Only in my nightmares, you toad.

Draco walked stiffly into Astoria’s cubicle. He walked stiffly not because he was angry, but rather because doing so made it appear like he was angry. And pretending that he was angry was a bona fide way of keeping people from talking to him. Over his eventful twenty-two years of life, Draco had perfected the art of avoiding unwelcome conversation.

It wasn’t that Draco disliked a majority of the DMLE, it was just that Draco despised them.

(To elaborate briefly, ‘dislike’ suggests rather passive antipathy. ‘Despise,’ on the other hand, suggests complete and utter disdain.)

Was Draco being unnecessarily rude? Probably. Did a majority of the DMLE deserve Draco’s rudeness? Well, sometimes they did. In this particular instance though, not really.

So why was Draco avoiding them?

Because he could. (And one of the pillars of Wizarding Britain was the right to free will, damn it.) 

Also because Potter had been assigned a raid. While Draco, on the other hand, hadn’t.

Subsequently, as always, there was that bitter pill of not being as good as Saint Potter, The Patron Saint of Idiots. 

There was also, and more crucially, the fact that the decision most probably had something to do with Draco’s lovely black tattoo. (The whole skull-snake-death-eater shebang.)

Draco wasn’t angry, though. Well, okay, he was angry, but it was anger at himself — a deep, visceral thing that never really went away. Despite everything, he was above externalising that anger on undeserving subjects. It was pathetically crass to do so, after all.

But avoiding people? That wasn’t crass at all. That was an ingenious manipulation of the delicate social spider-web of politics and human relationships. Draco was, much to his pride (and Potter’s occasional fear), quite a competent manipulator.

And so, Draco walked stiffly into Astoria’s cubicle.

“Greengrass.” He said, in greeting.

Astoria glanced up at him, “Greengrass, huh?”

“Mmm.”

(‘Greengrass’ was code for ‘I’m in a shite mood.’)

Astoria tapped her quill on the desk a few times, “Draco.”

Despite his unfavourable mood, Draco felt himself smile. “It’s nice to know you’re having a good day.”

Astoria grinned back. “Draco, Draco, Draco,”

“Stop rubbing it in my face.”

“Draaaaaaacccccoooooooooooooo,”

“Miss Astoria Greengrass.”

“Yes, Mister Draco Malfoy?”

“Keep it up, and I’ll accept your family’s marriage proposal.”

Astoria smirked. “And break Potter’s delicate heart?”

Draco shot Astoria a scathing look.

“Break Potty’s heart? How could you!” A voice called from behind them. 

Draco turned to look at Pansy. “Get thee back to thy cave, demon.”

“And leave you the sole demon on earth? I think not, Draco-darling,” Pansy winked. 

Draco bit back his grin. “Why are you here, cow?”

“I had to get my daily dose of your disgustingly well-kept mug.” Pansy looked him up and down. “How many hours did you spend in the bathroom this morning?”

“Three.”

Pansy raised an eyebrow. “You’re letting yourself go, Draco.”

Astoria sighed, “ah, the beauty of friendship.”

Savage’s voice called out from behind Draco, “Wait, Parkinson? Parkinson — is that you?! How’d you get past the wards?!?!”

Pansy turned back towards Savage, waggling her fingers. “Open Sesame.”

Savage looked at Draco. “Is everyone you know like this.”

Draco smiled politely in response.

It was while Draco was having tea with Pansy and Astoria that Potter’s Auror entourage came barreling in.

Maurice Undaniarl caught Draco’s eye and winked. Draco responded in a way which displayed his consequent feelings the best. That is to say, Draco responded with a cold, blank face. Undaniarl — or Undies, as Draco liked to call him — grinned in response.

“Wow.” Pansy said.

“I’ll buy you a necklace if you destroy him for me.” Draco whispered to her.

Pansy considered this. “I’ll think about it.”

“He’s been flirting with Draco for a year now,” Astoria chimed.

Draco made a face.

“I suppose it’s impossible to wear Undies while you’re on the Potty,” Pansy sighed.

“Don’t put me off my tea, you horrible cow.” Draco said, grimacing slightly.

Potter stood across the room, looking more foolish than usual. His leg…

Draco narrowed his eyes.

“I’m surprised none of you ended up in St. Mungo’s.” Draco said, evenly.

Undies grinned, “we made a bet — the first one to end up in Mungo’s has to give Robards a lap-dance.”

“What has Robards ever done to you.” Draco asked, genuinely horrified on behalf of his superior. 

Undies looked up at Draco from below his lashes, “if you want… you could always volunteer to take Robards’ lap-dance for him,”

“I would,” Draco began, smiling coldly at Undies, “but I’d really rather die.”

Undies laughed. Undies thought Draco was funny. This was fair, Draco was funny.

