A week after his initial meeting with Potter, Draco sat in his office, drumming his fingers impatiently while waiting for Covingworth to return. He hated waiting.
Only one thing made it better. He glanced over at the Royal Golden Thistle plant in the corner of his office as it moved slightly, and smiled. He'd never had foliage in his office before, but this was a special occasion. It really was a lovely specimen, albeit a bit on the aggressive side.
“Ouch,” came an irritated voice from the vicinity of the plant.
Draco looked down at the contract in front of him, barely hiding a smile. If all went according to plan, it was going to be a good day.
He needed a good day, he thought, after all he'd gotten very little sleep over the past week. Not only was he busy with the usual activities of his company, but he'd been consumed with having his people conduct a private investigation of Covingworth's company, business dealings, and even his personal hygiene. While the first two items uncovered rather interesting and incriminating information, the third was a bit unsavory.
He was quite certain that he might have nightmares about that last part for the next few weeks.
Fortunately, the distasteful findings about Covingworth's personal habits were offset by the fact that the private investigation had turned up at least two other incidences of corruption involving the Ministry of Corporate Investigations. The good news was that Potter's investigation had confirmed the findings. The bad news, however, was that Covingworth's primary contact within the Ministry remained unknown. It was clear that they needed to glean more information from the man.
Which led to the reason that he now had a rather beautiful stinging plant in his office.
It was also the reason the Draco was allowing himself to feel just the tiniest bit smug.
Potter had, rather reluctantly, asked for his help.
It had been a beautiful moment, Draco recalled. Of course, it had taken all his self-control not to rub it in the Auror's face too much, after all, he still needed them to arrest the filthy bugger who was attempting to blackmail him. But still, it was good to know that Potter couldn't quite complete the job without the help of Draco Malfoy, and he was rather enjoying the thought.
Still, he was getting a bit impatient to be done with it all. He would have time to gloat later. For now, he needed to focus on the task at hand.
He began looking over Covingworth's contract one last time, hoping to gather his thoughts but, once again, the Thistle in the corner of his office moved slightly, and another soft "Ouch!" was uttered from the vicinity of the foliage.
A smile once again twitched on Draco's lips. "Mind keeping it down, Potter? You'll ruin everything if Covingworth arrives and you announce yourself like that."
A rustling noise came from the area. "Your plant keeps stinging me."
Yes, the plant had been acquired for the purpose of creating a better hiding place for none other than the famous Harry Potter. Potter had even been the one to request the item, actually, to ensure that, should his cloak slip in any way, that there was additional cover for his hiding spot. Unfortunately for Potter, the Auror had failed to specify a particular variety of plant that would adequately do the job, so Draco improvised.
Although Edwina had given Draco a stern look of disapproval, she had nevertheless done exemplary work in acquiring the most irritating piece of decorative office shrubbery available. He dearly loved that witch.
Personally, Draco thought the idea was quite brilliant. Not only would it create the appropriate alcove for Potter to see and hear everything, but Covingworth would have no desire to go near it, which would keep him from accidentally stumbling over Potter. He insisted that it had absolutely nothing to do with annoying his childhood rival.
Yes, Draco was well aware that it was completely petty and mean of him, and he hoped to Merlin that Ginevra didn't find out about his intention, but he simply couldn't help himself. Some opportunities were simply too good to pass up.
"Be grateful that it does, that way he won't be tempted to walk anywhere near you. You wouldn't want him to wander around the office and accidentally bump into you, after all."
A muttering of colorful curses came from the corner.
Draco allowed himself a small smile. If the situation hadn't been quite so dire, he might have actually considered it to be a bit fun.
"Just make sure you get him to talk about his contact at the Ministry," came Potter's voice from the corner.
"I know my job, Potter. You keep to yours."
More curses reached his ears, but he didn't have time to smile about them. Edwina was marching her way toward his office.
"It's time," Draco muttered, apparently to nobody in particular. Fortunately, Potter got the hint and the area around the beautiful but offensive plant became completely still.
He looked up at his assistant as she stopped in the doorway, both knowing that the game was now on.
Her expression gave nothing away, as he'd come to expect from her, making her perfect for her role in the operation. She merely stated, in her usual calm, professional demeanor, "Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Covingworth has arrived to see you."
He gave her a brief nod, letting her know that they were ready. "Send him in, 'Dwina."
Over the past few days, Draco had been dropping hints to Covingworth that he was becoming open to the prospect of doing business with the man's company. The idea of softening his stance wasn't entirely unusual. Actually, it was a typical Slytherin tactic intended to turn a negative into the most beneficial scenario possible. Covingworth would expect it to some degree.
All that remained was to see if he believed Draco well enough to give him the information that he and the Aurors needed.
When Covingworth entered the office, he barely waited for Edwina to turn and leave the doorway. Draco fought back a sneer at the man's rudeness.
"I didn't expect you so early," Draco said, foregoing any pleasantries or formality. Courtesies weren't completely necessary, considering the nature of their business partnership, and Draco didn't like the man well enough to make any effort.
His less than welcoming comment didn't, however, stop Covingworth from greeting him with his usual oily smile. "A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Malfoy. I'm pleased to see that you've reconsidered my generous offer. I'm looking forward to us doing a profitable business together."
Draco didn't return the smile. He merely nodded, seating himself behind his desk. "I'm sure you are. But I have some questions before I sign the contract."
"I would expect so..."
