Trophy

Authors Note: Much love and adoration is constantly poured from me to my beta, Robert (Ragnarok45). If he doesn't know how much I appreciate him I am failing miserably! This story is so much fun and I'm having a blast writing it (and leaving you with cliffhangers of course). As always, if you have a question or would like to get updates on this or other stories or if you would even just like to chat you can find me all over the web (more on that in my profile) I'll be posting some new WIP stories and new oneshots soon, so be on the lookout.

Chapter 3 Things Look Prettier from this Angle

Malfoy Manor was a place of prestige and grace. Its marble corridors had echoed the same values for generations. Pride, cleverness and power were the main staples of any pureblood household, but the Malfoy’s especially. That was why it pained Lucius so deeply to see his hallowed halls so tarnished by his only son’s whorish antics.

He’d been both pleased and concerned to see Draco return to the Manor so quickly after setting out after Potter. The brevity of the visit could only mean one of two things; either Potter had at once agreed to a date with his son – which he found to be a very unlikely scenario – or he had shot his son down outright – a scenario he thought to be much more plausible. The smug look of victory on his Draco’s face, however, made him falter slightly in his confidence on the matter.

“So all went well with your afternoon?” Lucius asked his son when he passed the library entrance.

Draco paused, but didn’t give his full attention to his father: a habit that seemed to have become customary as of late but was no less insulting. He eventually did make his way into the vast room, but paid more mind to the numerous volumes lining the shelves than to Lucius. “Potter was… unexpected,” he replied at last, not bothering to hide the fact that he had in truth been chasing the elusive Gryffindor hero.

“How do you mean?” Lucius asked, wanting to glean as much as he could of their potential trouble from his son directly rather than stooping to dubious methods.

“He refused me,” Draco told him, and when Lucius gave him a look that clearly stated he didn’t find that the least bit unexpected, Draco elaborated. “He did however compliment me, calling me good-looking, which means he’s thought of me, which means he’s at least slightly interested.”

“Or it could simply indicate that the boy has eyes. Even straight men have commented on your beauty, Draco,” Lucius chastised his son for jumping to conclusions, though the information didn’t bode well.

“And I have lured straight men into my bed as well,” Draco replied snidely.

“Obviously they weren’t all that straight,” Lucius muttered, but his son ignored the dig.

“My point is only that breaking Potter might be difficult, but it’s also as sure a thing as my blood is pure,” Draco announced and glided from the room with feigned annoyance.

Lucius sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in attempts to stave off the headache that was fast approaching. His son would make a mess of things yet, and Lucius found it difficult if not impossible to heed his wife’s wishes and stay out of matters. A simple note to warn Potter of his son’s intentions might not be too much of a break from his promise not to meddle, what harm could it do after all aside from leveling the playing field?

He made his way to his study and quickly scrawled out a short note to Potter and sent his trusted eagle owl Octavious with the message, hoping that it might at least delay if not thwart Draco’s plans completely. It was one of the few things he could manage easily from within the Manor walls, and if he knew his son – and he liked to think that he did – Draco would no doubt be increasing the Auror Guard so that he would have even fewer opportunities to interfere.

He would have to make the best with what he had available to him at the moment and keep his eyes sharp for new opportunities.

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Reconnaissance hadn’t gone as planned: so far all Draco knew about his new target was what he had learned in school and the telling notion that Harry found him attractive. However, he begrudgingly had to admit his father was correct on that point: many people found his beauty worth mentioning, but that wasn’t always the key to bedding them. He suspected Potter might be one of those who would play hard to get – claiming he cared about more than looks – which was just as well because that’s how Draco preferred it to be.

He’d have to be clever with his plot, three steps ahead at every curve and ready when the time came to make Potter his for the night – or day if that’s what the Golden Boy would rather have. Who knows, maybe the Gryffindor had an exhibitionist kink and liked to fuck in broad daylight under that invisibility cloak he was rumored to have.

Either way Draco already had a golden tag all prepared with a delicate ‘Harry J. Potter, Gryffindor War Hero’ engraved into it as well as a special place in the Trophy Room all cleared out. Potter might even be honored if he knew about it, as it was rare for a conquest to warrant such attention before a first date was even scheduled.

Such was his confidence that he would be shagging Potter any day now; all that remained was to prove himself right.

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Unfriendly faces surrounded Ron as he looked up at the knock on his door. As an Auror he was required to have every known villain pinned to the walls of his cubicle so that he could easily memorize their faces. He would have much preferred to stare at a PlayWizard calendar or a Chudley Cannons poster, but rules were rules and Ron had gotten fairly good at following them.

That’s what happened when you were married to Hermione Granger; you followed the rules, unless, of course, she broke them first.

Harry poked his head in without waiting to be acknowledged, he was the only one Ron would let get away with that; he was the boss after all.

“I’m taking off, mate. You coming?” Harry asked.

“I have one last form to fill out and then I’m set,” Ron replied, stacking the day’s parchments in a pile and moving them to his outbox.

