Agape: fic for tamlane's challenge
For tamlane's Valentine's challenge: A snippet... to be continued soon.
Title: Agape
Author: Quin Firefrorefiddle
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: D/Hr (you expected what, exactly?)
Disclaimer: The characters and setting of the HP universe belong to Ms. Rowling and I'm not making any money. The plot is mine and I'm keeping it. Thhhhbbbpppt!
Summary: D/Hr "celebrate" Valentine's Day in a post-war world.
Draco preferred Flourish & Blotts during the few hours between lunch and tea: it was quietest then. Mornings were cheery and bustling; full of housewitches looking for the newest educational materials for sickeningly sweet little Wendell or Olivia. The lunch hour was loud and chaotic with the Diagon Alley and Ministry employees doing extra research or (more likely) looking for something to stave off the boredom for the afternoon. And after tea the younger crowd would filter in as their entry-level jobs ended for the day; they would stalk through the aisles, holding hushed but urgent conversations about politics, ethics and the future of wizardkind. Not that they had the slightest idea what any of those entailed.
But in the early afternoon only a few customers who didn't have other obligations were in the ancient store: mostly the academics and the obscenely rich. The former were shabbily dressed and staidly respectful of the volumes on the shelves; the latter far less respectful of everything and everyone- but carefully attired. Draco liked to think himself a cross between the two; the best of both worlds. After a particularly nasty incident at the age of eight with one of his father's older magipathology volumes he had always shown the utmost respect to books of all types, and as head of his department he could not afford his grooming to be less than impeccable.
He found the works that he needed (concerning goblin mediwizardry and werewolf psychology, today) with the same stealthy efficiency that had won him his job. As his assistant Belinda was under the mistaken impression that he always spent at least an hour in the store, no matter the errand, he had at least forty minutes to spare. On an ordinary day, he would have spent this time unobtrusively meandering through Diagon Alley, stopping in at Gringotts and the Apothecary, idling by the entrance to Knockturn Alley, trolling for gossip and news. Though his coworkers (read: rivals) would scoff at the concept, this simple detective work had saved him plenty of trouble over the years. If nothing else, his job did require him to be in touch with the common folk of the wizarding world (though he would be loath to admit it... much less the fact that he found it fascinating).
As today was not an ordinary day, he remained in the shop, heading over to the Classical Drama section. Had he less self-control, he might have smirked at Euripidies or winced at Sophocles; but as it was he simply scanned the titles until he found his goal: a slim volume written by Aristophanes. Draco added it to his pile, paid for his choices, and Disapparated immediately upon leaving the store.
***
"Yes, Ginny, we'll be there. Tell Harry we're both coming. Well, I may have to do a spot of persuading. Right, see you then."
Hermione carefully tended to the ashes of the firecall with a flick of her wand and turned back to her paperwork. Her post-lunch headache was just beginning; no painkillers could counteract the dozens of Cryptification Charms and Puzzlizing Potions which laced the parchment she worked with. She loved her job, certainly, but between cleaning up after the effects of the weekend and catching up on the work that the effects of the weekend had forced her to miss the day before, Tuesdays were always hell. An assistant would have made that part of the job much easier, but between the nature of her position and her current rank, the likelihood of her gaining an assistant was approximately equable to the likelihood of a Crumple-Horned Snorckack Sandwich being on the menu for tea.
*pop*
Hermione looked up from the parchment to where Draco loomed over her desk and met his eyes with a smile. "Hello, love. What can I do for you?"
He smirked, quite purposefully, and painstakingly negotiated the narrow space between her desk and the wall of her tiny office. Only when his hands were massaging her scalp did he reply with words. "Nothing, love... here."
Hermione sat limply in her chair at his ministrations, to all appearances lost to the world. They both knew better. "And elsewhere?"
Draco removed a hand from her scalp long enough to take something out of a pocket of his robes and drop it in her lap. "A little research for you, love. You'll want to know what it's like to be desparate before tonight, so you might have a chance at withstanding the evening."
She opened her eyes slightly, just enough to make out the book's title. "Ly- love! Really!" Hermione fought the instinct to blush, glad he could not see her face. She strove to cover her reaction. In a drawl, cultivated over the years to match his, she continued, "What makes you think I haven't read it?"
"Have you? What is it about, then?"
"About a big thing," she hedged.
"And is it thick, too?"
