Drarry One Shots

I'm Done With All the Drama and Trouble

A/N Occasionally I get a request for a story or a prompt that really excites me and I find the story comes very, very easily. This has happened recently with 'Before I go to Sleep', 'I'm Sorry', and now this story (this latest prompt is thanks, once more, to @phantomofgryffindor). I am (maybe) slightly disturbed about where my mind takes me when I'm writing a story that sets out to be 100% fluff but anyway... I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. It's a little longer than I'd normally do for a one shot but it's all about Draco being a drama queen and that means word count!

I'm afraid it gets a little crude at points. The story contains swearing (no surprises there)... there's a little play with canon timings and one conversation is lifted in nearly it's entirety from HP and the Philosopher's Stone for the sake of authenticity.

Also, there is such a thing as 'Granger Causality'. It's not named after our Granger but move over Clive, Hermione has stolen your mantle (and adapted it slightly) for the purposes of this story (the things you find out when researching for fanfics...).

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The drama and trouble started with a loud BOOM! An explosion in his laboratory at the Ministry for Magic where he was brewing Fire-Breathing Potion. A tricky number to begin with but he'd recently adapted the potion's recipe and it was particularly volatile and poisonous during brewing until he added the vipertooth horn which neutralised the powdered horn of bicorn.

It was especially volatile at the precise moment he was interrupted by Harry-bloody-Potter rapping loudly on the glass wall as he walked down the corridor outside his lab. Draco rolled his eyes because the man looked like a bloody pirate in his thigh-length black dragonhide Auror coat and with Timothy sitting on his shoulder. Honestly, what was the man thinking as he swanned around the Ministry of Magic with a bloody Golden-headed Lion tamarin on his shoulder? It frustrated Draco; far too many employees at the Ministry swooned over the man as it was without adding a bloody miniature monkey into the mix. And it had to be a Lion tamarin with its long, thick gold and orange mane, so prominent against Timothy's black body. Bloody Gryffindors. The problem was Harry then had the audacity to teasingly blow Draco a ludicrous kiss from behind Tobias Fleetington's back and make a heart sign with his fingers. The bastard was smirking gleefully as a hot pink blush rushed up Draco's neck to his cheeks. Draco dipped his head in embarrassment and turned his back on the disruption before adding another level pinch of powdered horn of bicorn to the bubbling cauldron.

The explosion threw him backwards and the last thing he heard was a loud Crack! as his head hit the long glass wall between his bright white lab and the corridor outside.

When he regained consciousness, he was lying on his back, sprawled across a cold and hard stone floor with his limbs splayed outwards from being thrown backwards by the blast. His head was at an odd angle, sort of squashed up against the wall behind him so his chin was pressed down uncomfortably towards his chest.

Draco's first thought was 'fuck!' and then 'ow!' because his head hurt and then 'oh, that should have been a dash of Vipertooth horn,' and then 'Potter, I'm going to fucking kill you because this is always your bloody idiotic fault!'

Then he squeaked. Like, actually squeaked, in a high pitchy sort of voice that sounded like him but...

'Mr Malfoy...' came a languid voice that he hadn't heard for a long, long time—a voice that he'd missed terribly. 'Are you alright?'

All thoughts of his own strange and immature voice were momentarily forgotten and he snapped his eyes open. It was to look up into that familiar sallow face with his dark brooding eyes and hooked nose and greasy hair as his Godfather bent over him in the dark shadowy room.