Title: House of Madness

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.

Pairings: Harry/Draco

Warnings: Crackish humor, outsider POV, established relationship.

Rating: PG-13

Wordcount: 2100

Summary: Aradia Flammifer has come to shoulder the burden of working to set up engagements for Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter's lover and the most unlikely inspirational speaker the wizarding world has ever seen. But it's never pleasant—until she sees something that changes her mind.

Author's Notes: This is an Advent fic for feathered_ink's prompt of Draco being a household name and terrifying to his employees, until one of them sees him flirting with Harry.

House of Madness

"Miss Flammifer, Mr. Malfoy needs another glass of water…"

"Miss Flammifer, the school hasn't supplied clean towels and I don't know what to do…"

"Miss Flammifer, Mr. Malfoy says that the banners we have to hang behind his table aren't the right shade of blue…"

Aradia Flammifer sighed and resisted the temptation to bury her head in her hands. It wouldn't work. If they saw Mr. Malfoy's organizer succumb to helplessness, they would never trust her again, and would run in circles like disturbed ants, until Mr. Malfoy showed up, and then he would make them feel like ants.

"This is Hogwarts," she said, and gave the circle of disturbed men and women in front of her a bracing smile. "I'm sure they have house-elves who can supply the water, and the towels. As for the banner, cast a spell that will alter the shade of blue, and keep doing that until Mr. Malfoy is satisfied. All right?"

They gave her worshipful expressions and ran away. Aradia shook her head and kept walking across the grass towards the stage in front of Headmaster Dumbledore's white tomb where Mr. Malfoy would give his speech on the virtues of holding together in the face of a war. Or, rather, his speech on how anyone who still discriminated against people because of their blood was vulgar and why hadn't they stopped last year, the way he had.

Aradia didn't understand why the wizarding world flocked to hear Mr. Malfoy insult them and chide them and glare them into being better people. She didn't understand how so many could overlook the crimes of his father and the things he had done in the war, and stand there nodding and mumbling to themselves that he was right.

But then again, she didn't understand why so many Muggles, like her mother, watched people on telly who yelled at and humiliated their guests, either. She supposed she had been born without that particular gene, and it would always look silly to her as she stood there waiting for the speech to be over so that she could swoop in and make sure the red carpet was the right shade of red and in the right place for Mr. Malfoy's sacred feet to step down on it. Because if the red carpet wasn't the right shade or in the right place, then Mr. Malfoy would turn all those insult skills that worked so well to chivvy the whole world along in his speeches on one special person, namely Aradia.

Aradia would have quit a long time ago if it didn't pay so bloody well. She wanted to save up so that she could choose any kind of Muggle schooling she wanted. It was perfectly obvious that the wizarding world wasn't going to be setting up universities any time soon.

She'd once suggested to Mr. Malfoy that he talk about that subject, to see what he could get the Ministry to do on the subject of continuing education in the British wizarding world after Hogwarts. Mr. Malfoy had squinted at her and said, "Let me choose words small enough for someone whose education at Hogwarts was disrupted, Flammifer. I. Don't. Care."

It was true. Aradia had finished her schooling at Beuaxbatons and not Hogwarts because of the war and the discrimination against wizards with Muggle parents. It was true, and it shouldn't have stung like nails raking her face.

But it did anyway.

Aradia sighed and picked up her list. The stage was already set up. The chairs for the crowd were waiting. The banners were being adjusted. The house-elves would take care of Mr. Malfoy's physical needs better than most of his entourage could do, anyway. What needed to be done next?

There was a flash of color from the side. Aradia glanced up idly, and then found herself ducking out of sight and staring blankly at the person walking across the grass towards the lake. He studied the chairs and the stage like any spectator. But he wasn't.

That was Harry Potter, Mr. Malfoy's lover and probably the only reason that society had started tolerating him when he first began speaking, before he proved that he had some brand of scolding people liked. Mr. Potter normally spent the speeches either far away or with Mr. Malfoy beforehand, helping to soothe some of the bruised feelings their hosts might acquire. Aradia had never seen him show up like this in the middle of the preparations.

For a moment, her skin chilled with sweat, wondering if Mr. Potter had bad news. That would result in pain for her and everyone else who served Mr. Malfoy, tears, and a rash of Mr. Malfoy either sacking people or forcing them into swoons or quitting that she would have to deal with. Mr. Malfoy believed that the misery he endured should have everything it wanted, including company.

But Mr. Potter didn't move like there was something wrong. He sauntered up to the edge of the stage and examined the blue banner that floated behind Mr. Malfoy's table. He smiled, perhaps at the color or the wizards still feverishly working on it, and then looked around. A second later, he'd cast a Privacy Charm on himself, and was walking behind the stage and the banner, in search of Mr. Malfoy.

Aradia hesitated. She could see through the Privacy Charm, since she'd been looking straight at Mr. Potter when he cast it, and she wondered if she should go elsewhere and leave them to irritate or charm each other. But she had to know which it was so that she could respond to Mr. Malfoy properly later and earn herself the least amount of pain. In the end, she followed Mr. Potter behind the stage.

