[hp] corridors of power 8
Corridors of Power
Being An Originally Intermittent Account
of the Political (Mis)Adventures
of the Viscount Northallerton, Lord Malfoy of Wimbledon;
and the Rt. Honourable Harry J. Potter,
Member of Parliament for North Southwark and Bermondsey (Liberal Democrat).
Annotated, with Footnotes
CENTRAL LOBBY
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT
Monday April 4th, 10:04 am
"Are you mad?" Harry hissed, which Draco chalked up to Parseltongue considering the sentence had no sibilants in it.
Draco leaned back on Gladstone's1 plinth and crossed his ankles. The gesture made his robe swish and fall tauntingly open in such a way that even Severus Snape would have awarded a decent amount of house points, once. "Hmm?"
"You're wearing a robe! People are staring! Why don't you just put on a bloody great pointy hat with stars on and have done with it?"
Draco looked around at the other people in the Lobby. They were, in fact, mostly staring, but to Draco it seemed more apparent that the papers ruffling agitatedly in Harry's grasp were the cause.
"Freak draught," he said to the people nearest them, putting a hand on the top of the pile and coughing discreetly. "Get a grip, Potter. You're a liability."
Privately he was quite flattered that Harry was so wound up.
"But you're wearing--"
"Only for you."
There was a long pause while Harry blinked, frowned, and blinked again, understanding. Draco smiled. Harry, bless his ingenuously indiscreet little cotton socks, didn't even bother to hide the slalom ride his eyes took down Draco's body.
When Harry's gaze hit the floor Draco shifted his weight so there would be some variation on the return journey.
"Hello," Draco said after the pause became lengthy, because there was such a thing as being examined too closely.
"Hmm," Harry said. "Why?"
Draco lifted all but his forefinger off Harry's pile of documents and tapped. "Momentous week, apparently. I thought you might need some reminding of the things that are at stake."
Harry squinted one eye shut and tipped his head to the side. "You think just because you look all--" he waved his hand in the air in a gesture that Draco chose to interpret as ngghh, fuckable, "--all, whatever--that I'll get up in the Commons and say, oops, no, changed my mind?"
"Hope springs eternal, but no. A healthy amount of bitter regret was all I was aiming for."
Harry's eyes flashed, and the draught whipped up around their ankles. It had taken Draco ten years to properly see Potter as dangerous when his temper was unrestrained; three to wallow ambiguously in how glorious it was, two to develop a sturdy sense of jealousy, and about six minutes to find it unbearably hot.
It all amounted to a very bad habit of saying things that got Harry ...riled.
As it was Draco was too engrossed in the way his spine felt almost liquid to notice that when Harry slid his hand inside Draco's sleeve he twined his fingers around Draco's wand. "This was always the good thing about these robes," Harry murmured, smile glittering, "easy access," and Draco had to concentrate very hard indeed on the Commons Orders sheet jammed under Harry's arm so his knees didn't wobble.
"What do you think you're doing?" Draco ground out. Harry had very short fingernails; Draco knew this because his fingertips didn't scratch at all.
"Reminding you what's at stake."
"Hardly," Draco wanted to whine when Harry circled his grip around his wrist, "on par."
Harry just raised his eyebrows, smile still firmly in place. "You don't believe that." His hand slipped down, thumb across Draco's pulse. "Th-thud. Th-thud. Very fast, isn't--"
Draco had just about enough brainpower left to wrench his arm away, because there were the great British political sex scandals and then there was something a bit common about snogging an MP in a draughty thoroughfare. "I'm sure you're terribly busy," he said, irritated at being breathless, "I'll leave you to your petition."
"Like you have a choice," Harry said, smiling sweetly. "Have a nice day."
Subject: >:-O
From: The Office of Lord Malfoy
Date: 8 April 2005 10:12
To: bleeding heart liberal
My wand, if you would be so kind as to return it right fucking now.
Subject: Re: >:-O
From: Harry Potter (North Southwark & Bermondsey)
Date: 8 April 2005 10:19
To: lord muck
busy, come get it
Subject: Re: >:-O
From: Harry Potter (North Southwark & Bermondsey)
Date: 4 April 2005 10:41
To: lord muck
bloody hell there was no need to send zabini down here like the bailiff.
he didn't look too impressed at being your errand boy though, haha.
cate wants his phone number, but isn't he married?
Subject: Re: >:-O
From: The Office of Lord Malfoy
Date: 4 April 2005 10:45
To: bleeding heart liberal
Yes. And doesn't prefer blondes.
Next time you want to get my attention try the telephone.
Subject: Re: >:-O
From: Harry Potter (North Southwark & Bermondsey)
Date: 4 April 2005 10:47
To: lord muck
that blue was good on you.
Subject: Re: Yes. Also doesn't like blondes.
From: The Office of Lord Malfoy
Date: 4 April 2005 18:45
To: bleeding heart liberal
>> that blue was good on you.
Tory, naturellement.
1. GLADSTONE: Four-time Prime Minister of Britain, and Disraeli's political rival during the reign of Victoria. Hobbies included walking the streets of London attempting to rescue fallen women (no, really, not like that) and chopping down trees.
