wreckwrites: (fourteen balloons)
[personal profile] wreckwrites
Well, I got bored and decided to re-edit iwbgamb so I can get around to actually finishing it one of these days. I mean, I'm taking some rather boring classes... Also, I have some promises I need to fulfill in the chapters yet to come...

Title: I Will Be Good At Making Bad - Chapter One
Author: 3
Rating: PG-13 (for now)
Pairings: pre-slash! What fun!!
Disclaimer: Don't own anything that isn't mine.
Notes: Re-edit! Or really, if I want to be honest, finally an edit. Ha! Pretend there is no OotP, thanks.
Warnings: Ambiguous!Lucius, Interior Design!Draco, and some other random crap.
For my muse and best friend [livejournal.com profile] vinylnomiko. I ♥ you.



If there was one good thing you could say about Voldemort, it was that he was a patient man. He did wait nearly 10 years for someone to find him and allow him to possess their body after his untimely defeat. And even after losing a second time, he had bided his time, waiting to strike. However, these days his patience was wearing thin. It wasn't so much that Harry Potter would foil his plans again, but that his Death Eaters were a bunch of fools. Even now, as he stood watching them in the shadows of his super secret lair, Voldemort felt the all too familiar urge to throttle someone.

One by one, the Death Eaters apparated into his super secret lair then rushed over to a table against the far wall and tried to grab a jelly dough-knut before they ran out.

Voldemort decided it was probably not a good thing that their mere presence annoyed him to no end, but he was an evil overlord and as such he needed evil minions. So Voldemort kept them around.

Once the last of the Death Eaters arrived, looking like idiots, while they attempted to eat dough-knuts with the hoods of their Death Eater Robes up over their heads. Voldemort stepped from the shadows followed closely by Wormtail, looking more like a beaten puppy than someone who was attempting to be Voldemort's right hand man. He cleared his throat and the Death Eaters formed a semicircle around him. Voldemort looked around at all of them and rolled his snake-like eyes. "It's the best I can do," his inter monologue reminded himself.

"Before we get started I need a progress report. Goyle, how are things at the ministry?" Voldemort asked a figure to his right.

Across the circle someone stepped forward. "Very well, my Lord. Fudge suspects nothing, of course."

"Indeed," Voldemort replied, annoyed that Goyle was not where he at first thought. "Lucius," he rounded on the figure next to Goyle, "and how are things in your operation?"

The first man that Voldemort addressed stepped forward.

"Oh, for crying out loud! Take off those damned hoods. They are for raids, when you are outside, all that stuff. You all bloody well know each other here!"

They all pulled their hoods back at Voldemort's outburst.

"Now, the status, Lucius?"

"We seem to have run into some minor problems" Lucius started.

"Explain."

"It's, my son, Draco. I have come to believe that he is a-" He looked around the room.

"Spit it out!"

"Flaming Fag." Lucius finished lamely. A startled gasp moved around the room. "I know! I mean, I know he liked to polish his broom handle a lot, and that he had a thing for black thongs, but I thought that was normal," The group nodded. "And then yesterday I found him knitting!"

"No!" came the response from the Death Eaters.

"Yes! I didn't even see it coming. Was it something I did? He couldn't have found my-" He cleared his throat then continued, abandoning his first train of thought. "Did I not love him enough?!"

Lucius sighed a big melodramatic sigh that only he could pull off and the Death Eaters circled around him.

"You can't blame yourself, Malfoy. These things happen."

"You always complained how much the boy shopped."

"And he does dress well."

Voldemort was getting frustrated. These were his minions and yet they were pawning over Malfoy. Of course, he reasoned that they would pawn over anything as shiny as Lucius' hair, but damn it, he hated being ignored. And that was where his psychiatrist said the problems began….

Voldemort whipped out some parchment and wrote Lucius's name under "People who I will consider thinking about killing." The only other thing on the paper was, "Annoying gits who keep getting away that I want to kill: Harry Potter." Yes, Voldemort, was very organized when it came to his job.

The Dark Lord put his list away, stamped his foot and cleared his throat. The Death Eaters fawning over Malfoy straightened and scattered back to their semicircle.

"Malfoy, this is all very touching, I'm sure. And if I could feel anything other than hate, jealousy, and self-pity I might feel bad for you. But really I fail to see how Draco being gay is at all relevant," Voldemort said in his 'I'm better than you are' voice.

"I have reason to believe that my son fancies," He gulped, "Harry Potter."

---

Lucius apparated into his den more than a little upset. The weekly Death Eater meeting had not gone over well. First, someone took the last jelly dough-knut. Then, if that wasn't bad enough, he had practically out-ed his son to the group and almost broke down in front of the Dark Lord, no less.