"Yes, very thick."1 Her smile now was slow and sure, and she stood and turned into his embrace. "But first I promised Ginny--"
A flicker of annoyance crossed Draco's face, but disappeared as he ran his fingers through her hair, so different from his own. "Of course, love."
Hermione leaned into his hand, but it didn't stop her quizzical glance. "You're sure? It's only dinner, but I know you--"
Draco touched his finger to her lips. "It's only dinner, and you deserve to see your friends." He wrapped a lock of her hair around his hand-- pleased with the contrast between his pale skin and her dark, scratchy tresses-- and tugged it playfully. "Besides, I'm sure the evening will improve dramatically afterwards."
She grinned at him, but the grin faded as she looked at the clock. He nodded in recognition, dropped her hair and stepped back, his professional mask dropping once again over his face. They agreed on when to meet at their flat and he returned to his office.
***
"Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Malfoy!"
Draco stopped and turned on the panting almost-child running after him, toning his sneer down to half strength when he noticed the age of his pursuer. He waited for her to catch up, chin up and eyebrow arched.
Finally she reached him, and paused only a moment to catch her breath before renewing her intrusive demands on his time. "Mr. Malfoy-"
"My name, young lady, is Lord Draco Abraxas Malfoy of Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire. In my duties as a member of the ministry I am to be professionally addressed as Mr. Malfoy in order to emphasize that my duties are not granted to me due to my lineage." He let the double entrendre hang in the air for a moment, his haughty manner emphasizing his lineage both as a Malfoy of the Wiltshire Malfoys, and as Lucuis Malfoy's son. "As the workday is over and we are not at the Ministry, you will address me by my title."
The girl's eyes had been getting larger as his rebuke went on, and now she resembled nothing more than a quivering, quiescent blob of boiled Mandrake gelatin. She bobbed a quick curtsy (completely unnecessary, of course, but proved his purpose had been achieved) and lowered her eyes. "Pardon me, Lord Malfoy. I am Echo Greengrass of the Welsh Wizard's Weekly. Might I ask a quick question for clarification, Lord Malfoy?"
"Only if you can avoid an avid affectation of aural alliteration."
She straightened and pulled out a small notepad and quill, obviously missing his mimicry. "Lord Malfoy, when you said that the Minister had no intention of fighting a character battle during a time of political turmoil when more productive objectives could be reached, were you attempting to draw attention back to the Minister's Philanthropic Educational Plan, or were you attempting to draw attention away from the fact that Bernie Davis of the Magician's Enquirer saw Minister Clearwater in a London Muggle nightclub with a man who was clearly not her husband?"
Draco was at a loss as to how this was a "quick" clarification question, but knew better than to get into a quibbling match in the middle of Hogsmeade's central thoroughfare. "Miss Greengrass, please be assured that my level of professionalism is such that I will always be drawing the attention of the press to the Ministry's projects, as that is the entirety of my job description as the head of the Publication and Public Relations Department. Also, please be assured that my level of subtlety is such that were I avoiding a scandal, I would be doing so in a way which would not allow you to know of it. Lastly, as much as I hate to give career advice, I would suggest that if you want to get the respect of your colleagues and keep both it and your job, that you do your homework before attending a press conference, much less stalking a Department Head through the streets and country. If you had done so, you would have discovered that not only was that man not her husband, but that he was not any sort of paramour, as he is not only her brother but also categorically not interested in women."
The girl was back to her earlier gelatinous form, much to his amusement. "Yes, Lord Malfoy. Sorry, Lord Malfoy. I will, Lord Malfoy."
If she was this easy to manipulate, she deserved the manipulation. Not to mention she might prove useful; after the Skeeter Scandal fewer young people were going into journalism, creating fewer lapdogs for those in positions like his. He let his face and voice soften. "All right, then. I suppose it isn't the worst mistake you could have made, and all of us make mistakes."
She brightened and grinned up at him, pluckily. "Yes, thank you, Lord Malfoy."
He stopped himself from grimacing at her cheer and let a benevolent mood fall upon his face. "Glad to hear it, Miss. Remember, just because babbling tongues assail, doesn't mean suspicion over oath should prevail."2
She nodded vehemently and, after another curtsy, scurried off, scribbling madly, the newest convert to his coven of followers. Or, rather, the Minister's followers. Right. Of course.
Draco continued on his way, checking the time to see if he would have to make excuses to Ginny and his wife for being late.
1. This line and the two before it are from Lysistrata, by Aristophanes. This is the volume Draco picked up in the bookstore. I used this translation.
