Two Politicians Walk into a Bar...
“Could I have a glass of water?”
Draco’s request went ignored as he was roughly ushered through the oddly cramped interior layout of the manor. Most of the exotic decor was a contradiction of itself: gold vases with faux plants, imported rugs with tears but no signs of aging.
“I really love what you’ve done with the place,” he picked at his teeth, ever the little asshole. “The fuse of both classical and utilitarian pieces feels like a commentary on new-age haute couture culture and the working class.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Draco was shoved forward and almost missed a step. “Now that’s no way to speak to a guest.”
He was abruptly swung around a corner, muddy shoes leaving a curved streak on the polished floor.
He came face to face with a door knocker the size of his head. The guard to his left barely let the metal hit the door before letting herself in.
The green velvety office that opened before them would have been cozy if not for the obvious neglect. Glasses and dirty dishes were stacked precariously like decorations. Knick-knacks and bobbles were strewn across the floor like a child’s playpen. Behind all the trash was a desk so large it could have easily been a family’s dining table. Instead, it seated only one person, the big cheese himself: Emile Harvati.
And God did he look bad.
Chapped lips. Skin that was somehow both dehydrated and oily. Hair much too grey for his age and hands tweaking with caffeine as he fumbled for a cigarette. There was a thick hair sprouting from a mole on his chin that Draco could see all the way from the door. "You look absolutely radiant this evening, Sir."
Harvati looked up with his mouth wrapped around an unlit cigarette and narrowed his bushy eyebrows.
“What do you want?” Harvati frowned as his hands did a mad dash to tidy his desk. Draco smiled. The old man’s hurried movements were distracting, but not distracting enough to conceal the numerous documents he not-so-discretely slipped under a rotting fruit platter.
Harry would have rolled his eyes at the sloppiness of it all.
“I’d like a glass of water, first of all.” Draco looked pointedly at the gloved hands gripped around his forearms.
Harvati waved the guards off in annoyance, flicking a wrist. He lit his cigarette and took a long drag, contaminating the room with grey smog.
Something in Draco grew hungry at the sight - but he had just quit, and a little secondhand wasn’t enough to break his streak.
“Sit.”
Draco strode forward and sat in the oddly lumpy armchair across from the man. The chair had a comically tall backrest - purposefully meant to dwarf its user and make them feel awkward. Maybe it was the way he was sitting, but despite his shorter-than-average height, Draco made it look more like a throne than anything else.
The butler who so kindly greeted him at the door came in and placed his satchel in front of Harvati like it contained explosives. The man took another drag and opened it without caution.
Fresh blue flowers spilled out onto the table.
There was a long pause.
“What’s this?”
“Time."
Harvati looked up, poured himself a glass bourbon, and leaned back. Fake boredom. The faux confidence might have worked if not for the everything that gave him away.
“Those weren’t easy to procure, as I’m sure you already know.” Draco nodded to the bag.
Harvati brushed some flowers over the side of the desk in disgust.
“What makes you think I want these? That I won’t turn you in and double my wealth in an instant?”
Draco only smiled slightly like a bemused parent as a shadow momentarily swept over the man’s face. Something was jumping across the room’s skylights, something was already fast at work. Draco continued, slightly louder before the man’s eyes could glance up, “Take a shot of humility and listen to what I have to offer you. I’m a busy man.”
“Man is pushing it.” Harvati mumbled as he eyed a pimple near the boy’s chin.
Draco leaned forward, propping his arms on the table like a schoolchild telling a secret. Harvati scowled as he involuntarily tensed. Draco lowered his voice into a whisper that was just public enough for everyone in the room.
“Your daughter is sick. At least two of your house staff are dead,” the guards behind Harvati glanced at each other for fraction of a second. “Desperation isn’t a good look on you. Aren’t you supposed to represent the humans of Vilitas with the charity and dignity they deserve?”
“I always hated that slogan," he took a drag of his cigarette with stiff hands. “It’s not like humans even have-”
“Aren’t you tired of searching for something that doesn’t exist?” Draco glanced at the ceiling for a fraction of a second. “It would be a shame if word got out about Camélia's condition.” Harvati’s eyes narrowed at the mention of his daughter. Purhaps Draco plugged her in too soon.
“Don’t say my daughter’s name you sick-”
“You’re feeding a corpse, Emile. How much more time, money,” Draco lowered his voice again, “and meat are you going to throw at her until you realize that?”
“Get out of my house.” The man’s voice was steel. Hands danced underneath his table for what only could be bad news and his guards stepped forward.
Fuck. Draco had forgotten that people could get so riled up at the mention of family.
“I apologize for overstepping,” Draco quickly added. “I should have treated you with more sensitivity.” He dipped his head humbly before the man could process the comment. “But Sir,” he glanced at both of the guards, “is all this really necessary? Do you want our conversation to be more public than it already is?”
Draco’s eyes peered up from below his brow, a candelabra to his right cast a reddish glow across his hollow cheeks. He looked absolutely ghoulish.
If I wanted to kill you, you would already be dead.
Harvati stared at him for a long time with a gaze that could only be described as old and practiced. Long enough for Draco to feel the cold metal hidden in his boot. Long enough for him to wonder if he had miscalculated. If the trembling man that was seated in front of him a moment ago was the mask for the politician and not the other way around.
“Leave us.”
The guards didn’t hesitate with exiting.
The door with the giant knocker closed with a dusty finality. Harvati’s hands stopped shaking as he put out his barely used cigarette on a clean ashtray that Draco should have noticed earlier. So the mess was the cover for the control. Interesting.
“How did you find out?” Harvati's voice was deeper now, tired.
“Does it matter?”
“I want to know.”
“You don’t get to.”
The man simply leaned back and picked up a pen, doodling something on his table.
“Did one of my staff accept a bribe? Was it Faustin?”
Draco casually glanced at the grandfather clock behind the man’s left shoulder. The minute hand moved forward one notch.
This was taking too long. He had meant to stall for Harry, but they were now officially behind schedule.
“You got somewhere to be?”
“No, Sir-”
“-or are you timing something?”
Draco stilled for a moment.
"Your friend on the rooftop is going to be late to whatever meeting you have planned."
***