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Authors Note: Ah, my brilliant beta Robert (Ragnarok45) strikes again and makes my chapters better. I should send him 1008 roses, oh wait, maybe not... (also, for those who didn't see, I posted a new two shot fiction called 'Let the Flames Begin' and Laurel and I started posting our joint fiction -'A Series of Connecting the Dots')

Chapter 4 Vastly Underestimated

Afternoons tended to bore Lucius greatly. Before his incarceration, he had used them to do paperwork or meet with prestigious clients, but without a career and no way to leave the manor he’d taken up reading.

He’d always been well versed but with so much spare time on his hands Lucius had managed to read every novel – no matter how mundane – in his personal collection. With that accomplished, he had moved on to the Malfoy family library on the second floor. There he sat, sipping a cup of tea and flipping through the pages of book about healing potions, when an unusual interruption occurred.

Lucius sniffed the air and immediately pinched his nose shut. A foul floral stench was accosting his nostrils, and he sprung from his cozy armchair by the fire to investigate. As he made his way down the sweeping staircase, he found the culprit at once. There, at the bottom of the corridor in front of their vast entrance floo, was a larger bunch of roses than he had ever seen: even the Malfoy gardens didn’t have so many.

In such closed off quarters the scent quickly went from lovely to cloyingly sweet and overbearing.

He narrowed his eyes at the offending bouquets and knew at once who the culprit of such an epidemic might be. “Draco Abraxas Malfoy!” he bellowed, knowing his son had to be lurking somewhere in the Manor.

There was no answer and Lucius was near to levitating every bloom directly into Draco’s bedchamber when he spotted a note tucked into one of the arrangements. Avoiding the numerous thorns, he plucked the note out and unfolded it. The words scribbled haphazardly on the card nearly made him tear up with laughter.

“You yelled, Lucius?” Draco called from the top of the stairs, and then his eyes went wide at the vast crimson display on the ground around his father’s feet.

“It seems you’ve been rejected once again my son,” Lucius noted none too delicately.

“What?” Draco asked, looking positively shocked. “Flowers have always worked before!”

“Perhaps you’re not dealing with the average trash that you usually pick up,” Lucius replied. “Mr. Potter has always shown a unique ability to… well, be unique.”

Draco frowned and gazed at his wasted efforts, shaking his head in dismay.

“You’ll need to clean these up at once, son,” Lucius told him, handing over the note. “And I don’t mean summon a house elf to do it either; it’s your mess: you clean it up.”

With that, Lucius left Draco and went to find his wife so that he might tell her of their son’s failure. He’d never before been so pleased to have Draco fail at something.

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It wasn’t as if Draco expected the flowers alone to cause Harry to leap into bed with him –well, he had, but not right away- or even change his mind completely. It was more a gesture to butter the Gryffindor up and to show Harry that he was truly interested and wouldn’t be deterred by Harry’s previous protests. It wouldn’t be a challenge if Harry had been so easily won over by a few delicate roses; still, he hadn’t anticipated having them immediately returned.

And the note!

The outrage at being so easily mocked, first by Harry and then by his own father: it was unacceptable.

He looked down at the messy handwriting again and sighed at how drastically he had missed the mark with his gift.

‘What am I, a girl? Did you seriously expect me to swoon for something so cliché and unimaginative? Give it up, Malfoy. I’m not falling for it.

Seriously,

HJP’

It was mortifying to read the words directly printed from the man he was trying to woo into his bed. At this rate, he’d have to do exactly as Potter had demanded and just give up, but that wasn’t the Malfoy way and he was nothing if not a Malfoy.

He would simply have to redouble his efforts.

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“Merlin, Harry. I can taste those blasted roses on my tongue,” Ron whined as he made his way into Harry’s office.

“I didn’t tell you to eat them, Ron,” Harry teased.

“You know what I mean, but you don’t need to eat one: the smell is so strong you can taste it,” the redhead corrected.

