Morality for Beautiful Slytherins

IV.

Once they were outside the restaurant, Draco instructed Potter to Apparate to his flat. "You have passed your Apparition test, correct, or were you too busy playing Quidditch to study?"

"In fact," replied Potter, "I passed on the first try."

Draco didn't bother with a response. He let go of Potter's arm, took a step back, and Disapparated.

When Potter appeared in the entrance hall, Draco took his cloak and hung it in the front closet, allowing Potter to wander through the spacious rooms. He could see that Potter was fascinated by the hanging artwork, the cases of books built into the walls, and the reason Draco bought the flat: the floor-to-ceiling glass wall that offered him a glittering view of London.

"This is very nice," said Potter diplomatically, studying a shelf of books.

"I know." Draco shut the closet door. "Why don't you go have a seat in the living room? The fire's warm in there." Not bothering to point Potter in the direction of the living room, Draco headed to the kitchen and pulled two brandy snifters from an overhead cabinet. Lucius and Narcissa made sure that Draco grew up a gracious host, and he was never without quality wine and brandy on hand. He poured the brandy after rubbing his hands together for a minute to warm them, and carried both glasses into the living room.

Potter looked away from the fire as Draco presented a glass to him. "Oh. Er, thank you." He took the glass awkwardly, like he'd never seen a brandy snifter before, with one hand near the rim and the other at the wide base. Draco wanted to laugh at Potter's obvious lack of social graces, but he caught himself. Laughing now could mean he'd be stuck with that monstrous house forever. Rather than take a seat on the leather chair at a right angle to the couch, he sat next to Potter, drink in one hand, and reclined back.

"Now that we're a little more...relaxed, I thought you might like to hear a little more about my offer."

"You don't deserve to live in that house," said Potter, turning to the side. He didn't drink the brandy, but looked down into it as though trying to see if it was poisoned.

"According to the courts," replied Draco, taking a sip, "I do. I have papers that say I own it regardless of what you think I deserve. And now that I own it, I plan to sell it." He pointed to Potter's glass. "Drink. That's one of the best ever made, not that you'd appreciate it."

"Speaking of appreciating, you know," said Harry, "the Black house has years of your family history attached to it. I wouldn't think you could put a monetary value on it."

"Of course I can. How thick are you? I'm not the one who's still pining over Black's death. I barely knew him and to what I'm sure is your great surprise, my mother never talked much about him. I could easily sell this house, which I haven't even been to since I was four, as long as my mother doesn't find out before the papers are signed. As far as I'm concerned, it has a definite monetary value."

Potter didn't say anything, but looked into the fire as he took another sip of his drink.

Patience thin, Draco took a moment to collect his thoughts. If he let his agitation show, Potter could get up and leave in anger, and then he might be stuck with the house. Invoking the same sympathetic tone he used at dinner, Draco continued. "I also know what Sirius Black meant to you. I saw your fight for the house. I saw you outside the courtroom afterward, and let me tell you, your picture was trying everything it could not to end up on the front page of the next day's Prophet. You put yourself on the line for that house, and I have to say, I kind of admired that. It's part of the reason I'm offering you the house first."

"How generous of you. Giving me a house you never wanted in the first place. Very charitable, that."

"For once, Potter, drop the attitude and listen." He whispered now, and Potter moved closer. Draco noticed that Potter's fingertips were white against the bowl of his glass. "I didn't say I was giving it to you. I said I was offering it to you." A troll had more ability to make fine distinctions.

"I can pay you anything you want."

With a shake of his head, Draco said, "I don't want your money or your possessions. I've got enough of my own already, as you've seen. What I want from you is something a little less tangible. Or maybe a little more tangible, depending on how you look at it."

Confusion narrowed Potter's brow. The crackle of the fire filled the silence between them. "Do you... Do you want me to throw the Ballycastle game or something?"

"What good would that do me? I'm management. I'm outside the realm of caring who wins as long as no one cheats or bribes the referees."

Frustrated, Potter snapped, "Well, you're going to have to tell me directly what it is you want, then, because I lost my interest in guessing games a long time ago."

Draco took a sip of brandy, held it in his mouth a second, then swallowed, letting the warmth spread through his throat into his chest. The rush of heat from liquor always calmed him. He wanted to take his time with this.

"Look around you, Potter. I own rare books and original artwork. Obviously I don't need your money. What I could use, however, is a little... Let's call it 'indentured companionship.'

"I'll employ you for a short while. During the term of your employment you are to do what I ask of you, whatever it may be. I promise I won't ask you to do anything illegal. When I terminate you, the house is yours."

The glass shook in Potter's hand. "What if I don't like the terms of your offer?"

"Then you don't have to take it." Draco shrugged. "I could rent out my flat, move into the house, get my mother to fix it up, and live there for a while. But I seem to remember you saying something about it not being how much the house is worth, but how much it's worth to you to not have me living there. It's all up to you, of course."

"You..." Potter's jaw tightened and Draco saw him curl and uncurl his fist. What was left of his brandy nearly spilled over the side of his glass. "You filthy son of a bitch. This is blackmail."

"No," replied Draco, "this is business." His throat felt tight from speaking so quietly, but it was the only way he could guarantee that Potter would focus on him. "If you want the house, you can pay for it just like anyone else. Unlike the rest of the world, I'm not going to give you special treatment and drop things in your lap just because you're Harry Potter."

