Chapter 8: dietary restrictions
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"a balanced diet consists of chocolate in both hands."
~Unknown
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Center Stage: Blaise and Draco
Setting: Greengrass Estates
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"And then she just...falls? Into your arms?"
"That's the gist of it."
"I don't understand it. How are you the world's unluckiest twat, and yet you manage to find yourself in the luckiest of situations?" Blaise asked, sipping on a bottled butterbeer from a straw as he and Draco lounged on inflatable beds in the middle of the Greengrass Estate's luxurious inground pool. The Greengrass girls were nowhere on the property, opting to partake in traditional weekly tea with Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, and Tracey Davis. Though, the men suspected the afternoons had far less to do with tea and much more to do with who held the best bragging rights for the week.
Draco flipped himself over onto his stomach and reached down, dipping his hand into the lukewarm pool water - Then, he splashed Blaise in the face. "How the Hell am I lucky?"
Blaise peered over his aviator sunglasses and waved his arm around to the lavish pool, extravagant gardens surrounding it before gesturing to himself, as if that sealed the deal. "Oh, I don't know. You're only made of money, marrying into money, with a best friend made of money, not to mention we're all pureblood and sexy to boot." Blaise took another long sip from his straw. "And then you have women throwing themselves into your arms on the side!"
"One," Draco threw a finger up - the middle one, "and 'woman' is putting it nicely."
"So her tits don't wobble to and fro?"
"I never said that," he said, the words sort of falling out of his mouth like an unraveled rope. Realizing his admittance to checking out Granger's rack, Draco did the only logical thing one could do in the situation; he changed the subject. "I hear the Harpies are playing Bulgaria in the first set."
Blaise sat upright on his inflatable raft, pulling his glasses completely off now to display the intensity in his eyes. "So they're real?"
"The Harpies? Or the Bulgarians?"
"Granger's tits!"
"I'd much rather talk of Quidditch."
"Bollocks to Quidditch when tits are concerned."
Draco sat upright on his raft, slack jawed and mildly insulted. "Bollocks to Quidditch? You watch your mouth!"
"Ah, come on, mate. You know what I mean." Blaise smirked.
"You're married."
"Just because I'm on a diet and can't sample the sweets at Honeydukes doesn't mean you can't describe the texture of a chocolate frog to me."
"Better not. I don't want your slobber all over me. Besides, Granger isn't a chocolate frog. She's an every flavored bean - you never know what you'll get with her."
"Ah, to Hell with you." Blaise waved his arm dramatically, overdoing it and losing balance on his raft. It wobbled before toppling over and dumping him into the water with a splash. When he came up for air, Draco was hysterically laughing at his expense. And who could blame the Malfoy man? It wasn't often someone out-klutzed him. With a good humored shrug, Blaise swam across the water at full speed. Draco, sensing impending doom, jumped ship (or in this case, raft) before he could be tossed overboard. Blaise halted his assault, smirking triumphantly. "That's it, Malfoy! Pretend you're falling into Granger's arms, now!"
"Sod off."
"Right here in the water?"
"You're disgusting."
"And you're being stingy. Honestly, Draco, you aren't married yet. You should be taking advantage of a little 'slip' of your hand when she's falling..."
More to himself than to Blaise, Draco muttered, "Already done that..."
"WHAT!?"
Shit. "It was an accident!" he exclaimed at once, not wanting his best mate to get the wrong impression.
"How does one 'accidentally' touch a bum?"
"Blindfolded."
"Ooh, you were blindfolded."
"She was."
Blaise gave him a look: one that said enough to cause Draco to flush scarlet. "Not like that! You're worse than a cat in heat, I swear. It was for dance class."
Blaise blinked. "Are you sure your instructor isn't one of those weird blokes who lures unassuming men and women into his personal sex dungeon?"
"That's what I asked," Draco nodded. "And, no. I'm not sure of anything at this point." He drifted over to the edge of the pool next to the jets and let the coursing water pulse against his back. Blaise wasn't far behind.
"So...how was it?"
"I'm not telling you!"
"Ah, come on! Help a bloke live a little! Daphne would have my testicles in her purse if she even thought I looked at another woman."
"Hate to break it to you, but she castrated you a long time ago. Ten times over with this new bun in the oven." He leaned his head back against the concrete edge surrounding the pool and closed his eyes. "But if you must know... it was firm."
"Firm. That's what you have for me? Out of every adjective in existence, you settle on 'firm.'"
"What's wrong with firm?"
"Nothing, if you're describing a melon."