“I’ll wait then,” Harry offered, taking the seat across from Ron and looking generally relaxed. It was habit to leave the Ministry together when they could, even when they no longer went to the same place afterward. He and Hermione had recently bought a cottage in Ottery St. Catchpole and with Hermione pregnant with their first child he rarely followed Harry back to Grimmauld after work and instead went straight home to help his wife.

He was miffed that their lunch spot had been found and blared all over England, because since Harry’s promotion they spent every little time together. They used to share the same cubicle and be field partners: possibly seeing too much of each other every day. Now, however – though they were on the same floor – Ron only saw Harry in the morning, in the evening, and at lunch. To add to their difficulties, lunch was out until they found a new place.

Ron had always found Harry’s aversion to the press and the spotlight in general to be a curious trait, but that was just the way the man was. He used to be jealous of Harry’s fame and fortune, but after the war he saw what it did to his best friend and no longer envied him in the least.

Sure, on the outside Harry seemed to have it all: a brilliant job, a never-ending supply of galleons, loads of friends in high places, and as many dates as he wanted; now that Ron was married and about to have his first kid, however, he realized more than ever what Harry was always missing.

Harry was very focused on his career, but Ron sensed less that he was happy with it and more that he was using it as a distraction for the fact that he always came home to an empty manor. It wasn’t quite as gloomy as it had been when Harry had originally inherited it, but even after the extensive renovations he couldn’t manage to hide the fact that aside from an ornery house elf, Harry was its only occupant.

At the end of the day, Ron could always see the faint sense of dread in Harry’s normally brilliant green eyes that came from having to leave an office full of people and spend the rest of the night alone.

“Mione’s making bangers and mash for dinner tonight: you should come over,” Ron suggested, hoping his friend would accept for a change.

“Nah, Kreacher is probably already making something for me, you know how much he hates it when I’ve come home and already eaten,” Harry replied.

“Sounds like you’re married to the elf,” Ron teased and Harry shot him a dirty look.

“Think what you will, but Kreacher is normally an excellent cook; however, when he’s angry with me a delicious casserole can suddenly turn into pet food,” Harry joked.

Ron turned up his nose and finished out the last of his form, setting it at the top of the pile in his outbox. “All set,” he announced and got up, following Harry toward the lifts.

It was then that he noticed the large file that balanced precariously under Harry’s arm, causing his stomach to drop. “Harry, that file is huge. If I didn’t know any better I’d say it was the Malfoy dossier.”

“It is,” Harry replied casually enough. “I’m hoping to figure out what he was doing here earlier today.”

Ron couldn’t contain the bark of harsh laughter that escaped his lips and he didn’t even bother looking apologetic. “I think it’s fairly obvious that he’s chosen you as his new target, Harry.”

“Nonsense. Even Malfoy’s not that ignorant. I think he was using that as a ruse to keep me from knowing what he was really doing here,” Harry replied.

“Why’s it ignorant to think that he’d pick you as his next victim? You know the ferret likes famous figures, and who’s more famous than you?” Ron reasoned. He had a very thorough knowledge of what was contained in that file, maybe even more than Harry and he was surprised it took the pale Slytherin so long to target Harry in the first place.

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I just don’t see Malfoy being so naïve to think he could shag me after everything I know about him.”

“Well, what if he is that naïve? Maybe we could use it to our advantage, see if he’s really being so honest with these people he’s screwed over or if there really is something we can nail him for,” Ron offered. Breaking hearts wasn’t illegal, but if they could find proof that Malfoy was using a potion or some sort of spell to trick them then they could put the prat away for good.

It was Harry that laughed this time. “You expect me to what, go along with it? Let him woo me like all the others just to see if he’s doing something unseemly?”

“Exactly,” Ron replied, glad his friend understood.

“Have you forgotten that I’m rubbish at lying? I couldn’t spend five minutes with the git in my office today without blowing up at him. It won’t work,” Harry muttered.

“It might be the only chance we have,” Ron reasoned, but Harry continued to shake his head.

“There’s another way, there has to be. In the meantime, I’ll give his file another look through and see if I can’t make something of it,” Harry told the redhead. The lift was coming to a stop and before long they would be parting ways at the floo network.

“So, what did you say to Malfoy that had him strutting out of here like a fluffed up peacock?” Ron asked. He’d been wondering all day.

Harry groaned and shook his head. “I wish I knew how his mind managed to twist my saying that he’d never sleep with me into that I simply think he’s attractive, but that’s the impression he seemed to leave my office with. It didn’t seem to matter that I basically told him ‘not in a million years’ he still only heard what he wanted to.”

“Did you tell him he was attractive?” Ron asked curiously.

“Indirectly, but only while making the point that it didn’t matter because he was still a slimy git,” Harry replied.

“Well, I suppose it was bound to happen eventually. It seems you may now have an admirer,” Ron teased.

“Just what I needed,” Harry grumbled and bid his friend farewell as they each disappeared in a flash of green.

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As usual, things were dark and silent when Harry got home to number twelve Grimmauld Place. Kreacher was typically very quiet around the house; Harry would suspect the elf didn’t live there except that he always had meals on time and often found Black Family baubles missing from his study.

He didn’t mind much since he had little he could do with his Godfather’s heirloom trinkets.

