The Sugar Quill
Author: Lady Narcissa (Professors' Bookshelf)  Story: Blue Hawaii  Chapter: Part Three
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The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author.


Disclaimer: Yes! It's true. These are not my characters, they belong to J.K. Rowling, who I thank for creating them.

Blue Hawaii ©2003 by Lady Narcissa. Part Three is still rated R. Isn't Harry sweet? Isn't Lucius nasty?

Part Three

Lucius plucked the tiny umbrella out of the tall glass of ice water and threw it to the ground, stomping on it with the heel of his boot. 'Stupid fucking umbrellas,' he muttered. He drank the contents down in several gulps. It really was too hot. Picking up the newspaper and his sunglasses, he hoisted Narcissaís beach bag onto his shoulder. Time to go inside for a while. Time to cool off.

Slowly, he walked away from the pool and back toward the hotel. A slight breeze ruffled his hair away from his back. The air conditioning felt divine once he got inside. Fucking leather pants, he said to himself. Who the fuck goes to the tropics wearing leather? Anything but this, anything but this. He was so preoccupied and so laden down by Narcissaís heavy bag that he didnít notice until the elevator door closed that Arthur Weasley was standing in the corner.

'Oh, fuck,' swore Lucius. 'What are you doing here, Weasley?'

Arthur shrugged. 'The boys and Ginny were all swimming, Mollyís off with your wife. Thought Iíd head up to the room and try a couple experiments with the eckeltricity.'

'Electricity,' corrected Lucius.

Arthur shrugged again, but his ears reddened. 'What are you doing here, Malfoy?'

'Cooling off,' he said shortly.

'I meant in Hawaii,' said Arthur.

'Ah. My wifeís idea,' Lucius admitted. 'She fancied a trip. And you?'

Arthur smiled. 'My wifeís idea,' he said. 'Never been able to take her anywhere before, not really.'

'Shame.' Lucius looked at the buttons by the door. 'What floor are you?'

'Floor?' Arthur looked perplexed.

Lucius shook his head. 'What floor is your room on, Weasley?'

'Oh! Fourth.'

Lucius pressed 4 and P. 'You see, Weasley, Muggles made elevators in a relatively stupid way. You actually have to press these buttons to make them go to the floor you want; it doesnít work by osmosis or Floo powder, or even by the formidable presence of your Muggle-loving desires, regardless of how hard you might concentrate on getting there.'

Arthur turned beet red. 'All right, all right. Youíve made your point. But tell me, my curiosityís got the better of me, whatís Floor P? Where all the prats have to stay?'

An evil grin crossed Luciusí face. 'Poor Arthur Weasley,' he said with a quiet laugh. 'Itís the penthouse suite, the best room money can buy.'

Arthur frowned; it looked for a moment as though he was going to burst into tears. The elevator door opened.

'Fourth floor,' said Lucius. 'Enjoy your little experiments.'

Arthur didnít move. He was looking very hard at the lights in the ceiling, blinking rapidly.

'Oh, for fuckís sake,' said Lucius. 'If you want to see the penthouse that badly, bloody well just come along.'

'Really?' Arthurís face lit up; he reminded Lucius of a grateful dog heíd once picked up and petted after kicking it down the street.

'Really,' he sighed. The day was certainly going to hell in a hand basket. He felt in his back pocket for the room card; he managed to free it with a relatively insignificant squishing sound as it wrestled itself from the leather. He slid it into the lock for a moment; the light turned green and the door clicked open.

'Ah! So thatís how you get the doors open,' said Arthur. 'Iíd have been standing in front of mine for hours.'

Lucius shook his head and walked to the bar. 'Iím having a drink. And since I actually made the mistake of inviting you in, you may have one, too.' He pulled two glasses down from the shelf. 'Whatís your poison, Weasley?'

'Oh!' Arthur followed Lucius to the bar. 'What are these little handles for?'

Lucius rolled his eyes. 'Hot and cold water. Really, Weasley, you could do with a few remedial Muggle Studies classes.' He opened a bottle of Laphroaig 30-year-old single malt Scotch whiskey, poured a hefty amount into his glass, and took a long sip.

'Whatís that youíve got?' Arthur stopped fiddling with the faucets and looked at the bottle of Scotch.

Luciusí eyes gleamed. 'This, Weasley, is one of the finest liquorsóMuggle or Magicóon the planet.'

'Better than Ogdenís?' Arthurís eyes widened; he fingered an electric can opener absently.

'Theyíre not even in the same realm.' Lucius filled Arthurís glass with the amber liquid and pushed it toward him. 'Stop worrying so much about the electrical appliances and have a bloody drink, Weasley. You can rest assured this will be the first and last time I offer you one without being coerced. Iíll teach you how to plug in a mixer later on.'