Irritated, Draco snapped, "It was supple. Soft and toned, enough to fit comfortably in my hand. And she hated every moment of it." He smirked, thinking of the disgruntlement in her tone.
"Accident. Riiiiiiight."
"Shut up." Draco hoisted himself up over the edge and climbed out of the pool, purposefully kicking water in Blaise's face in the process. Reaching for a towel, he struggled to change the subject. "Unfortunately, even when I'm to be rid of her in a few months' time, I'm still forced to see her bloody face. Astoria invited her and Potter to the wedding."
Blaise looked utterly flabbergasted. "Why?"
"Politics, I suppose...having two of the three Golden Trio at the 'wedding of the century' might sit pretty in some of her social circles. She just doesn't understand the past I share with them. It's awkward enough without pretending that we're all chummy..." Draco sighed. "Sometimes, I feel as if she doesn't listen to me at all..."
Blaise tapped his chin. "Hmm, were you saying something, Draco?"
"Bugger off."
With a smirk, his friend shrugged. "How's the sex life?"
Draco thought about it. "More than usual. Plenty of oral to go around..."
"Jealousy sex. I warned you -the Greengrasses are notorious for it."
"Even so, there's no reason to be jealous of Granger..."
Draco sat on a wooden stool in the middle of Honeydukes, the smell of caramel and toffee tickling his senses. He wore only a set of silk boxer briefs (green, of course, as these dreams usually went) and a rope tethered around his wrists, binding them together. Around him, patrons of the sweets shop sampled the various displays of chocolates, beans, and cookies, laughing and carrying on, unaware of Draco and his predicament.
A warm breath tickled the back of his neck. "Come on, Malfoy. One bite?"
"I really shouldn't..."
Fingers raked down his back, forcing a hiss of breath to escape his lips. Across the shop, seated atop the checkout counter, was Blaise, stuffing himself with chocolate frogs. The chocolate melted under the touch of his hand, dribbling down his fingers as he groaned in satisfaction. He smacked his lips together. "Draco, mate, you really need to try some."
"Ooh, chocolate!" Daphne walked up to the counter and began licking the chocolate off of her husband's fingers in a suggestive manner. "I love chocolate."
"Damn right, you do," Blaise gave his wife a wink. "Too bad for you, huh?" he added, smirking at Draco. "You're on a diet."
"A diet?" Draco groaned. "Come on..."
"Come on,'what?" the seductive voice behind Draco whispered into his ear. "My tits? My ass?"
"Oh, no. He can't have any of it!" Blaise grinned joyfully. "No sweets for our stag. Only sugar-free substitutes. They're good for his health."
Now, Astoria stood by Daphne, chewing on toffee and giggling. "I'm plenty sweet enough, aren't I?"
"But she's no chocolate frog," Blaise added, toasting one up in the air like a champagne glass.
"Or every flavored bean," cooed the woman behind him - a woman Draco soon realized was not Astoria. But it was familiar. He could vaguely recall it barking commands at him and reciting textbooks...
Sauntering around him into full view, Draco realized why the voice was familiar. Soft, chocolate-brown ringlets cased the woman's face like a ring of light. Her normally demanding eyes now held a hint of seduction as they trailed down Draco's throat, his chest, his... bulge. Oh, Merlin. Was he hard right now? It might have had something to do with the periwinkle blue tango dress hugging each and every curve of her body, or the slit in her skirt that ran up to the top of her thigh.
"One bite? Please?" Granger asked, crawling into his lap and straddling his legs while draping her arms around his neck, simultaneously exposing hers. "Don't you want to taste me?"
"Fuck..." Draco gasped as she rolled her hips forward suggestively. He glanced down to his bound wrists, for once thankful for the shackles. That was, until Granger reached down and unraveled them, freeing his hands in an instant.
"Don't touch, now," Blaise chided from across the room.
"What flavor do you think I am?" she teased, running her unimaginably soft fingers through his hair.
"Stick to sugar-free quills," said Astoria. "You love those."
"But do you really love sugar-free quills enough to have only them the rest of your life?" piped up Blaise.
Granger's hands slipped down his neck, over his shoulders, and gripped his biceps. "Mmm, Malfoy. I bet you could catch anything with these arms." She leaned forward and licked along the shell of his ear. "You taste sinful...what a dirty, dirty boy."
