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bottom_dracoHi! My first post in this community, and I come bearing fic.
Title: 'All Those in Favour'
Author: Seele
Pairing: Percy/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Summary: When the Ministry of Magic decides to convert to democratic elections, Percy Weasley finds that everyone wants his attention.
Disclaimer: Rowling's characters, not mine.
A/N: Huge thanks to skuf and brodie for their patient, encouraging betas. Please let me know what you think of the story.
All Those In Favour
“Mister Weasley! Mister Weasley! Can you comment on claims that your father is unequipped for the position of Minister? What about the rumours that he hasn’t fully recovered from his wartime illness? Mister Weasley, please, we just need a short statement!”
Percy ducked out of the Ministry lobby and into a lift with one long step. He immediately muttered a charm to hurry the creaking slide of the grille. Too late - one diminutive member of the press slipped in beside him with inches to spare.
“Hullo, Perce.”
Percy set his eyes on the too-slowly changing floor numbers above the grille. Colin Creevey jostled him with his elbow, and Percy caught a glimpse of a disingenuous smile before Colin popped the cap off the lens of his camera.
“Surely you don’t mind having a word to me, an old friend of your brother?” Colin queried.
“Yes I do, actually,” Percy told him. “And you weren’t a good friend. He complained about you constantly.”
Colin’s smile didn’t falter. “Just one picture, then? Ron loved photos, I remember.”
“No. And if you bring my brother into this again I’ll have you barred from the Ministry press gallery. You know you lot aren’t allowed above the fourth floor.”
“There’s nothing to stop me chatting to you in the lift, though, is there?”
“I suppose not.” The cool lift-voice announced Percy’s floor and he stepped out. He turned to favour Colin with a grim smile. “How is Dennis, by the way? That pension from the Prophet must be a comfort - him being out of action, so to speak.”
The lift ascended, obscuring Colin’s white, angry face.
In the hallway querulous, youthful witches and wizards – volunteer members of his father’s campaign staff - set upon Percy. Arthur had taken to calling them his ‘weasels’. “They can fit into tight spaces and get me unstuck when I’ve…wandered in the wrong direction,” he would say with a worried smile. Percy, too, worried at times like this. The weasels had already enthused his father into endorsing several things he was clearly uncomfortable with.
This democracy idea was new to them all. A long time coming, he supposed, but still unfamiliar. Politics on the whole was unfamiliar to Arthur. Percy knew too well how easily the best of intentions could come unstuck when faced with the pettiness and banality of the Ministry’s own internal politicking - especially when coupled with the apprehensive fervour this ‘experiment’ was inspiring amongst the Wizarding public and their officials alike.
One of the weasels held out a floo-throo message for Percy. “Rita will floo again at twelve o’clock. She says that if you say no to the interview again she will use the words ‘hostile, harassed, and unable to cope’ in the profile, in lieu of your own words.”
Percy extracted a battered silver fob watch from one of his robe pockets. Eleven-forty. “Tell her yes, but only ten minutes and only if she agrees to let me look at the profile before the Prophet goes to print tomorrow.”
Another weasel waved for his attention. “Your father wants you to go over tonight’s Arithmancer’s Guild speech with him again. He’s…” the witch twirled a ringlet of hair around her quill nervously for a moment, deciding on a diplomatic phrasing. “‘Unsure’ about watering down the Muggle Rights section like you suggested.”
“We can go over it together after lunch. Remind him we have to be diplomatic with this audience. They tend to be…conservative. Oh, sod it. They tend to be noisome old biddies, each and every one of them. Is there anything else?”
“Someone switched the parchment stacks, and the entire batch of heritage protection policy leaflets were copied on to Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes Disappearing-Reappearing Joke Parchment.”
Percy halted midstride. “All of them?” The weasel – Pamela? – nodded meekly. “Blast!” he exclaimed. “Blast and just – blast. I’ll floo Fred and George right now. Any idea how they managed to sneak past the Aurors?” Pamela shook her head and Percy shooed them all back to their individual cubby holes in the main office. He slid his glasses off to rub at his eyes with the back of his hand, fancying that he might be able to walk the entire short distance down the corridor to his office with his eyes closed, only weary memory directing him. Perhaps if he did he wouldn’t have to see Draco Malfoy leaning in his office doorway – or leaning as far as his rigidly proper posture would allow - and smirking insouciantly at him from under half-closed lids.
“Your half of the floor is down that end, Draco.” Percy gestured tiredly with one hand. Why did it always seem that he was the only person in this entire building to actually follow the rules? “We’ve respected you lot - show some of the same to us, please.”
Malfoy smiled beatifically. “I’d no idea weasels were so territorial, Weasley. I’ve only come to give you Tuesday’s conference schedule.”
“Why didn’t you fly the schedule to us in a memo?”
It had been a huge mistake to put both candidates and their respective staffs on the same floor. Draco had been insinuating himself everywhere he could to cause trouble for Percy. Lucius Malfoy himself had ordered his section of the corridor re-warded daily to protect against ‘sticky Muggle-sympathising hands’ - a threat apparently emanating from the Weasley end. Though Percy was forced to admit that Draco had been unexpectedly diplomatic, on occasion.
“I was trying to do you a favour,” Draco was defending himself impatiently. “You know how the papers get pushed off course by the wards.”
“Really? I had assumed you were trying to spy on us.”
Draco’s smirk disappeared as his lips thinned into one hard line. “You know I was being helpful – don’t you just walk straight past me, Weasley!”
Percy stepped around him and into his office, noting with irritation that Draco followed him inside, pulling the door shut behind him.
Percy set his papers and his case on the desk. “Malfoy, I don’t have time for one of your little reconnaissance missions. I have an interview at-”
Draco cut him off. “If you say that again-” he began angrily.
“Say what? That you’re making a nuisance of yourself?”
“That I’m spying on you. Me or my father. You’re the one who insisted on that anti-defamation clause.”
“Yes, I did.” Percy told him, tartly. “Because I knew if I didn’t you and your father and the rest of those rats you have working for you would be feeding every cock-and-bull story you could come up with to Skeeter and her cronies. We’ve stayed well clear of anything like that.”
“So have we!”
“Draco, I’m not so stupid as to miss the fact that every other day the Prophet gets wind of some new allegation about my father being incompetent or somehow unhinged. That he wants to ‘hand the Wizarding world over to the Muggles’.”
Draco shook his head quickly. “You know those haven’t come from me.”
“That I’m an untrustworthy worker because I had links to Cornelius Fudge.” Percy carefully hung his robe over his chair and laid his glasses on the desk, not bothering to keep the anger out of his voice. “Or that I was a Death Eater sympathiser.”
