The bright spring sun rose over Manhattan early Saturday morning much to Draco's disgust. He groaned as it rays permeated his bedroom window. Pulling the comforter over his head and closing his eyes, he hoped to get a few more hours of sleep before he had to prepare for his business meeting that evening. Hopefully by then the pounding headache from last night's drinking would have dissipated.

Just as he felt himself drifting off to sleep again, he heard the loud buzzing of his cell phone on the bedside table. Ripped from his slumber, he looked over to see his mother's contact picture light up on the screen.

"Dammit, mother," he grumbled as he rolled over and grabbed the buzzing phone. "Hello?"

His voice was groggy and he closed his eyes to keep the room from spinning.

"Good afternoon, Draco," his mother greeted. "I was just calling to see how your day was going."

"Oh you know… lovely," he responded, trying and failing to keep a touch of sarcasm out of his voice.

"You'll never believe what I read in the Daily Prophet about Millicent Bulstrode and that dashing Miles Bletchley…" From there Narcissa Malfoy filled her son in on the juiciest gossip from wizarding England, none of which Draco actually cared about

Draco didn't even stop her rambling to remind her that it it was certainly not a good afternoon. It was actually only 8 in the morning. Somehow his mother always forgot that he now lived in a city where he was 5 hours behind her. It was mornings like these that he wished very much that he hadn't gotten her a phone a little over a year ago. After she finally stopped complaining and learned how to use it, she had started calling him on a biweekly basis.

It's not that he necessarily minded his mother's concern. She had been through hell just as he had and he knew she was lonely with her only son so far away and her husband in Azkaban.

When he left for the US, he had pleaded for her to accompany him-to leave the manor and the memories made there-but in the end it had been too much to ask of her. Especially when he had told her what else he had planned to distance himself from.

"Draco, you can't just walk away from everything you have known," his mother had begged when he broke the news to her that one winter morning, two years after the war had ended. "You're a wizard. The Black family blood runs through your veins. You want to give up everything to live like a common muggle?"

He had sat down beside her then, taking her hands in his.

"Mother, look what this world has done to our family and everyone we know!"

"You can't judge the wizarding world from just war, son. Magic can be beautiful as well."

Draco scoffed. "That beauty cannot begin to compare to what I have seen. Torture, death, forced allegiance. That is all magic has ever been good for my whole life. Even before the war, living with father was just as bad."

Narcissa flinched at this last statement. Very rarely did either Malfoy speak of the hardships they had both born at the receiving end of Lucius's wand. Draco stood and looked around his own sitting room like it was a cage.

"I have to go. Don't you see that, mother?" Draco's voice had cracked with this statement despite its finality.

Narcissa merely nodded in understanding. A week later her son was gone...

Draco shook his head as he pulled himself from his memories. He was happier here, he told himself. After leaving London, he had arrived in New York City- a 20 year old wizard in a muggle's world. He was lost and alone, and despite his desire not to use magic, he found himself falling back on it to establish a life in this new city.

Using magic and his own charm, Draco had used his knowledge of the business and financial world to secure a position with the Museum of Modern Art as the development coordinator for external affairs. It was his job to oversee all trustee related activities and take care of incoming donations. It took a lot of work with very high-profile businessmen, a job he could perform well thanks to the example of his father.

Once he had obtained a job that could support his previous life style, Draco was finally able to leave magic behind him just as he planned to do when leaving England. His wand was carefully packed away and stored in the bottom drawer of his dresser. He no longer owned an owl and had purposely purchased a flat without a fireplace so that the floo network could not reach him. It was for these reasons that Draco was finally forced to purchase his mother a cell phone after three years in the city.

"Are you listening to me, dear," Narcissa's voice pulled him from his thoughts again.

"Yes, mother," Draco yawned. "Just a little tired since you decided to wake me up."

"Are you still in bed?" his mother questioned.

"Yes, it's only 8:30 here, though." He left out the fact that if her call hadn't woken him up he would have slept till at least one. "I was out late last night and my meeting isn't until 6:30 this evening."

"Out late?" his mother inquired suspiciously, like he was 15 again instead of 24. "Drinking?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, mother. A few rounds after work with some mates"

This seemed to pacify her. He did not mention that a few had become almost a dozen and he had been alone. He only stumbled home when the bartender had cut him off.

Narcissa constantly worried about her son's drinking, although he constantly assured her that he had gotten it under control since leaving England. She had seen the depressed stupor that Draco could sink into after the war. His despair only heightened by the firewhiskey.

"You know I worry. I just want you to be happy, my dragon," Narcissa lamented, calling Draco by the nickname she had assigned to him as a child.

"I know," he grumbled, shifting uncomfortably on his bed. "I'm working on it."

Not wanting to continue the uncomfortable conversation any longer, Draco explained that he had to shower and get ready for his business dinner with two of the museum's trustees. After promising that he would call her early next week, he hung up and headed toward the shower.