The next half hour was filled with some of the most trivial and boring contractual discussion that Draco had ever negotiated. If this worked, none of it would be relevant, but he needed Covingworth lulled into a sense of security. Once or twice, he thought he saw the plant in the corner move but, fortunately, no sound came from the area.
Finally, it came to the part of the discussion where he might be able to trap his prey.
"And about the supplier for dragon scales..."
"You don't need to worry about that," Covingworth interrupted shortly.
Draco gave no expression, but secretly realized it was the reaction he'd been hoping for. "Yes, I do. I can't have the Ministry questioning the source, even if it's coming through an outside supplier. I'm going to need full disclosure from you."
Covingworth's smile suddenly became less pleasant. "And, as I said, you won't need to worry about it."
"Then, are you saying that you have someone in the Ministry who will be able to vouch for those documents, should they come into question? Because, otherwise, I'll make sure you come to Azkaban with me if you are using poachers. The objective is that we make this profitable for the both of us."
Covingworth's smile returned, but it now contained a hint of something sinister. "You're like your father, a sharp businessman. I like that about you."
The response was what Draco wanted to hear. It hinted that Covingworth wanted this agreement more than he was letting on. There was too much money involved. It was time to bait him with a hint that he might be willing to sweeten the deal. "I'm no fool, Covingworth. We both want this to be a long, profitable venture. If you work with me, we can expand this into other areas and make this very mutually beneficial."
A spark of greed lighted in Covingworth's eyes, and Draco knew that he'd gotten the man's interest. Covingworth looked about the room, making sure that the door behind them was securely closed. He cast a silencing charm on it before turning back to Draco.
"What I tell you goes no further," he said.
Draco merely sat back in his chair, looking bored. "It better be good," he replied.
I've got both Shacklebolt's assistant, who still has ties in the Auror Department, and Nichols from Corporate Affairs working for me. Between them, I can quietly cover my tracks from almost any investigation. And better yet, I can divert the evidence to point to our competitors.
Draco tried his best not to smile in the direction of his plant in the corner, although he did allow his mouth to curve into an evil smirk. He liked his smirk. He'd actually spent time practicing it in the mirror when he was younger, and he hadn't had nearly enough opportunity to use it in recent years. It was a rather celebratory occasion, however, and he took a moment to savor being able to use his favorite expression.
Covingworth's oily smile lit his face, obviously thinking that Draco was in agreement with him. "Aha. Dear boy, I knew you were worthy of your father. You understand how successful this venture can be."
Draco nodded, keeping his evilly happy smirk firmly in place, despite the fact that he was massively offended by the man referring to him in such a familiar manner. "So, that's how Hestia's Herbology was ruined last year," he said, using part of the information from his own investigation, hoping to gather further evidence against the scum in his office.
"Of course! Of course. We considered it a practice attempt before I decided to bring you into it. Wanted to ensure that our efforts were untraceable. I made a fortune investing in Spencer's Herbology, by the way." Covingworth smiled smugly and encouragingly.
Draco merely gave him a curt nod to acknowledge the man's bragging, looked down at the contract again, and decided it was time. “Could you excuse me for a moment?”
He then got up from his desk and walked over to the door, opening it and ignoring the look of confusion on Covingworth's face.
"'Dwina, could you tell my next appointment that I'll be ready in about five minutes. I'm just finishing up in here."
"Of course, Mr. Malfoy."
He turned back to Covingworth, giving a quick glance to the plant in the corner, although there was no sign of Potter. "Sorry about that. I just realized we'd taken a bit longer than I expected and my next appointment is rather important."
"Yes, yes," the other man said almost too eagerly agreeing. Clearly his greed was clouding rational thought at the moment.
"I did have one or two minor things, but I think our discussion has clarified a great deal."
Covingworth was apparently becoming rather anxious, so Draco picked up a quill to stall. He wanted to make sure that Edwina had plenty of time to complete her task. "By the way, Covingworth, this might have gone a bit more smoothly if you didn't begin our relationship by threatening me."
The oily smile returned. "I wanted you to know that I wasn't one to be trifled with," he said. “What's a little bit of blackmail between friends, eh?”
Draco laughed inwardly at the idea that the fool fancied himself to be clever enough to be in league with him. Getting up again, Draco sneered at his visitor. "I think this calls for a Firewhisky to celebrate, don't you agree?"
Covingworth nodded thoughtfully, and Draco glanced at the plant, seeing it move ever so slightly, and found himself amused once again by Potter's discomfort. At the very least, the plant had ensured that Potter hadn't fallen asleep during the exchange of information. Draco smiled again.
He opened the office door to see a half dozen Aurors standing there, Ron Weasley standing in the front, looking for all the world as if he wanted to be elsewhere.
"Oh, my next appointment," he said, casually, his hand in his pocket, gripping his wand in preparation for any retaliation. He tried to appear confident, but that wasn't how he felt. There was still the risk that Potter wouldn't fulfill his end of the bargain.
He turned back to see the look of shock on his potential blackmailer's face. A moment later, the look changed to anger as Covington became fully aware of the situation and drew his wand.
"Not so fast," came a third voice from within the room, and Draco let out the breath he'd been holding as soon as he saw Potter remove his cloak. He was standing behind Covington, his wand pressed solidly into the older man's neck.
After Covington was led away in bindings, Draco allowed himself to smirk all he wanted for the rest of the morning.
---
Later that same day, Draco was on his way back from the Auror's offices, on the verge of whistling. Not that he was a whistler, mind you, but things had been going uncommonly well.
