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Harry stares at the obscene stack of paperwork teetering precariously on one corner of his desk. He’s long since given up when it comes to clearing the pile. He always figured if he could get through a handful a day that would be enough to suffice. After all, he joined the Aurors to be in the field, not in a stuffy Ministry office stuck behind an old mahogany desk.
But he and Ron both promised Hermione that for the next two weeks, they’d work from their desks to avoid any injuries. They couldn’t risk taking a case or going on a mission for fear that it might put them in a bed at St. Mungo’s, or worse, make either of them miss the wedding all together. While he doesn’t understand why he also has to follow these rules, he supposes he gets it. You can’t have a wedding without the groom, and perhaps Hermione thought she’d have a better chance at keeping Ron safe if Harry followed along. He wonders how much gold she slid Robards to approve the arrangement.
Though much to Harry’s chagrin, it seems to be working. Maybe there’s hope to get through the stack of paperwork by the time Ron and Hermione tie the knot after all. He grabs a report from the top of the pile and begins working, only to be interrupted five minutes later by the clacking of a wooden cane growing louder with each click.
What pompous piece of shit is strutting around the office now? Don’t they know we can’t be bribed anymore?
He tries to ignore the noise until there’s a pronounced throat clearing across from where he sits. Who could possibly be trying to make this day worse?
Draco Malfoy.
“Sorry, I think you’re lost. This floor houses the Aurors and DMLE. We don’t take bribes from old money here anymore. I’m sure you could try the Department for Magical Transportation if you’re that desperate.”
“Very funny, Potter. I’m not here for any Ministry matters. I’m here to ask for a…personal favor.”
Harry peers up at Draco. He’s up to something; he always is. “If anyone’s going to ask for a favor, shouldn’t it be me? Considering I’ve saved your arse how many times now?”
“Twice,” he says through gritted teeth. “And that’s neither here nor there.”
“So, what is it then?”
Harry doesn’t have time to play any games. The quicker Draco asks whatever ridiculous favor he’s searching for, the sooner Harry can tell him no and send him on his way.
“I need an invitation to Weasley and Granger’s wedding.”
Laughter bursts from every fiber of Harry’s being. “Yeah, alright, Malfoy. That was a good one.”
“I’m serious.” Draco snarls his lips. His knuckles turn white as they grip the ornate handle of the cane a little too tight.
But seriously, what twenty-two year old walks around with a fucking cane?
Harry’s ready to say no, but the request is too good to not gain more information to take back to Ron and Hermione later. Maybe he’ll even pull the memory out so they can watch it in the Pensieve.
“Why?”
Malfoy glares at Harry, clearly contemplating his choice of words. “Because according to the Prophet,” he spits, “it’s going to be the event of the year.”
There’s so much pure hatred and disdain in the blonde’s voice, but Harry can’t help but notice a hint of…envy, is it?
“So?”
“So,” his nostrils flare, and Harry delights in how excruciating this must be for Malfoy, “If it is, then I need to be there.”
“Huh,” Harry ponders. “I didn’t realize ‘entitlement’ and ‘relevance’ were considerations when Ron and Hermione were creating the guest list.” He leans back in his chair and clasps his hands together. “I’m sure they’ll be horrified when they realize they’ve left such a prominent name in the magical world off the list and will want to correct it straight away.”
Draco is seething. “I’m sure there will be enough people invited where they won’t even know I’m there.”
“Right. And you thought asking me, their best friend, to help get you in would be your best option? After you called Hermione a Mudblood more times than I can count and hexed her teeth during fourth year? And you tried to fuck with Ron during fifth year with the Weasley is our King chant during the Quidditch season because Slytherin didn’t have a shot of winning fairly? Oh, and let’s not forget that you’d be attending a wedding where two-thirds of the guest list will be from the family you insulted over and over because they were poor .
“Sure, Malfoy, let me get right on sneaking an invitation your way. I’m sure Ron and Hermione would love to have you there.”
Draco purses his lips, the thin fine line barely moving as he hisses, “ A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed. It’s not like I wanted to be surrounded by filth anyway.”
He turns on the heel of his overly-polished toe and struts off without another word. Unable to contain his laughter anymore, Harry lets it out.
“And don’t worry,” Harry calls after him. “I’ll make sure the security detail knows not to let any ferrets in.”
Once Draco’s gone, Harry can’t help but shake his head, the lingering laugh lines still present on his face as he whispers, “Merlin, I can’t wait to tell Ron and Hermione about this at lunch today.”
All you are is mean
And a liar, and pathetic
And alone in life, and mean
And mean, and mean, and mean