Mr. Malfoy had turned from the mirror that was supported by six Hogwarts house-elves, all of them straining to hold up the gilded frame and keep the silvery glass steady. He looked at Mr. Potter as though—

As though Mr. Potter was his equal.

Aradia blinked. She had never seen that expression directed at another person before, hadn't known that Mr. Malfoy was capable of it, but she still recognized it. Mr. Malfoy wore it when he admired his reflection in the mirror.

"Well," Mr. Potter said, and reached out to adjust the front of Mr. Malfoy's robes. Aradia's mouth dropped open. Mr. Malfoy never let anyone touch his clothes. He put them on himself—the only thing he did for himself, Aradia thought—and measured every crease against his wand to make sure it was right. "Ready for the big speech?"

"Readier than someone like you could ever be." Mr. Malfoy's mouth was half-open, and so were his eyes. He watched Mr. Potter as if the Privacy Charm was nonexistent. Then Aradia realized that Mr. Potter had dropped it, and felt like smacking herself for not paying attention. "You—you know that half-bloods may be fine people, but they have no sense of taste."

"Funny," Mr. Potter said thoughtfully, taking his hands away. "That would mean that choosing you is another unfortunate example of the same flaw that makes me wear robes like these." He spread his hands and gestured down his body.

Mr. Malfoy leaned forwards until his nose almost brushed Mr. Potter's. Aradia wondered if she ought to slink away. This seemed to be a private moment. But fascination kept her still.

"About everything except me, you have no taste," Mr. Malfoy breathed. "But that's okay. That one exception is enough to make up for all the rest, and grant you a lifetime entrance to my good will."

"Is it?" Mr. Potter was smiling now, a smile that seemed to sink into the depths of his eyes. Only then did Aradia realize how many pictures she had seen of him where he wasn't really smiling, not in this way, like he meant it. "Then I suppose that I have your good will to propose dinner tonight."

"Dinner," said Mr. Malfoy, flatly.

Mr. Potter hooked a hand in Mr. Malfoy's belt and pulled him closer. Aradia stifled a gasp with her hand just in time. No one did that. Mr. Malfoy had talked about taking the fingernails from the last witch who had dared to lay her hand on his belt buckle, to make up for the faint scratches that they'd undoubtedly left on the highly-polished brass.

But Mr. Malfoy went with it, and Mr. Potter said, up close to his face, "I'm sorry. I stopped speaking before I should. Dinner, and that new play about the history of the war, focusing on the moment when you saved my life in Malfoy Manor, and then bed."

"A big bed," Mr. Malfoy said, licking his lips.

"Not only that," Mr. Potter said, and lifted his hand to brush Mr. Malfoy's hair back from his forehead. "A soft one. So that you don't have as many bruises in the morning."

"I only had bruises in the right places," Mr. Malfoy said.

"Not places that you wanted anyone else to see, I hope." Mr. Potter wasn't moving, with his hand still hooked in Mr. Malfoy's belt, but Aradia thought she felt the surge of rising and washing power around her anyway. The power lapsed on her head and came down on her hair. She shivered and thought about walking away. Mr. Potter might turn the same kind of magic on her if he caught her watching.

"No," Mr. Malfoy said. "The right places. Which are the places that no one else is wise enough to see."

Mr. Potter smiled, and the sensation of magic relaxed. He kissed Mr. Malfoy on the nose and stepped back. "Good. Then think of your speech for right now, and then of the reward that you're going to receive when your speech is done."

"My speech is reward enough," Mr. Malfoy muttered, his nose in the air, and swept around to the side, ready to ascend the stage.

Aradia ducked out then, while Mr. Potter was still standing with his eyes on Mr. Malfoy's retreating form, his mouth locked in a gentle smile. She rounded the corner at a brisk walk and held out her wand towards the banner just as Mr. Malfoy opened his mouth to make a comment to the people who had adjusted the color.

"Like this, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked, and changed the banner to the color of the dress robes Mr. Potter was wearing. She thought she ought to have realized before now that, on the occasions when Mr. Potter did attend the speeches, he always wore dress robes that were nearly the same shade as the banners Mr. Malfoy wanted put up.

Mr. Malfoy squinted at her, then at the banner. Aradia could almost feel him searching for something to complain about.

She stood in front of him meekly, lowering her eyes to give the effect of her usual fear. But the fear had gone. She would never think that Mr. Malfoy was a nice person, but she understood him a little better now.

"That's fine," Mr. Malfoy said, finally. "But why couldn't you have done it earlier? Why did you send inferior people to do it, instead of tending to me yourself? What do I pay you for?"

Aradia let the tirade wash over her without noticing as she watched the crowd gathering for the speech. Mr. Potter was in the first seat in the first row. He gave Mr. Malfoy a challenging smile. Aradia had seen it before and thought it was a reminder not to get too cocky.

Now she recognized, from the slight flush that mounted up Mr. Malfoy's throat, what he was probably thinking about instead.

Aradia smiled and moved away to make sure that the house-elves had the water that was precisely the right taste and temperature for Mr. Malfoy. She was still going to quit this job after a few months, but those months might be more tolerable now.

Particularly if I can make sure that Mr. Potter is at all the speeches from now on.

She was Mr. Malfoy's organizer. She would find some way to make it happen.

The End.