'Really?' Arthur grinned.

'No, not really.' Lucius walked from behind the bar and sat in one of the leather chairs by the television. He sipped the Laphroaig, savoring the feel of it oozing down his throat. This was definitely the best moment of his afternoon. No Narcissa barking in his ear, no Draco whining about not having enough poisons in the cupboard. It didnít even bother him too terribly much that Arthur Weasley, whom he absolutely despised, was drinking his 65-galleon-a-bottle Scotch. It was just nice to be out of the sun, out of the heat, away from the annoying people by the pool. Lucius put his feet up on the coffee table, picked up the remote control, and flicked on the television.

Arthur spat out a mouthful of Laphroaig. 'What theÖ.' He stared at the television, captivated. His eyes widened in amazement.

'What will the Muggles think of next,' said Lucius lazily, tossing the remote down onto the table.

Arthur moved gingerly toward the television. 'May I?' he asked. His hand, shaking with anticipation, reached toward the remote.

Lucius laughed. 'Knock yourself out. But donít waste any more of my Laphroaig, or Iíll banish you to Romania to burn with that dragon-loving son of yours.'

Smiling, Arthur picked up the remote; the Muggle news flashed way too much information across the bottom of the screen while the person whose face was talking covered a completely different topic. He opened the little door on the back of the controller; a pair of batteries fell out. 'Oops!' he said, his face reddening. He picked up the batteries, holding them as if they were liquid silver. 'Fascinating!' He rolled the batteries back and forth in his hand, then put them back inside the remote. Pointing it toward the television, he clicked a few buttons; with each channel change he grew more and more excited. Shows flew past in quick succession: Jerry Springer. Headline News. WWF Extravaganza. Public Broadcasting. Rugrats. Tom and Jerry. Oprah. Die Hard. Lethal Weapon. 48 Hours. Lethal Weapon 2.

Arthur grinned. 'This is fantastic!' he said. 'Who knew Muggles could think of ways to make their pictures move this well.'

Shaking his head but suppressing a grin, Lucius turned his attention back to the 30-year-old Scotch. His glass was nearly empty; he downed the rest and walked back to the bar. He found Arthur Weasleyís wide-eyed innocence quite amusing, he admitted to himself. Pouring a fresh amount of Laphroaig into his glass, he cleared his throat. 'Weasley.'

Arthur looked up.

'You really should get out more,' Lucius said. 'Youíre so fascinated with Muggles; youíre the one whoís been working for years on the Muggle Protection Act. How can you run about trying to protect them when you donít even understand them.' He sipped his drink. 'Think about it, WeasleyóMuggles donít need our protection. Look at what they can do and what they can build.' He gestured around the opulently-appointed penthouse.

Arthurís eyes widened, as if seeing the room for the first time. 'HowÖ how big is this penthouse of yours, Malfoy?'

Lucius raised an eyebrow; his lip curled into a sneer. 'Bigger than your home, undoubtedly.'

'Undoubtedly.' Arthur hung his head, resigned. His ears reddened again.

'Take the tour,' Lucius offered. 'Youíre in the sitting room. There are three bedrooms off that wayó' he pointed to his leftó'and two baths in the other direction. We also have a rather poorly stocked kitchen and dining area over there.'

'Well.' Arthur placed the remote on the table; Mel Gibson and Danny Glover drove after some criminals as the television squawked quietly in the background. 'Actually, Malfoy, we Weasleys have made ourselves quite comfortable in the Burrow.' But he poked his head around the corner, taking in the view of what Lucius had referred to as being rather poorly stocked. Arthur hadnít seen that many supplies in his own kitchen in many years.

Lucius laughed. 'Iím sure you have, Weasley.' He opened one of the kitchen drawers and pulled out a small plastic bag wrapped tight around something. He opened the bag, breathed in deeply, and smiled. Digging deeper in the drawer, his hand came up around a few other small items; he laid them out on the table: cigarette papers and a silver lighter. He opened the plastic bag and let some of its contents spill out through his fingertips onto a small tray.

Arthur watched in fascination as Lucius expertly rolled the contents into a cigarette, then lit the end. Lucius let it burn for a moment, blew out the flame, and inhaled deeply on the other end. A sweet, pungent odor filled the room.

'Kona Gold,' Lucius said, then exhaled. 'My sole reason for agreeing to take this ridiculous trip to Hawaii.' He handed the cigarette to Arthur, who examined it with a fearful expression on his face.

'What is it?' he asked.

'Oh, for fuckís sake, Weasley,' Lucius shook his head in disgust, 'itís marijuana. Have you never seen a joint before?'

Arthur shook his head, frowning. 'Whatís it like?'