Draco’s fists twitched inside the pockets of his velvet robe.
“That’s struck a nerve.” Percy observed unkindly. “Have you heard that one before?”
“Perhaps,” he admitted, looking past Percy and at the wads of fluttering memos pinned to a board on the wall behind the desk. “But I’ve definitely heard it said about me.”
Percy adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, and then his collar. “How is your father, then?”
Draco scowled for a moment before answering. “About how he usually is. Impatient with the public. Disappointed by the public. Twice as impatient and disappointed with the ministry and his staff. He’s at the Arithmancer’s Guild at the moment, giving a lunchtime speech.”
“Really. And he’s left you behind.”
“Now who’s prying?” Draco asked coldly. He picked up a sheet of parchment from the top of a filing cabinet and began to examine it, sullenly. Percy felt at a loss as to why Draco persisted with affecting such insipid cordiality when he inevitably reverted to childish rancour so quickly. He strode to the cabinet quickly and jerked the parchment from Draco’s hands.
“Hey!”
Percy held the parchment out of Draco’s reach. “Whatever other liberties I may have allowed you when I was…inclined, poking through our campaign documents is not one of them.” Percy finished with asperity. He held the parchment close enough to read the flashing text. It was one of the policy leaflets, currently alternating between ‘Responsible and sensitive relations between Muggles and Wizards’ and ‘I hope the next time you pick your nose your brain falls out, too’. Merlin only knew what was on the rest of the leaflets. They would have to purchase more ink and recopy the entire lot.
Draco reached for the parchment again and Percy slapped his hands away, snapping. “Just because your father doesn’t want you around doesn’t give you license to come and disrupt my work! I have to floo those bloody twin saboteurs and then I have to reprint this entire lot!”
Draco caught his wrist. “If you really wanted me to leave you alone you wouldn’t have put up with me for the last month.”
“I’ve tolerated you because I have to. I want this to work, for the Ministry and for the Wizarding world.” Percy insisted.
“So you’ve been lying back and thinking of Wizarding Britain, have you?”
Percy jerked his wrist out of Draco’s grasp. “Some of us care about this, Malfoy. I saw what happened in the past. I was part of it, remember?” he said flatly. “I wouldn’t have touched you if I’d known that it would mean getting into bed with your father, politically. I’ve no intention of compromising my father’s campaign—”
“Don’t think that you know anything about my family, Weasley.” Draco spat. “Voldemort wasn’t any kind of pleasant faerie story for me, either.”
Draco’s face was a pink-cheeked blur this close. Percy stepped back, breathing hard through his nose.
“I may not have had any brothers to lose—”
Percy seized Draco by his arms and pushed him back against the cabinet. Draco’s grey eyes went wide with surprise; Percy was sure that the corner of the heavy metal cabinet must have been digging painfully into his back. Good, he thought. The malicious little bastard deserved a little pain.
“Don’t you dare even mention my brother to me!” he snarled. Draco hung passively in his grasp. Percy shook him a little, leaning in to hiss. “Well? Are you going to apologise?”
“Why should I? You’re just pissed off your brothers’ parchments got mixed up with—”
“What?” Percy shook him again “How do you know about that?”
“It was a joke!”
Percy dug his fingers into Draco’s arms, cruelly. “A joke? So I’m going to have to waste an entire afternoon having that batch recopied, just so you could get a little attention?”
“I don’t want your attention.” Draco sneered.
“No? Why else have you been doing everything you can to interrupt my work? Angry that these days you don’t get what you want straight away?”
Draco struggled angrily, trying to shake Percy off. Percy held him back against cabinet. He stepped up against Draco, close enough that his chest held him in place.
“Ow.” Draco was forced to tilt his head back to look Percy in the eye.
Percy looked down at his flushed face, angry and frustrated and as aroused as he felt he’d ever been. He shoved a knee between Draco’s legs. “Do you want my attention, Malfoy?”
Draco turned his face away.
“Do you? I’m a busy man, you know.” Percy grasped Draco’s chin and kissed him.
Draco’s mouth fell open in a gasp, and Percy pushed his tongue inside.
Draco moaned around his tongue and Percy pulled him away from the cabinet, falling with him against the wall where he felt Draco’s arms come up around his shoulders, pulling him closer. After a moment, Draco relaxed into the kiss, stroking his own tongue over Percy’s, slowing his frantic rhythm.
“Do you?” Percy asked, again. He let his hands drop to Draco’s waist.
Percy felt Draco’s hands trying to push up his shirtsleeves: his fingers plucked at the cufflinks holding them in place. “Don’t,” he muttered, pulling away. “Those are expensive.”
Draco laughed condescendingly against his shoulder. “I’ll pay for new ones.”
Percy threaded one hand into Draco’s hair, pulling it out of its smooth part. Draco’s head tilted back further and Percy followed it to kiss him again. Feeling Draco slump limply against the wall was reply enough, he decided. He bent to suck and lick at Draco’s throat; the responding moan vibrated against his lips and tongue. Percy laughed as he felt Draco, apparently recovering some of his senses, begin to carefully unbutton his shirt.
“Are these expensive, too?” Draco murmured. He rubbed over the pale shell buttons with his fingertips before smoothing them aside. His thumbs circled lightly at the top of Percy’s chest.
“No.” Percy told him. “But I’ll still make you pay-”
A warm hand slid inside his shirt.
“-If you damage them.” Percy finished breathlessly.
Draco laughed against him and Percy slid his hands around and under Draco’s shirt, wanting to squeeze his waist just above his hips and find out if he would buckle again so pleasingly.
Draco stiffened. “The fireplace!” he hissed.
“What?” Percy muttered, pinching Draco as he had planned. Draco squeaked, then hit Percy in the shoulder.
“The fireplace just started smouldering! Are you expecting a floo-call?”
“Shit! It’s Skeeter.” He grabbed Draco quickly, directing him away from the hallway door. “No - this way.”
Every office on this floor had a concealed doorway to one of the bathrooms - to avoid any suspicion that senior ministry staff might condescend to have the same messy bodily functions as lesser wizards, Percy assumed. He kicked at the lever on the underside of the broom-rack and pulled Draco through the opening, flicking the hem of his robe inside just before the panelling sealed again. In the office the fire crackled to life, and a voice too shrill to be muffled by the layers of wood pronounced the Daily Prophet’s calling signature.
“Ugh.” Draco swept the hem of his robe away from the tiled floor. Percy leant back against the panelling, trying to catch his breath. His pulse was racing.