THE CHOIR
WESTMINSTER ABBEY
Tuesday April 5th, 11:21 am
Draco pulled out his notebook and jotted down the last phrases. So great an ornament, indeed. It was never too early to start thinking about one's epitaph.
His notebook twitched and !!!!!! appeared underneath the Latin.
"Editorial," Draco grouched, and shoved the book back in his pocket. Clearly the charm's algorithm was developing parameters beyond filing and moving into commentary, but then any birthday present from Blaise was bound to have sharp edges.
The click-click of tourist shoes on the tiles didn't abate as Draco slouched in a desperately uncomfortable wooden chair and peered up at the Perpendicular Gothic. It wasn't quite as lovely as Chartres (nor as ticklish with magic; Draco supposed that to be some sort of English reserve vs Continental flamboyance and took holidays in Lyon twice a year) but the Abbey had a certain peace to it that had never and would never exist in the Houses of Parliament while John Prescott was resident2.
"It's a church," Pansy had said on her only visit, faint Portuguese inflection from six years in Brazil, and even with the dark glasses Draco could see the squinty-eyed lack of understanding on her face.3
"The grandest expression of Muggle folly, that's what it is," he'd said, "Naturally I do my best thinking here."
*
Today he wasn't so much thinking as asylum-seeking, because Blaise's thesis panic had reached crisis point and Draco's office was a no-go zone. The television had been rendered utterly useless by his so-called secretary's stress levels (more to the point, the result of the killing curse on the Philips flat-screen), so Draco couldn't even amuse himself with the debacle of the Government trying to push through six weeks of vulnerable legislation in a couple of afternoons.
The Lords session didn't start until two, so it was either sulking on the Minister's couch or contemplation in Poets Corner. Draco had already grouched at length to Boris about the unfairness of Potter's ridiculous Bill, to which the Minister had shrugged and reminded Draco that technically, Harry was well within his brief.
I am not thinking about his underwear, Draco had told himself sternly. Because I am not a big girl.
His mobile wriggled excitedly in his pocket. There were prominent multilingual signs up everywhere around the Cathedral with strikeouts through pictures of cameras and mobiles and cigarettes, so Draco ducked behind a screen and Apparated to the courtyard.
"I was just about to take confession," he complained.
"Anglican, Draco. Silly frocks and buggering the choirboys, but no confession." The Zabinis in the old country still did the Orthodox thing, which accounted for Blaise's curious predilection for incense. "There's a Lobby briefing just starting, here, listen:"
The tinny sound of BBC Parliament blared out through Draco's mobile.
... to Downing Street for an announcement from the Prime Minister's spokesman, Tom Kelly. A pause and the clicking of camera-shutters, the rustling of the press-pack. "The prime minister has left for Buckingham Palace, which means a general election is under way, and as a civil servant, that means I have to shut up."
"Ah, finally," Blaise said. "One imagines he'll announce it before Questions today."
Draco grinned. Tony Blair was a pimple on the nation's back, but today his timing was impeccable.
2. PRESCOTT: Where does one start? The Deputy Prime Minister likes big cars, conflicts of interest, cheating on his wife, punching people, getting the taxpayers to fork out for his accomodations, and is utterly incomprehensible as a public speaker.
3. PANSY: Darling Parks, with her adoring exotic husband and their delightful multilingual children and their charming colonial villa on the Espirito Santo coast. I don't miss her at all.
THE LORDS CHAMBER
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT
5:02 pm
Draco was rather relieved that the Serious Organised Crime and Police Bill was being carried over, because he had a few things to say about that and a series of interjections from the cross-bench would not make him the most popular wig in the House at this point.
Lord Boston was pressing Renton on the point: "Can the noble Lord the Captain of the Gentlemen-at-Arms say whether his Statement, and in particular the various dates which he has announced to your Lordships this afternoon-especially the date of the State Opening-has any effect on the planned Recess dates, which he helpfully announced last November?"
Draco wondered if he could get another title as fabulous as Lord Renton's added to his own and decided a morning spent furtling about in the archives might prove fruitful in such a regard. The debate itself was only useful insofar as Draco wanted to book a holiday in the Seychelles over the Whitsun Recess and Lord Renton appeared to have the same goal in mind.
Hopefully, not the same hotel.
THE TERRACE BAR
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT
10:31 pm
"Aww," Draco said, not even bothering to hide his completely unsympathetic grin as Harry slid into the seat opposite, "you got tabled."4
Tugging at the knot of his tie, Harry narrowed his eyes. "You could have least got me a drink."
Draco pushed the triple scotch across the table with his forefinger. "Would you like me to hex Peter Hain5 for you?"
Harry looked out over the river. He tipped a good half of the Ballantines down his throat before turning back with a look that was almost sheepish. "Um."
It was instances like this that always made Draco want to write an anonymous letter to the Daily Prophet, just to remind them what an absolute brat they held up as the paragon of wizarding manhood. A brat with his best suit on today--dark grey, four-button, shirt verging on pink although Harry would no doubt argue that it was red--but a brat nonetheless.
As it was he just snickered into his Campari and drummed his fingers on the front page of the Telegraph. "Don't worry, you're not the only one who got shafted. Chuck and Camilla don't want to compete with El Papa for the spotlight so they changed the nuptials."6
"Really?" Harry leaned over enthusiastically and turned the paper around to read the article.