It wasn't so much that he valued the Dark Lord's opinion, really. The Death Eaters were more a practical thing for him. Join the ranks, learn to manipulate people as only an evil overlord can, and escape Narcissa once a week. And if it wasn't for the added perks of being a Death Eater, Lucius doubted he would have joined.

But all of that didn't really matter at the moment. He needed to get to the bottom of his son's odd behavior. It wasn't everyday you saw a Malfoy male walking around knitting a silver and green scarf. Not in this generation, anyway.

"Draco!" He called upstairs to his son, "We need to talk!"

Draco came strolling down the stairs shaking his hands lightly and sat down across from where his father was pacing back and forth.

"Yes?"

"Draco, I realize that you are a little old for this, but there comes a time in a man's life when he begins to feel things-"

"Are you trying to tell me about the birds and the bees?" Draco interrupted, "Because if you are, you're about 6 years too late."

"I am?"

"Of course you had Dobby tell me last time and let me tell you how disturbing that was at eleven. He kept getting off track, talking about how his master never gave him, how did he put it? 'Permission to lose himself in throes of orgasmic pleasure.'"

Lucius spluttered and slid into his seat.

"Good thing I didn't have to see him much after that, leaving for Hogwarts and all. Of course now he works there-"

"Thank you, Draco," Lucius said before his son could say anymore. "That was information I could have lived without knowing, kind of like the way Snape does that thing with, um, never mind."

"Right. Well, I'm sure there is a reason you brought me down here," Draco said examining his still wet nails. "So, in the interest of saving time, why don't you tell me what you want?"

"I was trying to broach the subject carefully, but seeing as that didn't work... Draco, do you fancy your own?"

"What?"

"You are strong. You are in control of the situation," Lucius breathed and Draco could hear Lucius just enough to remind himself to find a new hiding place for his father's self help books.

"What was that?" Draco asked innocently.

"Are you gay?!" Lucius yelled as he pushed the chair away and stood again.

Draco raised his lined eyes and studied his father unsure if he was serious or not, then laughed.

"You're serious?"

"Does this seem like something I would joke about?"

"Dad, where were you last Christmas eve?"

"Don't change the subject," Lucius snarled.

"I'm not."

"I was here with you and Narcissa."

"Right, well, where were you when I CAME OUT THAT NIGHT?!"

"You did?"

Draco sighed, "What part of 'Mum, Dad, I'm gay' did you not understand?"

"How did your mother take it?"

"I received condoms and lubricant in my stocking the next morning."

"What?!"

"I should be offended, you know."

"Get over yourself, Draco."

"That's typical. You don't even know I'm here until you want to know if I like guys. Why did you even ask?"

"I want you to come to the next meeting with me," Lucius shrugged.

"I fail to see the connection."

"Draco, I will accept the fact that you prefer the cock…"

"You don't have to say it that way," Draco spat.

"But, we need to continue as usual. This includes Death Eater meetings as well as regular muggle tormenting and antique collecting."

"And you wonder why I'm gay," Draco mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Do I have to wear Death Eater Brand™ robes? Because they really do nothing for my figure."

"Of course you do! Your figure should be the least of your worries. You are going to be with a bunch of middle-aged men and Snake-Man," A pause. "Oh, I understand. You like older men." Lucius put a comforting had on Draco's shoulder.

"Right, Dad. You have it all figured out," Draco rolled his eyes, "Couldn't I just alter the robes a bit?"

"No."

"But if I…."

"Look, Draco. I know what it's like to want to show off your body to someone, like that time I bumped into Lupin wearing-" Lucius coughed and continued. "But the point is the Dark Lord picked out the robes for a reason."

"I'm sure they work great for He-Who-Has-No-Fashion-Sense, but…."

"Draco."

"Fine!" Draco stormed out of the room, throwing the door open. "Damn it! I chipped my nail polish!"

That seemed to send Lucius over the edge. He buried his face in his hands and prepared for a mental breakdown. He brought his head down to the table with a resounding thud.

"What happened?" Narcissa asked, rushing into the room.

"My son is a fag!" Lucius exclaimed throwing himself back into his chair.

"Well, obviously, Lucius," she said and walked away.