That being said, as flattering as Undies’ little crush was, under his impenetrable smile Draco was largely uninterested and greatly uncomfortable.

“I’d imagine whoever it was that had to give you the lap-dance would share the same sentiment.” Potter said.

Draco looked at Potter cooly. Then, he opened his mouth, “hey, Undies—”

“I’d never rather die than give you a lap-dance.” Undies said, ever the loyal admirer. 

“Thank you, Undies.” Draco turned to Potter, “suck it, Potter.”

Potter, who was now holding himself even more stiffly, shifted position slightly. “You know, Malfoy, I would, but I’d really rather castrate myself.”

Draco cocked an eyebrow, “scared, Potter?”

As always, Potter flushed, “of sucking you? You wish.”

“Do you ever hear yourself speak? Of course I want you to be scared of sucking me — I don’t want you to suck me. You just said that you’re not scared of sucking me.” Draco huffed a breath of laughter. “That was so embarrassing for you.”

Potter’s flush darkened.

“No need to be mortified, Potter.” Draco drawled. “If I were you, I'd want to suck me as well.”

Someone whose name Draco had never bothered to learn turned to Draco from Potter’s side, “as if Harry would ever do anything like that with a former death eater.”

Draco smiled acidly. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you? Unfortunately” — for you — “our little Potty here’s a kinky fiend.” 

Potter shifted position again, leaning more of his weight on the table.

“Tell them, Potter, about your distasteful fetishes,” Draco continued, following Potter’s minute movements with his eyes.

Potter grit his teeth, “nothing sexier than an arsehole.” He muttered. 

Astoria huffed a breath of laughter. Pansy snorted. ““Amen.”” They chorused.

Draco glanced at Potter’s tightly clenched fists.

“So, Potter.” Draco started.

“Malfoy.” Potter returned.

“How was the raid? Do you feel like a big boy now?”

“It was great. How was the office? Do you feel like any more of a sulking child now?”

Fury erupted in Draco’s mind. Outwardly, he smiled a smile the temperature of ice.

“The office was fantastic.” Draco glanced at Potter’s sweating brow, “it’s a shame—”

Potter’s clammy forehead wrinkled in confusion. Next to him, someone who Draco didn’t know bristled.

“—that you came back unharmed.” Draco glanced surreptitiously (and by surreptitiously, he meant pointedly) at Potter’s leg.

The person next to Potter sneered, “scum like you never change—”

Potter narrowed his eyes at Draco. “I’m happy to disappoint you, Malfoy.”

The person next to Potter looked up at him with hero worship dripping out his nose. “There’s not a hair out of place, Harry.”

Draco snorted, “there’s not a hair in place, Potter. But I suppose that’s normal for you.”

Potter moved his leg backwards and failed to hide a wince. “Yes. Completely normal and unharmed.”

Draco got up from his chair languidly, “what were the details of the bet, again?”

“Give Robards a five minute lap-dance.” Undies answered.

“Thank you Undies — did you all decide on what the loser has to wear when they give Robards the lap-dance?”

Adelaide Murton — Addy — smiled at Draco, “Muggle lingerie.”

Draco grinned wickedly. “I’m guessing that was your idea, Addy.”

Addy winked at Draco and grinned back.

“Nice to see you’ve still got it, Adelaide.” Pansy called, smirking.

Potter, who was growing paler by the second, frowned, “Parkinson? How’d you get past the wards—”

“What kind of lingerie did you choose?” Astoria asked.

“Lacey, black garter-belt.” Addy replied, stretching her stiff back.

Astoria beamed. “Nice, Addy.”

Draco looked at Potter, tamping down his glee. “So, Potter. It’s horrible to see that you’re unharmed.”

Potter glared back at Draco and gave him a look which said, in the most painfully obvious way, shut the fuck up.

Draco walked forward, “is there a penalty for trying to hide the fact that you’re hurt?”

Potter — not-surprisingly along with three quarters of the group — flinched. Draco smiled sweetly.

Undies looked up at Draco, “we could add one, if you’d like.”

Several groans and ‘shut up Maurice’s went up around the room.

“Well, it’s only fair — don’t you think, Undies? Addy?” Draco said, shrugging insouciantly. 

Undies nodded because Draco had wanted him to. Addy nodded because she’d also noticed the collective flinch that went up a few moments ago, and Addy was brilliant fun.

Behind Draco, Astoria and Pansy nodded because they sensed something interesting was about to happen.

“How about increasing the length of the lap-dance to fifteen minutes and adding a strip show before that?” Draco suggested, his face the picture of innocence.

Addy smiled sweetly back, “that’s perfect, Draco.”

Draco inclined his head demurely. By this point, he was standing next to Potter, who was eyeing him warily.

“Potter, your leg—” Draco began.