“Don’t feel up to facing Rita today, Weasley?”
Percy sucked in an angry breath, but he was relieved at the same time. He stepped away from the panelling, and, aware that his hand was shaking a little, aimed his wand at the door on the opposite side of the room, muttering a locking charm. “Don’t feel up to finishing what you started, Malfoy?”
The flush faded from Draco’s cheeks, replaced by a wary expression. “I’m not doing anything in here.” He waved a hand to indicate the puddles on the floor, and a wet towel lying bunched in one corner under a sink.
“Oh, that’s right, I entirely forgot. Your father probably had the tiles replaced with marble up your end of the floor.” Percy gestured Draco toward one of the cubicles.
Draco followed him inside. “Don’t say anything about my father,” he warned.
Percy leant past him to push the door shut. He kept his arm there, enjoying Draco’s discomfort. “I can hardly not say anything about him. He is running for Minister against mine.” Not that he could claim to have always acted the loyal son.
Draco sniffed. Percy stepped closer again. He much preferred this anger to the apprehensive look that had clouded Draco’s face before.
Draco slumped petulantly away from him. Percy caught his chin. He forced Draco to look at him, watching the flush creep across his cheeks again and feeling his cock growing against his thigh. When Draco’s eyes fell shut and his tongue darted out to wet his lips, Percy caught it with his own. Draco sighed, opening his mouth to let Percy kiss him. He wrapped his arms around Percy’s shoulders.
They stood for a moment, kissing lazily, lips and tongues working, recovering the broken anticipation from before. Draco broke away to mouth against Percy’s cheek, his chin, his jaw, sighing into his hair and then sucking gently on his lower lip. His hands slipped around Percy’s back and inside the waist of his trousers. Thumbs teased the soft hair on the small of his back, circling down teasingly over the top of his crack.
Percy pushed against him, groaning and hearing the door groan ominously on its hinges. Draco gasped against Percy’s lips at the pressure. He dug his nails into Percy’s arse. Percy’s cock throbbed uncomfortably in the constricted space of his pants. He flicked open the clasps on his fly, pulling his cock out carefully and almost grunting with relief at the cool air after the damp cotton of his underwear. Draco watched his hand with his jaw slack. He sucked his lower lip inside his mouth.
“Not against my shirt,” Draco murmured. “It’s expensive.”
“Okay.” Percy caught Draco’s shirt where he had pulled it loose from his trousers earlier and slipped his cock underneath, against Draco’s stomach. He thrust against him, feeling the warm skin shudder in a sudden laugh.
“You never listen to me.” Draco hissed, without any real rancour. He gave Percy’s arse another hard squeeze, then began to push down his trousers. Percy thrust playfully against him again. The head of his cock caught against Draco’s navel. The door gave another agonised creak.
“Fuck.” Draco pushed Percy backwards. “Everyone will hear us.” Percy staggered about two steps, impeded by the trousers around his knees, before he fell backwards and landed on the toilet. Merlin, the lid was cold against his bum. Draco shrugged his robe off and turned to hang it over the door. Percy took advantage of his distraction to reach forward and turn him around, pulling him between his thighs. The robe slid off the door and puddled on the floor.
Draco’s hands settled uncertainly on Percy’s shoulders when Percy wrapped his arms around his waist and kissed his stomach. “Now my robe is on the floor,” he complained, breath hitching as Percy let the tip of his nose poke into his navel, and sucked on a patch of soft, warm flesh below. He pulled away to unbutton Draco’s trousers, sliding them and his underpants down over his hips to fall around his feet. Draco’s cock sprang up, pink and hard and smeared wet at the end. He tightened his grip on Percy’s shoulders, giving him a questioning look.
“Now your pants are, too.” Percy observed, smirking. He liked Draco when he was like this – out of his depth and uncertain. It was only a respite from his usual shrillness, but Percy savoured the feeling of power, as brief as it was.
Draco toed out of his shoes and his pants, granting Percy a wry smile and a snort, then climbed onto his lap. Percy scooted back a little to accommodate his weight. Draco shifted closer, eyes locked on Percy’s. Maybe it wasn’t just the sense of power he liked, Percy thought as their lips met again. He grasped Draco’s arse, breaking the kiss to gasp as their pricks were pushed together between them. Draco leant down to slurp at Percy’s collarbone. Percy pulled him up again when he shifted awkwardly, trying to reach his nipples with his mouth.
“Don’t.” He pulled Draco’s hips against his own again. Draco sighed into his neck, holding him tightly and Percy managed to pull him into a slow, gentle rhythm. Percy could hardly move at all, trapped by the weight of Draco’s legs over his, but Draco slid his hips against Percy’s, gasping into his ear with every movement as the head of his prick pushed past Percy’s and against his stomach, and Percy found that he didn’t mind all that much.
Percy slid a hand into Draco’s hair, just behind his jaw, urging his face up gently to kiss him again, wanting more friction or at least his wet mouth as well, but Draco followed him up, arching his back and Percy’s cock slipped between his legs, catching behind his balls.
“Oh.” Draco jerked against him, moaning at the feel of the head of Percy’s cock sliding against his perineum. At the movement it slipped all the way through, nestling between Draco’s buttocks. Percy recanted his momentary annoyance and grasped the base of his prick, sliding it up into Draco’s crack and holding it there. Draco stilled.
“You planned that,” he accused.
“What?” Percy felt affronted. It wasn’t his fault Draco had such a problem with- “Ow!”
Draco let go of the patch of Percy’s neck he had just bitten. He scowled at Percy. “I know what you were thinking. Let’s just hurry up. I don’t have much time.” He squeezed his thighs around Percy’s, thrusting against him roughly.
Percy held back an angry grunt. If Draco wanted to get this over with quickly, Percy would let him. He ran one hand up Draco’s back and then pulled him forward, holding him tightly. Draco liked the feeling, liked the pressure, Percy knew. He held still, expecting Draco to orgasm quickly, like the other times.
But Draco slumped against him a moment later, panting in frustration. He was silent in the way that he always was when to say anything would be to admit that he was wrong. Percy allowed himself a triumphant smile.
He held Draco still for a moment, smoothing his hair, and trying to ignore his own arousal and the way that Draco was shifting against it. Eventually Draco sat up a little, eyes on Percy’s. He reached behind his back, and grasped Percy’s erection. He moved as if to push it back between his legs so it could be between them again. Percy caught his hand, keeping it where it was. He guided Draco into the slow stroking rhythm he liked, then let go to run both his palms up Draco’s back, underneath his shirt, and back over his bottom, squeezing gently. Draco sighed and shifted against him, still stroking steadily.