2. Here Draco massacres Sophocles' Oedipus Rex. I used this translation.
Title: Agape
Author: Quin Firefrorefiddle
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: D/Hr (you expected what, exactly?)
Disclaimer: The characters and setting of the HP universe belong to Ms. Rowling and I'm not making any money. The plot is mine and I'm keeping it. Thhhhbbbpppt!
Summary: D/Hr "celebrate" Valentine's Day in a post-war world.
Draco preferred Flourish & Blotts during the few hours between lunch and tea: it was quietest then. Mornings were cheery and bustling; full of housewitches looking for the newest educational materials for sickeningly sweet little Wendell or Olivia. The lunch hour was loud and chaotic with the Diagon Alley and Ministry employees doing extra research or (more likely) looking for something to stave off the boredom for the afternoon. And after tea the younger crowd would filter in as their entry-level jobs ended for the day; they would stalk through the aisles, holding hushed but urgent conversations about politics, ethics and the future of wizardkind. Not that they had the slightest idea what any of those entailed.
But in the early afternoon only a few customers who didn't have other obligations were in the ancient store: mostly the academics and the obscenely rich. The former were shabbily dressed and staidly respectful of the volumes on the shelves; the latter far less respectful of everything and everyone- but carefully attired. Draco liked to think himself a cross between the two; the best of both worlds. After a particularly nasty incident at the age of eight with one of his father's older magipathology volumes he had always shown the utmost respect to books of all types, and as head of his department he could not afford his grooming to be less than impeccable.
He found the works that he needed (concerning goblin mediwizardry and werewolf psychology, today) with the same stealthy efficiency that had won him his job. As his assistant Belinda was under the mistaken impression that he always spent at least an hour in the store, no matter the errand, he had at least forty minutes to spare. On an ordinary day, he would have spent this time unobtrusively meandering through Diagon Alley, stopping in at Gringotts and the Apothecary, idling by the entrance to Knockturn Alley, trolling for gossip and news. Though his coworkers (read: rivals) would scoff at the concept, this simple detective work had saved him plenty of trouble over the years. If nothing else, his job did require him to be in touch with the common folk of the wizarding world (though he would be loath to admit it... much less the fact that he found it fascinating).
As today was not an ordinary day, he remained in the shop, heading over to the Classical Drama section. Had he less self-control, he might have smirked at Euripidies or winced at Sophocles; but as it was he simply scanned the titles until he found his goal: a slim volume written by Aristophanes. Draco added it to his pile, paid for his choices, and Disapparated immediately upon leaving the store.
***
"Yes, Ginny, we'll be there. Tell Harry we're both coming. Well, I may have to do a spot of persuading. Right, see you then."
Hermione carefully tended to the ashes of the firecall with a flick of her wand and turned back to her paperwork. Her post-lunch headache was just beginning; no painkillers could counteract the dozens of Cryptification Charms and Puzzlizing Potions which laced the parchment she worked with. She loved her job, certainly, but between cleaning up after the effects of the weekend and catching up on the work that the effects of the weekend had forced her to miss the day before, Tuesdays were always hell. An assistant would have made that part of the job much easier, but between the nature of her position and her current rank, the likelihood of her gaining an assistant was approximately equable to the likelihood of a Crumple-Horned Snorckack Sandwich being on the menu for tea.
*pop*
Hermione looked up from the parchment to where Draco loomed over her desk and met his eyes with a smile. "Hello, love. What can I do for you?"
He smirked, quite purposefully, and painstakingly negotiated the narrow space between her desk and the wall of her tiny office. Only when his hands were massaging her scalp did he reply with words. "Nothing, love... here."
Hermione sat limply in her chair at his ministrations, to all appearances lost to the world. They both knew better. "And elsewhere?"
Draco removed a hand from her scalp long enough to take something out of a pocket of his robes and drop it in her lap. "A little research for you, love. You'll want to know what it's like to be desparate before tonight, so you might have a chance at withstanding the evening."
She opened her eyes slightly, just enough to make out the book's title. "Ly- love! Really!" Hermione fought the instinct to blush, glad he could not see her face. She strove to cover her reaction. In a drawl, cultivated over the years to match his, she continued, "What makes you think I haven't read it?"
"Have you? What is it about, then?"
"About a big thing," she hedged.
"And is it thick, too?"
"Yes, very thick."1 Her smile now was slow and sure, and she stood and turned into his embrace. "But first I promised Ginny--"
A flicker of annoyance crossed Draco's face, but disappeared as he ran his fingers through her hair, so different from his own. "Of course, love."