Draco was torn between being horrified, and plotting to cover the walls of Harry's office with souvenir tea-towels. "I would never have pegged you for a royalist, Harry. What is it, the pomp and circumstance or the life of privilege that isn't quite deserved?"
Harry threw a salt-and-vinegar crisp at Draco and swallowed down the rest of his scotch. "Shut the fuck up and get me another."
"I love it when you're all pissy."
"The Bill was just tabled, Malfoy. Not dismissed. Don't get too bloody comfortable."
Draco pulled a chair out from under the adjacent table and stretched his legs out, hooking his hands behind his head. "Assuming you're re-elected, of course."
Harry snorted and crossed his arms. "Uh, whatever. I'm still not seeing my next drink."
"Is that an invitation for me to get you very very drunk?"
Harry put his empty glass down carefully and looked around them. The Terrace was thronged with rumpled-looking parliamentarians, buzzing with the news of the election date and the legislation that was in jeopardy as a result. He squinted at a spot behind Draco that turned out to be the approaching figure of one of the bar-staff, and gestured. "Whenever we end up here," he grimaced, "it seems to be inevitable."
"Cheers, then."
"Yeah, cheers."
4. TABLED: Again, not in the way that Draco wishes, but very nearly just as satisfying. Potter's half-arsed Bill was set aside due to the PM's announcement, and requires resubmission when a new Parliament is convened.
5. HAIN: Leader of the House of Commons, consequently, the chap responsible for the above-mentioned tabling.
6. WEDDINGS, FUNERALS: In the interests of posterity, we note that Prince Charles and Camilla Parker Bowles delayed their wedding date in deference to the passing of Pope John Paul II.
Rm 407
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (LORDS)
Wednesday April 6th, 2:33 pm
"Blaise?"
"Just a moment, I just need to correct this--"
"Do I have an appointment?" Draco looked around Blaise's desk for something resembling a diary or a calendar. "Also, get the fuck out here and do your job."
After a couple of seconds Blaise appeared in the doorway and pointed at the top drawer with a put-upon sigh. "Diary is in there. Still in its wrapper, which I believe would answer your question regarding appointments."
"Well, who is that then?" Draco gestured at the security screen, which showed a dark-haired woman waiting outside in the anterooms. "If I didn't know better I'd think she looked like--"
"I have no idea," Blaise said, striding across the room to the door, "but I'm busy, so I'm going to tell them to--fucking fuck!" He slammed the door shut, pulled his wand from his sleeve and stared at Draco.
"I thought you got rid of your batshit aunt," he said flatly.
Draco looked at the monitor again, his heart thudding furiously. "Huh."
"What do you want?" Blaise said, in a tight voice Draco hadn't heard for years.
Her voice was muffled through the door. "Excuse me, Lord Malfoy, I know I don't have an appointment, but my name is Gina McKee and I write for the Mirror."
"Prove it!" They both shouted.
After a second a letter and two ID cards were pushed under the door. Blaise snatched them up with a tissue and peered intently, muttering Evanesco variations over the cards.
"It's not her." Draco waved his hand at the door. "Tell her to go bug some other Peer."
Blaise frowned. "How do you know? I saw her--"
"Because if it were really Bellatrix, by now that door would be charcoal and you would be what the colonials call barbeque." Draco sat down heavily in the chair. This he could do without. "Be my assistant and assist."
Blaise wrenched the door open, but not before scooting his hair back in to place. Incorrigible. "I'm terribly sorry, Ms McKee. Lord Malfoy is not available at this time--"
"Was that him I heard--"
"--so if you'd like to write a letter to the office--"
"--because I'd like to show him some--"
"--then we can arrange a time--"
"--and ask what his reaction to--"
"--you very much, good day."
Blaise came back into the office brushing off his hands like he'd touched something nasty. "That was a little too surreal for me. I'm going to go watch Antiques Roadshow and calm down."
Normally the chance to mock Blaise for a rare indulgence in television--daytime television-- would be too much to pass up, but Draco was still a bit stunned. "Um," he said, "just don't throw another Unforgiveable at the screen. The taxpayers won't front up for another set twice in one week."
THE PARLIAMENTARY ARCHIVES
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (VICTORIA TOWER)
Thursday April 7th, 5:08 pm
"Spent all day amending the law so wankers like you don't have a job." Harry's answer to Draco's polite enquiry was rather more pointed than he'd expected. "Are you actually working, Malfoy?"
"When I said a healthy amount of bitter regret I really didn't expect it to last past Wednesday," Draco said absently, marking his page in the 1859 edition of Burke's Peerage where his search for a third (and amusing) title had come to a grinding halt. Well, there was the Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod, but that was already taken and Draco didn't fancy becoming the bouncer for the Lord's Chamber in order to get it. He took off his glasses. "What can I do you for?"
Harry frowned. "You don't wear glasses."
"I know," Draco folded the spectacles in his palm where they transfigured back into the pen he'd pilfered from the Tunisian Embassy, "I was trying out the serious intellectual look, but then I should have remembered that it never worked for y--"
"Oi." Harry said. "What. Are. You. Doing? I get suspicious at your rare displays of industriousness."
