WWN Listens
VI: "Boo-boo"
1353 words

"Lucius! Marvelously managed, my friend," a man said, standing up as they walked closer.

Lucius raised the martini glass in his hand. "A man is only as good as his company," he returned, and pulled Harry closer against him. "Harry, I don't believe you've met Robert Ogden. He keeps things civil in the Magical Trade office."

"Harry Potter, pleasure," Ogden bumbled happily, patting Harry's shoulder. "None so impressive as me dad, 'm afraid, but I've got to make a living all the same."

"Dirk Cresswell," the man next to Ogden said, gesturing to himself. "Head of the Goblin Liaison Office. Professor Slughorn speaks highly of you, Mr Potter."

"Yes, well," Lucius interrupted, "Horace is nothing without his extracurriculars, is he. Still, it did nothing to slow the downward plummet of our beloved Minister."

"Bagman?" Harry faltered.

"Of course, Harry," Lucius agreed. "Didn't you hear? Minister Bagman took an interview with WWN, and it ended disastrously for both parties. Likely the worst display in journalism I have seen in the wizarding community. Neither have a future in politics, I would humbly wager." Harry flushed.

In reply, Cresswell patted his beard. "It's true, Mr Potter; WWN has made its grave with this one. It's in good company with the Quibbler, isn't it? As for Minister Bagman… He may not be a saint, especially where wagers are involved… But I would wager he doesn't discriminate against Muggleborn." He gave Lucius a heavy glare.

Lucius cleared his throat. "Robert, have you solved that dither with India yet?"

Ogden spent the next ten minutes excitedly recalling the resolution. How Harry listened to all of it, he had no idea. Before Lucius could drag him to the next lot, Harry held up his hastily emptied glass. "Need a bit of padding," he slurred, and headed towards the bar. A reluctant Lucius followed.

"Malfoy," Harry called out, and two blonde heads turned. "Look who I've found," he announced, grabbing Lucius' hand to pull him forward. The cool fingers slipped away, so Harry grabbed a dish of nuts behind the bar instead.

"He is positively bewitching, Lucius," a forked tongue said. "Wherever did you find this... paragon?" Narcissa appeared at Draco's elbow, as if she had never left it.

Harry chomped at the nuts. "I'm from Surrey," he offered dryly. "Isn't this nice, Draco? Your father, mother, and you, here to celebrate your Mastery. One big happy."

Lucius frowned.

"Let's toast to Draco," Harry announced, raising his glass. "For his Mastery in Healing, which he lied and cheated to get."

"Pull yourself together, Potter," Draco hissed. "You're not making any sense."

"Listen, Draco, I'm helping you," Harry said, a bit louder than he had intended. Several people turned to look at him, but Harry ignored them.

It was hard to stand steady, so he set the nuts and his drink down. "You've all got a lot to talk about, you know," he started again. "What with everything going on… Draco's Mastery, the interview with the Minister…"

"This is neither the time nor place," an unamused Lucius replied, setting his jaw. "Mr Potter is quite intoxicated, I am sure he is not himself."

"Maybe," corrected Harry, "We're all pretending to be someone else."

Narcissa sighed. "Oh, Lucius, he thinks he's clever. Someone take this Philistine outside."

In reply, Draco obediently grabbed Harry and steered him towards the parlour. "Come on, you pinhead," he growled.

"Thank Merlin. I thought I'd be stuck here all night."

Behind them, Harry could hear Lucius politely clear his throat. "Narcissa, he is an honoured guest. Do try to behave, if only for civility's sake."

"I am only here to support Draco," Harry heard her reply, the frigidity in her voice making him shiver.

"Is something going on with your parents?"

Draco did not reply. Instead, he opened an unmarked door next to the coat closet, and they were suddenly on the street. Harry's head spun. "Oh, hang on. I think I forgot my jacket -" he started to say, and then a fist connected with his face.

The next morning, there was an impatient knock on his door. Harry groaned and pulled himself off the sofa. "What is it?" he snapped as he wrenched the door open.

"Your etiquette needs work," Blaise Zabini greeted, slithering inside. He looked around the flat - dirty dishes, clothes on the floor, and a banking fire - with a raised eyebrow. "My, my, aren't we natty?"

"Fuck off," Harry managed back as he pilfered his way to the kitchen. The icebox surrendered a cold pack, which Harry gingerly held to his eye. "What do you want, Zabini?"

"Well," the man started, dusting off a kitchen chair with a kerchief, "I would gladly wait for our tenth year reunion to, how do the Muggles say… Chew the fat with you." He sat down. "However, I couldn't miss the chance to see you like this. Had an eventful evening, did we?"

It was terribly sunny, so Harry lowered the blinds on the window. "You're an arse."

"And yet…" Zabini took out his wand and set water to boil. "You're the one with the black eye. Queer, isn't it?"

Harry threw back a vial of Pepper Up and slumped back onto the sofa. His sensitive nose picked up the smell of tea being steeped.

"For a Healer, you're rubbish at it," his intruder said conversationally.

Harry snorted. After one evening with the Malfoys, he was apparently a Healer and a twat - how had that happened? He rubbed at his face.

"It's a good thing you're the Boy Who Lived," Zabini went on, unaware of Harry's plight. "Or you'd never get a job in this recession."

"I got a job offer, but I really mucked up an interview," Harry was surprised to hear himself saying. "No one bothered to tell me, of course, so I thought it went brilliantly. Looks like I've ruined my career before it began."

"This is why Slytherins rely on their names to get by," Zabini offered mildly.

Harry took a long breath, as if he were smoking a fag. "I've never wanted that."

Zabini was unimpressed. "As soon as you drop your name, the entire wizarding world will come running. You could have someone wiping your ass if you only asked. Don't waste your time with Gryffindor pride."

There was a long silence, and Harry could hear the soft ticking of the kitchen clock.

"Don't tell me you tried to interview at St Mungo's. You really thought you stood a chance?" teased Zabini as he summoned the cream and sugar.

Harry sat up and glared at him.

Zabini shrugged. "You'll have to make it up to him, you know," he changed the subject, sipping his tea. "Draco. You did make an arse of yourself at his party."

"Malfoys don't accept apologies, Zabini." Harry sighed, adjusting the cold pack on his face. "And anyway, I think he got what he needed out of it. Or should I let him do the other eye?"

A teacup clicked against its saucer. "Can't hurt to ask," Zabini smiled. "I reckon he'd do it, too - Draco's got a peculiar lack of tact, for a Slytherin. Obviously you make him look like a dreamboat, but that's Gryffindor for you. Got any niblets?"

"I'm not a bloody vending machine."

Zabini polished off his tea and stood up. "Well, I've done all I can. You'll have to slip back into Draco's good graces on your own."

"Was I ever in them to begin with?" Harry grumbled. Still, he sat up. "Why did you come here in the first place, Zabini?"

Long legs stood and carried the well-bred man to the door. "Didn't I tell you? Draco's my best mate."

Even Harry could tell how flimsy that was. Still, Zabini only shrugged. "As a Healer, you ought to know to use bruise removal paste. Careful, Potter, or you'll end up in some second-rate hack shop." He opened the door. "Cheers."

Then he left, leaving a half-full pot of tea on the table. Harry set down the cold pack and poured a cup for himself, feeling like a twat. Bruise removal paste, indeed.