“Is incredibly toned! I know, Malfoy. Thanks.” Potter finished, grasping Draco’s forearm beneath the table and digging his nails in.

Draco smiled widely. “Sure, if your definition of toned is unnaturally skinny, your legs are incredibly toned.”

Potter looked at Draco for a moment. “You’ve got lettuce in your teeth.”

Draco refused to stop smiling. “You’ve got ugly on your face.”

Potter smirked, “you’ve got a face on your ugly.”

“Wow, Potter. Comeback of the year.”

“I agree, Malfoy. What can I say.”

“Why don’t you tell us more about the raid, and your leg—”

“THE RAID WAS VERY EVENTFUL!” Potter interrupted, his eyes wide. “Tell me more about the office — did you finish all the paperwork?”

Draco pinched Potter's side. “I did actually, because I’m competent. Unlike a certain someone whose name starts with a P and rhymes with Cotter.” Then, Draco pretended to ponder over something, “although I think I might have misspelt your name.”

Potter turned to Draco incredulously, “did you sign me off as Hairy Pooter again.”

“You know me so well, Hairy Pooter.” Draco beamed at Potter.

“Malfoy, what the fuck! It took me six months to change my name on the registry!”

Draco yawned lazily, “calm down Pooter, you’ll hurt yourself. More than you—”

“MORE THAN WOOoooRDDSSSSSS, IS ALL I EVEeER NEEDED YOU TO SHOOW. THEN YOU WOoOULDN’T HAVE TO SAaAYYYYY,” Potter paused, blushing, “...that you love me.” He finished, lamely.

Across the room, Pansy and Astoria smirked. Draco vowed to transfigure the sugar in their sugar containers into salt.

“I love that song.” Astoria said.

Potter looked at her, surprised, “I — er — me too.”

“Not all Slytherins are racist bigots, Potter.” Pansy rolled her eyes.

Potter had the good grace to look abashed, “no, of course not. I — uh, I apologise for offending you, Greengrass.”

Astoria smiled, “you can call me Astoria.”

Draco scowled. “You can call her Greengrass.”

Potter gave Draco an indecipherable look.

“Oh come on, Draco.” Astoria laughed.

“Shut up, Astoria. All men are wolves.” Draco snapped, glaring viciously at the few men who’d been looking, shamelessly, at Astoria’s bosom. 

Astoria rolled her eyes, shooting Draco a fondly exasperated look. Then, she turned to Potter, “the song actually reminds me of Draco — he pretends to be all—”

“Potter’s hurt his leg and he’s hiding it.” Draco said, loudly.

Potter’s nails drew blood on Draco’s forearm. “Fuck you, Malfoy.” He whispered.

“Only in my nightmares, you toad.” Draco whispered back.

“Potter,” said Addy, gleefully.

“Malfoy’s lying.” Potter returned.

Draco turned a look on every person in the room — look at him, trying and failing to lie. Then, wordlessly, Draco snaked his arms around Potter’s waist and dragged him away from the table. Potter — who had been considerably weakened — attempted, futilely, to resist.

Once in plain view of everyone in the room, Draco turned to Potter, their faces only a few inches apart.

“You haven’t hurt yourself, shorty?”

Potter scowled. “It’s two fucking inches, arsehole. And yes, I haven’t hurt myself.”

Draco smiled and started to trail the hand he had on Potter’s waist down towards Potter’s leg. Potter’s eyes widened. From behind them, someone (and by someone, Draco meant Pansy Bitch-Face Parkinson) wolf-whistled. “Go fuck yourself, Pansy.” Draco said, his hand now lingering on Potter’s thigh. Ignoring Pansy’s laughter, Draco leaned closer to Potter. “You’re certain you haven’t hurt yourself?” Potter nodded, a challenge in his eyes. “Did everyone get that?” Draco asked. 

Sudden understanding shot across Potter’s face. He paled. Unfortunately for him, it was too late. After he’d heard the general affirmative from the crowd, Draco instantly squeezed the wound on Potter’s thigh. Potter clenched his jaw shut and closed his eyes. Draco continued to squeeze. Potter’s hands began to shake. Draco felt something wet and warm on his hand. He pursed his lips in irritation, squeezing Potter’s thigh as hard as he could. Potter groaned in pain, loudly.

Draco detached himself abruptly from Potter. “Vulnera Sanentur.”

Potter winced. “It’s a cursed wound. That won’t work.”

“You fucking idiot.” Draco snarled.

“Shut up.” Potter said, weakly.

“Don’t you fucking dare tell me to shut up — Lenio —”

“I told you it’s fucking cursed, Malfoy, those won’t work.”

Draco glared at Potter and punched him, hard, on the arm. Then, he turned to Addy. “Is there extra penalty for lying.”

Addy was trying to hide a laugh, “sure, Draco. How about I let you choose the music?”