His temporary alliance with Potter had worked, to his surprise, and now he could get back to his normal life. Although, he wasn't quite certain what normal entailed at this point, but he would think about that later. He had work to do, since his week of dealing with the Covingworth distraction had put him behind once again.
But for now, it was a good day. And a good day such as this required celebration, and celebration required cake.
He stopped by his favorite bakery on his way back to his office and picked out a particularly decadent confection that was frosted with something so rich that it resembled fudge. It was going to be a good celebration.
Edwina looked up at him as he entered the office, her prim features tightening in an expression that was almost a smile. He smiled back, knowing that his assistant was also pleased with the outcome of the sting operation that had trapped Covingworth. His smile faltered slightly when she handed him the stack of parchments that represented the work he'd fallen behind on.
Undaunted, he looked down at his container of cake, deciding that he would celebrate while catching up on work. It was an old habit, but one that felt comfortable. Turning back toward his office, he caught sight of a bowl full of fruit placed next to his pastry dish. The sight gave him pause, but he dismissed it quickly.
Just then, a thought came to mind. “'Dwina, could you please contact Miss Weasley? I'd like to take her to dinner tonight to thank her for her help this past week.”
“Yes, Mr. Malfoy,” she responded, in her usual brisk tone.
Yes, all was well in the world.
He settled himself at his desk and pulled out the document resting at the top of the pile, idly reading as he opened his container of cake. Realizing he had no utensils, he quickly grabbed a quill and muttered a charm to transfigure the innocuous item into a fork.
Digging the fork into the treat, his mouth started to water in anticipation.
"Stop right there, Malfoy."
He paused, fork halfway towards its destination of his open mouth. Quickly realizing that he probably looked ridiculous in that particular pose, he slowly closed his mouth and lowered the utensil, raising his eyes somewhat tentatively toward the source of the voice.
There she stood, arms crossed, foot tapping and eyebrows raised. Her red hair flowed loosely about her shoulders and there was fire in her eyes. In a way, he hated how incredibly gorgeous she was, because he'd forgotten why she had become such a fixture in his life.
He looked up, guilt written all over his face, looking very much like a child caught in the middle of mischief. Her response completely surprised him.
She laughed.
“I'm trying to celebrate, Weasley.”
She crossed her arms, drawing his attention to her shirt, which stretched tight across her chest as she crossed her arms. “There are probably a thousand calories in that thing. Malfoy, it's time to get back to work.”
“That's exactly what I'm trying to do here. If you'll notice, I have a stack of parchment here that needs to be addressed by end of day today, but I was busy helping your dear Potter do his job.”
She frowned. “You know what I mean, now, hand over the cake. We only have four weeks until the tournament, and you've still got a long way to go.”
He blinked in disbelief. He looked at her, then back down at his cake. Somewhere during the past week he'd forgotten. And she was spoiling his perfectly happy afternoon.
It was making him feel...petulant.
“No.”
She raised an eyebrow.
And he was suddenly overcome by...fear. He glanced out the open office door to see if perhaps Edwina might come to his aid, but all he saw was her empty desk. Traitor.
“Weasley, let's be reasonable here.”
She leaned forward, placing her hands on his desk, and he found himself pulling away as she stared at him. It was simply unfair that someone that small could be that intimidating. All semblance of the confidence he'd had earlier in the day evaporated.
"If you're that desperate, you may have one bite, and one bite only and then I'm taking the rest away.”
That was when the thought hit him. During the few weeks, he'd come to enjoy her company, and had let himself believe that she had enjoyed his as well. During the past week, when she'd helped him overcome one of the biggest professional threats of his life, she'd seemed like a friend and a partner.
“You know I'm only trying to help,” she said, almost soothingly.
He wasn't falling for it. “You let me have what I wanted all last week,” he said, sounding like a whining child, but he didn't care.
“A bit of a relapse is normal, and you had far bigger worries last week. It wouldn't have been right for me to place this as a priority. But you can't address stressful situations by turning to food. Next time, we'll be more prepared, so hopefully you won't need to resort to food to cope.”
“Fine,” he mumbled, giving the Weasley as dirty a look as he could possibly muster. His disappointment driving his rather petulant mood.
He looked at his cake, carved off as big a piece as possible, keeping it rather precariously balanced on his fork. He met her gaze a bit defiantly, as if daring her to challenge the size of the piece on his fork, before stuffing it into his mouth.
Then, she vanished the remainder of his cake and he watched in horror as it disappeared.
He glared at her as he rather messily chewed the overlarge bite, silently cursing himself for not transfiguring a bigger fork. It was quite a good cake.
She watched him, her warm eyes alight with humor, which really did nothing for his ego, since he was attempting to be angry with her. It somehow wasn't fair that she always seemed to get the upper hand in these situations.
“Malfoy,” she said, leaning over his desk, making it extremely difficult to remember that she was in his employ. “I'm not trying to make this hard on you, but you aren't going to succeed by going back to all your old habits. As it is, you haven't worked out in a week.”
There she went, trying to be all nice and reasonable, when he knew darned well that she was evil and only looking to rob his taste buds of all his favorite sweets. Yet, he had agreed to this, and something told him that he secretly enjoyed the challenge.
“Fine,” he mumbled again, although his mother would likely have kittens if she ever found out that he had just spoken with food in his mouth. He became rather concerned at the thought, but pushed it aside in favor of more immediate matters. Namely Weasley.