Harry sighed and looked up at his flame-haired friend and employee. “I don’t know what you want me to do, Ron. I sent them back the minute they arrived and I’ve got the Spell Department working on a fix, but by the time something works the smell will probably be gone.”

“I’m going to kill that ferret,” Ron vowed, clearly trying to breathe as little as possible.

“This from the man who wanted me to play along yesterday?” Harry inquired with a raised eyebrow and a cheeky grin.

“I changed my mind. Throw him in Azkaban for trying to smother the Head Auror to death with roses,” Ron suggested instead.

Harry chuckled. “I think I already deterred him with my note. I doubt we’ll see him skulking around anytime soon.”

Ron swallowed thickly as he peered down the hall. “You may not be exactly right on that fact, Harry.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, but the answer came not from Ron’s mouth but that of a bedazzled man.

The stranger was head to toe sequins and holding what looked to be a lute; Harry groaned as he let his forehead fall to the desk. “This is going to be bad isn’t it?” he asked a snickering Ron.

“No doubt about it, boss,” the other man replied, taking a seat for the show that was sure to come.

The musician smiled at them and started playing his instrument, picking at the strings; while the music was genuinely pretty to listen to, Harry could only hear the snarky tone of Malfoy in the melody. Before long, they had quite the audience as other Aurors hearing the music began to cram into Harry’s corner office.

‘There once was a gallant knight, who instead of shining armor wore a scar of a lightning bolt,

His eyes were enchanting green, while his skin remained fair, and his mane was as soft as a colt,’ the man sang like something from a bad renaissance fair.

“Really, this is terrible, can someone get him out of here,” Harry complained.

“I think it’s brilliant,” Ron replied, his face lit up with mirth. “I’m going to replay this memory for Hermione later tonight.”

“Thanks, Ron, you’re such a pal,” Harry replied sarcastically, but Ron only beamed and shushed him so they could continue to listen.

The dreadful song went on for several more stanzas and Harry was near to jinxing the man to get him to stop until – finally – the end seemed near.

‘If you think this is embarrassing, never you wait,

It is bound to continue until you agree to a date,’ he sang.

“Please,” Harry groaned. “Please just make it stop.”

“Do you agree then, sir?” the singer asked with a wicked grin.

Harry narrowed his eyes and Ron jabbed him in the ribs. “You could do what I suggested in the first place.”

“Fine. I’ll agree to his stupid date,” Harry grumbled at last.

The man bowed and set his instrument aside. “Thank you, sir. Mr. Malfoy will be most pleased to hear you’ve accepted.”

“Coerced is more like it,” Harry muttered. “Blackmailed, tortured,” he added for good measure. “Who are you anyway?”

“Logan of the Magical Minstrel’s at your service, Mr. Potter,” he replied with another bow.

Harry rolled his eyes and made to disband the group that had gathered in his office, but halted the Minstrel. “Do you think you could sing ‘sod off’ in a nice operatic tone?” Harry asked, thinking it might not be the best payback, but he wasn’t going to sit around thinking up ballads in Malfoy’s honor.

The man chuckled but shook his head. “Normally I’d sing anything for a fee, but Mr. Malfoy’s too good a customer to make angry.”

“Fine. Off with you then,” he muttered, Logan the Minstrel leaving his office with a bow.

“I suppose you find this all very amusing?” Harry asked Ron, who was the only one left in the room.

“Very,” the redhead agreed. “Obviously Malfoy’s used that trick before, though.”

“Yes, and he may think it’s worked this time, but it hasn’t,” Harry replied with a triumphant grin.

“But you agreed to a date,” Ron reasoned, clearly not understanding how it didn’t work.

“But I never agreed to when, or even where,” Harry informed him while flipping through his calendar. “And look at that, it seems I’m rather booked up through the end of the year.”

Ron laughed and clapped his best friend on the back. “Clever, Harry, very clever. I still think you should go through with it and see what you can find out about him that might put him in Azkaban, too. At the very least, see if you can find anything so that we can put him under house arrest like his parents.”