Percy closed his eyes as he felt Draco arch, pushing his arse into Percy’s hands. He ran his fingers tentatively between the cheeks. Draco squirmed. His crack was slippery with sweat. Percy glided his index finger up over the perineum, up to his hole, rubbing over it lightly. Draco tensed against him. His hand stilled.
“Percy,” he whispered, sounding apprehensive.
Still reluctant, Percy thought. He squelched his annoyance. “Don’t worry,” he coaxed. “We don’t have time for that, anyway.” Draco relaxed against him, resuming his steady fisting of Percy’s cock.
Percy tickled his finger over Draco’s hole again, gently, feeling Draco tense a little, then relax again. He laid his face in the crook of Percy’s neck. Percy began to rub over his hole in time with Draco’s strokes, pushing, just a little, with his middle finger. Draco panted.
Percy kept his hand still, just probing with his middle finger. He felt Draco’s cock swing against his stomach, as Draco pushed back into the feeling, hesitantly. Percy caught his breath.
He pushed just the tip of his finger inside Draco. Draco jerked a little against him, gasping and squeezing Percy’s finger. He moaned against Percy’s neck, and his hand squeezed the head of Percy’s cock reflexively. Percy slid his finger inside further. Draco squeezed his cock again, his arsehole contracting around Percy’s finger at the same time.
Percy could have laughed with relief. Finally. Draco squeezed him again, his fingers slipping up over the head before he recovered his grasp. Percy forgot what he had been thinking. He groaned, feeling his balls tighten.
Draco began to pump his cock quickly.
“Hurry,” he murmured. He kissed Percy’s jaw, just below his ear.
Pleasure overwhelmed Percy. He arched under Draco’s weight, hitting his head on the tiled wall, and feeling his cock spasm in Draco’s hand as he came.
Percy slowly caught his breath, aware all of a sudden that he had slumped back against the lavatory pipe and was quite uncomfortable. He couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Ow” Draco complained as Percy extracted his finger from his arse. He watched Percy warily. “What time is it?”
Draco sounded more than a little disappointed. He braced one hand against the wall near Percy’s ear as if to stand up. His still-hard cock poked Percy in the stomach as he shifted.
“It doesn’t matter.” Percy told him. He was surprised at how calm he felt – his watch was in the pocket of his robe, in his office. He had missed Rita’s interview. He pushed Draco to his feet, hiked his trousers up without bothering to fasten the fly, and slumped off the toilet seat, onto the floor. Percy winced as his knees hit the floor, but he grasped Draco by the hips and pushed him against the wall.
“No, Percy, I really have to get back—ahh.” Draco’s protest ended with a sigh as Percy pushed aside his shirt and grasped the base of his cock.
Percy was suddenly overwhelmingly, inexplicably grateful at having a few minutes in which to forget about the election. To forget about having to talk his father into being more careful about off-hand comments; to forget having to anticipate what Lucius Malfoy had said about Arthur in his lunchtime speech.
He slid the head of Draco’s cock into his mouth, not bothering to tease him first but sucking hard instead, the flat of his tongue rubbing up and over the underside of the crown each time he paused to take a breath. He cupped Draco’s balls with his free hand, rubbing a circle over each with his thumb.
Draco’s hands alighted upon his shoulders hesitantly, then landed in Percy’s hair and gripped.
“Was this the kind of attention you were hoping for?” Percy muttered.
Draco moaned brokenly, his knees trembling against Percy’s sides.
Percy wrapped one arm around Draco’s waist to hold him steady, and wrapped his lips around Draco’s cock again. He set a fast rhythm – stroking up along Draco’s cock with his hand and letting his fingers meet his sliding lips on every up-stroke. Draco’s hands tightened suddenly in his hair and Percy pulled away, replacing his mouth with his other hand, twisting his palm around the head with the foreskin held back, still stroking, feeling Draco buck into his fist, hot semen escaping between his fingers.
As he let go, Percy found himself breathing as hard as Draco. He laid his head against Draco’s trembling thigh, grasping it for support and smearing semen on Draco’s leg.
“You’ll definitely have missed Rita by now,” Draco told him shakily.
“I expect so.” Percy sat back on his heels and plucked Draco’s trousers and robe from the floor, handing them to him. He recovered enough of his habitual fussiness to share a grimace with Draco.
“Ugh. Is your wand handy?”
Percy patted his pocket, instinctively, and then noticed his wand lying in the corner of the stall.
Draco made a sound of annoyance and fished for his wand in the inside pocket of his robe. He banished the mess from them both. Draco stepped into his shoes and then pants, buttoning them and his shirt, and offered Percy his hand. Percy accepted it, standing stiffly. Draco let go of his hand quickly. He shook out the robe carefully.
“What did Rita threaten you with?” Draco asked idly, keeping his eyes on the folds and creases of the robe as they fell into place. Percy raised his eyebrows. “I still have some influence of my own at the Prophet.”
“Really.” Percy pressed him up against the cold plaster wall, enjoying his little gasp of surprise and the warmth along his front again. Draco caught his face with two warm hands, but let Percy kiss him anyway, lazily. He kept his eyes closed for a moment afterwards.
“What will you tell them?” Percy asked him.
“I’m not sure.” Draco admitted.
“I can talk to your father for you, if you like.” Percy had dealt with Lucius Malfoy extensively, in the past. His word would likely carry more authority than either Draco’s or Arthur’s. “You shouldn’t have to spend every day here, just out of loyalty.”
“I don’t come here just for that. You know I don’t.” Draco sighed, then smirked. “You’ll have to trust me, Percy. I’ve rather a lot of dirt on you, now.” He followed Percy out of the stall.
Percy ushered him towards the hallway door. “And I have even more on you, Draco Malfoy. Go out this door.”
Draco turned with his hand on the doorknob. “I can bring you a copy of the Arithmancer’s Guild speech,” he ventured. “Later today. To make up for those joke leaflets.”
“You can if you want. I’m not that worried about it.” Percy told him, deciding to leave the matter open. He felt uncharacteristically serene, and he really wasn’t worried, he realised.
He crossed the bathroom floor to the door in the panelling, already formulating an excuse that Skeeter would buy, and the changes he might have to make to tonight’s speech. A copy of Lucius Malfoy’s speech would be on his desk before afternoon tea; Draco was more concerned about remaining in Percy’s favour than his father’s.
Percy felt a smile curve his lips. This democracy notion was going to be easy.
