Draco Malfoy walk gracefully into the party with his trademark scowl on his face. It wasn't enough to be disrespectful or to make him seem too terribly out of place but it served to keep the perusers and social climbers at length.
His eyes scanned the scene, taking care not to pay much notice to anything. It wouldn't do for him to look impressed.
The room oozed opulence. The decorations were rich and lavish. Small round tables were scattered around, waited down with the finest china and glassware. They'd be gilded if the host hadn't thought that tacky.
The room was all about showing wealth. When Draco arrived it was already filled with people. He took fashionably late to the extreme. He took everything in, the furniture, the priceless paintings along the walls, the live band playing softly, and he felt horribly out of place.
Damn his father's power hungry ways and the need to reaffirm their place in society after the dark lord's demise. In every society it seemed, he thought. An unpleasant taste filled his mouth whenever he was forced to converse with someone in their ridiculously drawn-out American accent.
His father still called this horrible place the Americas and yet he insisted on sending his only son, his sole heir, to build bridges with these savages.
A blond girl bounced by, surrounded by admirers, basking in her glory. Draco was angry, she had pranced right in his field of vision and distracted him from his musing.
She threw a binding California smile his way and Draco scowled. She was completely new-money and even his father couldn't be that desperate.
He moved to stand by a statue. There was no one there watching him. His father just said he had to be there to scout out any suitable connections. Obviously from their provocative outfits and the way they binge drank there wasn't anyone important there. Money, it seemed, was the only thing that set these people apart from the proletarian muggle hordes.
The statue moved slightly and Draco jumped before he could stop himself. It seemed it wasn't a statue. It was a woman. A naked woman, painted completely black, and draped in diamonds. A piece of living art. Which he really wasn't expecting in a party thrown my muggles.
Why couldn't these people understand how to show their wealth subtly without shoving it in everyone's face? Sure you could wear the finest clothes money can buy but you don't have to pin gold baubles to ever conceivable surface just to prove that you're rich. The fact that you have nothing to prove proves more.
A hand clasped his shoulder tightly and a rough American laugh filled his ears.
"Most people think my dear sister there worth the notice." Draco glanced at the statue girl confused.
"No not her, she's the scenery. The blond you just shot the death glare at," the man said.
Now that he understood what the man was talking about he was finished with the conversation. The deep voice irritated him.
"All Americans I should think."
"Yeah well, the rest of the world seems to think we're pretty great. And according to the associated press, Serena there, she's a ten. You'd have to be deaf and dumb not to notice."
"Well I assure you my hearing and eyesight are in perfect working order."
"Then be perfectly honest when you answer this." The man laughed. "Are you gay?"
"Am I happy?" Draco asked confused as he wasn't really paying attention.
"No moron homosexual," the loud American said playfully, and then punched his arm. Draco jumped back, brushing his suit.
"Never touch me," he said coldly. "And please refrain from standing so close. Also come to think of it, why don't you bugger off completely and leave me alone. Being in the same room as you lot is enough of a trial without having to endure your bad jokes and unwarranted pawing. I know I'm gorgeous but do try and maintain at least a modicum of self-control and walk yourself away to the hors d'oeuvres or something."
The man stared. Apparently even his cool, self-assured exterior couldn't withstand verbal lashing from a Malfoy.
Draco walked away before the man could respond. Maybe some wine would help the evening pass more quickly.
--
Dinner took ages to arrive. The guests mingled and joked, while Draco did his best to stay out of their way.
When it came time to be seated the work really began. His father had mentioned tersely, after one of Draco's long rants about Americans, that he had pulled strings to get Draco at a table of New York's most influential. The table places were intimate and there were set that way in order to make contacts. A fact that his father emphasized. This was the reason he was here after all.
There were six chairs at the table and when Draco sat down three were already full of old men drooling into their napkins. Lovely.
The ponce who sat on his right was no better. Slicked back hair and a pinstripe suit. Probably a business man trying to make it in society. Sickening, these people should stay in the middle class.
He heard the next guest long before he saw him. He spoke so loudly that even the geriatrics at the table turned to look.
"Fancy seeing you again," Chuck Bass (according to his name card) said. "I didn't think you'd be so eager to chat."
"Oh trust me I did not choose the seating arrangements," he said gesturing at the others.
The food started to arrive and Draco turned his attention to it. He could feel Chuck's eyes on him the whole time but he was determined not to let it get to him. He even tried to strike up a conversation with Max in the pinstripe suit. He was trying but then Chuck pulled out a watch encrusted with so many diamonds he couldn't help himself.
