Original poster: house_illrepute
Title:The Recipe for Potted Rump Roast That Draco Doesn't Recall Remebering To Not Forget to Ever Know.
Author: The House of Ill Repute (gabe_speaks)
Characters: Harry, Draco, Dennis (mentions of Colin and others)
Summary: Draco is is desperate to reclaim the Malfoy fortune, frozen by the Ministry. Just when victory is within reach, something comes along and snatches it from his grip. Worse still, Harry's not back from Brazil, which leaves Draco alone and lonely in a rather sizable London flat (that he may soon not be able to afford).
Warning: Smut-free (though naughty bits are 'shown'); Standard cheekiness and nonsensery, but not crack!fic, per se. And yes, true to form, there is a Creevey in this here fic.
Rating: Temperate-R (not quite hard) for copious references to male genitalia and swearing words.
Challenge: Written for slythindor100's weekly Double Entendre Monday Fun. I was prompted with "Bubble Bath". I hope I did it justice!
Author's Notes: This follows the 'non-series' "Maintaining One's Station", which can be found [-here-]. Technically, this would be #3 and would take place between Perfectly Paranoid Portents and a Potion-Master’s Pestiferous Pernicious Perdition [-here-] and Blame it on the Tumultuous Temple Toads! [-here-]. You do not need to read them to understand what's going on, but I do reference things in both.
It was a long, rough day for Draco Malfoy. He had spent the better part of the past month trying to ensure he kept the Malfoy fortune; he had fought with Ministry officials, Goblin banking administrators, the Malfoy estate conciliators, lawyers... basically, anyone who would listen, provided Draco thought they enough political pull. The only one left was Harry Potter, whose name could still move mountains. But Draco was far too proud to ask for help in that regard.
(Generally speaking, the only requests Draco would ask for – gifts aside – were the occasional ‘more’ or ‘harder’ or ‘faster’; sometimes a ‘lower’ or a ‘move, curse you – move!’ thrown in for good measure.)
No, no. Securing the Malfoy fortune was something that only a Malfoy could do.
Draco had been making some leeway in this endeavour. Through cunning cleverness and devilish double-speak most true to the house of Slytherin, he had almost believed victory well in grasp. Instead, at the last minute, doors that were once open to him were closed and people who had before moved mountains to ‘fit him in’ their schedule suddenly couldn’t be bothered returning Floo calls. Even Blaise and Pansy Zabini had a sudden change of heart, it seemed. “Give it up,” Pansy advised. “Someone with a far greater name than yours must want you poor.”
After a month, Draco wanted nothing more than to lie in Harry’s arms and sleep until this dread nightmare passed.
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"On the other hand... you have 5 fingers." Viel Glück und viel Spaß!