Harry went straight for his bedroom to divest of his Auror robes and suit, opting instead to slip into a navy jumper and well broken in jeans before diving into the plush comfort of his bed. There he stayed, propped up on his elbows with his feet dangling off the edge, and began to peruse the Malfoy file.

There were seventy-two complaint forms, but Harry was only familiar with the first few. Before, once he began to notice a pattern and the fact that Malfoy wasn’t actually doing anything illegal, he had turned the case over to Ron. If anyone could find something to charge Malfoy with it was his best friend; the redhead still hated Malfoy as much as he had in school.

Page after page was a woman or man cursing Draco for misleading them, each with a photo of the angered victim stapled to the parchment. Harry didn’t know how Malfoy had gotten to so many of them, though. Even without a thick dossier telling him of Malfoy’s exploits, he still knew instinctively that the blonde was bad news; surely these people must have felt that too?

Draco Malfoy was all money, beauty, and arrogance: not a good combination in Harry’s book. He preferred intelligence to money, clever wit over beauty and a kind heart over arrogance any day. Perhaps if Malfoy had gotten to him a few years before he might have found himself lucky, though.

Directly after the war Harry had gone through a very destructive phase. He’d just discovered his sexuality, the world literally fell at his feet to offer up anything and everything that Harry could ever want, and – as such – he developed a predilection for ‘bad boys’. Malfoy would have blended into that life without causing Harry to even blink. Many lessons had been learned since then, however, and Harry was a different person: ever-evolving. He knew what he wanted and that was certainly not a run around playboy who only wanted to shag him for his name.

Harry wanted a normal life: picket face, wife, kids; even a family pet. Granted, he couldn’t have it all, but he’d be damned if he would let the hand destiny had dealt him ruin all his plans. He felt like he was already part of the way there. He had a beautiful family home after all and he supposed Kreacher may even count as a pet but the hardest bit always came down to the wife and kids.

Being gay sort of ruled out a wife, but Harry wasn’t opposed to a little unconventional mixed with his normal. If he could find a nice bloke to settle down with he’d be perfectly content. Then they could adopt a few children and finally have that ‘Happy Family Christmas’ he’d always dreamed about when he was young.

The trouble was always: how? The only men he knew were the ones he worked with. He didn’t have time to frequent clubs or bars – not that he imagined finding a suitable partner there. Was the world completely void of single gay wizards who had a mind for something aside from sex?

Clearly sex was important – very important – but so were many other things that he could never seem to find on the top ten lists of any of the guys he dated.

As he flipped through the file of person after person being duped into a one-night stand with Malfoy he began to feel a little ill. It appeared Draco would promise them all sorts of things – love, marriage, exotic trips – all just to get in their knickers. It was duplicitous and Harry wanted no part in it. He hoped Ron was wrong about Malfoy choosing him as the newest target, but a sinking feeling in his gut told him that his friend wasn’t too far off the mark.

He pulled out a few of the more ludicrous excerpts just to remind himself of the kind of man he was dealing with. Of all the hidden Slytherin traits he inherited, lying was not one of them, but he could tell that Malfoy treated it as an art, and would wield his forked tongue the same as a painter would his brush.

Harry would have to be strong, and not let his loneliness give weight to whatever ploys Malfoy attempted. He’d turned down hundreds of other suitors through the years, so Malfoy shouldn’t be too much of a challenge.

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Flowers.

Draco found that was always a good place to begin when trying to proposition someone for a date. With Potter being the big prize that he was, though, Draco was going to have to go equally large with the gesture. A single rose or even a dozen of them wouldn’t be enough to show the Head Auror just how much he wanted him: it would take something much more grandiose and unmistakable to make a Gryffindor understand.

He went into his study and activated the floo, summoning Daisy’s Flower Boutique and gave his order to the owner. She simply looked at him in shock.

“Mr. Malfoy, you honestly want us to deliver eighty-four dozen red roses to this address?” the woman asked looking terribly skeptical.

“I want his office filled with over a thousand roses, so unless my math is mistaken, that’s what your company is to deliver,” Draco replied curtly. He’d been doing business with Daisy long enough for her not to question his intentions, but then he supposed this was the largest order – by a long shot – he had ever placed with her shop. “Can you fill the order or not?”

“Yes, sir, of course, sir,” she replied quickly. “These will be delivered tomorrow after lunch per your wishes, Mr. Malfoy. Will that be all?” she asked pleasantly, no doubt doing the math on eighty-four dozen roses at thirty sickles per dozen not that money was ever an object when it came to winning a trophy.

“No, that will be all. For now. Just charge the account as always,” he instructed and cut off the floo call.

He rubbed his palms together in eager anticipation, wondering how soon he would hear from Potter after his display. He had little doubt the man would be hard and ready after such a gesture and he set out plans to make certain he would be available for all the gratitude Potter might wish to shower him with when his gift arrived the next day.

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Authors Note: 1008 roses from Draco to all who review. (oh, and as always if you're reading this on a site that does not provide update alerts and you would like one, you can sign up for my yahoo group. Details on my profile)