title: the proper procedures
author:![[info]](http://www.journalfen.net/img/userinfo.gif)
snottygrrl
rating: G
pairing: harry/draco
prompt set: 100.2
prompt: #21 rage
word count: ~540
summary: a ministry trainer has draco in a snit.
warnings: none really
disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
This author is not responsible for underage readers. Please observe the ratings, warnings, and age of legal consent for your country.
author's notes: I'm really supposed to be writing other stuff, but I wanted to finish something. brain is a tad fried, writing feels rusty, do forgive.
Harry hears the door slam and the distinct sound of shattering glass. A brusque reparo, is followed by angry footsteps -- Draco doesn't stomp, years of careful upbringing keep him from doing anything so crass, however, Harry has no doubt as he listens to Draco's approach, that he's had a bad day.
"I swear I'm going to hex his bollocks off!"
It has been aeons since Harry's seen Draco in such a towering rage. Draco's fury is pulsing off him in ripples of magic that drub up against Harry, startling him into using Protego to protect himself.
Draco looks mortified when he realises what's happening and quickly reins in his emotions. Sitting on the couch with a thump, he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Sorry," he mumbles.
Harry sits down next to him, reaches for his hand, wishes he could erase the resentment he sees in Draco's eyes and the stiff line of his back. "Hex whose bollocks, Draco?"
Shifting his shoulders, Draco breathes again, yet his voice is still tense when he answers, "Mr. Richards."
"The new Ministry Trainer? The one who's supposed to be teaching you about the new potions procedures?" Harry tries to remember the man, but can only recall a horrid plaid jacket and some sort of rash that looked like something one would get from eating a Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes sweet.
Nodding, Draco quietly fumes. "Self-righteous pure-blooded arse."
Harry's hides his amusement at the epithet, not wanting to cause Draco any further grief.
"He's discourteous to everyone, but he's an absolute bastard to me." There's indignation and hurt and another emotion in Draco's eyes that Harry can't quite identify. "I can't tell if he despises me more for being Lucius Malfoy's son, or Harry Potter's lover. Pompous prick." Harry's unsure of what Draco needs until he exclaims, "Bloody buggering hell, I know more about underlying potions theory than he ever will, and he treats me like I'm a twelve-years-old!"
Harry remembers what it was like to be twelve, understands the unpleasantness of having something or someone recall those feelings of inadequacy, of helpless rage at the way the adults always assumed they knew more than you did, that you were still a child and not worthy of real attention.
Harry silently entreats Draco to turn to him with a gentle caress of his cheek. "It doesn't matter what he thinks, Draco. Your colleagues and your boss know your worth. Nothing he can do will change that. And he'll be gone in a few weeks, anyway." Draco opens his mouth to retort and then clenches it shut. Harry continues, "No, you don't deserve it, but remember it's much more about him than you, no matter what it feels like."
With a tired sigh, Draco finally allows his body to sag against Harry's, his head to rest on Harry's broad shoulder. "I know you're right, but I still don't like it," he murmurs.
This time Harry does allow himself a small chuckle as he pulls his lover closer against him. "You never do like it when I'm right," he whispers.
As he runs his fingers through Draco's hair, Harry plans just how difficult the Chosen One can make a ministry trainer's life.
~fin
comments are love
author:
snottygrrlrating: G
pairing: harry/draco
prompt set: 100.2
prompt: #21 rage
word count: ~540
summary: a ministry trainer has draco in a snit.
warnings: none really
disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
This author is not responsible for underage readers. Please observe the ratings, warnings, and age of legal consent for your country.
author's notes: I'm really supposed to be writing other stuff, but I wanted to finish something. brain is a tad fried, writing feels rusty, do forgive.
Harry hears the door slam and the distinct sound of shattering glass. A brusque reparo, is followed by angry footsteps -- Draco doesn't stomp, years of careful upbringing keep him from doing anything so crass, however, Harry has no doubt as he listens to Draco's approach, that he's had a bad day.
"I swear I'm going to hex his bollocks off!"
It has been aeons since Harry's seen Draco in such a towering rage. Draco's fury is pulsing off him in ripples of magic that drub up against Harry, startling him into using Protego to protect himself.
Draco looks mortified when he realises what's happening and quickly reins in his emotions. Sitting on the couch with a thump, he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Sorry," he mumbles.
Harry sits down next to him, reaches for his hand, wishes he could erase the resentment he sees in Draco's eyes and the stiff line of his back. "Hex whose bollocks, Draco?"
Shifting his shoulders, Draco breathes again, yet his voice is still tense when he answers, "Mr. Richards."
"The new Ministry Trainer? The one who's supposed to be teaching you about the new potions procedures?" Harry tries to remember the man, but can only recall a horrid plaid jacket and some sort of rash that looked like something one would get from eating a Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes sweet.
Nodding, Draco quietly fumes. "Self-righteous pure-blooded arse."
Harry's hides his amusement at the epithet, not wanting to cause Draco any further grief.
"He's discourteous to everyone, but he's an absolute bastard to me." There's indignation and hurt and another emotion in Draco's eyes that Harry can't quite identify. "I can't tell if he despises me more for being Lucius Malfoy's son, or Harry Potter's lover. Pompous prick." Harry's unsure of what Draco needs until he exclaims, "Bloody buggering hell, I know more about underlying potions theory than he ever will, and he treats me like I'm a twelve-years-old!"
Harry remembers what it was like to be twelve, understands the unpleasantness of having something or someone recall those feelings of inadequacy, of helpless rage at the way the adults always assumed they knew more than you did, that you were still a child and not worthy of real attention.
Harry silently entreats Draco to turn to him with a gentle caress of his cheek. "It doesn't matter what he thinks, Draco. Your colleagues and your boss know your worth. Nothing he can do will change that. And he'll be gone in a few weeks, anyway." Draco opens his mouth to retort and then clenches it shut. Harry continues, "No, you don't deserve it, but remember it's much more about him than you, no matter what it feels like."
With a tired sigh, Draco finally allows his body to sag against Harry's, his head to rest on Harry's broad shoulder. "I know you're right, but I still don't like it," he murmurs.
This time Harry does allow himself a small chuckle as he pulls his lover closer against him. "You never do like it when I'm right," he whispers.
As he runs his fingers through Draco's hair, Harry plans just how difficult the Chosen One can make a ministry trainer's life.
~fin
comments are love