think that stubble attractive? Well, perhaps it wasn't so bad, Draco had to admit, thinking of the strong jaw underneath it. Hmm, and he supposed Potter did have rather exceptionally muscled arsecheeks, so perhaps that helped make up for some of his other less favourable features, such as his stupid glasses and that bit of broccoli he'd gotten stuck in his teeth one day in Potions during Fifth Year.
Yes, nice arsecheeks indeed.
Draco stuck his hand into the water, reaching down to his -
There we go, he thought, adjusting his wings before leaning back against the edge of the bath, making himself comfortable. Once situated, he closed his eyes.
Now, back to those arsecheeks...
"The Code for Fairies is non-negotiable and each Fairy must adhere to the code of ethics," Draco recited from memory as he calmly - his hands were not trembling at all, they weren't! - and efficiently refolded the list of names in his hands. "Equal opportunity for tooth collection and subsequent reimbursement, Article 3, clause b."
He paused, breathed slowly in an attempt to steady himself before continuing, as he was near shaking with rage. "...And as such, I am bound by the Tooth Fairy Code of Ethics to not discriminate because of race, colour, religion, sex, national origin, blood status, or sexual orientation. Or arseholeness, I suspect," he tacked on to the end. Setting the parchment down on his bed, he handed the T.F.I. delivery owl her customary evening delivery treat and sent her back to Headquarters.
Draco then cast a quick silencing spell over the room, so as not to worry his mother, before yelling as loud as he was able, "I BLOODY HATE YOU, HARRY FUCKING POTTER!" and summarily smashing whatever he could swish his wand at.
He didn't bother destroying the list. If he did, Headquarters would simply owl him a new one. And that too would have, right there in official print in spot 24 on his tooth collection list for his last night: Harry Potter of 12 Grimmauld Place, London.
"HATE YOU, HATE YOU, HATE YOU!"
Smash! Goodbye, Quidditch figurine!
Smash! Take that, ornate goblin forged vase!
Smash! So long, silver lamp with the dark green shade!
But as loud as Draco shouted and as many items as he sent crashing to the floor, he still couldn't drown out that little niggling voice inside him that told him he was secretly a little pleased that he'd be forced to visit Potter's bedroom yet again. Fighting with Potter was very invigorating, after all.
Draco cleared his throat.
When that didn't work, he coughed. Loudly. Thrice. Still, Potter slept on, starkers yet again, and barely half covered by that same sheet that haunted Draco's dreams. The ease with which it cupped Potter's naked buttocks - Salazar! The whole scene made Draco's inner Veela hum with delight.
Draco adjusted his pose. Leaning ever so casually against the post at the foot of the bed, his hair shiny in the rays of moonlight coming in the window, his favourite Slytherin green loincloth artfully arranged over his most exceptional bits, Draco flexed a few times, fluttered his wings, then coughed again, even more loudly.
Cough, cough. Potter wake up, you dolt! Cough.
Not a stir.
Was Potter even breathing? Just then Draco caught a slight movement of Harry's shoulders. Draco narrowed his eyes. Wait just a moment; he'd learned the signs of feigned sleep during his job training and Potter's behaviour was classic. Draco rolled his eyes. They never lasted long once the shaking began. Three... Two... One...
And they thought he wasn't good at his job, Draco thought as Harry snorted at precisely that moment, muffled only slightly by the pillow Potter pressed to his mouth.
"Pretending to be asleep, Potter? Think you can fool the Tooth Fairy, do you?" Draco smirked.
Shrugging, Potter appeared to give in and sat up in his bed, the blanket pooled around his waist. Folding his arms, he looked at Draco. "I wanted to say that I'm sorry," he said nonchalantly, as though Potters regularly apologized to Malfoys.
Draco's wings faltered and he dropped a foot lower in the air; he was so caught off guard by the apology. Feeling his cheeks redden, he defensively crossed his arms over his chest. "Well I don't accept," he replied, tilting his chin in the air. He tried to work up a bit of rage. "It's entirely your fault and you nearly got me fired, Potter! It was only with my quick thinking that I-"
"Oh, please!" Harry said. "Was the excessive use of T.F.I. glitter my fault too? Gods, and how is it even possible to be late to work because of your hair? You've got the best, most shiny hair of anyone I know! What in Godric's name would you even need to do to it?" Potter reached up to his own head and smushed his hair down ineffectively.