"Are you really so insecure you feel the need to shove your money in everyone's face. I'm surprised you can even tell the time through all the pointless gems." Alright, that was a little harsh, but it had been building for so long. Even with all the changes he had made to his behaviour since the war, he was still Draco Malfoy.
"Oh come on," Chuck said. "You wear that suit so that everyone knows you'll spend thousands of dollars on clothes. A Fioravanti if I'm not mistaken. I have one sitting in my closet upstairs." Draco didn't give him the satisfaction of looking surprised. "If I want to drop a million on a watch you really are in no position to judge."
"A Fioravanti? This from a man who looks like an eighties ken doll that a colorblind eight-year-old dressed." Draco sent a quick thank you to the muggle studies classes at the ministry. He had thought them pointless but they had helped him form better insults.
Chuck looked like he wanted to throw his dressing. He didn't and the next course arrived. Draco once again studied his food. He had to, who knew what they ate over here.
The next time he looked up he noticed the most interesting thing. Serena had walked over to the band to request a song or something. That wasn't interesting. What had caught his attention was the way Chuck was studying her.
His eyes wandered appreciatively down her body as she stood there. She turned and caught her brother's gaze. Draco could see the disgusted look on her face. Interesting indeed.
Chuck picked up a spoon of crème brûlée and licked it decadently. And Serena rushed away shooting him a look of death over her shoulder that even a Malfoy could admire.
He waited until Chuck's attention had drifted again and asked, "Wasn't that your sister?"
"Are you still here?" Chuck asked leaning back. "I thought for sure I asked security to root out all the obnoxious foreigners."
"I'm sorry Chuck," Draco pronounced the name like a curse. "I was just wondering if you had any plans to commit incest."
"Okay Draco I'm going to be blunt with you because you seem to be trying your best to piss me off. I only came over to make conversation because my father asked me to. Apparently someone felt that you needed an in with the Basses to branch out to the New York City elite. I was being nice, throwing you a bone. But I'm finished because you so obviously think you're better than anyone else here. And because if I keep trying to talk to you I think I might just lose control and punch you in your pasty, pointed, pail face."
Chuck pushed his chair back with finality and walked over to the bar at the far end of the room. Dinner was finished anyway and Draco found himself in a predicament. He could go and make nice, please his father, and help to exonerate the family name. Or he could go over there and punch the prat in him insufferable face. He did so hate making decisions.
Draco walked over to the bar. Chuck was busy flirting with twins in complementary colours.
Draco's free hand gripped the wand stashed in his deep pocket. The he cursed. He couldn't use it. His father might just cut him off if he broke out magic in a public brawl with a muggle. Again.
"I used to use hired muscle to settle this sort of thing," he said. "But in that too I've changed. Now I use my own."
Draco punched him in the face.
In all fairness it wasn't a particularly good punch but it felt good. There was even a tiny trickle of blood on the corner his lip.
Chuck reached up and dapped the blood with a pristine, white handkerchief. He tucked it away and took a menacing step forward. Draco stood his ground but his heart sped up. Was there any way to get out of this without magic?
"Boys," a voice said. It was a tall older man who looked like he could command a room if he wished. He was perfectly dressed. "What seems to be the problem here?"
"Just a creative difference," Chuck said, backing down. Interesting.
"I can see that son." He turned to Draco, "Bart Bass, host of this gathering tonight."
Draco quickly switched to his best behaviour. Perhaps the evening wasn't a total waste. Maybe he could build a few bridges and have at least one good thing to report back to his father.
"Draco Malfoy," he said extending a hand. "I apologize for the scene. The wine must have gotten to me."
"Oh nonsense," Bart said. "I know my son. There's no hard feelings. In fact I've been looking for you. I was talking to your father the other day and I have some ideas I would love to share with you about his plans for bringing your company over to New York. Do you have a minute?"
"Of course. I'd be delighted to hear what you think."
"Right this was then, I have a private office that might be more comfortable."
Draco followed Bart from the room. He tried not to gloat but it was really hard with Chuck standing there with such a grimace on his face. Draco winked. Chuck spun back around to the bar. From the looks of things he was ordering a double.
--
His father's transatlantic Northern Wheatear came promptly at two. Draco had to magic the letter from it's foot. It was shrunk so tiny he was afraid to hurt the bird's frail leg. That was the way wealth should be shown. It was small and unassuming but anyone with five pounds in the bank would know having such tiny bird so well trained spelt money.
His father's message was all business. It asked if he'd made any connection, stressed how important Draco's business in the Americas was and asked how he liked the party.
Draco wrote one line in response, courtesy be damned.
It was American.