_____________
Title: 'All Those in Favour'
Author: Seele
Pairing: Percy/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Summary: When the Ministry of Magic decides to convert to democratic elections, Percy Weasley finds that everyone wants his attention.
Disclaimer: Rowling's characters, not mine.
A/N: Huge thanks to skuf and brodie for their patient, encouraging betas. Please let me know what you think of the story.
“Mister Weasley! Mister Weasley! Can you comment on claims that your father is unequipped for the position of Minister? What about the rumours that he hasn’t fully recovered from his wartime illness? Mister Weasley, please, we just need a short statement!”
Percy ducked out of the Ministry lobby and into a lift with one long step. He immediately muttered a charm to hurry the creaking slide of the grille. Too late - one diminutive member of the press slipped in beside him with inches to spare.
“Hullo, Perce.”
Percy set his eyes on the too-slowly changing floor numbers above the grille. Colin Creevey jostled him with his elbow, and Percy caught a glimpse of a disingenuous smile before Colin popped the cap off the lens of his camera.
“Surely you don’t mind having a word to me, an old friend of your brother?” Colin queried.
“Yes I do, actually,” Percy told him. “And you weren’t a good friend. He complained about you constantly.”
Colin’s smile didn’t falter. “Just one picture, then? Ron loved photos, I remember.”
“No. And if you bring my brother into this again I’ll have you barred from the Ministry press gallery. You know you lot aren’t allowed above the fourth floor.”
“There’s nothing to stop me chatting to you in the lift, though, is there?”
“I suppose not.” The cool lift-voice announced Percy’s floor and he stepped out. He turned to favour Colin with a grim smile. “How is Dennis, by the way? That pension from the Prophet must be a comfort - him being out of action, so to speak.”
The lift ascended, obscuring Colin’s white, angry face.
In the hallway querulous, youthful witches and wizards – volunteer members of his father’s campaign staff - set upon Percy. Arthur had taken to calling them his ‘weasels’. “They can fit into tight spaces and get me unstuck when I’ve…wandered in the wrong direction,” he would say with a worried smile. Percy, too, worried at times like this. The weasels had already enthused his father into endorsing several things he was clearly uncomfortable with.
This democracy idea was new to them all. A long time coming, he supposed, but still unfamiliar. Politics on the whole was unfamiliar to Arthur. Percy knew too well how easily the best of intentions could come unstuck when faced with the pettiness and banality of the Ministry’s own internal politicking - especially when coupled with the apprehensive fervour this ‘experiment’ was inspiring amongst the Wizarding public and their officials alike.
One of the weasels held out a floo-throo message for Percy. “Rita will floo again at twelve o’clock. She says that if you say no to the interview again she will use the words ‘hostile, harassed, and unable to cope’ in the profile, in lieu of your own words.”
Percy extracted a battered silver fob watch from one of his robe pockets. Eleven-forty. “Tell her yes, but only ten minutes and only if she agrees to let me look at the profile before the Prophet goes to print tomorrow.”
Another weasel waved for his attention. “Your father wants you to go over tonight’s Arithmancer’s Guild speech with him again. He’s…” the witch twirled a ringlet of hair around her quill nervously for a moment, deciding on a diplomatic phrasing. “‘Unsure’ about watering down the Muggle Rights section like you suggested.”
“We can go over it together after lunch. Remind him we have to be diplomatic with this audience. They tend to be…conservative. Oh, sod it. They tend to be noisome old biddies, each and every one of them. Is there anything else?”
“Someone switched the parchment stacks, and the entire batch of heritage protection policy leaflets were copied on to Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes Disappearing-Reappearing Joke Parchment.”
Percy halted midstride. “All of them?” The weasel – Pamela? – nodded meekly. “Blast!” he exclaimed. “Blast and just – blast. I’ll floo Fred and George right now. Any idea how they managed to sneak past the Aurors?” Pamela shook her head and Percy shooed them all back to their individual cubby holes in the main office. He slid his glasses off to rub at his eyes with the back of his hand, fancying that he might be able to walk the entire short distance down the corridor to his office with his eyes closed, only weary memory directing him. Perhaps if he did he wouldn’t have to see Draco Malfoy leaning in his office doorway – or leaning as far as his rigidly proper posture would allow - and smirking insouciantly at him from under half-closed lids.
“Your half of the floor is down that end, Draco.” Percy gestured tiredly with one hand. Why did it always seem that he was the only person in this entire building to actually follow the rules? “We’ve respected you lot - show some of the same to us, please.”
Malfoy smiled beatifically. “I’d no idea weasels were so territorial, Weasley. I’ve only come to give you Tuesday’s conference schedule.”
“Why didn’t you fly the schedule to us in a memo?”
It had been a huge mistake to put both candidates and their respective staffs on the same floor. Draco had been insinuating himself everywhere he could to cause trouble for Percy. Lucius Malfoy himself had ordered his section of the corridor re-warded daily to protect against ‘sticky Muggle-sympathising hands’ - a threat apparently emanating from the Weasley end. Though Percy was forced to admit that Draco had been unexpectedly diplomatic, on occasion.
“I was trying to do you a favour,” Draco was defending himself impatiently. “You know how the papers get pushed off course by the wards.”
“Really? I had assumed you were trying to spy on us.”
Draco’s smirk disappeared as his lips thinned into one hard line. “You know I was being helpful – don’t you just walk straight past me, Weasley!”
Percy stepped around him and into his office, noting with irritation that Draco followed him inside, pulling the door shut behind him.
Percy set his papers and his case on the desk. “Malfoy, I don’t have time for one of your little reconnaissance missions. I have an interview at-”
Draco cut him off. “If you say that again-” he began angrily.
“Say what? That you’re making a nuisance of yourself?”
“That I’m spying on you. Me or my father. You’re the one who insisted on that anti-defamation clause.”
“Yes, I did.” Percy told him, tartly. “Because I knew if I didn’t you and your father and the rest of those rats you have working for you would be feeding every cock-and-bull story you could come up with to Skeeter and her cronies. We’ve stayed well clear of anything like that.”
“So have we!”
“Draco, I’m not so stupid as to miss the fact that every other day the Prophet gets wind of some new allegation about my father being incompetent or somehow unhinged. That he wants to ‘hand the Wizarding world over to the Muggles’.”
Draco shook his head quickly. “You know those haven’t come from me.”
“That I’m an untrustworthy worker because I had links to Cornelius Fudge.” Percy carefully hung his robe over his chair and laid his glasses on the desk, not bothering to keep the anger out of his voice. “Or that I was a Death Eater sympathiser.”