It was a nice thought, and a sure fire way to keep Malfoy form bothering him again, but Harry wasn’t convinced he would even find anything damaging enough to make the effort worth it. “I think avoidance is still the way to go at the moment. If I change my mind, though, you’ll be the first to know,” the green-eyed Auror assured his flame-crowned coworker.

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It was fairly clear to Draco that Harry was avoiding him.

He had agreed to the date as Draco knew he would, but then there was no word. No questioning note as to where to meet, nor an owl proclaiming how thoughtful and annoying the minstrel was – or even just how annoying. Every owl he sent to Potter’s office or home were returned as undeliverable and he was getting rather antsy.

Finally, he decided to ask for help. He hadn’t done so in a very long time, but clearly Potter was a difficult nut to crack. He petitioned his mother for assistance and was rewarded with a note saying that Draco could accompany Narcissa in her private bedchamber that evening. He didn’t even know if she’d be willing to assist him, but he might as well ask.

When he knocked on the door he was unsurprised to find his father on the other side of it. “Lucius,” he noted with mild disdain. “Will you be joining us this evening?”

“Of course, son,” his father replied, his face set into a patronizing sneer.

Draco ignored him and pressed ahead, moving over to where his mother sat draped along a French blue settee. Her dressing gown was a shimmering pale gold that matched her hair to perfection and made the icy blue of her eyes stand out in stark contrast. Draco had always wished he had gotten more of his mother’s blue and less of his father’s steely gray, but he supposed the color suited him.

“Mother,” he greeted with a deep bow. Narcissa inclined her head toward him in return and gestured toward a brocade armchair in which he could to take a seat.

“What causes you to seek me out, my son?” she asked when he was settled while Lucius watched on from just inside the room.

“Does a boy need to have a reason to see his mother?” Draco asked, trying his best to look innocent and sweet.

Narcissa was no fool, however, and shook her head sadly at her only child. “No, but you typically need a reason to come and see me,” she answered solemnly. “It’s been two weeks since you’ve called on me; last time, you merely wished for the address of my tailor.”

Draco winced and sat back a little in his seat, as if he could fade into the fabric. His mother always intimidated him, even more than his father ever did. She was wise, strong and more adept at most wand craft than anyone he knew. He was well aware of her distaste for the way he’d been living his life for the past few years, and but it was his life after all, and he preferred not to have to explain his preferences to anyone. His mother had made it clear that so long as he continued on his road to damnation, she would merely be a background figure in his life. If she could have disowned him she might have, but in the end she was much too kind hearted for that. Instead, she simply remained in her quarters most days and waited for Draco to decide what he wanted.

What he wanted was rarely a lecture from his mother, so he rarely called on her. What he hadn’t realized was that she took note of every slight and would no doubt hold it over him somehow.

“I’ve been very busy, mother. You’ll have to pardon my boorishness: I meant you no disrespect by not visiting more often,” he replied at last, carefully placing a very sheepish and apologetic mask on his face.

“I’m aware of all your activities, Draco,” she answered. “All too aware,” she added with a pointed look, making it clear to Draco that she had not begun accepting his debauchery as proper behavior for a Malfoy heir.

“Of course,” he noted automatically. “It’s not as if I try to hide things from either of you.”

A huff from Lucius made Draco look his way and found his father’s eyes narrowed and patronizing. “You’re a fool if you think you could hide anything from your mother and I.”

Draco’s own gaze narrowed. He attempted to bite out a snappy response but was quickly shut down by his mother.

“Boys,” she hissed. “This rivalry is not good for our families reputation, nor is it healthy, nor is it even necessary. Draco knows how we feel about his recent vulgarity and you, Lucius, are aware how little Draco cares. Our son is master of the manor and can do as he pleases,” she finished quietly. “Now Draco, what brings you here?”