"Looking for alternative ways to annoy you," Draco said, which was in fact true, if lacking in detail. "When the Baroness Byford started going on about duck-shooting regulations I thought my time might be employed more productively elsewhere."
Harry rolled his eyes and hoisted himself up on the table. "I went to see your uncle today," he said, dawdling his forefinger along the edge of the table in such a provocatively un-Harry fashion that Draco immediately felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
"Yes, and what did the Minister have to say?" Draco clicked his pen a couple of times and scowled at the tabletop. Clearly this conversation was not heading anywhere enjoyable. Harry never went to see the Minister unless it was to complain or interfere. Usually both.
"He thought you might like to help me behind the scenes with my campaign," Harry said airily, dropping his eyelashes so low that Draco was hard-pressed not to shove him backwards and--what?
"What?"
"Making badges." Harry grinned. "Oh, and posters and flyers and all that sort of--" Harry turned around as one of the archivists turned up the volume on the House television where the Lord Chancellor was reading Her Majesty's Most Gracious Speech, "--stuff."
"Prorogation7," Draco said finally, letting the syllables roll around in his mouth. "Pro-ro-ga-tion. Nice word, that." He turned to Harry and clapped him on the back. "So. How does it feel to be unemployed?"
7. PROROGATION: The act of ending a session of Parliament.
Rm 407
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (LORDS)
Friday April 8th, 5:43 pm
Hail.
In April.
"Blaise," Draco turned back from the window and lowered the volume on the Pope's funeral, "are you doing this?"
Blaise looked up from his proofreading. The territorial battle for Draco's desk had been won by a Zabini stealth encroachment strategy. Draco didn't mind; the debris of Blaise's thesis made Draco look busy. "Doing?"
Draco nodded at the weather.
Blaise shook his head. "You flatter me. I think you'll just find it's unusually low air pressure in the stratosphere."
"Smartarse."
"Channel Four's weather presenter." Blaise smirked.
Draco frowned. "What happened to high-flying A-listers for casual fucks?"
"I like to mix it up."
Draco tried hard not to let the picture of Blaise mixing it up with Peter Mandelson invade his consciousness. Again. "Do your homework. And stop having sex with celebrities. It doesn't reflect well."
Blaise coughed, more than really necessary, and lobbed a copy of the Daily Star8 over to the couch. "Page seven."
It only took a few seconds to scan the page and see what Blaise was referring to. "Throw me the--"
"Thought you might say that," Blaise said as Draco caught the telephone.
*
"According to this... tabloid, she was sitting in your lap!"
Harry's smugness wafted down the telephone line. "You sound almost like you might be jealous."
"I'm merely intrigued." Draco sniffed. "She just doesn't seem to be your type." He flicked over to BBC 24, but it was still wall-to-wall Catholicism. "Aw, look, Charlie and Mickey are sitting in the same pew. Fuck me but they look bored."
Snickering. "What is my type, Draco?"
Bastard. "Bisexuality confuses young people, Potter. You're a public figure. You should be setting an example."
"What's confusing about Sophie Ellis-Bextor?"9
Harry might have had a point, but Draco was old-school and extremely secure in his homosexuality. "Whatever. Is this some sort of election ploy?"
"She's posher than you are, mate, she'll hardly win me any socialist cred."
"If you went on Newsnight, Paxman would annihilate you for your evasiveness."10
"It's a good thing I'm an insignificant Opposition backbencher, isn't it?"
... pause.
"I am hurt that you went to Annabels without me." Draco crossed out Sophie Ellis-Bextor's name in the newspaper and scribbled around it.
"I can, um, plus-one on my next visit."
Draco's pen stabbed through the newspaper. "It is so wrong that you are the one with the private members-only restaurant invitations."
"You need to hang out with pop stars, they're--"
Draco didn't hear the rest of Harry's sentence, because he was gazing suspiciously at Blaise.
Certain things made sense now.
"Saturday night?"
"Can't," said Harry, "Big piss-up for Tam Dalyell."
"How on earth do you know him?" Everyone knew of Dalyell, but that was because he'd just resigned from 43 years as a Labour MP. Draco couldn't even contemplate 43 minutes as a constituency MP, so he was obliged to have some grudging respect.
"Minerva McGonagall's nephew," Harry said. "Squib. What about lunch?"
"Only if you fancy the box at Aintree11," Draco said. "It's Ladies Day so Blaise insists we go."
Blaise made a face at him.
"Uh, I'll pass. I've sworn off gambling."
"Probably best. I doubt you'd have anything to wear."
"What colour's your frock then?"
Draco laughed. "Green like your pretty eyes, Harry. Now piss off."
*
8. DAILY STAR: The absolute scummiest, bottom-of-the-barrel-scraping, nadir of tabloid rags.
9. SOPHIE: I have to concur with Potter here. She's a posh bit of totty.
10. NEWSNIGHT: Jeremy Paxman and his caustic interrogation style take on the politicos for your viewing pleasure at ten.
11. AINTREE LADIES DAY: Top hats and swanky frocks at the Grand National.
End, Part XIII ~ Interlude ~ Part IX
Being An Originally Intermittent Account
of the Political (Mis)Adventures
of the Viscount Northallerton, Lord Malfoy of Wimbledon;
and the Rt. Honourable Harry J. Potter,
Member of Parliament for North Southwark and Bermondsey (Liberal Democrat).