'You have to smoke it to find out,' Lucius said, taking it back. 'If youíre not going to, I will.'

Arthur shrugged. 'Never tried it before, thatís all.'

Luciusí eyes narrowed, then he smiled. This could be quite a bit of fun after all. 'Go on, Weasley.' He relit the end, which had gone out, and took another toke. Then he placed it in Arthurís hand. 'Donít worry, it wonít kill you. I havenít poisoned it.'

'All right, then.' Arthur put the joint to his lips and took a deep breath. The end of the cigarette glowed bright red; a dollop of ash fell to the floor.

'Now hold it in your lungs,' Lucius instructed. 'Shit, I feel like Iím back in fourth year at Hogwarts, teaching Crabbe and Goyle how to smoke out behind the ruddy gamekeeperís hut.'

Arthur, eyes starting to bulge, let out the smoke then doubled over in a wracking cough. 'Ah, thatís nasty stuff,' he said between hacks.

Lucius laughed. Watching Arthur Weasley smoke his potóthere was something so absurd about it. This had a lot of potential. Gingerly, Arthur held the joint to his lips and took another toke. He passed the joint to Lucius. He managed to let the smoke escape from between his clenched teeth without coughing this time.

'You are living proof that an old dog can be taught new tricks,' said Lucius. He took a long sip of his Laphroaig, one more hit of the Kona, and stubbed out the joint in the ashtray.

'Old dog?' Arthur blinked, his eyes red-rimmed. 'You called me an old dog?'

'I did.' Lucius couldnít help but laugh. Damn, the Kona was good stuff.

'You know what we call you at the Ministry?' Arthur snorted.

'Do tell.'

'Well,' Arthur said, laughing so hard tears leaked out of his eyes, 'we call you You-Know-Whoís Little Colonel.'

'Ha.' Lucius took another sip of Scotch. 'Thatís the best you could think of, is it?' He started to laugh, then couldnít hold back. He doubled over, slapping his leg. 'Thatís actually pretty fucking good, Weasley.' Steadying his hand, he took the joint out of the ashtray and lit it again. He took a deep toke and handed it to Arthur, who did the same, wiping the tears from his eyes.

'Shite.' Arthur let out a deep smoky breath. 'I am all fucked up.'

'I noticed.' Lucius settled back down into the leather chair by the television. 'What the fuck does that Muggle think heís doing?' He pointed at the Mel Gibson character, who was popping his shoulder out of joint in a crazed maneuver. Then, Lucius laughed. 'I canít believe Iím sitting here with you, Weasley, in the middle of a fucking island paradise, and our wives are who knows where doing who knows what, same with the kids, and we havenít killed one another yet. Itís a bloody miracle.'

Arthur laughed. 'They'd boot me from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department if they knew.' He sighed. 'Not to mention Molly, sheíd hand me my head on a platter if she saw us.'

'Fuck-all to all of them,' Lucius blinked heavily. 'Whatís the point, Weasley. Weíre fucking enemies, you and I, but what for?' He rolled up his left shirt sleeve. 'See this? You know what it is; I donít have to tell you. Do you know how many fucking times a day I curse this fucking thing? How I wish it wasnít part of who I am? Oh, fuck, hang onÖ' he closed his eyes tight; his breathing grew heavy and labored. He pressed his palms to his temples, willing the pain to go away.

'Lucius?' Arthur tilted his head to the side, watching Malfoy. He was obviously in a great deal of distress, Arthur knew that much. But he also knew that he was in absolutely no condition to help. All he could do was sit there and giggle and sip on the Laphroaig, which grew even tastier the more he drank it.

'Shit.' Lucius shook his head and took deep breaths. At long last he rubbed his eyes, then sat up a little taller in his chair.

'WhatÖ what was that all about?' asked Arthur.

Lucius shook his head, pointing to the Dark Mark tattooed on his forearm. 'The Dark Lordóthereís no bloody escaping him,' he sighed. 'So, Weasley, now you know. But if you ever tell a single solitary soul, Iíll track you down and kill you.'

Arthur shrugged his shoulders. 'Uh, okay. Iíll justÖ uh, yeah, pretend I never saw it, thatís the ticket. Donít worry, Malfoy. Iím so fucked up, I probably wonít remember anything from this afternoon.' He looked dejectedly at the empty glass in his hand.

'That's the best suggestion you've had in years.' Lucius stood, rolling down his sleeve. He fished around for his wand, then, grinning, pointed it at Arthur and muttered, 'OblivÖ oblivÖ what the fuck is that spell? ShitÖ oh yes. Obliviate.'

A dreamy look filled Arthur Weasleyís eyes; he started to giggle.