Draco’s fists twitched inside the pockets of his velvet robe.
“That’s struck a nerve.” Percy observed unkindly. “Have you heard that one before?”
“Perhaps,” he admitted, looking past Percy and at the wads of fluttering memos pinned to a board on the wall behind the desk. “But I’ve definitely heard it said about me.”
Percy adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, and then his collar. “How is your father, then?”
Draco scowled for a moment before answering. “About how he usually is. Impatient with the public. Disappointed by the public. Twice as impatient and disappointed with the ministry and his staff. He’s at the Arithmancer’s Guild at the moment, giving a lunchtime speech.”
“Really. And he’s left you behind.”
“Now who’s prying?” Draco asked coldly. He picked up a sheet of parchment from the top of a filing cabinet and began to examine it, sullenly. Percy felt at a loss as to why Draco persisted with affecting such insipid cordiality when he inevitably reverted to childish rancour so quickly. He strode to the cabinet quickly and jerked the parchment from Draco’s hands.
“Hey!”
Percy held the parchment out of Draco’s reach. “Whatever other liberties I may have allowed you when I was…inclined, poking through our campaign documents is not one of them.” Percy finished with asperity. He held the parchment close enough to read the flashing text. It was one of the policy leaflets, currently alternating between ‘Responsible and sensitive relations between Muggles and Wizards’ and ‘I hope the next time you pick your nose your brain falls out, too’. Merlin only knew what was on the rest of the leaflets. They would have to purchase more ink and recopy the entire lot.
Draco reached for the parchment again and Percy slapped his hands away, snapping. “Just because your father doesn’t want you around doesn’t give you license to come and disrupt my work! I have to floo those bloody twin saboteurs and then I have to reprint this entire lot!”
Draco caught his wrist. “If you really wanted me to leave you alone you wouldn’t have put up with me for the last month.”
“I’ve tolerated you because I have to. I want this to work, for the Ministry and for the Wizarding world.” Percy insisted.
“So you’ve been lying back and thinking of Wizarding Britain, have you?”
Percy jerked his wrist out of Draco’s grasp. “Some of us care about this, Malfoy. I saw what happened in the past. I was part of it, remember?” he said flatly. “I wouldn’t have touched you if I’d known that it would mean getting into bed with your father, politically. I’ve no intention of compromising my father’s campaign—”
“Don’t think that you know anything about my family, Weasley.” Draco spat. “Voldemort wasn’t any kind of pleasant faerie story for me, either.”
Draco’s face was a pink-cheeked blur this close. Percy stepped back, breathing hard through his nose.
“I may not have had any brothers to lose—”
Percy seized Draco by his arms and pushed him back against the cabinet. Draco’s grey eyes went wide with surprise; Percy was sure that the corner of the heavy metal cabinet must have been digging painfully into his back. Good, he thought. The malicious little bastard deserved a little pain.
“Don’t you dare even mention my brother to me!” he snarled. Draco hung passively in his grasp. Percy shook him a little, leaning in to hiss. “Well? Are you going to apologise?”
“Why should I? You’re just pissed off your brothers’ parchments got mixed up with—”
“What?” Percy shook him again “How do you know about that?”
“It was a joke!”
Percy dug his fingers into Draco’s arms, cruelly. “A joke? So I’m going to have to waste an entire afternoon having that batch recopied, just so you could get a little attention?”
“I don’t want your attention.” Draco sneered.
“No? Why else have you been doing everything you can to interrupt my work? Angry that these days you don’t get what you want straight away?”
Draco struggled angrily, trying to shake Percy off. Percy held him back against cabinet. He stepped up against Draco, close enough that his chest held him in place.
“Ow.” Draco was forced to tilt his head back to look Percy in the eye.
Percy looked down at his flushed face, angry and frustrated and as aroused as he felt he’d ever been. He shoved a knee between Draco’s legs. “Do you want my attention, Malfoy?”
Draco turned his face away.
“Do you? I’m a busy man, you know.” Percy grasped Draco’s chin and kissed him.
Draco’s mouth fell open in a gasp, and Percy pushed his tongue inside.
Draco moaned around his tongue and Percy pulled him away from the cabinet, falling with him against the wall where he felt Draco’s arms come up around his shoulders, pulling him closer. After a moment, Draco relaxed into the kiss, stroking his own tongue over Percy’s, slowing his frantic rhythm.
“Do you?” Percy asked, again. He let his hands drop to Draco’s waist.
Percy felt Draco’s hands trying to push up his shirtsleeves: his fingers plucked at the cufflinks holding them in place. “Don’t,” he muttered, pulling away. “Those are expensive.”
Draco laughed condescendingly against his shoulder. “I’ll pay for new ones.”
Percy threaded one hand into Draco’s hair, pulling it out of its smooth part. Draco’s head tilted back further and Percy followed it to kiss him again. Feeling Draco slump limply against the wall was reply enough, he decided. He bent to suck and lick at Draco’s throat; the responding moan vibrated against his lips and tongue. Percy laughed as he felt Draco, apparently recovering some of his senses, begin to carefully unbutton his shirt.
“Are these expensive, too?” Draco murmured. He rubbed over the pale shell buttons with his fingertips before smoothing them aside. His thumbs circled lightly at the top of Percy’s chest.
“No.” Percy told him. “But I’ll still make you pay-”
A warm hand slid inside his shirt.
“-If you damage them.” Percy finished breathlessly.
Draco laughed against him and Percy slid his hands around and under Draco’s shirt, wanting to squeeze his waist just above his hips and find out if he would buckle again so pleasingly.
Draco stiffened. “The fireplace!” he hissed.
“What?” Percy muttered, pinching Draco as he had planned. Draco squeaked, then hit Percy in the shoulder.
“The fireplace just started smouldering! Are you expecting a floo-call?”
“Shit! It’s Skeeter.” He grabbed Draco quickly, directing him away from the hallway door. “No - this way.”
Every office on this floor had a concealed doorway to one of the bathrooms - to avoid any suspicion that senior ministry staff might condescend to have the same messy bodily functions as lesser wizards, Percy assumed. He kicked at the lever on the underside of the broom-rack and pulled Draco through the opening, flicking the hem of his robe inside just before the panelling sealed again. In the office the fire crackled to life, and a voice too shrill to be muffled by the layers of wood pronounced the Daily Prophet’s calling signature.
“Ugh.” Draco swept the hem of his robe away from the tiled floor. Percy leant back against the panelling, trying to catch his breath. His pulse was racing.
