Fic: A Problem in the Workplace
Title: A Problem in the Workplace
Rating: R - for language
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Disclaimer: Not mine. Oh, if only...
Summary: Draco has a problem in the workplace - Ronald (sexy, stupid bastard) Weasley
Link:
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A Problem in the Workplace
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Draco Malfoy never knew quite when he had fallen for Ron Weasley but when he came to the conclusion that the redhead was a reasonable enough human being to be obsessed with, he threw something fragile savagely against the wall.
After all, it was a horrendous conclusion, and he blamed it entirely on Severus Snape. He always knew all those potion fumes in the dungeons would be the death of his rational thought.
So the first thing Draco did, after ensuring he was nowhere near the vicinity of a cauldron, was to attempt to ignore his feelings.
However, due to the fact he worked with the sexy prat, this was proving to be an impossible task.
He saw him in the mornings, his robes inside out, yawning hugely and his hair criminally tousled.
He saw him at lunch, scoffing like an ill-mannered glutton at whatever was on the menu, his cutlery lying clean and unused by his plate.
He even saw him after work, glugging firewhiskey and loudly singing Quidditch songs with Potter and the rest of the aurors in their squad.
Ronald Weasley really was a messy, unhygienic lout.
And Merlin, did Draco find that attractive.
So attractive, in fact, that there was only one foreseeable way Draco could see himself getting through his workday.
Unfortunately for him, it wasn’t the most subtle of approaches.
“Malfoy, what are you doing?”
“Wearing a blindfold.”
There was a sizable pause, in which time Weasley was obviously questioning whether or not to enquire about this madness. His curiosity, however, appeared to have won out.
“Malfoy, why are you wearing a blindfold?” he asked, genuinely baffled.
Draco thought about how best to answer this. He then shrugged and, deviating from the norm, decided to go with honesty.
“Because looking at you is bad for my health, Weasley,” he said simply before fumbling for the tiny vial that stood on his desk and taking a good, hearty swig.
There was another pause.
“… Malfoy, why are you drinking a Silencing Draught?”
No answer.
“Malfoy?”
More silence.
“Malfoy! Bloody hell, what in Circe is going on!?” Weasley demanded, throwing his arms in the air, almost thwaping a passing Tonks in the nose in his animation. “How are we supposed to work together if you won’t listen or look at me?! What is the matter with you, why are you acting so barmy? I swear, I can’t believe I landed you as a partner! Kingsley must hate me. What’s all this going to achieve anyway, you bloody psycho…?! You’re such a-”
And so it continued. Ranting and raving and calling him a ‘bastard’, an ‘evil prat’ and a ‘sodding moron’ and Draco, leaning back into his chair, was completely oblivious to it all.
Yes, this idea of his was perfect.
No delectable arse to leer at, no husky voice to shiver (not that he shivered) over, nothing to distract him or reduce him to a lovesick schoolgirl.
What an utter genius he was.
All he had to contend with was that smell, and really, what could a smell do? Even if it was that heavenly, unmistakeable scent that was all man and all Weasley and made his toes curl up and … and…
And this stupid blindfold really wasn’t working, he thought furiously as he ripped it off his eyes and glared at the material with utmost betrayal.
He had to think of something else.
“Maybe you can murder him?” Pansy suggested over tea that evening, tapping the teapot with her wand and watching it pour into two delicate china cups. “It’s only Weasley. Nobody would miss him.”
She recoiled at the look of pure, twitchy anger she received at these words.
“Lucifer on a Firebolt, you really like him, don’t you?” she asked, half-horrified, half-intrigued. Draco merely replied by collapsing headfirst onto her frilly table.
Unperturbed, Pansy pushed aside the cake his fringe had landed in.
“I don’t see why you’re so worked up over this. It’s only Weasley. It’s not like he’ll turn you down. I mean, just look at him.”
“I do look at him,” Draco groaned dramatically, his muffled voice almost a whine. “Non-stop. I must have some vile tropical disease that makes me want to nail do-gooders. Check my temperature.”
“For Circe’s sake, Draco, just tell him…!”
Draco lifted up his head and scoffed, frosting still clinging to the tips of his hair and the imprint of a doily on his forehead.
“… tell him what? That he’s a poor disgrace to Wizardhood and I want to bend him over my desk and have him in front of the entire office?”
“Well, actions speak louder than words,” Pansy smirked over the rim of her teacup, the steam billowing around her face devilishly.
Draco sneered at her. She was not helping matters.
“Pansy, this is Weasley. He has fleas and a mother with an arse bigger than Kilimanjaro. You’re here to remind me that I’m better than him. And have incredible hair.”
“But he’s hung.”
Draco snapped his head around so fast, he was sure he got whiplash.