---

A week later, Draco found himself standing in the corner of a room in Voldemort's super secret lair, which, as Draco had found out, was really a mansion charmed to look like a cave. Draco watched the Death Eaters argue over the dough-knuts and he finally understood where the "Eater" part of their name came from. The Death Eater Brand™ robes had been delivered to Draco that morning and, thus he was unable to alter them in any way. He looked around the room in disgust. Not only was it poorly decorated, but also the whole operation was a joke. The super secret lair was just the tip of the iceberg and as for the Death Eaters, well; Draco was beginning to hope that his father had some ulterior motives for joining the ranks.

Voldemort finally swept into the room in an over theatric manner that caused Draco to stifle a snigger. The Death Eaters, however, seemed quite impressed and quickly gathered around him like good little minions.

"Do we have to do this every week?" Voldemort asked with an exasperated sigh. "How many times have we gone over when and when not to wear the hoods?"

Around the room the Death Eaters faces came into view.

"Ah, young mister Malfoy. So kind of you to join us today." Draco tried not to flinch under the snake like eyes.

"A pleasure, I'm sure." Draco drawled.

"You are not happy to be here." It wasn't a question.

"Honestly, no. These robes are atrocious and the design and lay out of this 'lair' is hideous." Some Death Eaters laughed nervously unsure of Draco was incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.

"Is that so?" Voldemort asked looking around the room. "You see, after being nearly non-existent for so long I fail to notice trivial things like interior design."

"Perfectly understandable."

"But from what I know of you, young Malfoy, you have an eye. From now, on I dub you The Official Death Eater Interior Design Boy and Junior Death Eater."

Lucius clapped proudly along with the other Death Eaters, grateful that the Dark Lord hadn't rejected his son.

"Uh, thank you?" Draco managed.

"Very good." Voldemort clasped his hands together like and over excited schoolteacher. "Now, let's say the pledge and get down to business."

The Death Eaters immediately raised their right hands.

"Repeat after me: I State your name." Voldemort said and then rolled his eyes muttering "squibs" as they repeated exactly what he said rather than substituting their own names. "Pledge allegiance to the Dark Lord. And to the evil for which he stands." The Death Eaters repeated then all together said, "Rah, rah, rah! Yay Purebloods!"

"That was pathetic," Draco thought as he rolled his eyes.

"Wormtail!" Voldemort called and a short man with a fake hand came scurrying into view.
"Young Malfoy, Pettigrew will give you grand tour of the lair so you can get a feel for what it is you think needs work." He turned to the rest of the group, "Now, down to business."

Draco thanked Voldemort and politely followed Wormtail, "Thank you Mr. Pettigrew."

"Call me Wormtail, Draco."

"Sorry, Mr. Wormtail."

"No, not Mr. Worm… no, wait. I kind of like that. Mr. Wormtail. It's dignified."

"Right. Of course." Draco sneered once he left the presence of the Dark Lord and his father. It wasn't as if he wanted to impress Voldemort, but Draco knew how to act around important people and how to treat anyone below him. And Wormtail was obviously below him.

Indeed, Draco was surprised that his father actually enjoyed coming to these meetings. While he wasn't entirely sure about his father's loyalties when it came to Voldemort, as with Lucius you could never be sure of anything, but he did understand that for some reason this was important to him. What Draco couldn't grasp was how an idiot like Voldemort could get so powerful? And how the hell did he have so many damn followers? He sincerely hoped that "How to Back Stab an Evil Over Lord for Dummies" was one of the self-help books that he had not managed to hide from his father.

"Wormtail, take a note," Draco commanded walking around what looked like an unfurnished dining room, completely ignoring the "That's Mr. Wormtail to you," that followed.

Draco spun around the room looking. Then started listing things, "I need Prouves Shelves, a candle ledge alter, a few ribbon lamps, an old world chandelier, a chaise lounge or two, oriental rugs, a buffet cabinet, hand painted screen, and drapes, heavy, preferably in velvet. That takes care of mostly this room and the main room we meet in. Perhaps, an oak dining room table with high back chairs." All the while, Wormtail was frantically searched through his pockets looking for a piece of parchment. Draco continued. "I want all the material in black and silver, nothing tacky in odd shapes or colours, we're going for simple, yet elegant here. Do you have all that?"

Draco finally turned to find Wormtail dipping his quill in ink for the first time.

"Uh, could you say that again?" He asked Draco, who threw his hands up in frustration.

"Can you fire evil minions?"

"No. We have a union."

"You're kidding." Draco didn't wait for an answer and stormed into the main meeting room. He stopped in his tracks when he saw what was going on in that room. The Death Eaters looked up at his gasp.

"Charades?" He yelled. "Screw this! I'm going home!"

And for the first time, Draco prayed to God, or his toothbrush or whatever entity that would listen that his father was really scheming something behind the Dark Lord's back.

July 2007

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