Annotated, with Footnotes
CENTRAL LOBBY
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT
Monday April 4th, 10:04 am
"Are you mad?" Harry hissed, which Draco chalked up to Parseltongue considering the sentence had no sibilants in it.
Draco leaned back on Gladstone's1 plinth and crossed his ankles. The gesture made his robe swish and fall tauntingly open in such a way that even Severus Snape would have awarded a decent amount of house points, once. "Hmm?"
"You're wearing a robe! People are staring! Why don't you just put on a bloody great pointy hat with stars on and have done with it?"
Draco looked around at the other people in the Lobby. They were, in fact, mostly staring, but to Draco it seemed more apparent that the papers ruffling agitatedly in Harry's grasp were the cause.
"Freak draught," he said to the people nearest them, putting a hand on the top of the pile and coughing discreetly. "Get a grip, Potter. You're a liability."
Privately he was quite flattered that Harry was so wound up.
"But you're wearing--"
"Only for you."
There was a long pause while Harry blinked, frowned, and blinked again, understanding. Draco smiled. Harry, bless his ingenuously indiscreet little cotton socks, didn't even bother to hide the slalom ride his eyes took down Draco's body.
When Harry's gaze hit the floor Draco shifted his weight so there would be some variation on the return journey.
"Hello," Draco said after the pause became lengthy, because there was such a thing as being examined too closely.
"Hmm," Harry said. "Why?"
Draco lifted all but his forefinger off Harry's pile of documents and tapped. "Momentous week, apparently. I thought you might need some reminding of the things that are at stake."
Harry squinted one eye shut and tipped his head to the side. "You think just because you look all--" he waved his hand in the air in a gesture that Draco chose to interpret as ngghh, fuckable, "--all, whatever--that I'll get up in the Commons and say, oops, no, changed my mind?"
"Hope springs eternal, but no. A healthy amount of bitter regret was all I was aiming for."
Harry's eyes flashed, and the draught whipped up around their ankles. It had taken Draco ten years to properly see Potter as dangerous when his temper was unrestrained; three to wallow ambiguously in how glorious it was, two to develop a sturdy sense of jealousy, and about six minutes to find it unbearably hot.
It all amounted to a very bad habit of saying things that got Harry ...riled.
As it was Draco was too engrossed in the way his spine felt almost liquid to notice that when Harry slid his hand inside Draco's sleeve he twined his fingers around Draco's wand. "This was always the good thing about these robes," Harry murmured, smile glittering, "easy access," and Draco had to concentrate very hard indeed on the Commons Orders sheet jammed under Harry's arm so his knees didn't wobble.
"What do you think you're doing?" Draco ground out. Harry had very short fingernails; Draco knew this because his fingertips didn't scratch at all.
"Reminding you what's at stake."
"Hardly," Draco wanted to whine when Harry circled his grip around his wrist, "on par."
Harry just raised his eyebrows, smile still firmly in place. "You don't believe that." His hand slipped down, thumb across Draco's pulse. "Th-thud. Th-thud. Very fast, isn't--"
Draco had just about enough brainpower left to wrench his arm away, because there were the great British political sex scandals and then there was something a bit common about snogging an MP in a draughty thoroughfare. "I'm sure you're terribly busy," he said, irritated at being breathless, "I'll leave you to your petition."
"Like you have a choice," Harry said, smiling sweetly. "Have a nice day."
Subject: >:-O
From: The Office of Lord Malfoy
Date: 8 April 2005 10:12
To: bleeding heart liberal
My wand, if you would be so kind as to return it right fucking now.
Subject: Re: >:-O
From: Harry Potter (North Southwark & Bermondsey)
Date: 8 April 2005 10:19
To: lord muck
busy, come get it
Subject: Re: >:-O
From: Harry Potter (North Southwark & Bermondsey)
Date: 4 April 2005 10:41
To: lord muck
bloody hell there was no need to send zabini down here like the bailiff.
he didn't look too impressed at being your errand boy though, haha.
cate wants his phone number, but isn't he married?
Subject: Re: >:-O
From: The Office of Lord Malfoy
Date: 4 April 2005 10:45
To: bleeding heart liberal
Yes. And doesn't prefer blondes.
Next time you want to get my attention try the telephone.
Subject: Re: >:-O
From: Harry Potter (North Southwark & Bermondsey)
Date: 4 April 2005 10:47
To: lord muck
that blue was good on you.
Subject: Re: Yes. Also doesn't like blondes.
From: The Office of Lord Malfoy
Date: 4 April 2005 18:45
To: bleeding heart liberal
>> that blue was good on you.
Tory, naturellement.
1. GLADSTONE: Four-time Prime Minister of Britain, and Disraeli's political rival during the reign of Victoria. Hobbies included walking the streets of London attempting to rescue fallen women (no, really, not like that) and chopping down trees.