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Stage Right: Draco and Astoria
Setting: Malfoy Manor, Draco's bedroom
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Draco jerked upright in his bed, the sheets twisted around his body like some roman toga. His mouth was as dry as the Sahara Desert, tongue pulsing with the same blood flow that throbbed through his rigid cock. Pulling the covers around him like a woman exposed in the nude, Draco's eyes trailed over to Astoria beside him in bed, angelic in her slumber.
Fuck, he thought. It was only a dream. A dream in which a very tantalizing looking Granger had reduced him to rubble and sexual drive. No. Sugar-free quills are just fine, thanks.
"Astoria," he whispered, prodding her leg with his foot. "Pst. Tori."
He thought about rolling her over to release his sexual frustration until he got a look at the sleep mask over her eyes and the drool falling down the side of her chin. Maybe he'd just rub one off in the shower...
He crawled out of bed and padded his way to the loo, only satisfied when the warm water of his shower hit him at full blast.
"Right," he whispered to himself, "it was only a dream." He reached down, gripped himself, and began to stroke slowly, getting his mind in the proper fix. He imagined he was offering his cock to a pretty little thing on his knees with chestnut hair. It was fine, at first, until the woman's features began to look less like Astoria and more like the sexualized Granger from his dream.
"Mm, I bet you taste just like a lolly," she whispered in his mind, taking hold of him and licking the tip.
"Fuck," he muttered, "No, you git. Astoria." He tried a few more strokes, but it was for nought - with a growl, he unwrapped his fingers from himself and rested his head against the tiles of the shower. He stood there until the shower water turned cold, but it still didn't take away the pulsing problem between his legs. Eventually, he gave up and retreated back to bed. I'm going to have blue balls in the morning, I'm sure of it.
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Stage Left: Draco
Setting: Diagon Alley, the next day
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Blue balls were the least of Draco's worries the following day when he received an early morning owl to meet his mother for a luncheon in Diagon Alley to discuss the patent company she took over after his father's passing six months ago - and namely, her hopes of his involvement to take over in the future. Though, this was all covered up with pretty bows and ribbons as a 'way to catch up', Draco knew what this was. It was an attack to thrust her wishes on him whether he liked it or not.
He arrived at his mother's favorite deli shop with fate in hand that day, because someone else was standing at the counter, waiting to order. Though it'd been years since he'd seen the man, the red hair was a dead give away. And those ears - they could land a Quidditch team a mile away, couldn't they? Weasley paid him no mind, and Draco suspected it was the person who stood next to him - some plain looking bloke with too many moles on his neck - who was the cause. He could overhear from his two positions back in the line.
"I'm only saying, Weasley, you let a good one go, that Granger. Is she still single?"
Merlin's sagging left testicle, why is everything always about two-shoes bloody Granger this week? Draco strangled on his thoughts.
"I, uh, yeah, I think so." Weasley shrugged, the tips of his ears a vibrant shade of pink. "I dunno."
"Do you think she'd go for someone like me?" the other man asked. "I mean, if she went for someone like you once, I'm sure her standards aren't that high." He jostled Weasley in the ribs with his elbow.
Now, Draco Malfoy wasn't a bully anymore. He'd given up that life back with the War, but there was something exponentially wrong in watching someone else bully the bloke he'd bullied for years. With Weasley, there was a mutual understanding. The asshat teasing him now didn't have the right to - especially when it came to some simple, plain, ridiculously unattractive woman like Granger. The idiot didn't even know how to insult!
"Sounds like you're insinuating her standards needs to be low to go out with someone like you," he muttered loudly, drawing the attention of both men. They were next in the queue to be served, but the distraction of Draco caused them both to stand in place, dumbfounded.
Weasley's eyes narrowed. "Just like you, isn't it? Butting into business that isn't yours."
"You two know each other?" Weasley's 'friend' asked.
"That's Draco Malfoy, world's largest git in fine-pressed robes."
"Aww, Weasley, you flatter me." Draco nudged to the counter, and the men, taking the hint, ordered their food and stepped aside. As Draco stepped up to the counter, he added, just for spite, "And I think Granger's really due for an upgrade, not a downgrade, don't you?"
Weasley's counterpart narrowed his thick, ugly brows. "S'cuse me?"
"I only mean that I've had the...well, privilege isn't the right word, but the opportunity to spend some time with Hermione Granger recently, and I doubt she'd go for someone as arrogant as one who would insult her ex right in front of him." Draco paid for his order, which also contained his mother's turkey on wheat, and stepped out of line, closer to the two men. With a smirk, he gave the stranger a once over, raising a chastising eyebrow. "Barnaby, right? In accounting at the Ministry? Went to school with my fianceé, Astoria Greengrass?"