“And HOW would you know that?” he demanded, bristling like an angry cat before wincing and grabbing his sore neck.
Smirking, Pansy lifted her cup to her mouth, taking a dainty sip that completely contradicted the unlady-like look in her eyes. “I have my sources. Let’s just say even you won’t be disappointed. So what do you say?”
“Weasley, I’m in love with you.”
Weasley, who was mid-chew at lunch the following day, dropped his jaw, the remains of his pie on show.
“… whuh?”
“I’m in love with you. Even though you’re poor and uncultured and have stupid hair.”
Weasley just stared, still open mouthed.
“And have the irritating habit of gaping like a fish when you’re stumped,” Draco added briefly before wincing, placing a finger under Weasley’s chin and lifting it to shut his mouth. He could only see so much chewed food. He then huffed. “Oh, come on, you can’t tell me you don’t notice the way I stare at you. I’m practically fucking you with my eyes. Hell, I’m doing it right now…”
Weasley, finally getting his bearings back, swallowed his pie. Hard.
“Malfoy…” he said hoarsely, as though he hadn’t used his voice in years, his complexion pale under his freckles, “This isn’t funny…”
“Do I look like I’m laughing?” Draco asked, hardly blinking, his leer literally burning Weasley’s skin pink as he leaned closer. “I want you, Weasel. And I always get what I want. So you’re going out with me tonight to an expensive restaurant, where you’ll dress up, comb your hair and amuse me with anecdotes about Potter’s failings. You will then escort me home, feign that you forgot your house keys and ask to stay the night before screwing me senseless on every available piece of furniture in my house. Are we clear?”
Watching Weasley’s adam’s apple bob, Draco briefly wondered if he had gone about this the wrong way. But when a defiant, “…I choose the restaurant, ferret” escaped from the redhead’s mouth, Draco let out the most self satisfied smirk.
“Fine,” he said. “But it better be a good one or I’m taking it out on your fine arse. Oh, and Weasel?” he turned back, just as he was about to leave through the cafeteria door. “You better be worth it or I’m feeding you to my manticore in bits.”
Weasley simply rolled his eyes as he took another bite of his pie.
“You won’t even be able to walk tonight, let alone feed me to anyone, you girly little twat,” he retorted, wiping pastry crumbs from the front of his shirt.
Draco didn’t even wrinkle his nose.
“Heathen,” he said delightedly before walking out.
Rating: R - for language
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Disclaimer: Not mine. Oh, if only...
Summary: Draco has a problem in the workplace - Ronald (sexy, stupid bastard) Weasley
Link:
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
A Problem in the Workplace
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Draco Malfoy never knew quite when he had fallen for Ron Weasley but when he came to the conclusion that the redhead was a reasonable enough human being to be obsessed with, he threw something fragile savagely against the wall.
After all, it was a horrendous conclusion, and he blamed it entirely on Severus Snape. He always knew all those potion fumes in the dungeons would be the death of his rational thought.
So the first thing Draco did, after ensuring he was nowhere near the vicinity of a cauldron, was to attempt to ignore his feelings.
However, due to the fact he worked with the sexy prat, this was proving to be an impossible task.
He saw him in the mornings, his robes inside out, yawning hugely and his hair criminally tousled.
He saw him at lunch, scoffing like an ill-mannered glutton at whatever was on the menu, his cutlery lying clean and unused by his plate.
He even saw him after work, glugging firewhiskey and loudly singing Quidditch songs with Potter and the rest of the aurors in their squad.
Ronald Weasley really was a messy, unhygienic lout.
And Merlin, did Draco find that attractive.
So attractive, in fact, that there was only one foreseeable way Draco could see himself getting through his workday.
Unfortunately for him, it wasn’t the most subtle of approaches.
“Malfoy, what are you doing?”
“Wearing a blindfold.”
There was a sizable pause, in which time Weasley was obviously questioning whether or not to enquire about this madness. His curiosity, however, appeared to have won out.
“Malfoy, why are you wearing a blindfold?” he asked, genuinely baffled.
Draco thought about how best to answer this. He then shrugged and, deviating from the norm, decided to go with honesty.
“Because looking at you is bad for my health, Weasley,” he said simply before fumbling for the tiny vial that stood on his desk and taking a good, hearty swig.
There was another pause.
“… Malfoy, why are you drinking a Silencing Draught?”
No answer.
“Malfoy?”
More silence.