Squinting, Potter tilted his head slightly to one side. Draco noticed that Potter was looking at his mouth, rather than into his eyes, and Draco liked the lack of eye contact. It took the edge off his performance anxiety, and knowing he wasn't under such close scrutiny made the words come faster. "We both know that the house is worth more to you than it is to anyone else, and from that I conclude you'd be willing to pay more than the average witch or wizard." Wrapping his fingers around Potter's wrist, he said, "I'm curious to see how much more." For a moment, he was distracted by the softness of the brushed cotton of Potter's robes and the warmth of his pulse. He tried to maintain a casual tone and wasn't sure he succeeded.

Potter's eyes widened for a second, and he looked from his wrist to Draco's face. "But don't you want something more, I don't know, permanent? Working for you and maybe being your house-elf for a little while doesn't seem like much for something your mother fought so hard for."

"Are you arguing with me, Potter? Because it sounds to me like you're giving every reason you can think of for me not to offer you this house. Which is fine with me, but I've got better things to do with my time than get jerked around by you, especially when you happen to be drinking my very expensive brandy."

Pulling his arm back, Potter retorted, "What if I say no and tell you to take the house and go fuck yourself?"

Draco took a slow sip of brandy. Potter was irritating the hell out of him and he was close to shoving him off the couch, but he kept his temper. "You ask me that like it would bother me. It won't. Haven't you been paying attention? If you get up and leave, I won't be any worse off than I was before. I've got nothing to lose, and there's nothing stopping you. You're the one with the free will here. You're the one who's being offered a house you might never see again if it weren't for me. You're the one who went to court to fight for it, not me. I'm not getting why you think I should be upset over this."

Potter looked like he was struggling for words. "Because what you're doing is...is...."

Affecting a yawn, Draco finished Potter's sentence. "It's wrong and immoral and dirty business and blah blah blah and are you going to accept my offer or not?" He was beginning to regret writing Potter that letter. "Because if you're not, you can leave. Look, if you want, you can have a couple of days to think this over. I realize you've never worked a day in your life and the idea of having to do so for a little while is a harsh new concept you'll have to come to terms with. But you know, it seems a little odd to me that even though you wasted months of your life in court, you're still not willing to fight one hundred percent for the house."

"I think you know as well as I do that I am."

"Well, then?" Smiling, lips closed, Draco sat back. They said nothing, Potter watching the flames.

"Sometimes I think every now and again about what advice Sirius might give me," said Potter, turning his head to face Draco, "and in this case I figured he'd want me to just pull out my wand and hex you, maybe even kill you."

"Coming from a murderer, that doesn't surprise me at all," replied Draco. "But all violence and idiocy aside, what else did you figure?"

"Well that's the fucking pot calling the kettle black," countered Potter with a glare. "How many have you killed?"

"One less than you, from what I hear." He smoothed his robes and said, "I think you're forgetting the war part of all being fair in love and war, as long as we're trading lame clichés. So. I asked you a question."

Shoulders relaxing, Potter said, "I also figured that it might be worthwhile to listen to your offer. But Malfoy, I'm perfectly willing to buy the house from you. I've got the money."

"Really?" He pointed to Potter's watch. "One would think you'd buy a decent watch if you did. Did you not listen to a word I said?"

"I... Yes, of course. I just figured that was what you'd ask from...from anyone else."

"If I wanted to sell the house to anyone else, I would," said Draco. "I would take their money and live quite happily ever after. But you don't see anyone else here, do you?"

Potter leaned against the side of the couch and sighed. Draco saw the same resigned expression, the same slump of defeat in Potter's back that he'd seen on the day of the verdict. Potter downed the rest of his brandy in one gulp and pressed his lips together, like he was trying not to gag.

"The house in exchange for my... whatever it is you want to call it."

"Don't sound so excited, now. One might think you were actually considering my offer." Raising an eyebrow, he reached for Potter's wrist again. This time, Potter acted like nothing happened, but Draco was close enough to see the pulse in Potter's neck quicken. "The offer comes with two conditions."

"That I keep our agreement a secret?"

"All right, three conditions. Secrecy is the first. Second, I want you to go into this willingly. If you think you haven't got the nerve to do what it takes to get the house, then quit. Don't go in thinking that you'll get out of your end of the bargain by annoying me so much that I give you the house just to get rid of you. That brings me to the third condition: Resist me and I'll sell the house to someone else. I do not need your prima donna pro-Quidditch-player Boy-Who-Lived ego in this flat. If Sirius Black's house isn't worth putting yourself aside for, then nothing is. Now, are you absolutely sure that you're ready to accept my offer?" he asked, tightening his grip.

"I...I'm sure."

Tilting his head to one side, Draco leaned in toward Potter's face. "How sure?" he asked, his lips an inch from Potter's.

Draco could see that his plan was working. Potter wasn't scared, but he was caught in a loop of thought. Cheeks flushed, Potter looked away from him, drawing a deep breath as though relieved by the air outside Draco's presence. Draco caught an unusual scent, like green herbs and clean laundry. He inhaled, filling his core with the cool fragrance, a welcome change from the warm, dry fire.

"You don't have to answer me yet," said Draco, his words barely a disturbance in the silence, "but you will soon. One way or the other, this is entirely your decision. I think two days sounds fair enough, don't you?"

"Fine." Potter didn't turn his head back toward Draco's. While Draco liked this, as he took it as a sign of Potter's cowardice, he was hoping that Potter would challenge him a little more. He stood, summoning Potter's cloak from the front closet.

"Good night, Potter. You know how to reach me when you've made your decision."

"Good night, Malfoy." He stood, took his cloak from Draco's hands, and pulled it around his shoulders, Disapparating with a crack.