THE CHOIR
WESTMINSTER ABBEY
Tuesday April 5th, 11:21 am
Draco pulled out his notebook and jotted down the last phrases. So great an ornament, indeed. It was never too early to start thinking about one's epitaph.
His notebook twitched and !!!!!! appeared underneath the Latin.
"Editorial," Draco grouched, and shoved the book back in his pocket. Clearly the charm's algorithm was developing parameters beyond filing and moving into commentary, but then any birthday present from Blaise was bound to have sharp edges.
The click-click of tourist shoes on the tiles didn't abate as Draco slouched in a desperately uncomfortable wooden chair and peered up at the Perpendicular Gothic. It wasn't quite as lovely as Chartres (nor as ticklish with magic; Draco supposed that to be some sort of English reserve vs Continental flamboyance and took holidays in Lyon twice a year) but the Abbey had a certain peace to it that had never and would never exist in the Houses of Parliament while John Prescott was resident2.
"It's a church," Pansy had said on her only visit, faint Portuguese inflection from six years in Brazil, and even with the dark glasses Draco could see the squinty-eyed lack of understanding on her face.3
"The grandest expression of Muggle folly, that's what it is," he'd said, "Naturally I do my best thinking here."
*
Today he wasn't so much thinking as asylum-seeking, because Blaise's thesis panic had reached crisis point and Draco's office was a no-go zone. The television had been rendered utterly useless by his so-called secretary's stress levels (more to the point, the result of the killing curse on the Philips flat-screen), so Draco couldn't even amuse himself with the debacle of the Government trying to push through six weeks of vulnerable legislation in a couple of afternoons.
The Lords session didn't start until two, so it was either sulking on the Minister's couch or contemplation in Poets Corner. Draco had already grouched at length to Boris about the unfairness of Potter's ridiculous Bill, to which the Minister had shrugged and reminded Draco that technically, Harry was well within his brief.
I am not thinking about his underwear, Draco had told himself sternly. Because I am not a big girl.
His mobile wriggled excitedly in his pocket. There were prominent multilingual signs up everywhere around the Cathedral with strikeouts through pictures of cameras and mobiles and cigarettes, so Draco ducked behind a screen and Apparated to the courtyard.
"I was just about to take confession," he complained.
"Anglican, Draco. Silly frocks and buggering the choirboys, but no confession." The Zabinis in the old country still did the Orthodox thing, which accounted for Blaise's curious predilection for incense. "There's a Lobby briefing just starting, here, listen:"
The tinny sound of BBC Parliament blared out through Draco's mobile.
... to Downing Street for an announcement from the Prime Minister's spokesman, Tom Kelly. A pause and the clicking of camera-shutters, the rustling of the press-pack. "The prime minister has left for Buckingham Palace, which means a general election is under way, and as a civil servant, that means I have to shut up."
"Ah, finally," Blaise said. "One imagines he'll announce it before Questions today."
Draco grinned. Tony Blair was a pimple on the nation's back, but today his timing was impeccable.
2. PRESCOTT: Where does one start? The Deputy Prime Minister likes big cars, conflicts of interest, cheating on his wife, punching people, getting the taxpayers to fork out for his accomodations, and is utterly incomprehensible as a public speaker.
3. PANSY: Darling Parks, with her adoring exotic husband and their delightful multilingual children and their charming colonial villa on the Espirito Santo coast. I don't miss her at all.
THE LORDS CHAMBER
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT
5:02 pm
Draco was rather relieved that the Serious Organised Crime and Police Bill was being carried over, because he had a few things to say about that and a series of interjections from the cross-bench would not make him the most popular wig in the House at this point.
Lord Boston was pressing Renton on the point: "Can the noble Lord the Captain of the Gentlemen-at-Arms say whether his Statement, and in particular the various dates which he has announced to your Lordships this afternoon-especially the date of the State Opening-has any effect on the planned Recess dates, which he helpfully announced last November?"
Draco wondered if he could get another title as fabulous as Lord Renton's added to his own and decided a morning spent furtling about in the archives might prove fruitful in such a regard. The debate itself was only useful insofar as Draco wanted to book a holiday in the Seychelles over the Whitsun Recess and Lord Renton appeared to have the same goal in mind.
Hopefully, not the same hotel.
THE TERRACE BAR
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT
10:31 pm
"Aww," Draco said, not even bothering to hide his completely unsympathetic grin as Harry slid into the seat opposite, "you got tabled."4
Tugging at the knot of his tie, Harry narrowed his eyes. "You could have least got me a drink."
Draco pushed the triple scotch across the table with his forefinger. "Would you like me to hex Peter Hain5 for you?"
Harry looked out over the river. He tipped a good half of the Ballantines down his throat before turning back with a look that was almost sheepish. "Um."
It was instances like this that always made Draco want to write an anonymous letter to the Daily Prophet, just to remind them what an absolute brat they held up as the paragon of wizarding manhood. A brat with his best suit on today--dark grey, four-button, shirt verging on pink although Harry would no doubt argue that it was red--but a brat nonetheless.
As it was he just snickered into his Campari and drummed his fingers on the front page of the Telegraph. "Don't worry, you're not the only one who got shafted. Chuck and Camilla don't want to compete with El Papa for the spotlight so they changed the nuptials."6
"Really?" Harry leaned over enthusiastically and turned the paper around to read the article.