“You really love that stuff, don't you,” she said, although it came out as a statement more than a question.
He nodded, deciding that pouting seemed to be working on her at the moment. He came to the conclusion that looking pitiful was his best weapon. After all, he was unhappy and if he was going to get his way, his only option was to evoke sympathy. He gave her the look he used to practice in the mirror as a child. The one that got his mother to buy him just about anything.
It worked, because she responded with an almost sympathetic smile. “Well, we can plan in some snacks, so you won't be tempted to overindulge in the future.”
He brightened and was pleased to see that she responded in kind. It was quite an interesting game trying to manipulate her, and he felt like he might even win in the end, although he wasn't quite sure what winning might entail.
“But,” she continued, a bit more sternly, causing little warning sirens to immediately go off in his head. “I'm going to have to schedule some extra time for your workout, to allow for the extra food and to make up for the fact that you've been off your training this past week. We're losing time and you need to make up for it.”
Somehow, he would live with it, as long as he could get his chocolate. And, a little extra time with her didn't seem all that bad either.
- - - - -
The next day, he was roused earlier than usual by the Weasley from hell.
Not that she was all that bad, but he really did hate getting up early, and although he'd agreed to the extra workouts, it just wasn't as fun when faced with getting out of bed earlier than he felt was necessary.
And he really needed to speak to his mother about allowing her to barge into his room like that. It simply wasn't dignified.
He'd actually tried his best to squirm his way out of the extra workout session. He'd gone so far as to convince Weasley that he needed he needed to catch up on work. He thought he'd won, actually, when she agreed that. Yes, the Covingworth incident had set him back and he needed to be in his office, he said, and she'd agreed.
Unfortunately, her response was to wake him all the earlier that day and, by getting him to capitulate, she seemed to have developed a new determination when it came to getting him to meet his goals for the tournament.
And now, after waking him up, she'd abandoned him.
If he wasn't a grown man, in charge of his own company, he might have actually pouted. And, at the moment, he really wanted a donut to comfort himself.
It had all gone wrong shortly after she'd hauled him out of the house. Not that he really minded her manhandling him, but it was important to maintain some level of control so, as usual, he whined the entire time. But today, instead of bringing him to the Quidditch pitch as he'd come to expect, she took him to the new Wizard's gym on the far end of Diagon Alley.
She mentioned something about her schedule being a bit off due to adding the extra workout for him, and something about schedule conflicts. He didn't fully pay attention to the details. It was only after they entered the gym that he realized that her explanation affected him. That was when she explained that he was supposed to keep himself entertained on the various equipment while she met with one of her other clients in the same location.
He was unceremoniously placed on a treadmill and had to watch while “his” Weasley spent a solid hour coaching an overly rounded witch through some simple weight-lifting and stretching routines.
If she had the gall to wake him up at an ungodly hour, the very least she could do was give him a little attention.
In the past, running had only been tolerable because he really enjoyed watching her arse as he followed her around the Quidditch pitch. The treadmill thing kept talking to him to speed up his pace and he could only catch momentary glimpses of the girl while she worked with her other client at the far end of the room.
It was completely unacceptable.
The next day followed the same routine and, although they had their Quidditch practice in the afternoon together, he remained miffed.
So, on the third day, as he jogged on his treadmill and watched Weasley spend her time with the inept, overweight witch again, he did the only proper thing that any self-respecting Slytherin could do: he plotted ways to eliminate the competition.
Two days later, the witch disappeared, having won a three-week, all-expense paid trip, which included a never-ending buffet and dessert bar, courtesy of Blankenship's Flying Carpet Cruise Line. With a bit of luck, he was hoping that the witch might eat so much on the trip that she'd explode and wouldn't be able to come back at all.
He smirked to himself when Weasley arrived at the gym to meet him that morning.
She opened her mouth several times, but no sound came out, while looking at him with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. "I can't believe you would do such a thing," she finally said.
“I don't know what you are talking about,” he returned smoothly, although he was quite unable to contain the pleased expression on his face as she hauled him out the door of the gym.
As soon as they were out of the building, and out of earshot of any bystanders, she turned to him. “You financed the contest for that trip! I saw the fine print when Mrs. Huggins showed me the contract! You rigged it for her to win, and totally sabotaged her training!”
He tried his best to look innocent. “My company sponsored a contest. It's simple marketing. She'll have a wonderful time.”
“But you rigged it so she would win!”
“And you have a problem with that Weasley?”
She pulled her wand out of the waistband of her impossibly tight jumpsuit and waved it threateningly. “I can't believe you. You are, by far, the most difficult client I have ever had.”
“Yet, each day you keep coming back,” he said, just a bit triumphantly.
“Ooooo!” she sputtered, still brandishing the wand. For a change, her anger didn't intimidate him. He'd gotten the best of the situation and was very much enjoying the moment.
She growled, glaring daggers at him before stating, “Let's go to the pitch. We've got two hours and if I don't burn off some of this negative energy, I swear I'm going to hex you into next week!”
And so she did. At the end of it, he was physically exhausted, but he found that he didn't mind in the least.
Only one thing made it better. He glanced over at the Royal Golden Thistle plant in the corner of his office as it moved slightly, and smiled. He'd never had foliage in his office before, but this was a special occasion. It really was a lovely specimen, albeit a bit on the aggressive side.
“Ouch,” came an irritated voice from the vicinity of the plant.