Hermione leaned into his hand, but it didn't stop her quizzical glance. "You're sure? It's only dinner, but I know you--"
Draco touched his finger to her lips. "It's only dinner, and you deserve to see your friends." He wrapped a lock of her hair around his hand-- pleased with the contrast between his pale skin and her dark, scratchy tresses-- and tugged it playfully. "Besides, I'm sure the evening will improve dramatically afterwards."
She grinned at him, but the grin faded as she looked at the clock. He nodded in recognition, dropped her hair and stepped back, his professional mask dropping once again over his face. They agreed on when to meet at their flat and he returned to his office.
***
"Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Malfoy!"
Draco stopped and turned on the panting almost-child running after him, toning his sneer down to half strength when he noticed the age of his pursuer. He waited for her to catch up, chin up and eyebrow arched.
Finally she reached him, and paused only a moment to catch her breath before renewing her intrusive demands on his time. "Mr. Malfoy-"
"My name, young lady, is Lord Draco Abraxas Malfoy of Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire. In my duties as a member of the ministry I am to be professionally addressed as Mr. Malfoy in order to emphasize that my duties are not granted to me due to my lineage." He let the double entrendre hang in the air for a moment, his haughty manner emphasizing his lineage both as a Malfoy of the Wiltshire Malfoys, and as Lucuis Malfoy's son. "As the workday is over and we are not at the Ministry, you will address me by my title."
The girl's eyes had been getting larger as his rebuke went on, and now she resembled nothing more than a quivering, quiescent blob of boiled Mandrake gelatin. She bobbed a quick curtsy (completely unnecessary, of course, but proved his purpose had been achieved) and lowered her eyes. "Pardon me, Lord Malfoy. I am Echo Greengrass of the Welsh Wizard's Weekly. Might I ask a quick question for clarification, Lord Malfoy?"
"Only if you can avoid an avid affectation of aural alliteration."
She straightened and pulled out a small notepad and quill, obviously missing his mimicry. "Lord Malfoy, when you said that the Minister had no intention of fighting a character battle during a time of political turmoil when more productive objectives could be reached, were you attempting to draw attention back to the Minister's Philanthropic Educational Plan, or were you attempting to draw attention away from the fact that Bernie Davis of the Magician's Enquirer saw Minister Clearwater in a London Muggle nightclub with a man who was clearly not her husband?"
Draco was at a loss as to how this was a "quick" clarification question, but knew better than to get into a quibbling match in the middle of Hogsmeade's central thoroughfare. "Miss Greengrass, please be assured that my level of professionalism is such that I will always be drawing the attention of the press to the Ministry's projects, as that is the entirety of my job description as the head of the Publication and Public Relations Department. Also, please be assured that my level of subtlety is such that were I avoiding a scandal, I would be doing so in a way which would not allow you to know of it. Lastly, as much as I hate to give career advice, I would suggest that if you want to get the respect of your colleagues and keep both it and your job, that you do your homework before attending a press conference, much less stalking a Department Head through the streets and country. If you had done so, you would have discovered that not only was that man not her husband, but that he was not any sort of paramour, as he is not only her brother but also categorically not interested in women."
The girl was back to her earlier gelatinous form, much to his amusement. "Yes, Lord Malfoy. Sorry, Lord Malfoy. I will, Lord Malfoy."
If she was this easy to manipulate, she deserved the manipulation. Not to mention she might prove useful; after the Skeeter Scandal fewer young people were going into journalism, creating fewer lapdogs for those in positions like his. He let his face and voice soften. "All right, then. I suppose it isn't the worst mistake you could have made, and all of us make mistakes."
She brightened and grinned up at him, pluckily. "Yes, thank you, Lord Malfoy."
He stopped himself from grimacing at her cheer and let a benevolent mood fall upon his face. "Glad to hear it, Miss. Remember, just because babbling tongues assail, doesn't mean suspicion over oath should prevail."2
She nodded vehemently and, after another curtsy, scurried off, scribbling madly, the newest convert to his coven of followers. Or, rather, the Minister's followers. Right. Of course.
Draco continued on his way, checking the time to see if he would have to make excuses to Ginny and his wife for being late.
1. This line and the two before it are from Lysistrata, by Aristophanes. This is the volume Draco picked up in the bookstore. I used this translation.
2. Here Draco massacres Sophocles' Oedipus Rex. I used this translation.