"First of all, it's Fairy Dust, Potter, not glitter, and so what if I apply it liberally?" Draco paused and tossed his head. "Oh and this?" he added, gesturing at his appearance, "Doesn't happen by itself." Especially lately, he thought. All those late nights dancing through bedrooms as a gorgeous fairy, they were taking a toll on his beauty sleep. Not that he was okay with Potter's stunt, but maybe it was best the whole job situation wasn't working out. Work was for Muggles, and poor people. Besides, this way he could tell his mother that he tried, but it was Potter's fault he'd had to quit. She would understand. His mother wouldn't want him working for a Weasel anyway.
"Whatever, Malfoy. I wanted to apologize and now I have."
Potter looked kind of pissed off, but Draco was finding it challenging to remain mad at him, especially when he was looking all naked in that big bed of his. "Fine."
"Fine?" Harry said.
Draco sighed dramatically, and spun around Potter's bedpost. "Yes, fine. Fine, you've apologized. Fine, I accept. Fine."
"Oh. Er, good." Potter frowned. "I suppose you want my tooth then?"
"No, Potter. I want you to use your tooth to lure me to your bed every night for the foreseeable future." Actually, Draco sort of did, but Potter was meant to understand otherwise, so he made sure to sound extra sarcastic.
Potter rolled his eyes. "I'll just go to sleep then, so you can do your thing."
"Merlin, Potter, just hand over the tooth."
"Nope. I want to do this right," Harry said, sliding down under the covers and turning over onto his side, bunching up the pillow beneath his head. He closed his eyes for a few seconds then opened them again to look at Draco. "Is this okay?"
Draco thought for a moment. "Better to sleep on your stomach. Easier to gather the tooth without waking you." This was a lie, but Draco could do with another few moments of arse viewing, especially if that sheet stayed low on Potter's hips when he rolled over.
It did. Draco nearly whimpered; it was so perfect. "Night, Potter," he said, his voice cracking slightly.
"Night, Malfoy," the muffled voice replied, his eyes closing.
Eventually, when Potter's breathing evened out and Draco had memorized the precise curves of Potter's cheeks, Draco decided he'd better collect the final tooth on his list. He suspected the longer he stayed, the harder it would be to leave. Slowly, carefully, Draco hovered over Potter's sleeping form - nearly as exquisite as his own, Gods! - and gently lifted the appropriate pillow beneath which the little tooth lay.
But just as he was reaching under, Potter's eyes flew open and he rolled over, grabbing a much surprised Draco and pulling him down against Potter's body. And - oh, fuck! - Draco's hungry Veela side wouldn't be contained. Draco took over, and pinned Potter to the bed, leaning down to lick and bite at that jaw, thrusting his hips against Potter's, before finally giving in and kissing Potter's stupid perfect red lips.
"Shut up, Potter," Draco whispered into Harry's ear before licking and nibbling at his earlobe.
Potter groaned and arched into Draco, reaching up and grabbing his arse through the loincloth. "Merlin, you're gorgeous," Potter said, grasping at Draco's skin.
"I want you," Draco admitted. He couldn't help it, he did, Gods, he did. He wanted stupid Potter with his terrible hair and bad eyesight and noncompliant acts of tooth withholding. Screw the cats. Draco lifted away enough to toss his belongings to the ground. He'd be missing the dawn pick-up again, but he couldn't find it in himself to care in the least, not as Potter was reaching for the knot on Draco's loincloth and tugging at it experimentally.
Draco expertly removed the green wrapping as Potter watched him, the desire clear on his face. His eyes flicked between watching Draco's fingers work at the knot and up to Draco's eyes, his mouth, his wings, and back down his chest to the knot again.
Once bared, Draco landed on Potter once again, pulling away the sheet that had tangled in Potter's legs. Salazar, he'd been wanting to do that since the first time he'd entered Potter's bedroom and Oh. He was not disappointed. Potter was lovely, all pink and hard and long. Draco licked his lips, didn't know where he wanted to begin.