Draco looked down at the contract in front of him, barely hiding a smile. If all went according to plan, it was going to be a good day.
He needed a good day, he thought, after all he'd gotten very little sleep over the past week. Not only was he busy with the usual activities of his company, but he'd been consumed with having his people conduct a private investigation of Covingworth's company, business dealings, and even his personal hygiene. While the first two items uncovered rather interesting and incriminating information, the third was a bit unsavory.
He was quite certain that he might have nightmares about that last part for the next few weeks.
Fortunately, the distasteful findings about Covingworth's personal habits were offset by the fact that the private investigation had turned up at least two other incidences of corruption involving the Ministry of Corporate Investigations. The good news was that Potter's investigation had confirmed the findings. The bad news, however, was that Covingworth's primary contact within the Ministry remained unknown. It was clear that they needed to glean more information from the man.
Which led to the reason that he now had a rather beautiful stinging plant in his office.
It was also the reason the Draco was allowing himself to feel just the tiniest bit smug.
Potter had, rather reluctantly, asked for his help.
It had been a beautiful moment, Draco recalled. Of course, it had taken all his self-control not to rub it in the Auror's face too much, after all, he still needed them to arrest the filthy bugger who was attempting to blackmail him. But still, it was good to know that Potter couldn't quite complete the job without the help of Draco Malfoy, and he was rather enjoying the thought.
Still, he was getting a bit impatient to be done with it all. He would have time to gloat later. For now, he needed to focus on the task at hand.
He began looking over Covingworth's contract one last time, hoping to gather his thoughts but, once again, the Thistle in the corner of his office moved slightly, and another soft "Ouch!" was uttered from the vicinity of the foliage.
A smile once again twitched on Draco's lips. "Mind keeping it down, Potter? You'll ruin everything if Covingworth arrives and you announce yourself like that."
A rustling noise came from the area. "Your plant keeps stinging me."
Yes, the plant had been acquired for the purpose of creating a better hiding place for none other than the famous Harry Potter. Potter had even been the one to request the item, actually, to ensure that, should his cloak slip in any way, that there was additional cover for his hiding spot. Unfortunately for Potter, the Auror had failed to specify a particular variety of plant that would adequately do the job, so Draco improvised.
Although Edwina had given Draco a stern look of disapproval, she had nevertheless done exemplary work in acquiring the most irritating piece of decorative office shrubbery available. He dearly loved that witch.
Personally, Draco thought the idea was quite brilliant. Not only would it create the appropriate alcove for Potter to see and hear everything, but Covingworth would have no desire to go near it, which would keep him from accidentally stumbling over Potter. He insisted that it had absolutely nothing to do with annoying his childhood rival.
Yes, Draco was well aware that it was completely petty and mean of him, and he hoped to Merlin that Ginevra didn't find out about his intention, but he simply couldn't help himself. Some opportunities were simply too good to pass up.
"Be grateful that it does, that way he won't be tempted to walk anywhere near you. You wouldn't want him to wander around the office and accidentally bump into you, after all."
A muttering of colorful curses came from the corner.
Draco allowed himself a small smile. If the situation hadn't been quite so dire, he might have actually considered it to be a bit fun.
"Just make sure you get him to talk about his contact at the Ministry," came Potter's voice from the corner.
"I know my job, Potter. You keep to yours."
More curses reached his ears, but he didn't have time to smile about them. Edwina was marching her way toward his office.
"It's time," Draco muttered, apparently to nobody in particular. Fortunately, Potter got the hint and the area around the beautiful but offensive plant became completely still.
He looked up at his assistant as she stopped in the doorway, both knowing that the game was now on.
Her expression gave nothing away, as he'd come to expect from her, making her perfect for her role in the operation. She merely stated, in her usual calm, professional demeanor, "Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Covingworth has arrived to see you."
He gave her a brief nod, letting her know that they were ready. "Send him in, 'Dwina."
Over the past few days, Draco had been dropping hints to Covingworth that he was becoming open to the prospect of doing business with the man's company. The idea of softening his stance wasn't entirely unusual. Actually, it was a typical Slytherin tactic intended to turn a negative into the most beneficial scenario possible. Covingworth would expect it to some degree.
All that remained was to see if he believed Draco well enough to give him the information that he and the Aurors needed.
When Covingworth entered the office, he barely waited for Edwina to turn and leave the doorway. Draco fought back a sneer at the man's rudeness.
"I didn't expect you so early," Draco said, foregoing any pleasantries or formality. Courtesies weren't completely necessary, considering the nature of their business partnership, and Draco didn't like the man well enough to make any effort.
His less than welcoming comment didn't, however, stop Covingworth from greeting him with his usual oily smile. "A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Malfoy. I'm pleased to see that you've reconsidered my generous offer. I'm looking forward to us doing a profitable business together."
Draco didn't return the smile. He merely nodded, seating himself behind his desk. "I'm sure you are. But I have some questions before I sign the contract."
"I would expect so..."
The next half hour was filled with some of the most trivial and boring contractual discussion that Draco had ever negotiated. If this worked, none of it would be relevant, but he needed Covingworth lulled into a sense of security. Once or twice, he thought he saw the plant in the corner move but, fortunately, no sound came from the area.
Finally, it came to the part of the discussion where he might be able to trap his prey.
"And about the supplier for dragon scales..."
"You don't need to worry about that," Covingworth interrupted shortly.