“Don’t feel up to facing Rita today, Weasley?”
Percy sucked in an angry breath, but he was relieved at the same time. He stepped away from the panelling, and, aware that his hand was shaking a little, aimed his wand at the door on the opposite side of the room, muttering a locking charm. “Don’t feel up to finishing what you started, Malfoy?”
The flush faded from Draco’s cheeks, replaced by a wary expression. “I’m not doing anything in here.” He waved a hand to indicate the puddles on the floor, and a wet towel lying bunched in one corner under a sink.
“Oh, that’s right, I entirely forgot. Your father probably had the tiles replaced with marble up your end of the floor.” Percy gestured Draco toward one of the cubicles.
Draco followed him inside. “Don’t say anything about my father,” he warned.
Percy leant past him to push the door shut. He kept his arm there, enjoying Draco’s discomfort. “I can hardly not say anything about him. He is running for Minister against mine.” Not that he could claim to have always acted the loyal son.
Draco sniffed. Percy stepped closer again. He much preferred this anger to the apprehensive look that had clouded Draco’s face before.
Draco slumped petulantly away from him. Percy caught his chin. He forced Draco to look at him, watching the flush creep across his cheeks again and feeling his cock growing against his thigh. When Draco’s eyes fell shut and his tongue darted out to wet his lips, Percy caught it with his own. Draco sighed, opening his mouth to let Percy kiss him. He wrapped his arms around Percy’s shoulders.
They stood for a moment, kissing lazily, lips and tongues working, recovering the broken anticipation from before. Draco broke away to mouth against Percy’s cheek, his chin, his jaw, sighing into his hair and then sucking gently on his lower lip. His hands slipped around Percy’s back and inside the waist of his trousers. Thumbs teased the soft hair on the small of his back, circling down teasingly over the top of his crack.
Percy pushed against him, groaning and hearing the door groan ominously on its hinges. Draco gasped against Percy’s lips at the pressure. He dug his nails into Percy’s arse. Percy’s cock throbbed uncomfortably in the constricted space of his pants. He flicked open the clasps on his fly, pulling his cock out carefully and almost grunting with relief at the cool air after the damp cotton of his underwear. Draco watched his hand with his jaw slack. He sucked his lower lip inside his mouth.
“Not against my shirt,” Draco murmured. “It’s expensive.”
“Okay.” Percy caught Draco’s shirt where he had pulled it loose from his trousers earlier and slipped his cock underneath, against Draco’s stomach. He thrust against him, feeling the warm skin shudder in a sudden laugh.
“You never listen to me.” Draco hissed, without any real rancour. He gave Percy’s arse another hard squeeze, then began to push down his trousers. Percy thrust playfully against him again. The head of his cock caught against Draco’s navel. The door gave another agonised creak.
“Fuck.” Draco pushed Percy backwards. “Everyone will hear us.” Percy staggered about two steps, impeded by the trousers around his knees, before he fell backwards and landed on the toilet. Merlin, the lid was cold against his bum. Draco shrugged his robe off and turned to hang it over the door. Percy took advantage of his distraction to reach forward and turn him around, pulling him between his thighs. The robe slid off the door and puddled on the floor.
Draco’s hands settled uncertainly on Percy’s shoulders when Percy wrapped his arms around his waist and kissed his stomach. “Now my robe is on the floor,” he complained, breath hitching as Percy let the tip of his nose poke into his navel, and sucked on a patch of soft, warm flesh below. He pulled away to unbutton Draco’s trousers, sliding them and his underpants down over his hips to fall around his feet. Draco’s cock sprang up, pink and hard and smeared wet at the end. He tightened his grip on Percy’s shoulders, giving him a questioning look.
“Now your pants are, too.” Percy observed, smirking. He liked Draco when he was like this – out of his depth and uncertain. It was only a respite from his usual shrillness, but Percy savoured the feeling of power, as brief as it was.
Draco toed out of his shoes and his pants, granting Percy a wry smile and a snort, then climbed onto his lap. Percy scooted back a little to accommodate his weight. Draco shifted closer, eyes locked on Percy’s. Maybe it wasn’t just the sense of power he liked, Percy thought as their lips met again. He grasped Draco’s arse, breaking the kiss to gasp as their pricks were pushed together between them. Draco leant down to slurp at Percy’s collarbone. Percy pulled him up again when he shifted awkwardly, trying to reach his nipples with his mouth.
“Don’t.” He pulled Draco’s hips against his own again. Draco sighed into his neck, holding him tightly and Percy managed to pull him into a slow, gentle rhythm. Percy could hardly move at all, trapped by the weight of Draco’s legs over his, but Draco slid his hips against Percy’s, gasping into his ear with every movement as the head of his prick pushed past Percy’s and against his stomach, and Percy found that he didn’t mind all that much.
Percy slid a hand into Draco’s hair, just behind his jaw, urging his face up gently to kiss him again, wanting more friction or at least his wet mouth as well, but Draco followed him up, arching his back and Percy’s cock slipped between his legs, catching behind his balls.
“Oh.” Draco jerked against him, moaning at the feel of the head of Percy’s cock sliding against his perineum. At the movement it slipped all the way through, nestling between Draco’s buttocks. Percy recanted his momentary annoyance and grasped the base of his prick, sliding it up into Draco’s crack and holding it there. Draco stilled.
“You planned that,” he accused.
“What?” Percy felt affronted. It wasn’t his fault Draco had such a problem with- “Ow!”
Draco let go of the patch of Percy’s neck he had just bitten. He scowled at Percy. “I know what you were thinking. Let’s just hurry up. I don’t have much time.” He squeezed his thighs around Percy’s, thrusting against him roughly.
Percy held back an angry grunt. If Draco wanted to get this over with quickly, Percy would let him. He ran one hand up Draco’s back and then pulled him forward, holding him tightly. Draco liked the feeling, liked the pressure, Percy knew. He held still, expecting Draco to orgasm quickly, like the other times.
But Draco slumped against him a moment later, panting in frustration. He was silent in the way that he always was when to say anything would be to admit that he was wrong. Percy allowed himself a triumphant smile.
He held Draco still for a moment, smoothing his hair, and trying to ignore his own arousal and the way that Draco was shifting against it. Eventually Draco sat up a little, eyes on Percy’s. He reached behind his back, and grasped Percy’s erection. He moved as if to push it back between his legs so it could be between them again. Percy caught his hand, keeping it where it was. He guided Draco into the slow stroking rhythm he liked, then let go to run both his palms up Draco’s back, underneath his shirt, and back over his bottom, squeezing gently. Draco sighed and shifted against him, still stroking steadily.