Draco smiled maliciously. “Great.” Then he turned around the room and pointed his wand at everyone who was trying unsuccessfully to hide their wounds, “all of them hurt themselves.” Then, Draco began firing off spells, left, right and centre. “ Episkey, Episkey — shit, Chang you fucking idiot — Vulnera Sanentur — single file, all of you, towards the floo — Episkey — Astoria, tell Robards that we’ve had to floo to Mungo’s —Episkey, Episkey—”

Potter’s Unnamed Fan #254 scoffed, “as if any of us would listen to a former death-eater—”

Draco turned a cold look on the fucking moron, “as a former death-eater I know spells that would make you beg for a Crucio.”

(This wasn’t technically a lie. Draco did actually know of these spells. He’d just been too scared to learn any of them.)

Potter’s Fucking Moron Fan #254 flinched, “w—was that a thr—threat—”

Draco sneered. “Yes. Single file, now — Episkey—”

“Let me get this straight,” Robards began, rubbing his temples, “you made a bet which resulted in you voluntarily refusing medical treatment, which consequently almost resulted in irreparable damage which could have been permanently debilitating.”

The group of shame-faced Aurors nodded grimly.

Robards pursed his lips for a moment and continued. “And your bet involved giving me — your boss — a lap-dance.”

The group of shame-faced Aurors glanced at each other in mild panic. It was just now occurring to them how incredibly stupid their actions had been. Draco exchanged a look with Astoria and swallowed a laugh. 

“And your bet involved you showing up to work — which is located in the Ministry of Magic — wearing Muggle lingerie.”

There was complete and utter silence. Draco stared at the floor and willed back his laughter.

“Right.” Robards said. He turned to Draco, “were you involved in this.”

Draco shook his head, “all I did was choose the music.”

“Vivaldi’s four seasons.”

Draco nodded.

“Why, Malfoy.”

“I wanted to see the panic on their faces.” Draco answered.

Robards paused to think. “Okay, that’s acceptable.”

Draco shot Robards a grin.

“Greengrass.” Robards said.

“Yes, Head Auror Robards?”

“Send a message to everyone to meet me in the amphitheatre in ten minutes.”

“I’m on it, Head Auror Robards — Expecto Patronum.” Astoria’s Patronus — a silvery kingfisher — escaped in a flutter of wings and translucent wisps.

“You lot. Get ready to perform a thirty minute group strip show in front of the entire department.”

Everyone — notably, Potter — paled considerably.

“Wait, Robards. It was a moment of stupidity—” Potter began.

“Your entire life has been a moment of stupidity.” Draco said.

Robards looked at the both of them. “Don’t make me force you to join in, Malfoy.”

Draco shut his mouth. Potter looked sorrowfully at the floor.

And that’s how the legend of the DMLE group strip show came to be. Draco recited it, dutifully, to everyone he knew up till the day he died.

“...And then, Potter’s shirt got stuck on his head—”

“Malfoy! Stop telling Andromeda!”

“Ignore him, Draco — continue,”

“As I was saying, Potter panicked, began tugging at the cloth and accidentally elbowed someone in the face.”

“Malfoy!”

“Yes, Potter?” 

“You’re such a fu—”

“Control yourself, heathen. Teddy’s right there.” Draco glared at Potter.

Potter shut his mouth. “You’re a big meanie, Draco.”

Draco looked at Potter in silence for a while. Then, he picked up Teddy in his arms. “That’s what happens when you don’t eat your vegetables, Teddy.” Draco said, pointing at Potter.

Teddy’s eyes widened, his turquoise hair turning black and messy. “Hawwy?”

Draco nodded solemnly, “Hairy Pooter, yes.”

Potter glared at Draco. “Don’t listen to him, bub, he’s just bitter because he’s old and pointy.”

“Poy— Poy-Tee? Dwaco?” Teddy frowned, his black fur melting into beautiful white-blond locks.

“Stranger Danger, Teddy — Stranger Danger!” Draco said, pointing at Potter.

Teddy smiled a gummy smile at Draco, “Silly Dwaco. That Hawwy Pooter.”

Draco grinned. “That’s true, silly me.”

Potter took Teddy’s hands in his. “Hey Teddy, what’s Draco?”

Teddy laughed, “Poy-Tee!”

“Exactly, Teddy. Good job”

Andromeda laughed in the background. “So what happened after that, Draco?”

Draco glared at Potter, and continued. “The garter-belt snapped—”

Fuck you, Potter mouthed.

“Fugh Yoo.” Teddy said.

Draco set Teddy down on Andromeda’s lap, covered his eyes with Andromeda’s hands and punched Potter in the face. 

The quietest fist-fight ever known to man commenced.

You stupid fucking idiot! Mouthed Draco.

It was an accident!

Your existence was an accident!