Draco gave no expression, but secretly realized it was the reaction he'd been hoping for. "Yes, I do. I can't have the Ministry questioning the source, even if it's coming through an outside supplier. I'm going to need full disclosure from you."
Covingworth's smile suddenly became less pleasant. "And, as I said, you won't need to worry about it."
"Then, are you saying that you have someone in the Ministry who will be able to vouch for those documents, should they come into question? Because, otherwise, I'll make sure you come to Azkaban with me if you are using poachers. The objective is that we make this profitable for the both of us."
Covingworth's smile returned, but it now contained a hint of something sinister. "You're like your father, a sharp businessman. I like that about you."
The response was what Draco wanted to hear. It hinted that Covingworth wanted this agreement more than he was letting on. There was too much money involved. It was time to bait him with a hint that he might be willing to sweeten the deal. "I'm no fool, Covingworth. We both want this to be a long, profitable venture. If you work with me, we can expand this into other areas and make this very mutually beneficial."
A spark of greed lighted in Covingworth's eyes, and Draco knew that he'd gotten the man's interest. Covingworth looked about the room, making sure that the door behind them was securely closed. He cast a silencing charm on it before turning back to Draco.
"What I tell you goes no further," he said.
Draco merely sat back in his chair, looking bored. "It better be good," he replied.
I've got both Shacklebolt's assistant, who still has ties in the Auror Department, and Nichols from Corporate Affairs working for me. Between them, I can quietly cover my tracks from almost any investigation. And better yet, I can divert the evidence to point to our competitors.
Draco tried his best not to smile in the direction of his plant in the corner, although he did allow his mouth to curve into an evil smirk. He liked his smirk. He'd actually spent time practicing it in the mirror when he was younger, and he hadn't had nearly enough opportunity to use it in recent years. It was a rather celebratory occasion, however, and he took a moment to savor being able to use his favorite expression.
Covingworth's oily smile lit his face, obviously thinking that Draco was in agreement with him. "Aha. Dear boy, I knew you were worthy of your father. You understand how successful this venture can be."
Draco nodded, keeping his evilly happy smirk firmly in place, despite the fact that he was massively offended by the man referring to him in such a familiar manner. "So, that's how Hestia's Herbology was ruined last year," he said, using part of the information from his own investigation, hoping to gather further evidence against the scum in his office.
"Of course! Of course. We considered it a practice attempt before I decided to bring you into it. Wanted to ensure that our efforts were untraceable. I made a fortune investing in Spencer's Herbology, by the way." Covingworth smiled smugly and encouragingly.
Draco merely gave him a curt nod to acknowledge the man's bragging, looked down at the contract again, and decided it was time. “Could you excuse me for a moment?”
He then got up from his desk and walked over to the door, opening it and ignoring the look of confusion on Covingworth's face.
"'Dwina, could you tell my next appointment that I'll be ready in about five minutes. I'm just finishing up in here."
"Of course, Mr. Malfoy."
He turned back to Covingworth, giving a quick glance to the plant in the corner, although there was no sign of Potter. "Sorry about that. I just realized we'd taken a bit longer than I expected and my next appointment is rather important."
"Yes, yes," the other man said almost too eagerly agreeing. Clearly his greed was clouding rational thought at the moment.
"I did have one or two minor things, but I think our discussion has clarified a great deal."
Covingworth was apparently becoming rather anxious, so Draco picked up a quill to stall. He wanted to make sure that Edwina had plenty of time to complete her task. "By the way, Covingworth, this might have gone a bit more smoothly if you didn't begin our relationship by threatening me."
The oily smile returned. "I wanted you to know that I wasn't one to be trifled with," he said. “What's a little bit of blackmail between friends, eh?”
Draco laughed inwardly at the idea that the fool fancied himself to be clever enough to be in league with him. Getting up again, Draco sneered at his visitor. "I think this calls for a Firewhisky to celebrate, don't you agree?"
Covingworth nodded thoughtfully, and Draco glanced at the plant, seeing it move ever so slightly, and found himself amused once again by Potter's discomfort. At the very least, the plant had ensured that Potter hadn't fallen asleep during the exchange of information. Draco smiled again.
He opened the office door to see a half dozen Aurors standing there, Ron Weasley standing in the front, looking for all the world as if he wanted to be elsewhere.
"Oh, my next appointment," he said, casually, his hand in his pocket, gripping his wand in preparation for any retaliation. He tried to appear confident, but that wasn't how he felt. There was still the risk that Potter wouldn't fulfill his end of the bargain.
He turned back to see the look of shock on his potential blackmailer's face. A moment later, the look changed to anger as Covington became fully aware of the situation and drew his wand.
"Not so fast," came a third voice from within the room, and Draco let out the breath he'd been holding as soon as he saw Potter remove his cloak. He was standing behind Covington, his wand pressed solidly into the older man's neck.
After Covington was led away in bindings, Draco allowed himself to smirk all he wanted for the rest of the morning.
---
Later that same day, Draco was on his way back from the Auror's offices, on the verge of whistling. Not that he was a whistler, mind you, but things had been going uncommonly well.
His temporary alliance with Potter had worked, to his surprise, and now he could get back to his normal life. Although, he wasn't quite certain what normal entailed at this point, but he would think about that later. He had work to do, since his week of dealing with the Covingworth distraction had put him behind once again.
But for now, it was a good day. And a good day such as this required celebration, and celebration required cake.