“Malfoy! Bloody hell, what in Circe is going on!?” Weasley demanded, throwing his arms in the air, almost thwaping a passing Tonks in the nose in his animation. “How are we supposed to work together if you won’t listen or look at me?! What is the matter with you, why are you acting so barmy? I swear, I can’t believe I landed you as a partner! Kingsley must hate me. What’s all this going to achieve anyway, you bloody psycho…?! You’re such a-”
And so it continued. Ranting and raving and calling him a ‘bastard’, an ‘evil prat’ and a ‘sodding moron’ and Draco, leaning back into his chair, was completely oblivious to it all.
Yes, this idea of his was perfect.
No delectable arse to leer at, no husky voice to shiver (not that he shivered) over, nothing to distract him or reduce him to a lovesick schoolgirl.
What an utter genius he was.
All he had to contend with was that smell, and really, what could a smell do? Even if it was that heavenly, unmistakeable scent that was all man and all Weasley and made his toes curl up and … and…
And this stupid blindfold really wasn’t working, he thought furiously as he ripped it off his eyes and glared at the material with utmost betrayal.
He had to think of something else.
“Maybe you can murder him?” Pansy suggested over tea that evening, tapping the teapot with her wand and watching it pour into two delicate china cups. “It’s only Weasley. Nobody would miss him.”
She recoiled at the look of pure, twitchy anger she received at these words.
“Lucifer on a Firebolt, you really like him, don’t you?” she asked, half-horrified, half-intrigued. Draco merely replied by collapsing headfirst onto her frilly table.
Unperturbed, Pansy pushed aside the cake his fringe had landed in.
“I don’t see why you’re so worked up over this. It’s only Weasley. It’s not like he’ll turn you down. I mean, just look at him.”
“I do look at him,” Draco groaned dramatically, his muffled voice almost a whine. “Non-stop. I must have some vile tropical disease that makes me want to nail do-gooders. Check my temperature.”
“For Circe’s sake, Draco, just tell him…!”
Draco lifted up his head and scoffed, frosting still clinging to the tips of his hair and the imprint of a doily on his forehead.
“… tell him what? That he’s a poor disgrace to Wizardhood and I want to bend him over my desk and have him in front of the entire office?”
“Well, actions speak louder than words,” Pansy smirked over the rim of her teacup, the steam billowing around her face devilishly.
Draco sneered at her. She was not helping matters.
“Pansy, this is Weasley. He has fleas and a mother with an arse bigger than Kilimanjaro. You’re here to remind me that I’m better than him. And have incredible hair.”
“But he’s hung.”
Draco snapped his head around so fast, he was sure he got whiplash.
“And HOW would you know that?” he demanded, bristling like an angry cat before wincing and grabbing his sore neck.
Smirking, Pansy lifted her cup to her mouth, taking a dainty sip that completely contradicted the unlady-like look in her eyes. “I have my sources. Let’s just say even you won’t be disappointed. So what do you say?”
“Weasley, I’m in love with you.”
Weasley, who was mid-chew at lunch the following day, dropped his jaw, the remains of his pie on show.
“… whuh?”
“I’m in love with you. Even though you’re poor and uncultured and have stupid hair.”
Weasley just stared, still open mouthed.
“And have the irritating habit of gaping like a fish when you’re stumped,” Draco added briefly before wincing, placing a finger under Weasley’s chin and lifting it to shut his mouth. He could only see so much chewed food. He then huffed. “Oh, come on, you can’t tell me you don’t notice the way I stare at you. I’m practically fucking you with my eyes. Hell, I’m doing it right now…”
Weasley, finally getting his bearings back, swallowed his pie. Hard.
“Malfoy…” he said hoarsely, as though he hadn’t used his voice in years, his complexion pale under his freckles, “This isn’t funny…”
“Do I look like I’m laughing?” Draco asked, hardly blinking, his leer literally burning Weasley’s skin pink as he leaned closer. “I want you, Weasel. And I always get what I want. So you’re going out with me tonight to an expensive restaurant, where you’ll dress up, comb your hair and amuse me with anecdotes about Potter’s failings. You will then escort me home, feign that you forgot your house keys and ask to stay the night before screwing me senseless on every available piece of furniture in my house. Are we clear?”
Watching Weasley’s adam’s apple bob, Draco briefly wondered if he had gone about this the wrong way. But when a defiant, “…I choose the restaurant, ferret” escaped from the redhead’s mouth, Draco let out the most self satisfied smirk.
“Fine,” he said. “But it better be a good one or I’m taking it out on your fine arse. Oh, and Weasel?” he turned back, just as he was about to leave through the cafeteria door. “You better be worth it or I’m feeding you to my manticore in bits.”
Weasley simply rolled his eyes as he took another bite of his pie.
“You won’t even be able to walk tonight, let alone feed me to anyone, you girly little twat,” he retorted, wiping pastry crumbs from the front of his shirt.
Draco didn’t even wrinkle his nose.
“Heathen,” he said delightedly before walking out.