Draco was torn between being horrified, and plotting to cover the walls of Harry's office with souvenir tea-towels. "I would never have pegged you for a royalist, Harry. What is it, the pomp and circumstance or the life of privilege that isn't quite deserved?"
Harry threw a salt-and-vinegar crisp at Draco and swallowed down the rest of his scotch. "Shut the fuck up and get me another."
"I love it when you're all pissy."
"The Bill was just tabled, Malfoy. Not dismissed. Don't get too bloody comfortable."
Draco pulled a chair out from under the adjacent table and stretched his legs out, hooking his hands behind his head. "Assuming you're re-elected, of course."
Harry snorted and crossed his arms. "Uh, whatever. I'm still not seeing my next drink."
"Is that an invitation for me to get you very very drunk?"
Harry put his empty glass down carefully and looked around them. The Terrace was thronged with rumpled-looking parliamentarians, buzzing with the news of the election date and the legislation that was in jeopardy as a result. He squinted at a spot behind Draco that turned out to be the approaching figure of one of the bar-staff, and gestured. "Whenever we end up here," he grimaced, "it seems to be inevitable."
"Cheers, then."
"Yeah, cheers."
4. TABLED: Again, not in the way that Draco wishes, but very nearly just as satisfying. Potter's half-arsed Bill was set aside due to the PM's announcement, and requires resubmission when a new Parliament is convened.
5. HAIN: Leader of the House of Commons, consequently, the chap responsible for the above-mentioned tabling.
6. WEDDINGS, FUNERALS: In the interests of posterity, we note that Prince Charles and Camilla Parker Bowles delayed their wedding date in deference to the passing of Pope John Paul II.
Rm 407
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (LORDS)
Wednesday April 6th, 2:33 pm
"Blaise?"
"Just a moment, I just need to correct this--"
"Do I have an appointment?" Draco looked around Blaise's desk for something resembling a diary or a calendar. "Also, get the fuck out here and do your job."
After a couple of seconds Blaise appeared in the doorway and pointed at the top drawer with a put-upon sigh. "Diary is in there. Still in its wrapper, which I believe would answer your question regarding appointments."
"Well, who is that then?" Draco gestured at the security screen, which showed a dark-haired woman waiting outside in the anterooms. "If I didn't know better I'd think she looked like--"
"I have no idea," Blaise said, striding across the room to the door, "but I'm busy, so I'm going to tell them to--fucking fuck!" He slammed the door shut, pulled his wand from his sleeve and stared at Draco.
"I thought you got rid of your batshit aunt," he said flatly.
Draco looked at the monitor again, his heart thudding furiously. "Huh."
"What do you want?" Blaise said, in a tight voice Draco hadn't heard for years.
Her voice was muffled through the door. "Excuse me, Lord Malfoy, I know I don't have an appointment, but my name is Gina McKee and I write for the Mirror."
"Prove it!" They both shouted.
After a second a letter and two ID cards were pushed under the door. Blaise snatched them up with a tissue and peered intently, muttering Evanesco variations over the cards.
"It's not her." Draco waved his hand at the door. "Tell her to go bug some other Peer."
Blaise frowned. "How do you know? I saw her--"
"Because if it were really Bellatrix, by now that door would be charcoal and you would be what the colonials call barbeque." Draco sat down heavily in the chair. This he could do without. "Be my assistant and assist."
Blaise wrenched the door open, but not before scooting his hair back in to place. Incorrigible. "I'm terribly sorry, Ms McKee. Lord Malfoy is not available at this time--"
"Was that him I heard--"
"--so if you'd like to write a letter to the office--"
"--because I'd like to show him some--"
"--then we can arrange a time--"
"--and ask what his reaction to--"
"--you very much, good day."
Blaise came back into the office brushing off his hands like he'd touched something nasty. "That was a little too surreal for me. I'm going to go watch Antiques Roadshow and calm down."
Normally the chance to mock Blaise for a rare indulgence in television--daytime television-- would be too much to pass up, but Draco was still a bit stunned. "Um," he said, "just don't throw another Unforgiveable at the screen. The taxpayers won't front up for another set twice in one week."
THE PARLIAMENTARY ARCHIVES
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (VICTORIA TOWER)
Thursday April 7th, 5:08 pm
"Spent all day amending the law so wankers like you don't have a job." Harry's answer to Draco's polite enquiry was rather more pointed than he'd expected. "Are you actually working, Malfoy?"
"When I said a healthy amount of bitter regret I really didn't expect it to last past Wednesday," Draco said absently, marking his page in the 1859 edition of Burke's Peerage where his search for a third (and amusing) title had come to a grinding halt. Well, there was the Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod, but that was already taken and Draco didn't fancy becoming the bouncer for the Lord's Chamber in order to get it. He took off his glasses. "What can I do you for?"
Harry frowned. "You don't wear glasses."
"I know," Draco folded the spectacles in his palm where they transfigured back into the pen he'd pilfered from the Tunisian Embassy, "I was trying out the serious intellectual look, but then I should have remembered that it never worked for y--"
"Oi." Harry said. "What. Are. You. Doing? I get suspicious at your rare displays of industriousness."
