The Politician's Wife - Dramione

Chapter 6: Papercut

After last week's disastrous lunch--where I saw fit to lash out at Malfoy because I was disgusted with myself--I made a silent vow to be on my best behaviour before I Flooed to his flat. Cool, professional, I wouldn't let him needle me or goad me. We would collaborate like the two senior Ministry colleagues that we were and not bring our personal enmity or private problems into the process.

Naturally, the second lunch was nothing more than a fight from start to finish.

On my way to the Floo station, I ran into Carstairs. Refusing to meet my eye, he mumbled a hello and then scuttled off. It was impossible miss the gigantic growth in the middle of his forehead despite his attempts at hiding his face. Approximately the size of a golf ball, his neck was most likely killing him with just the sheer energy it took to keep his neck upright.

The Chevaliers had done their usual magic. The weather had turned the previous weekend, and clouds of damp mist battered against the windows. The pot au feu couldn't have been more perfect; I wish I could have enjoyed it. As it was, we railed at each other with every bite, finishing off each verbal joust with a swig of the rich burgundy that accompanied the meal. The wine was superb, but it only exacerbated the situation.

"Why didn't you just carve an 'L' for lecher into Carstairs' forehead and be done with it?" I stabbed at a carrot.

"What makes you think that I had anything to do with his little disfigurement?" he replied, cool and detached, like the out and out little liar he was.

I pointed my fork at him. "I can fight my own battles, thank you very much. Those ridiculous evasions might work with others, but they don't work with me. Did you or did you not curse Carstairs for his trollish behaviour toward me last week?"

"I think it suits him. That way you don't notice that he was born without a chin. I certainly thought about it, but whether I did anything about it is open for debate."

"We are debating," I growled out, "and now the debate is over." I pushed away my plate and took a large gulp of wine.

"Done already?" Noting that I was swilling back the wine, he raised his glass and said, "This is quite lovely. I must lay down a few cases myself."

"Malfoy!"

"Have I told you lately how absolutely impossible you are? Fine. Have it your way. I was searching for a family heirloom to present to Lily and Dom when Malfoy junior pops out and happened to unearth this lovely book of curses that my parents gave me for my tenth birthday. Strolling through the hallway earlier this week, I espied Carstairs. Saw that chin just begging--or, rather, I searched for a chin and was sorely disappointed, but what's that old Muggle phrase? When God closes a door, he opens a window--there was his forehead and voilà." His wand appeared out of nowhere and he gave it a little flourish. "It will go away." He paused for several seconds. "Eventually."

I wanted to grab his wand, break it into tiny little pieces, force feed them to him, and hope the splinters catch on their way down that ferrety little throat.

"There are protocols, Malfoy. If we all went around hexing people we didn't like..." I paused to flare my nostrils, "the halls of the Ministry would be shimmying from all that spent magic. I have lodged a complaint with the proper authorities and--"

He dropped his chin to his chest and groaned, like he couldn't possibly believe what he was hearing.

"You have been working in the Ministry for far too many years. You actually believe those protocols work? They are worth about as much as the parchment they are written on, and exist so that mindless bureaucrats can pat themselves on the back and say they are doing something to actively combat sexual harassment in the workplace," he mocked in falsetto. "Nonsense. Utter shit. The person in charge of HR is his great aunt. He's been feeling up women for years--"