Percy closed his eyes as he felt Draco arch, pushing his arse into Percy’s hands. He ran his fingers tentatively between the cheeks. Draco squirmed. His crack was slippery with sweat. Percy glided his index finger up over the perineum, up to his hole, rubbing over it lightly. Draco tensed against him. His hand stilled.
“Percy,” he whispered, sounding apprehensive.
Still reluctant, Percy thought. He squelched his annoyance. “Don’t worry,” he coaxed. “We don’t have time for that, anyway.” Draco relaxed against him, resuming his steady fisting of Percy’s cock.
Percy tickled his finger over Draco’s hole again, gently, feeling Draco tense a little, then relax again. He laid his face in the crook of Percy’s neck. Percy began to rub over his hole in time with Draco’s strokes, pushing, just a little, with his middle finger. Draco panted.
Percy kept his hand still, just probing with his middle finger. He felt Draco’s cock swing against his stomach, as Draco pushed back into the feeling, hesitantly. Percy caught his breath.
He pushed just the tip of his finger inside Draco. Draco jerked a little against him, gasping and squeezing Percy’s finger. He moaned against Percy’s neck, and his hand squeezed the head of Percy’s cock reflexively. Percy slid his finger inside further. Draco squeezed his cock again, his arsehole contracting around Percy’s finger at the same time.
Percy could have laughed with relief. Finally. Draco squeezed him again, his fingers slipping up over the head before he recovered his grasp. Percy forgot what he had been thinking. He groaned, feeling his balls tighten.
Draco began to pump his cock quickly.
“Hurry,” he murmured. He kissed Percy’s jaw, just below his ear.
Pleasure overwhelmed Percy. He arched under Draco’s weight, hitting his head on the tiled wall, and feeling his cock spasm in Draco’s hand as he came.
Percy slowly caught his breath, aware all of a sudden that he had slumped back against the lavatory pipe and was quite uncomfortable. He couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Ow” Draco complained as Percy extracted his finger from his arse. He watched Percy warily. “What time is it?”
Draco sounded more than a little disappointed. He braced one hand against the wall near Percy’s ear as if to stand up. His still-hard cock poked Percy in the stomach as he shifted.
“It doesn’t matter.” Percy told him. He was surprised at how calm he felt – his watch was in the pocket of his robe, in his office. He had missed Rita’s interview. He pushed Draco to his feet, hiked his trousers up without bothering to fasten the fly, and slumped off the toilet seat, onto the floor. Percy winced as his knees hit the floor, but he grasped Draco by the hips and pushed him against the wall.
“No, Percy, I really have to get back—ahh.” Draco’s protest ended with a sigh as Percy pushed aside his shirt and grasped the base of his cock.
Percy was suddenly overwhelmingly, inexplicably grateful at having a few minutes in which to forget about the election. To forget about having to talk his father into being more careful about off-hand comments; to forget having to anticipate what Lucius Malfoy had said about Arthur in his lunchtime speech.
He slid the head of Draco’s cock into his mouth, not bothering to tease him first but sucking hard instead, the flat of his tongue rubbing up and over the underside of the crown each time he paused to take a breath. He cupped Draco’s balls with his free hand, rubbing a circle over each with his thumb.
Draco’s hands alighted upon his shoulders hesitantly, then landed in Percy’s hair and gripped.
“Was this the kind of attention you were hoping for?” Percy muttered.
Draco moaned brokenly, his knees trembling against Percy’s sides.
Percy wrapped one arm around Draco’s waist to hold him steady, and wrapped his lips around Draco’s cock again. He set a fast rhythm – stroking up along Draco’s cock with his hand and letting his fingers meet his sliding lips on every up-stroke. Draco’s hands tightened suddenly in his hair and Percy pulled away, replacing his mouth with his other hand, twisting his palm around the head with the foreskin held back, still stroking, feeling Draco buck into his fist, hot semen escaping between his fingers.
As he let go, Percy found himself breathing as hard as Draco. He laid his head against Draco’s trembling thigh, grasping it for support and smearing semen on Draco’s leg.
“You’ll definitely have missed Rita by now,” Draco told him shakily.
“I expect so.” Percy sat back on his heels and plucked Draco’s trousers and robe from the floor, handing them to him. He recovered enough of his habitual fussiness to share a grimace with Draco.
“Ugh. Is your wand handy?”
Percy patted his pocket, instinctively, and then noticed his wand lying in the corner of the stall.
Draco made a sound of annoyance and fished for his wand in the inside pocket of his robe. He banished the mess from them both. Draco stepped into his shoes and then pants, buttoning them and his shirt, and offered Percy his hand. Percy accepted it, standing stiffly. Draco let go of his hand quickly. He shook out the robe carefully.
“What did Rita threaten you with?” Draco asked idly, keeping his eyes on the folds and creases of the robe as they fell into place. Percy raised his eyebrows. “I still have some influence of my own at the Prophet.”
“Really.” Percy pressed him up against the cold plaster wall, enjoying his little gasp of surprise and the warmth along his front again. Draco caught his face with two warm hands, but let Percy kiss him anyway, lazily. He kept his eyes closed for a moment afterwards.
“What will you tell them?” Percy asked him.
“I’m not sure.” Draco admitted.
“I can talk to your father for you, if you like.” Percy had dealt with Lucius Malfoy extensively, in the past. His word would likely carry more authority than either Draco’s or Arthur’s. “You shouldn’t have to spend every day here, just out of loyalty.”
“I don’t come here just for that. You know I don’t.” Draco sighed, then smirked. “You’ll have to trust me, Percy. I’ve rather a lot of dirt on you, now.” He followed Percy out of the stall.
Percy ushered him towards the hallway door. “And I have even more on you, Draco Malfoy. Go out this door.”
Draco turned with his hand on the doorknob. “I can bring you a copy of the Arithmancer’s Guild speech,” he ventured. “Later today. To make up for those joke leaflets.”
“You can if you want. I’m not that worried about it.” Percy told him, deciding to leave the matter open. He felt uncharacteristically serene, and he really wasn’t worried, he realised.
He crossed the bathroom floor to the door in the panelling, already formulating an excuse that Skeeter would buy, and the changes he might have to make to tonight’s speech. A copy of Lucius Malfoy’s speech would be on his desk before afternoon tea; Draco was more concerned about remaining in Percy’s favour than his father’s.
Percy felt a smile curve his lips. This democracy notion was going to be easy.
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Date: 2004-11-10 08:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-11 03:41 am (UTC)Thanks!