"That's right..." Barnaby crossed his arms.
"Oh, Astoria's told me all about you...you dated her friend Violet. From what I hear, you had a hard time keeping the dragon from flaming too soon. Oh, yes. I'm sure that's just what Granger is looking for."
Weasley snorted a laugh, covering it up with a quick cough.
"Order for Barnaby?" the server behind the counter shouted. The disgruntled man quickly retrieved his sandwich and muttered something about needing to go back to work. Weasley waved him off with a fake cheerfulness that dropped the moment Barnaby stepped out the door. His attentions then turned to Draco, who couldn't help but feel as if he was being looked at like a bug under a magnification spell.
"You've been spending time with Hermione?" the redhead asked, skepticism in his tone.
"Dance lessons," Draco answered. "Purely platonic, I assure you." He didn't want Weasley, or anyone, to get the wrong impression.
Almost immediately, Weasley's face relaxed in relief. His sandwich was ready, and so he went to retrieve it, coming back over to Draco with a humbleness about him. "I have no idea what just happened back there...but thank you."
Draco shrugged. "Only one that gets to pick on you is me, Weasley, you know that."
"We're not kids anymore, Malfoy."
"And yet I still have the burning desire to tie your bootstraps together and hang you from the joists," he smirked.
"Yeah, I reckon I still wanna slug you something awful," Weasley replied, rubbing the side of his stubbled chin. "Look, um...if you see Hermione again, tell her I said hello."
"Not 'take me back'?" Draco teased, though a part of him did wish it so he might be able to get the sodding witch out of his mind.
There was a sadness in Weasley's eyes as he shrugged and stared down at his sandwich. "Hermione's got a lot on her plate right now. If you're really trying out this whole 'nice' thing - just...leave it, alright? - You, um... need anything from the Joke Shop, you know where to find me." He nodded awkwardly. Draco nodded back, just as awkward. "Well...later." Weasley was out the door in a flash, more downtrodden than the day he found out Harry Potter had put his name in the Goblet of Fire.
"Draco," called the server, and with a hasty turn he went to retrieve lunch, feeling rather conflicted about his run in with Weasley.
Lunch with his mother wasn't much better.
"I'm only saying, dear, if you spent at least three days in the office a week, you'd be at a greater advantage for when you take over the company..."
Draco was on his last bite of roast beef on rye when he paused, trailing his eyes abhorrently up to his mother, who patted her lips with a napkin as if she hadn't just sleuthed her claim to why they both were really here. Almost defiantly, he took the last bite with slow and deliberate chews. After he swallowed, he took a sip of his pumpkin juice and set the goblet down on the table.
"Mother, we've been over this. I don't want to take over Father's company."
"Well, I didn't want to take it over as well, but here we are. And I can't do it alone. Circe knows the strain this has been taking on my health..." Narcissa gave a timid, sure-to-be-fake cough and cleared her throat. "And besides, you're to be married soon. This will be a wonderful opportunity to show Astoria you are more than just your inheritance."
Draco squinted in agitation. "She already knows that."
"Yes, but dear, she's only ever seen you as a philanthropist playboy, hasn't she? Do you know that woman runs six different charities and still manages to work for her father's broom company on the weekends?"
"I'm marrying the woman. Of course I do." He let out a disgusted huff, crossing his arms like a two-year-old. "But running Father's company isn't what I want to do with my life."
"And what is it you want to do?" his mother asked, nearly desperate as she leaned in closer.
Draco's gaze fell to his empty plate. "I don't know...but not patents."
"I only mean to help mold you into a more responsible young man."
"I'm plenty responsible!"
"When was the last time you folded your own laundry? Or cleaned your own dishes? Or picked out an outfit that wasn't adorned with diamond cufflinks?"
"Now my wardrobe is under attack?"
Narcissa sighed. "Perhaps your father and I were too...lenient with you. You're growing up, Draco. I think it's time you began acting like it. And helping out with the company would teach you the value of money. Five hundred galleons on private dance lessons? Do you honestly believe that's responsible?"
"Considering it was Astoria's idea to take the bloody lessons..." Draco had heard enough. He placed his napkin down on his plate, pushed himself out of his chair, and kissed his mother's cheek, though it was more for show than anything. "I'm not joining the company," he whispered. "And if you want to prove the value of money, perhaps don't show up in a pair of diamond earrings from Peru? Hmm? - I'm late for one of those wasteful lessons. See you next week."
Agitated, he left the deli shop, purposefully throwing a few galleons into the tip jar just to piss his mother off