Desk Job

Chapter One- Everything Is Fucking A

Chapter Track- Birthday Cake by Cibo Matto     

    It was six years since Voldemort's supposed "resurrection", three years since Harry Potter and his classmates graduated from Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and one day passed Draco Malfoy's twentieth birthday. So far these were the most important notches along Draco's life line, and, according to Lucius Malfoy, would be the only important ones.

    Draco was still living at the Manor, single and unemployed. Their son almost a grown man, Draco's parents felt obligated to give their only child a little push so as to test his wings. The planned talk with Draco took place in the living room, the fire in the hearth failing to add warmth to their words.

    "You're kicking me out of the house?!" Draco echoed incredulously.

    Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy sat opposite Draco in a leather couch that was really much too soft. Narcissa tilted her blond head sympathetically. Lucius only nodded.

    Draco sunk lower in his couch, wondering if anyone else in the world ever had such a shitty birthday present. Draco's silvery blond fringe was obscuring his vision but he was too annoyed at the moment to care.

    "Where will I go?" he asked bitterly.

    "You can get a nice apartment in London," Narcissa replied with a soothing voice. "Near the Ministry offices ..."

    "I don't want to work there," Draco said hotly. "In fact, I don't want to work at all. Working is for those who feel a need to contribute to society."

    "And you don't?"

    "I did, once," Draco said. "And then the big kids destroyed my lemonade stand and threw the lemons at me. You can understand now, that's the reason I hate lemons- I mean, working."

    "Draco, this is a serious matter," said Lucius. "Do you just assume you can live off my money, boy?" Draco crossed his arms over his chest and glared.

    Lucius had known his son was lazy, maybe even a little slowwitted, but he had never thought Draco would turn into the no-good deadbeat sitting on his couch. Mr. Malfoy didn't care if Narcissa said their son wasn't ready for the real world. He knew that Draco left the house at night only to stagger back just before dawn with a head full of alcohol and God knows what else. If Draco wasn't prepared for the real world, Lucius was ready to boot him out into it and see if he died of exposure.

    "This isn't fair," Draco told them. "Who will take care of you when you're old and toothless and smiling at everything that sparkles?"

    "It wasn't too long ago you were doing that, Draco," said Lucius coldly. "Your mother and I think it's time for you to move on with your life, if you can call it that. Who knows, it might not be too late to save yourself from years of-" Lucius threw a repulsed glance at the faded logo on Draco's Muggle tee shirt. "- King Pin chicken and amateur pornography."

    Draco raised his eyebrows. "So I get years of that if I stay in this house?"

    Narcissa put a calming hand on her husbands' arm. Draco smirked in his rebellion.

    "Don't you want to grow up, Draco?" Narcissa's voice was so sincere that Draco's grin faded. He didn't want to have this talk anymore. Lucius stood up with difficulty from the mushy couch. Narcissa did the same.

    "You're to leave by the end of the week, boy," Lucius said before retreating. "I'll pay for the first month of your future lodgings."

    Draco sullenly watched them leave the living room. As soon as the door closed behind his parents Draco took his rage out on the smooth leather cushions of the couch, punching and kicking until he slid right off and sat crumpled on the floor, his back against the disheveled couch.

    It's not that he loved the company of his parents so much that he didn't want to leave. Draco just didn't know where to go. Of course he had been to London many times before and had a few friends who knew the ropes, but Draco didn't want that kind of existence. He didn't want to work under somebody else or have the extra responsibility of trying to pan for people he could trust.

    "Fall out of bed, little man?" came a silky female voice behind him. Draco looked around, knowing already who the speaker was. Blaise Zabini was leaning in the doorway, wearing a flattering set of dark robes and the usual indifferent look on her face.

    "You shouldn't sneak up on a person when they feel like killing someone," Draco said sulkily.

    Blaise walked over and sat down on the couch Draco's parents had occupied moments before. "You're poutier than usual," she remarked. "And you look awful, what's wrong?"

    Draco looked up at her through his hair. "Nothing now that you're here, little ray of sunshine."

    "You know," Blaise said haughtily. "Sarcasm isn't very becoming to someone sitting on the floor in their socks. I'm only trying to be nice."

    Draco looked down. Blaise was probably one of his few friends, due to the fact that she had lived in the large house beside him up until a few months ago, and that they had both been in Slytherin house at school.

    Blaise ran a hand through her long crimson hair, frowning when she came across a tangle.

    Draco and Blaise had dated since they left Hogwarts, but it hadn't worked out. Draco realized that two people so self-involved as himself and Blaise couldn't survive in a fair relationship. They still slept together once in a while, but only to keep the friendship going. At least, that was Draco's understanding.

    "Are you just going to sit and watch me be miserable all day?" Draco said after a few minutes.

    "If I say yes will you stop feeling sorry for yourself and do something?"

    "My parents still control my life and are evicting me from my home," Draco told her. "And you're saying I don't even get-" he looked at the silver watch on his left wrist. "Seven, ten ... nine minutes for shameless self-pity?"

    "Draco," Blaise slid off the couch and sat on the floor across from Draco's slim body. "I hope you didn't expect to lie about all day reading dirty magazines and eating."

