Draco and House Elf Management

I solemnly swear that I am up to no good, er, I mean that I am not J. K. Rowling. No harm meant, no money made.

Unbeta’d as BabyGurl has too much homework on her plate.


Draco and House Elf Management

Harry tiredly returned to his and Draco’s flat in Hogsmeade after an exhausting day of dealing with flighty, distracted, hormonal teenagers. The young man could definitely understand why Snape was so irritable all the time in his role as a Hogwarts professor. Now that he himself was the latest in a long line of DADA professors at the prestigious school, the ex-Gryffindor had gained a new appreciation for the snarly, cranky older wizard. Every so often, Harry would even find himself resorting to snark in his attempts to keep the little monsters in line. Thank the stars that Ron and Hermione’s children still were a few years away from enrollment, he happily thought while he allowed the wards to roll over him as he entered his refuge from all things mad.

Blinking in disbelief, Harry had to revise that thought. For there, in the middle of what only this morning had been a neat and homey living room was one Draco Malfoy lounging majestically on a golden chaise, looking for all the world the part of a royal queen of the Nile. Nearby one of their House Elves was waving a giant ostrich feather fan over his head while Winky carefully fed him grapes from a large cluster. Looking over to his left, Harry gaped as he noted Dobby dolefully playing a lyre. Peering more closely, the young wizard noted in some dismay that Winky was wearing an Egyptian slave girl costume. Deciding that that was an image best left for late night nightmares, Harry turned his attention back to his lover.

“Draco,” Harry hesitantly began, “what exactly is going on here?”

Looking up from his supine position, the blond Adonis beamed, “Love, look what our wonderful slaves are doing for me. Isn’t it just wonderful?”

Willing away the powerful headache he could feel coming on, Harry frowned as he carefully chose his words. “Dray, they are not slaves. We pay them to help us. I explained all that to you the other day. You’re not supposed to take advantage of their good nature.”

“Pfft,” Draco scoffed. “They love it; they love me,” he petulantly insisted.

Deciding he needed a stiff drink if he was going to try to deal with his obstinate and obtuse lover, Harry went over to the corner cabinet and poured himself a tall glass of whisky. Tossing it back quickly, the raven-haired man considered the best way to get through to his amazingly stubborn partner. Amazingly enough, it was during times like this when Harry had discovered the deep well of patience that resided in his soul. Nothing else could possibly have explained his ability to put up with the drama queen he had pledged his life and love to. Running his hand through his already tousled hair, the ex-Gryffindor tried to remember once again just why he did love this man.

Taking a deep breath, he decided straightforwardness was the best way to go. “Dray, you cannot do this to our House Elves. They are individuals with their own lives. We employ them to help us out around here, but you cannot lord over them. That isn’t why I hired them.”

Rolling his eyes at his lover’s little speech, Draco sat up a bit. “Harry, they want to serve me. I want them to serve me. It all works out. So, I really don’t see the problem here.” Narrowing his eyes at the Hero of the Wizarding World, the aristocratic blond continued, a sly look on his face, “Or are you just jealous? Are you afraid they will replace you?”

Harry watched the elegant, perfectly trimmed eyebrow arch when his sexy lover pouted at him. Sighing, the young man decided it was time to put the poncy git in his place. Drawing on his own Slytherin legacy, Harry knelt down next to the ornately decorated chaise. “Dray,” he purred in that voice that always managed to turn the Slytherin Sex God into a puddle of babbling goo. “There are some things that the House Elves can’t do for you,” he murmured as he seductively stroked a hand across the taut thigh.

The former Ice Prince of Slytherin leaned his head back and his lips parted as his breathing hitched. Harry knew he was successfully breaking through the cold façade his lover had learned early in life at the knee of his thrice-damned father. Everyone else still believed that Draco Marconis Malfoy was every bit as cold and hard as Lucius had been, but Harry knew better. He was, after all, one of the privileged few who ever got to see the real Draco.

Emerald eyes took in the flushed countenance on his partner’s face. Lifting his other hand, Harry made a shooing motion and the House Elves gratefully took that as their signal to escape the crazed human who had been ordering them about all day.

Turning his attention back to the decadent blond inhabiting the gilded chaise, Harry decided there was only one sure way to handle his lover. And he proceeded to do just that, with hands, and lips, and tongue and teeth. Harry would make sure by tonight that Draco knew that he truly was the Queen of DeNile.


~The End~