With a sigh, Draco shifted slightly and did his best to lay out his question. “You see, I’m trying to win over a new paramour. He’s proven himself to be…” he began, trying to think of an appropriate descriptive term and ignoring the scoffing laugh that erupted from his father’s general direction, “unyielding thus far.”

“Are we referring to Master Potter?” she asked knowingly, and Draco could only nod. “And what have you tried as of yet?”

“Well, first I tried to speak to him at his office but was promptly expelled. Then, I attempted to send flowers,” he told her.

“Hundreds of roses,” Lucius interrupted. “And they were all returned.”

“And a singing telegram, but that was nearly a week ago and I’ve heard no word from him since,” Draco continued as if Lucius hadn’t opened his mouth.

“I see. Well, these all seem like fairly generic ploys to me, Draco. In fact, if this is all you’ve been doing then it makes me wonder how you’ve been successful at all these past few years,” she chided.

“The simple gestures usually work fine, but – even if not – I can always manage to interest them into a date with me at the very least,” he complained.

“So then just move on,” Narcissa suggested with a dismissive air.

Draco’s eyes went wide and he was grossly taken aback. “I’m not a quitter, mother. I set my sights on Potter and I will conquer him. He’s already agreed to a date, but now he’s avoiding me.”

“So you believe that if you were to secure an actual date with him, that you would get your way in the end?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“I always do,” Draco replied arrogantly.

Lucius rolled his eyes and moved to interject, but his wife waved him away. “Perhaps you should try something more unconventional. Potter is a high profile man, used to batting away offers for his hand; surely he’s seen his fair share of flower deliveries and notes of affection. It seems to me that in order to ensnare someone like that you’d need to appeal to the things he favors,” she reasoned.

“But, Potter doesn’t seem to like anything,” Draco protested.

“Potter doesn’t like you, but you’re trying to change that. There must be something the boy enjoys,” she informed him. “It might even be something small: for instance, I learned early in our marriage that your father had an affinity for raspberry scones. As such, I always made sure I had them on hand so that your father would take tea with me.”

Lucius smiled warmly at his wife and walked over to stand behind her, gently stroking her hair. “I still take tea with her every day, but not just for the scones.”

“I’m not trying to build a relationship; I’m just looking to take him to bed,” Draco countered, hating to see his father go to mush right in front of him. The man no longer had any dignity it seemed.

“But Potter will only sleep with someone he’s in a relationship with. So, unless you’re willing to put forth the extra effort on this one, you may as well move onto a new hapless jezebel,” Narcissa told him curtly.

“I’m not giving up,” Draco responded firmly, even though he wasn’t terribly keen on getting that deep with Potter. His mother had a valid point: he had been going about the project entirely wrong. He was treating Potter as if he were just another date who already had their knickers wet for him; however, the Gryffindor didn’t just have a slight aversion to dating him: Potter outright loathed him.

That coupled with how high profile the war hero was made it such a perfect game from the beginning.

Draco had already known it would have to go differently with Potter, and now he better understood what needed to be done. He’d have to pretend harder and more thoroughly than ever before and develop an actual relationship with the other man. He would be no one-date score; no, Potter would need proper wooing.

“Thank you, mother. You’ve been a fountain of advice,” he said, getting up from his chair. “It seems I need to set to work.”

“I am always happy to help my only son,” she replied, gesturing for Draco to kiss her cheek, and he immediately obliged. “Only, do see if you can pencil me in for more frequent visitations.”

Draco flushed slightly and nodded. “Of course, mother.”

Lucius showed him out and the first thing he did was page his trusted house elf. “Find out everything you can about Harry Potter. What does he like, where does he go, favorite food, favorite color – everything. Understand?” Draco asked. Kip nodded once before disappearing.

As for himself, Draco was off to visit Banchory Emporium – England’s premier Quidditch supply shop – where he intended to select a new gift for Potter’s consideration.

This time, things would be very tricky; however, Draco was up for the challenge.

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Authors Note: I'm sending singing minstrel's to the homes of all who don't review! You haev been warned!