    Draco glared at her.

    "Listen," she said, excited. "Why don't you stay at my apartment while you look for a job?"

    Blaise lived in a four-star hotel suite that she rented. Draco had visited it once before, and thought it a rather comfortable establishment. Made even more comfortable by the fact that Blaise's father paid for most of the four-star rent.

    "I don't want to live with you," Draco scoffed. "You leave all your ... girlie stuff all over the place. And what if I want to bring a girl over?"

    "She'll have a full supply of girlie stuff available?"

    Draco narrowed his eyes and Blaise shrugged. "Just kidding."

    Draco brushed his hair out of his eyes as he considered her offer. "Then my father will give me the forward for my own place, and I can use it for other things, fun-er things."

    "Or you can help me pay rent," Blaise suggested cheerfully.

    "You can get me a job in the department you work at," Draco continued as if he hadn't even heard her. "And my father will be contented enough to leave me alone. Blaise, you're the secretary for who again?"

    "Mr. Noonan," Blaise replied, leaning over to brush a scuff off her boot. "Of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement."

    Draco wrinkled his nose. "Law enforcement? They're against everything I stand for."

    "Don't put that in your resume," Blaise said absently.

    Draco sighed and leaned back. "I hate everybody," he proclaimed to the ceiling.

    "Mm," Blaise exclaimed, looking up. "By the way, you won't believe who works for Werewolf Resources."

    Draco didn't move. "Well are you going to tell me or keep this big whopper of a secret to yourself?"

    "Harry Potter," Blaise said, grinning. "He's had several offers for autobiographies, you know, but he refuses to accept the extra fame. It's almost admirable."

    Draco picked up one of the couch cushions and twisted it brutally in his hands. Blaise grinned even wider. She knew exactly how to push Draco's buttons. Draco threw the cushion at the door and turned back to face Blaise, flicking the hair from his eyes with a long finger.

    "I accept your generous offer to allow me room and board," he said, composed. "On the condition that you keep Potter out of it at all times. And I get to bring my magazines."

    "Deal," Blaise smiled. "Let's go pack your stuff."

    Draco stood up, shaking the numb feeling out of his right leg.

    "Help me up," Blaise said, extending a dainty white hand. Draco grasped her wrist and attempted to heave her to her feet, but his numb leg gave out under him and he fell onto the couch on top of her.

    "You did that on purpose," she said flatly, her face an inch from his.

    "No, actually for once I didn't plan this," Draco remarked. "But I'll go along with it if you will."

    A smile touched Blaise's lips.

    "How can I say no when that shirt is so dead sexy?"

    Draco smirked. He leaned forward to kiss her, one hand sliding down her waist. Blaise took on a serious air. These kinds of things were meant to be taken seriously, and she wasn't new to the practice. She groped for the buckle on Draco's pants as he received shivers from the feeling of her tongue in his mouth, and they sank lower in the leather couch.

    Draco fumbled with the silver fastenings on Blaise's robes. Suddenly she sat up.

    "Draco, we can't do this," she said, out of breath.

    Draco paused, blinking as if he hadn't heard her right.

    "Blaise," Draco said, irritated. "It's a little too late to be having a crisis of conscience."

    "No," Blaise hissed, pointing to something behind him. "We can't, because there's a big head in the fire place."

    Draco looked around and jumped. In the hearth was the greasy, bug-eyed head of Mr. Borgin, owner of a shady store in Knockturn Alley and minion of Draco's father.    

    "Terribly sorry to have disturbed you, young master Malfoy," Mr. Borgin said slickly.

    "What the fuck do you want?" Draco demanded, angrily fixing his belt.

    "Pervert," Blaise added.

    Mr. Borgin bowed his head apologetically.

    "I request to speak with Lucius Malfoy-"

    "Go have a cold shower and try again later, Sicky," Draco said absently, turning back to Blaise.

    "Ah-" Mr. Borgin pressed. "It is quite important that I speak with Master Malfoy immediately- if it pleases you."

    "It looks like I'm not going to be pleased at all today," Draco muttered. "Fine," he said louder to Borgin. "I'll fetch him."

    Draco got up from the couch. "Blaise, entertain Mr. Borgin while I'm gone."

    Blaise returned Draco's smirk with a poison look as he stalked out of the room. As the door closed she turned back to Borgin, who was staring at her.

    "Well," Mr. Borgin started in an oily tone. "You must- "

     "No," Blaise said shortly. "I'm not Draco's girlfriend."

    Borgin looked perplexed. "Then why- "

    "I'm a prostitute," Blaise told him with a straight face. "My name's Jezebel. Flourisha is Draco's regular, but she was busy with her taxes today."

    Mr. Borgin uttered a series of stuttered words. It took all Blaise's strength not to burst out laughing at the man's embarrassment.

    "Normally Draco wouldn't be able to afford our services so often on his nonexistent salary," Blaise continued. "So it's convenient for him that his father is head of the business."

    "What?!" Mr. Borgin exclaimed, his greasy eyebrows raised.

    "Oh, you didn't know? All the girls call him Lucious M."