"Looking for alternative ways to annoy you," Draco said, which was in fact true, if lacking in detail. "When the Baroness Byford started going on about duck-shooting regulations I thought my time might be employed more productively elsewhere."
Harry rolled his eyes and hoisted himself up on the table. "I went to see your uncle today," he said, dawdling his forefinger along the edge of the table in such a provocatively un-Harry fashion that Draco immediately felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
"Yes, and what did the Minister have to say?" Draco clicked his pen a couple of times and scowled at the tabletop. Clearly this conversation was not heading anywhere enjoyable. Harry never went to see the Minister unless it was to complain or interfere. Usually both.
"He thought you might like to help me behind the scenes with my campaign," Harry said airily, dropping his eyelashes so low that Draco was hard-pressed not to shove him backwards and--what?
"What?"
"Making badges." Harry grinned. "Oh, and posters and flyers and all that sort of--" Harry turned around as one of the archivists turned up the volume on the House television where the Lord Chancellor was reading Her Majesty's Most Gracious Speech, "--stuff."
"Prorogation7," Draco said finally, letting the syllables roll around in his mouth. "Pro-ro-ga-tion. Nice word, that." He turned to Harry and clapped him on the back. "So. How does it feel to be unemployed?"
7. PROROGATION: The act of ending a session of Parliament.
Rm 407
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (LORDS)
Friday April 8th, 5:43 pm
Hail.
In April.
"Blaise," Draco turned back from the window and lowered the volume on the Pope's funeral, "are you doing this?"
Blaise looked up from his proofreading. The territorial battle for Draco's desk had been won by a Zabini stealth encroachment strategy. Draco didn't mind; the debris of Blaise's thesis made Draco look busy. "Doing?"
Draco nodded at the weather.
Blaise shook his head. "You flatter me. I think you'll just find it's unusually low air pressure in the stratosphere."
"Smartarse."
"Channel Four's weather presenter." Blaise smirked.
Draco frowned. "What happened to high-flying A-listers for casual fucks?"
"I like to mix it up."
Draco tried hard not to let the picture of Blaise mixing it up with Peter Mandelson invade his consciousness. Again. "Do your homework. And stop having sex with celebrities. It doesn't reflect well."
Blaise coughed, more than really necessary, and lobbed a copy of the Daily Star8 over to the couch. "Page seven."
It only took a few seconds to scan the page and see what Blaise was referring to. "Throw me the--"
"Thought you might say that," Blaise said as Draco caught the telephone.
*
"According to this... tabloid, she was sitting in your lap!"
Harry's smugness wafted down the telephone line. "You sound almost like you might be jealous."
"I'm merely intrigued." Draco sniffed. "She just doesn't seem to be your type." He flicked over to BBC 24, but it was still wall-to-wall Catholicism. "Aw, look, Charlie and Mickey are sitting in the same pew. Fuck me but they look bored."
Snickering. "What is my type, Draco?"
Bastard. "Bisexuality confuses young people, Potter. You're a public figure. You should be setting an example."
"What's confusing about Sophie Ellis-Bextor?"9
Harry might have had a point, but Draco was old-school and extremely secure in his homosexuality. "Whatever. Is this some sort of election ploy?"
"She's posher than you are, mate, she'll hardly win me any socialist cred."
"If you went on Newsnight, Paxman would annihilate you for your evasiveness."10
"It's a good thing I'm an insignificant Opposition backbencher, isn't it?"
... pause.
"I am hurt that you went to Annabels without me." Draco crossed out Sophie Ellis-Bextor's name in the newspaper and scribbled around it.
"I can, um, plus-one on my next visit."
Draco's pen stabbed through the newspaper. "It is so wrong that you are the one with the private members-only restaurant invitations."
"You need to hang out with pop stars, they're--"
Draco didn't hear the rest of Harry's sentence, because he was gazing suspiciously at Blaise.
Certain things made sense now.
"Saturday night?"
"Can't," said Harry, "Big piss-up for Tam Dalyell."
"How on earth do you know him?" Everyone knew of Dalyell, but that was because he'd just resigned from 43 years as a Labour MP. Draco couldn't even contemplate 43 minutes as a constituency MP, so he was obliged to have some grudging respect.
"Minerva McGonagall's nephew," Harry said. "Squib. What about lunch?"
"Only if you fancy the box at Aintree11," Draco said. "It's Ladies Day so Blaise insists we go."
Blaise made a face at him.
"Uh, I'll pass. I've sworn off gambling."
"Probably best. I doubt you'd have anything to wear."
"What colour's your frock then?"
Draco laughed. "Green like your pretty eyes, Harry. Now piss off."
*
8. DAILY STAR: The absolute scummiest, bottom-of-the-barrel-scraping, nadir of tabloid rags.
9. SOPHIE: I have to concur with Potter here. She's a posh bit of totty.
10. NEWSNIGHT: Jeremy Paxman and his caustic interrogation style take on the politicos for your viewing pleasure at ten.
11. AINTREE LADIES DAY: Top hats and swanky frocks at the Grand National.
End, Part XIII ~ Interlude ~ Part IX