Potter really did need better quality sheets though, if Draco was going to spend further time on them. Grabbing his wand, he reached down and touched the tip to the mattress and murmured the spell that would quadruple the thread count. Harry shivered as the sheets adjusted themselves beneath him.
"What the hell - oh. That's really soft." He looked up at Draco admiringly.
Draco nodded. That would have to do for now. Tossing his wand to the side, he returned to licking and nibbling his way across every inch of Potter's salty skin, and down, yes, there, finally, finally, taking Potter into his mouth, sucking him down, and running his hand along the hot length of him, as Potter hissed and mewled below him. Pulling back, Draco flipped him onto his stomach, lifting Potter's hips just so, and settling himself between Potter's thighs.
Oh, yes. Gods, yes. Just - yes. Just there, Potter. Don't. Move. Merlin!
Draco reached for the smooth skin of Potter's pale arse, grasping the softhard flesh, parting the cheeks for his feasting eyes. Seven hells. Draco groaned, groping senselessly at the flesh, taking his mouth to Potter's left cheek, biting it lightly and laving it after, his other hand meanwhile stroking Potter's cock as it hung, heavy, between Potter's legs.
"I want you," Draco growled, in between the long licks over Potter's pale arse, over, around, yes, between those succulent cheeks. His tongue darted out to tease Potter's most private place, a long swipe along the crease to follow.
Potter nodded into his pillow, and undignified ngght sound further emphasizing his complete agreement.
"Accio oil," Draco said with a swish of his wand, holding his hand out for what he assumed would fly from the drawer of Potter's table. Instead, he ended up with a large bottle of herbed olive oil from Potter's kitchen. His jaw draw dropped open.
Harry grinned cheekily over his shoulder. "I use spells."
"Ugh, Philistine." Draco scrunched up his nose. Oil always felt so smooth, luxurious over his skin, and a little dirty, too, that slick shine. Magic eased the way, sure, but it lacked that bit of something extra.
"Not that spell, you tit." Harry sat up, snagged his own wand from the night table and touched it to Draco's hand, murmuring a quiet spell that left his fingers perfectly coated. Draco frowned at them. It certainly felt like real oil.
"I got tired of spilling it," Harry shrugged, scraping his fingers down Draco's chest. "Now fuck me, won't you?" He grinned cheekily and slid down on the bed once more, on his back now so Draco was again kneeling between his bent legs.
Harry reached down and grasped Draco's waist - whatever bits of Draco were in reach would do - and bit his lip as Draco touched his slicked fingers to Harry's arse.
Draco decided then that Harry had a point. He wasn't overly fond of spills either.
Mmmpfff, Harry said as Draco slipped a finger inside. Said it again, too, the inarticulate sod, when Draco repeated the motion. Draco smirked as Potter writhed, clutching at the mattress one moment, grasping himself the next.
Slicking his own cock with his hand, he positioned himself at Potter's entrance. "Want this, Potter? I know you do."
"Fuck. Yes, fuck me. Now. Gods, Malfoy, just do it, will yo- ohh," Potter sucked in air as Draco entered the slick hot heat of him. Draco paused then, his own breath caught in his throat, waiting for the tension around Potter's dark green eyes to give way again to unadulterated desire.
"Yes. Okay. Yes." Potter groaned then, reaching for Malfoy's shoulders, whilst Malfoy leaned over him, canting his hips, slowly at first, as Potter adjusted, then harder, as Potter began to beg for the same. His wings spread wide behind him and over them, feathers shielding them from the setting moon and soft brightening of the eastern horizon out Potter's window. Protected them from the worries of quotas and Weasels and cats in need of a piss. Contained their all-consuming lust so that it swirled around them, unable to escape the space of them, desire building and building as Potter arched and clenched and grasped at Draco's body, pleading for more, hungrier than he'd ever been. Holding them together as Draco stroked hardened flesh and rocked into the perfect tight arse of his most favourite speccy git, the prick who drove him mad always, and right then with want. Want, want, want.