He stopped by his favorite bakery on his way back to his office and picked out a particularly decadent confection that was frosted with something so rich that it resembled fudge. It was going to be a good celebration.
Edwina looked up at him as he entered the office, her prim features tightening in an expression that was almost a smile. He smiled back, knowing that his assistant was also pleased with the outcome of the sting operation that had trapped Covingworth. His smile faltered slightly when she handed him the stack of parchments that represented the work he'd fallen behind on.
Undaunted, he looked down at his container of cake, deciding that he would celebrate while catching up on work. It was an old habit, but one that felt comfortable. Turning back toward his office, he caught sight of a bowl full of fruit placed next to his pastry dish. The sight gave him pause, but he dismissed it quickly.
Just then, a thought came to mind. “'Dwina, could you please contact Miss Weasley? I'd like to take her to dinner tonight to thank her for her help this past week.”
“Yes, Mr. Malfoy,” she responded, in her usual brisk tone.
Yes, all was well in the world.
He settled himself at his desk and pulled out the document resting at the top of the pile, idly reading as he opened his container of cake. Realizing he had no utensils, he quickly grabbed a quill and muttered a charm to transfigure the innocuous item into a fork.
Digging the fork into the treat, his mouth started to water in anticipation.
"Stop right there, Malfoy."
He paused, fork halfway towards its destination of his open mouth. Quickly realizing that he probably looked ridiculous in that particular pose, he slowly closed his mouth and lowered the utensil, raising his eyes somewhat tentatively toward the source of the voice.
There she stood, arms crossed, foot tapping and eyebrows raised. Her red hair flowed loosely about her shoulders and there was fire in her eyes. In a way, he hated how incredibly gorgeous she was, because he'd forgotten why she had become such a fixture in his life.
He looked up, guilt written all over his face, looking very much like a child caught in the middle of mischief. Her response completely surprised him.
She laughed.
“I'm trying to celebrate, Weasley.”
She crossed her arms, drawing his attention to her shirt, which stretched tight across her chest as she crossed her arms. “There are probably a thousand calories in that thing. Malfoy, it's time to get back to work.”
“That's exactly what I'm trying to do here. If you'll notice, I have a stack of parchment here that needs to be addressed by end of day today, but I was busy helping your dear Potter do his job.”
She frowned. “You know what I mean, now, hand over the cake. We only have four weeks until the tournament, and you've still got a long way to go.”
He blinked in disbelief. He looked at her, then back down at his cake. Somewhere during the past week he'd forgotten. And she was spoiling his perfectly happy afternoon.
It was making him feel...petulant.
“No.”
She raised an eyebrow.
And he was suddenly overcome by...fear. He glanced out the open office door to see if perhaps Edwina might come to his aid, but all he saw was her empty desk. Traitor.
“Weasley, let's be reasonable here.”
She leaned forward, placing her hands on his desk, and he found himself pulling away as she stared at him. It was simply unfair that someone that small could be that intimidating. All semblance of the confidence he'd had earlier in the day evaporated.
"If you're that desperate, you may have one bite, and one bite only and then I'm taking the rest away.”
That was when the thought hit him. During the few weeks, he'd come to enjoy her company, and had let himself believe that she had enjoyed his as well. During the past week, when she'd helped him overcome one of the biggest professional threats of his life, she'd seemed like a friend and a partner.
“You know I'm only trying to help,” she said, almost soothingly.
He wasn't falling for it. “You let me have what I wanted all last week,” he said, sounding like a whining child, but he didn't care.
“A bit of a relapse is normal, and you had far bigger worries last week. It wouldn't have been right for me to place this as a priority. But you can't address stressful situations by turning to food. Next time, we'll be more prepared, so hopefully you won't need to resort to food to cope.”
“Fine,” he mumbled, giving the Weasley as dirty a look as he could possibly muster. His disappointment driving his rather petulant mood.
He looked at his cake, carved off as big a piece as possible, keeping it rather precariously balanced on his fork. He met her gaze a bit defiantly, as if daring her to challenge the size of the piece on his fork, before stuffing it into his mouth.
Then, she vanished the remainder of his cake and he watched in horror as it disappeared.
He glared at her as he rather messily chewed the overlarge bite, silently cursing himself for not transfiguring a bigger fork. It was quite a good cake.
She watched him, her warm eyes alight with humor, which really did nothing for his ego, since he was attempting to be angry with her. It somehow wasn't fair that she always seemed to get the upper hand in these situations.
“Malfoy,” she said, leaning over his desk, making it extremely difficult to remember that she was in his employ. “I'm not trying to make this hard on you, but you aren't going to succeed by going back to all your old habits. As it is, you haven't worked out in a week.”
There she went, trying to be all nice and reasonable, when he knew darned well that she was evil and only looking to rob his taste buds of all his favorite sweets. Yet, he had agreed to this, and something told him that he secretly enjoyed the challenge.
“Fine,” he mumbled again, although his mother would likely have kittens if she ever found out that he had just spoken with food in his mouth. He became rather concerned at the thought, but pushed it aside in favor of more immediate matters. Namely Weasley.
“You really love that stuff, don't you,” she said, although it came out as a statement more than a question.
He nodded, deciding that pouting seemed to be working on her at the moment. He came to the conclusion that looking pitiful was his best weapon. After all, he was unhappy and if he was going to get his way, his only option was to evoke sympathy. He gave her the look he used to practice in the mirror as a child. The one that got his mother to buy him just about anything.
