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i. gently bring the bit to bear
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"Mr. Archwarden."
Florence wasn't fond of his name and he thought it had been the worst decision he picked since the 1800s. Though, it was too late to change it by then. He would have to suck it up until the end of this one's life.
Wonderful.
"Here." He thought the auror's face was quite hilarious. The scrunch of his nose and the way distaste plastered across his face clear as daylight, screaming, 'I'm An Auror and I Absolutely Abhor Death Eaters and Anyone Related To Them Because I'm A Victim Of The War Who Deserves Better Than These Scumbags'. True to heart, really, yet very unprofessional.
He supposed it was why Draco didn't seem very keen to answer the door.
"Is there anything I can help you with?" Florence continued on.
The Auror cleared his throat. "I am here to announce that this manor is now the property of The Ministry of Magic, and therefore will be confiscate-"
"Thank fuck, I thought it's never going to happen. So when are you going to start doing that, exactly?" The Auror spluttered, gave him a stink-eye, before replying.
"To-"
"-morrow? Wonderful. See you the next twenty-four hours!" Florence slammed the door close none too gently. He hadn't a wand, yet if The Auror would try so much as to break in, four-hundred-and-two ancient wards would be waiting to slap the poor sod to the next life.
Draco, the tragic git, decided to descend the stairs just as Florence stomped over to the fireplace.
"You look like shit," Florence spoke first, in lieu of greeting.
Draco waved one hand, laces flying off from his wrist as they came undone. His white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and what once was a cravat hung loose around his neck. He looked over the top, prissy, disastrous, and piss-poor drunk. He looked like a deranged white cat.
"Merlin's tits, fuck off."
"If you finished drinking the cellar dry; the aurors came in today," Florence continued, unruffled as he gently picked up a heavy carved box filled with floo powder.
There was a beat of pause as the words seemed to sink in.
"About bloody time," Draco said, quickly stepping back up the stairs.
"Get my coat too, would you?" And in about five seconds later, a woolen coat dyed in deep burgundy floated down the stairs. Florence sighed in exhasperation, yet wrapped it around his shoulders all the same.
"You know well that I hate the color." Draco gave him an eye-over as he fixed his cuffs. Then he shrugged.