They came, one first, then the other, the order mattering not, except that it did, because it was something they'd find cause to mock each other for at breakfast, Draco expected. Because he was spending the night. He was. Because Potter'd sucked him dry, and he hadn't had a proper sleep in days, and Potter's bed wasn't the most uncomfortable he'd ever slept in, though it may have been close. And, Merlin, if Potter wasn't nice and warm and smooth and muscled yet knobbly in that perfect sort of way, and besides, Draco was willing to bet he'd be ready to go again ever so soon - Potter's arse was that fantastic, and the rest of Potter wasn't so bad either. And so, Draco curled up behind Potter afterwards, spooning him, Draco's wings spread wide behind him, soft and full and sated.
When Draco finally woke the next morning, the sun was high in the sky and Potter was staring up at the ceiling, his forehead wrinkled and brows low in concentration.
Draco rolled onto his back - his wings had retreated in the night - and sighed. Was Potter doubting their activities from the night before (and again just after dawn)? Gods, he was such a stupid prat, making such a big deal of it. After all, Potter had a nice arse, and Merlin knew Draco was exquisite, so what was the problem? It wasn't as though they couldn't return to hating each other, yelling and fighting and making each other miserable. Gods, it's not like they were going to be boyfriends, after all.
Harry glanced over at him. "Go out with me tonight?"
Draco blinked. Not like they were going to be boyfriends, after all...
"C'mon. Go out with me. A proper date."
Draco chewed his lip. So they shagged; didn't have to mean anything. Besides, he was busy. His nights were already full without Potter. "Can't. I have to work."
Harry picked at the blankets that rested over them. "No, actually. You don't."
Oh. Right. Draco frowned. He really ought to be quite enraged about that. Somehow he had trouble working up much of a temper. All the shagging, probably. Left him rather boneless. "I suppose not."
Glancing at the heap on the floor that was Draco's belongings, Potter wrinkled his nose. "You probably should take that large bag of teeth back to Headquarters at some point though."
Draco nodded. The teeth were a bit off-putting, if he thought about it. Gods, why had he ever thought being a Tooth Fairy was a good idea? Perhaps it would be best to quit one more time, just to be extra certain. Later, though. Not when he was in bed with Harry. No reason to leave there any time soon.
Studying Harry's eyes, Draco did his best to sound put out when he finally responded. "Fine."
"Fine?" Harry asked, chewing his nail.
"Yes, Fine. Fine, I'll take the teeth to Headquarters. Fine, I'll go on a date with you. And yes, fine, you can borrow Blimpy for a shave and a manicure. And a haircut, now that I think about it."
"I... All right."
Harry grinned and reached over to tickle Draco, which was not on, so Draco snagged Harry's pillow from beneath his head in order to whack him with it. But before he could even get in a single solid hit, Potter sat up suddenly, staring at the mattress, grabbing something from right where his pillow had been, then looking at some little blue empty plastic toy on his night table, then at two strangle little coins in his hand, and then back at the bed, a look of complete confusion on his face.
Potter looked at him, dazed. "I think the Tooth Fairy came last night."
Draco smirked. "Well, so did you. Twice, I might add."
Harry's mouth dropped open before it gave over to a goofy awed sort of grin. "No, you prat! Unless you took my tooth." He paused, as Draco shook his head to the contrary. "Well, my tooth is gone and there were two Muggle pounds right where I left it. Muggle money, Draco! The Muggles were right! There really is a Tooth Fairy!"
"Muggle money?" Draco pouted. "Whatever. I'm the only Tooth Fairy you need." He didn't enjoy seeing Harry quite so excited about another fairy.
Harry laughed and, dropping the Muggle coins somewhere amidst his blankets, climbed over on top of Draco and kissed his nose as he entwined his many limbs around Draco's. "You're the only one I want," Potter assured him, allowing Draco to turn them so he was on top once more. "None of the others wear loincloths."
Well, that was true. Draco'd had to get special permission to wear them but it was much better than the standard issue leotards. He craned his neck down to suck at Potter's neck as Potter sighed beneath him, then reached up and cupped Draco's prick in his -
Draco stretched his wings above them. Much better.
He looked down at Potter, who grinned back at him.
Sure, he may have technically been unemployed, but he was still Potter's fairy, and that wasn't so bad, because Potter's arse was totally his.