sixwordstories | (no subject)

Do tell.

A typical week involves sorting through complaints letters and Muggle artifacts, drafting out letters and occasionally seeing sunshine.

You can see why I'm reconsidering my father's offer to join his company. But father is insisting I marry and provide him with an heir. This is a problem.

Aren't you his heir? Perhaps he's planning to disown you as soon as your dear wife has popped out a son. Is he picking women out for you too?

Think you're funny, Blaise. You know what I meant. I don't wish for a child anymore than I wish for Potter to be the golden boy at the Ministry.

What have you been up to anyways?

I honestly can't tell you, which in itself actually answers the question, making the whole secrecy thing rather moot, all told.

Don't you have a life out of work?

Were I being less honest, I would tell you my usual cover, which involves sun drenched yachts on balmy blue oceans and a frankly indecent amount of sex, which is only, oh, sixty, seventy percent true.

No yachts then. Pity.

The Ministry seem oddly reluctant to allow me to spend their money at my own discretion. I really can't think why.

How can you stand that? They should be persuaded.

It's always, "You make four hundred grand a year," and, "We gave you your own department and personal assistant," and, "You do remember your last experiment caused four million galleons worth of damage, yes?"

Show off.

Now, now; I'm sure you can do four million galleons worth of damage if you really try.

You're making fun of me. I don't appreciate it, Blaise and if you keep it up, I won't hesitate to hex you.

Naturally, I don't doubt that I can. But those days are well and truly over.

And the better for it?

No.

Not really.

I'm bored, Blaise. Bored out of my bloody mind.

[:\]

It's nothing to smirk about, Blaise. We don't all appreciate such easy entertainment. Sleeping around. [scoffs] I happen to have standards.

So do I. If it's easy, you're not putting enough effort into it.

I'm not talking about sex with you. Definitely not a proper topic of conversation. You should be ashamed of yourself. Calling yourself a member of the Ministry...

I know! Terrible, isn't it?

It's not fair that the Ministry's punishing me for the things my father did. I'd probably be Minister by now if it wasn't for Potter. Instead, I'm sitting here sorting through letters to the Ministry.

Do you know what's next for me? I get to be an Auror.

I don't want to be an Auror. I want to do bigger things. Better things. Build an empire maybe. Not dirty my hands by catching criminals. It's ridiculous--

Yes.

We should have no masters but our own ambition.

Don't sprout intelligence at me. [:\]

As you wish. Be sure to invite me to the wedding.

Don't. Even. Mention. That.

Do you know what your problem is, Draco?