    The door of the living room opened and Lucius Malfoy strode into the room, chin raised and a cold expression on his face. Draco leaned in the door frame, beaconing for Blaise to join him.

    "What the devil were you two doing in here?" Lucius demanded, noticing the disarranged couch cushions.

    With one last glance at Mr. Borgin's astonished face, Blaise jumped up from the couch and wordlessly exited the room.

    Draco led her up the large marble staircase, taking the steps in his casual manner.

    "What do you think he wants to talk to your father about?" Blaise inquired.

    "Who?"

    "The bloke in the fire place, you dunce."

    "Oh," Draco drawled. "Probably some tiny speck of a rumor concerning the Dark Lord." He reached the top of the stairs and started down the long hallway. "I wish my father would just let it go. The Dark Lord isn't coming back."

    They stopped at the door to Draco's bedroom.

    "You'll pack your things and we'll go," Blaise told him. "What time is it now?"

    "Four," Draco replied. "We can leave at four thirty."

    Blaise slipped her porcelain arms around Draco's waist, the sly smile on her face again.

    "Better make it a quarter to five."

    Draco grinned and opened the door with one hand, thinking that maybe he would get something nice for his birthday, after all.

    ***

    Hermione Granger was sitting at her little desk in her little office, staring through a small window at the drab London sky outside. The fading, off-white walls of her office were supposed to have been painted a month ago but, as Hermione reminded herself, the budget was tight again this year, and the Department for Magical Law Enforcement had more important things to spend their funds on.

    Hermione sighed and returned to her paperwork. She was almost finished her report, and wanted to hand it into Mr. Noonan in person before he left at five. Her quill scratched furiously over the long roll of parchment she was working over. She would occasionally be distracted by the many framed photos on her desk. Most of them were of her parents, but her eyes always wandered to the picture of Ron and Harry, her two best friends, on their last day at Hogwarts. Hermione sighed again. She had been so concentrated on her career since school ended, their friendship had cooled off quite a bit. Not to mention her feelings for Harry ... Hermione ran a hand through her messy hair, pushing her thoughts back to her work. She crossed her last T and quickly rolled up the paper. She dashed across the office, (it took her four paces to get from her desk to the door) and flung the door open.

    Hermione glanced at her watch as she bolted down the central Magical Law Enforcement Headquarters, noting that she had about fifteen seconds before Mr. Noonan was due to leave. She stopped, panting, in front of his office. Taking three seconds to compose herself, (in which time she straightened her plain work robes and patted down her bushy, shoulder-length hair) Hermione put her hand on the door knob, and let herself inside.

    Mr. Noonan's office was very big, and actually contained two separate rooms: one good-sized room for his secretary, and a larger office where his desk was located. Hermione surveyed the empty secretary office with a twinge of bitter jealousy. The room was painted a beautiful shade of red, with a cream border along the ceiling and a thick gray carpet. There were a few lush plants in the corners, and an oak desk stood on spindly legs off to one side of the room. Hermione heard a rumble of a man's voice from the other side of the office door.

    "Ah, Mr. Noonan?" Hermione called uncertainly. There was no answer.

    Hermione approached the ornately carved door of the Head of Department, with every step inflating the growing sense of betrayal by the hands of her boss. Why should his secretary deserve all of this, when he had told her that there wasn't enough room in the budget for a few coats of plain white paint?

    "Because," Hermione said to herself acidly. "Blaise Zabini is Mr. Noonan's precious little secretary. He only hired her because she's pretty. She didn't even come into work today!"

    For one ridiculous second, Hermione thought she heard classical music and the sound of rippling water as she raised her hand to knock on Mr. Noonan's door. Before her knuckles came down on the dark mahogany of the door, she heard a loud bang and then a thump on the other side. Pressing her ear to the door Hermione listened for voices, (maybe someone fell off their chair?) but only silence replied.

    "Mr. Noonan?" Hermione inquired again. The sound of running water and soft music was clearer now. Hermione held her impeccable report in her left hand and with a steadying breath let herself into Mr. Noonan's office. The sight that met Hermione's eyes evoked a terrified scream that was quickly stifled by a rough hand clapped over her mouth.

    On the floor in front of the desk was the lifeless body of Mr. Noonan, his thick limbs crumpled under him and a look of frozen horror on his bearded face. Hermione struggled to break from the strong grip of the man holding her.

    "Hold still!" ordered the man, who was dressed in dark robes and wore a black mask over his face. Hermione tried to bite at his fingers, desperately flailing her arms and legs with no avail.

    "Stop!" said the man again, his tone softer this time. Hermione was too blinded by panic at the moment to notice the faint familiarity of the man's voice. "I don't want to hurt you!"

    Hermione's report had long since dropped from her hand in an effort to defend herself, and now rested beside the dead Mr. Noonan. The murderer held his wand at Hermione's throat, and she stopped struggling.

    The moment before he Stunned her, Hermione met the murderer's eyes. They were a brilliant green, and so bright against the black of the mask. Through the hand over her mouth Hermione uttered a strangled cry.

    "I'm sorry," the man in the black mask said, and in a blast of dazzling light, Hermione dropped to the floor, unconscious.