Threatening To Love You.

Title: Naughtiness Is In The Eye Of The Beholder.
Author: Pekeleke
Pairing(s): Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter.
Rating: M
Challenge: Written for the adventdrabbles 2021. Prompt #7: Naughty or nice or don’t ask.
Word Count: 991
Warnings: Explicit Language. Dramatic Draco. Humor.
Disclaimer: The characters, setting, and the HP franchise are owned by JKR and not me. I make no profit from writing this piece of fanfiction.
A/N: Unbeated. Ch 7 of my Christmas Series: Threatening To Love You.
Summary: Draco recoils in his seat, "I'm on the naughty list? If this is about that ridiculous argument with Finnigan, I'll send him a howler. It's against ministry policy to serve Guinness at an official St. Patrick's day luncheon. I was perfectly polite when I explained it!" 

Naughtiness Is In The Eye Of The Beholder.

Draco bites his bottom lip in concentration as he carefully etches the giant glass globe he's working on. He'll need a thousand of them in two weeks, each one different, and charmed to glow while floating gently above the crowd during the Ministry's New Year's Ball.

Draco casts Finite on his engraving spell and examines the results of his efforts. He'd chosen a feather design for this ornament, and now curved lines shine bright white under the light, adding a delicate elegance to the originally plain glass.

Placing the ornament on the wooden stand sitting atop his desk, Draco takes a deep breath. He's running out of time. He's been charming the globes in his spare time for four months, and he is still about three hundred short. He'll have to take them home and work through the night for as long as necessary. This feature is the Pièce de résistance of the event, and Draco will ensure it's ready on time, come hell or high water.

Draco is in the process of rolling his neck to appease his cramping muscles when his office door opens abruptly. He freezes, startled, and looks up to see Harry Potter standing in the entryway, wand in hand. Potter's uniform is hopelessly wrinkled. His glasses are askew, and he is breathing harshly enough to indicate he's been running. Draco's gaze narrows suspiciously.

"What on earth are you doing?" He asks while casting the strongest protection charm he knows on the contents of his desk and all the finished ornaments cluttering the office. He'll have to murder Potter if the man scratches one of them, and they'd just agreed to a truce.

"You've got to come with me, Malfoy," Potter says formally, despite his unprofessional gasping. Draco sighs, sweating and heavy breathing have a time and a place, and it's definitely not a ministry's office doorway, even if it's his own.

"I thought you were calling me Draco now."

"This is official business."

"Official?" Draco asks, confused, "If you've come to complain about the menu you're about to be served, I'll have to explain that Robards himself insisted on it. I tried my best. I really did. But the man has the taste of a drunk doxy and was adamant that sausage rolls and egg sandwiches were acceptable fare for the Auror's Christmas luncheon."

Potter smiles at him fondly, "The food is fine. Robards is obsessed with sausage rolls, so we were expecting them. You've still got to come with me, though."

"Juliet is in charge of that event; she’s in the room. I'm too busy to babysit your ridiculous glorified picnic."

Potter snorts, "You realize Kingsley is there, don't you?"

"Him and Robards, half the wizengamot, and most probably the entirety of the treasury and public relations departments," Draco scoffs, "You guys aren't particularly original. The Auror's official 'nice' and 'naughty' list of ministry employees honors the same people every year."

Potter glares at him, offended, "That's not true. It looks that way because only the naughty and nice lists are revealed. There's a third one. It's the 'don't ask yet' list. That one changes every year, and the people in it end up in one of the other two eventually."

Draco's head quirks to the side, "You're saying there's a backup list?"

"It's more like a waiting list," Potter explains, "When someone gets nominated for the nice or naughty recognition, their name goes on the 'don't ask yet' list until we, the Aurors, have looked into their professional record for the year to determine if they deserve their award. People who're already in the system go through it faster, that's all."

"I see. Still, that has nothing to do with me, so-

"Of course it does. You made it through, Malfoy. Your name is on the award list."

Draco recoils in his seat, "I'm on the naughty list? If this is about that ridiculous argument with Finnigan, I'll send him a howler. It's against ministry policy to serve Guinness at an official St. Patrick's day luncheon. I was perfectly polite when I explained it!"

Potter snorts, "No, you weren't. But Seamus was pulling your leg, so it doesn't count."

Draco blinks, thoroughly puzzled, "Then what-

"You're not on the naughty list," Potter says softly, and Draco doesn't know how to react.

"W-what? Why?"

"Why not? You work tirelessly to make everyone's life brighter. You listen to us and do your best to save us from 'our abysmal lack of sophistication.' You call us nasty trolls for walking over your fancy confetti, but bring your own crups to the Meet Santa event because it's safer for the children."

Draco blushes to the tips of his ears, "That doesn't make me-

"Nice? Yeah. It does."

Draco swallows, agitated. He looks down at his wrinkled work robes and his heart drops to his toes, "I can't possibly accept an award looking like this. The minister of magic will be there."

"And your mom too," Potter smirks, the bastard, "The auror department notifies family members so they can attend the ceremony. Narcissa is wearing pink robes. She looks lovely."

Draco's eyes widen with panic, "I can't come. She only wears pink on my birthday. T-this is too much. Go back and tell them you couldn't find me, please."

Potter comes closer. Looking soft-eyed and amused and as gentle as a mediwitch consoling a sniffling child, "You'll be fine. I'll be there. We just want you to know that we see you, and we like who you are, Draco Malfoy. Now come on, that award won't accept itself, and Ron will finish all the sausage rolls if we don't hurry."

Draco laughs, "I'd rather starve than eat one of those."

Potter rolls his eyes, "I'll take you somewhere fancy for dinner if you play nice. Deal?"

Draco gasps. He must be dreaming. Luck like this usually avoids him, "Deal." He replies courageously, throwing caution to the wind.