Adding Value To Taxes

Adding Value to Taxes

"Always the same." His voice was cold and irritated.

"Hm?"

"Same time every year. Tax declaration day. I hate tax declarations. And why? Just because", his voice had a distinct sneer, "someone insists on living in a Muggle environment. Because the rent is so much cheaper". He actually mocked my voice. Bad sign. "Or because someone has to live next door to some friends of his who can't afford to pay a higher one." Picking on Ron now. Even worse sign.

"There are taxation rules in the Wizarding World as well," I reminded him.

"Yes, of course. Magic world taxation rules. Which happen to be a lot less difficult and bureaucratic. And who we - as wizards - happen to be obliged to pay anyway, in case you've forgotten. So we need to do both declarations, and have the tax and revenue department of the Ministry equal their claims with the Muggle authorities. Well done, Potter. A whole lot of more work for everyone. Fuck."

By now, he was spitting poison. Three years of living with Draco had taught me to keep my mouth shut when he was in this mood. Maybe he'd calm down if he started running out of arguments. Just wait, Harry, just wait. He'll be fine.

"And we can't even do a common one!" he wailed. Oh. Maybe not.

"Each blasted year I have to do this fucking crap ... and you have to do it ... And I don't even see why! Why do we have to pay money to Muggle authorities? We don't need them! We're wizards, for fuck's sake!"

"We live with them, we use their infrastructure - their streets, their resources, electricity, telecommunication and everything. So I think we have to pay our share of their costs."

"We could live in a Magic environment and wouldn't have to use them."

"Yeah, and I could skip my job and shut myself into a cupboard, because every time I got out of the house, screaming fangirls with autograph notepads and wizarding tourists with Creevey cameras were running after me. Thanks, but no thanks."

He couldn't quite suppress a smile.

"Oh, I would feed you, darling pet ..." he purred. Even after knowing him for about 15 years now his mood swings usually caught me by surprise. And frankly, they turned me on. One minute he wanted to rip my head off, next ... well.

"I bet you would."

"With ice cream, and chocolate, and strawberries ..."

"And just half a year later I'd be a Dudley Dursley lookalike."

"Urgh. Bad image."

We went back to our respective tax forms.

"Date of Marriage", he pondered. "What would they say if I'd put the day of our first date down here?"

"They'd phone you and asked why you didn't enter your wife's name, then."

"I'd tell them my wife's called Harry and his taxation number is ...," he looked down on my form, "... 66/485/12541."

"They'd ask you for the wedding form. Or just tell you that you can't marry a man."

"Pity."

His slate grey eyes were looking straight into mine now. It's unbelievable how warm grey eyes could be. He lifted his hand and stroked my cheek, then feathered the slightest of kisses on my lips.

The sudden tightness of my breast reminded me I needed to breathe.

"Trying to distract me?" I croaked as best I could.

He smirked. "Successfully, I'd say."

"I wouldn't call it a success if they charged us fees for the delay. We're near to the deadline."

Sighing we went down to work again.

"Occupation." He was grinning now. "What am I going to put down here?"

I grinned back. "How about - I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you?"

That was what he'd told me when we first met again, years after leaving Hogwarts. Unspeakables aren't allowed to name their tasks, so no one except themselves knows what exactly they are doing. Some of the snide Aurors (one of those happens to be me) sometimes state that even they don't know.

"I could always write Going to bookstores to pick up gorgeous boy wizard heroes ..."

"You mean you're doing that frequently?" I feigned being hurt.

His smirk easily outdid the electric lights we had turned on for the paperwork. "Well, since I already have Hogwarts Number Two on the Most Shaggable Boys List, I think I can't have anyone much better."

"Since when do you take second best?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Number One being me, of course."

"Oh. Of course. Well, then - still thank you for considering me gorgeous." I leaned over to return the kiss of earlier, but nearly fell over when he pulled me into a passionate snog. "Draco! We have to get these forms ready!"

He growled, but let go.

"So what am I going to put down here? You're certainly not writing Auror, are you? "

"Take a look on the income certificate the tax connection office of the MoM sent you. Yes, that one. It's called a tax card. They must have entered a profession there."

"Enforcer, then. What are you?"

"Police officer."

Time was running short. I couldn't believe we were still at page one.

We went on working silently, the only noise being the light rustle of papers or Draco's occasional irritated mumbles.

"Business trips", he announced after a while. Rather merrily, even. Suspiciously.

"Can I put down our trip to Hawaii last year? We did some very interesting," he coughed, "business there ..."

"I don't think so. They'll rather be interested in where you went when I wasn't with you ... but if you tell them, you'll have to kill them afterwards. So - leave it out. The expenses have been paid by the ministry, anyway."

"I am quite certain that the Hawaii trip will be more interesting for them. And less fatal. I should note some details, don't you think? - About nights on sun-warmed beach sand?"

Predatory doesn't even begin to describe his look. His hand glided up my inner thigh, nearing my groin. I moaned unwillingly, closed my eyes. Then opened them again, determined to resist temptation.

"Note your details, but keep working!"

Most of the information asked was rather easy to provide, though the constant looking up in different certifications was annoying and took its time. The rather tricky ones - those who could have lead the Muggle authorities to suspect our identity - had to be dealt with with a little help of MoM notes and some added charms. No need to mention that we were writing in a special ink, courtesy of Snape's Witch Kitchen â„¢, which had mesmerizing effects on the unsuspecting reader. Unfortunately, I discovered some formerly unknown side effects on the writer next to me. His distraction schemes kept being more and more ... imaginative.

"Capital income. Hell, they are not going to tax my family fortune, are they?"

"No, it's about the income. The interest, you know."

He leered at these words, wiggling his eyebrow. "I am so interested in your coming."

"Argh! Keep working, for f... heaven's sake."

"For fuck's sake, you wanted to say. And I must admit that sounds - heavenly."

"Sit down and work! Now!"

I looked down on my own form. Extraordinary burdens. Filling in tax declaration forms with this partner should count.

Two hours later I finally leaned back and rubbed my temples, then started adding the necessary certifications to the form and stuffed everything into an envelope.

Draco wasn't much behind and started - putting on a show. Stroking his papers, fingering them into the envelope, licking the glued fastening. I felt myself stare at those long, delicate, white fingers and the rosy tip of a tongue.

"And now to my very own additional demands ... I could do with a nice cup of coffee now. No - actually a cappuccino. With foamy milk on top." He licked his lips at the thought - and I licked mine for another reason.

When he leaned me back on the kitchen table with this predatory gleam in his eyes, I finally allowed myself to smirk at him and said: "Then let's see how taxing you can be."