It worked, because she responded with an almost sympathetic smile. “Well, we can plan in some snacks, so you won't be tempted to overindulge in the future.”
He brightened and was pleased to see that she responded in kind. It was quite an interesting game trying to manipulate her, and he felt like he might even win in the end, although he wasn't quite sure what winning might entail.
“But,” she continued, a bit more sternly, causing little warning sirens to immediately go off in his head. “I'm going to have to schedule some extra time for your workout, to allow for the extra food and to make up for the fact that you've been off your training this past week. We're losing time and you need to make up for it.”
Somehow, he would live with it, as long as he could get his chocolate. And, a little extra time with her didn't seem all that bad either.
- - - - -
The next day, he was roused earlier than usual by the Weasley from hell.
Not that she was all that bad, but he really did hate getting up early, and although he'd agreed to the extra workouts, it just wasn't as fun when faced with getting out of bed earlier than he felt was necessary.
And he really needed to speak to his mother about allowing her to barge into his room like that. It simply wasn't dignified.
He'd actually tried his best to squirm his way out of the extra workout session. He'd gone so far as to convince Weasley that he needed he needed to catch up on work. He thought he'd won, actually, when she agreed that. Yes, the Covingworth incident had set him back and he needed to be in his office, he said, and she'd agreed.
Unfortunately, her response was to wake him all the earlier that day and, by getting him to capitulate, she seemed to have developed a new determination when it came to getting him to meet his goals for the tournament.
And now, after waking him up, she'd abandoned him.
If he wasn't a grown man, in charge of his own company, he might have actually pouted. And, at the moment, he really wanted a donut to comfort himself.
It had all gone wrong shortly after she'd hauled him out of the house. Not that he really minded her manhandling him, but it was important to maintain some level of control so, as usual, he whined the entire time. But today, instead of bringing him to the Quidditch pitch as he'd come to expect, she took him to the new Wizard's gym on the far end of Diagon Alley.
She mentioned something about her schedule being a bit off due to adding the extra workout for him, and something about schedule conflicts. He didn't fully pay attention to the details. It was only after they entered the gym that he realized that her explanation affected him. That was when she explained that he was supposed to keep himself entertained on the various equipment while she met with one of her other clients in the same location.
He was unceremoniously placed on a treadmill and had to watch while “his” Weasley spent a solid hour coaching an overly rounded witch through some simple weight-lifting and stretching routines.
If she had the gall to wake him up at an ungodly hour, the very least she could do was give him a little attention.
In the past, running had only been tolerable because he really enjoyed watching her arse as he followed her around the Quidditch pitch. The treadmill thing kept talking to him to speed up his pace and he could only catch momentary glimpses of the girl while she worked with her other client at the far end of the room.
It was completely unacceptable.
The next day followed the same routine and, although they had their Quidditch practice in the afternoon together, he remained miffed.
So, on the third day, as he jogged on his treadmill and watched Weasley spend her time with the inept, overweight witch again, he did the only proper thing that any self-respecting Slytherin could do: he plotted ways to eliminate the competition.
Two days later, the witch disappeared, having won a three-week, all-expense paid trip, which included a never-ending buffet and dessert bar, courtesy of Blankenship's Flying Carpet Cruise Line. With a bit of luck, he was hoping that the witch might eat so much on the trip that she'd explode and wouldn't be able to come back at all.
He smirked to himself when Weasley arrived at the gym to meet him that morning.
She opened her mouth several times, but no sound came out, while looking at him with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. "I can't believe you would do such a thing," she finally said.
“I don't know what you are talking about,” he returned smoothly, although he was quite unable to contain the pleased expression on his face as she hauled him out the door of the gym.
As soon as they were out of the building, and out of earshot of any bystanders, she turned to him. “You financed the contest for that trip! I saw the fine print when Mrs. Huggins showed me the contract! You rigged it for her to win, and totally sabotaged her training!”
He tried his best to look innocent. “My company sponsored a contest. It's simple marketing. She'll have a wonderful time.”
“But you rigged it so she would win!”
“And you have a problem with that Weasley?”
She pulled her wand out of the waistband of her impossibly tight jumpsuit and waved it threateningly. “I can't believe you. You are, by far, the most difficult client I have ever had.”
“Yet, each day you keep coming back,” he said, just a bit triumphantly.
“Ooooo!” she sputtered, still brandishing the wand. For a change, her anger didn't intimidate him. He'd gotten the best of the situation and was very much enjoying the moment.
She growled, glaring daggers at him before stating, “Let's go to the pitch. We've got two hours and if I don't burn off some of this negative energy, I swear I'm going to hex you into next week!”
And so she did. At the end of it, he was physically exhausted, but he found that he didn't mind in the least.
Author notes: (1)The Royal Golden Thistle is a decorative magical variety of shrub, grown specifically for use in this story by the Gidge8 Herbology Labs. This plant may not be re-used in other story without permission from the author.
Named for its gold-tipped emerald colored leaves, the Royal Golden Thistle is also prized for its fragrant purple flowers, which burst forth from a golden bud. The plant is typically used in hedgerows because its active stinging quality is excellent for deterring many pests, such as garden gnomes and nosy neighbors. Sting is painful and is known to cause itching, but is not generally harmful.
A dwarf variety is also available for containers and indoor decorative use.
Warning: Plant is not recommended in households with small children. It is also known to attract nifflers, so proper precautions must be taken to keep the plant from being nibbled away.
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