Lucius refilled both his and Arthurís glasses with more Laphroaig, then sat down a little unsteadily. He picked up the hotel directory on the coffee table and flipped through it. 'What do you say to room service, Weasley? Iím fucking starving.'


'Here we are.' Harry opened the door to the room he shared with Ron, Fred, and George. It was a mess; the twins had scattered their belongings everywhere in a feeble attempt to claim territory.

Draco wrinkled his nose. 'Youíre actually sleeping in this?'

Harry shrugged. 'Itís a holiday, Malfoy, thatís all.'

'But there are only two beds in here, and there are four of you. Thatís disgusting, Potter.' He frowned so fiercely he looked as if his face would fold in upon itself.

'Well, we havenít even gotten to the first night yet,' said Harry softly. He was keenly aware of the fact that the Weasleys could barely afford this trip, and felt a tinge of guilt over them not letting him contribute at all. After all, he had scads of gold in his vault at Gringottís, and heíd offered to share it with the Weasleys many times. But they had consistently refused his generosity; whether out of pride or shame Harry had never been able to divine.

'SoÖ' Draco said softly, 'Youíre sharing a bed with your best friend Weasley?'

'I dunno, hadnít really thought about it,' said Harry. 'Iíll probably just sleep on the chair.' He turned to his suitcase and opened it up. Amid the spellbooks and parchment lay an extra swimsuit. He shook it out and handed it to Draco. 'Here you go, Malfoy. Donít say I never did you any favours.'

Draco took the suit from Harry and examined it. It certainly was better than the nothing Speedo his mother had bought for him. He watched Harry zipper up the suitcase, idle yet annoying thoughts popping into his mind.

'You know what I wonder, Potter?' Draco said.

Harry shook his head. 'But Iím sure youíre going to tell me.'

Draco snickered. 'I wonder why youíve hated me from the first time we met.'

'Well, weíre enemies, arenít we,' said Harry simply, setting the suitcase back down on the floor. He looked into the mirror and pushed his hair aside, examining his scar. 'I mean, all heroes have to have enemies, donít they, or the story doesnít work.'

'What are you talking about.' Draco ran his fingers over the smooth silky fabric of the swimsuit. 'Youíre not a hero, Potter, donít make me laugh.'

Harry smiled a crooked little smile; it was disarmingly attractive. Again he shrugged his shoulders. 'Go on, Malfoy, thereís your swimsuit. Put it on, I wonít watch.'

Draco cleared his throat significantly, then went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He peeled off the Speedo and put one leg into Harryís suit, which was a lot roomier and a lot less embarrassing. This was much better. He pulled on the suit the rest of the way, then opened the door.

Harry stood by the window watching the pool below.

'So,' said Draco softly, 'are you going to tell me?'

'Tell you what?' Harry turned around; his eyes flickered down to the swimsuit Draco wore, then quickly back up to his face.

'Why youíve always hated me, Potter. What did I do to you on our first meeting?'

'Oh, that.' Harry crossed his arms. 'You whined a lot, and then you insulted Ron.'

'Hmm.' Draco raised an eyebrow. 'Interesting how fiercely loyal you are, Potter.'

'Well.' Harry stood still.

'Well,' echoed Draco.

Harry had a dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. Heís cute, thought Draco, then he shook his head. What was that thought all about? It was absolutely disgusting. But thenÖ Draco knew there was some sort of something between him and Potter, heíd always known it. No one else got under his skin the way Potter did. He could be pissed as all hell at Crabbe and Goyle, and their reactions didnít bother him the way the slightest insult from Harry could cut him to the bone. I think we have something to explore here, Draco said to himself.

He felt like he was watching himself in a movie, walking swiftly across the room. He grabbed Harry by that stupid untidy black hair, pulled his face toward him, and kissed him hard on the lips. Harry didnít struggle, he didnít try to get away. He didnít even appear to mind, but neither did he return Dracoís kiss. Instead, he waited, compliant, until Draco had let him go. Then Harry looked into his eyes and smiled, his green eyes twinkling from behind his black-rimmed glasses.

Draco had never kissed another boy before. There had never been another boy like Harry Potter, and he knew there never would beÖ.

'Malfoy.' Harryís voice shocked him. 'Whatís the matter with you? You look like youíre in another world.'

Draco realized that he was still standing across the room from Harry. What had just happened? His eyes widened; he got his answer. Nothing had happened, thankfully; it was just a little daydream. He cleared his throat. 'Nothing. Iím fine. Weíre fine. Shall we go back down to the pool?'

Harry shrugged. 'Sure.' He clapped Malfoy on the back. 'That suitís a big improvement, Malfoy.'

And Draco couldnít be sure, but out of the corner of his eye he could swear he saw Potter wink at him.

Or not.


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