"We have another order coming in at three o'clock today, sir," a voice said.
"Mmm."
"Um, Mr. Malfoy, sir?"
Draco Malfoy lifted his head from his hands and stared wearily at his nervous personal assistant who was holding a large green folder filled to the brim with assorted parchments.
"Sorry, uh… what was your name again?" he asked, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn.
"Emma Dobbs, sir," the witch said, crestfallen.
"Yes, that was it. Anything else for me, Miss Dobbs?"
"Yes, sir, I thought you might appreciate a coffee, sir," Emma breathed. She smiled, proffering Draco the coffee in her left hand.
"Thank you, Emma." Draco replied, taking the cup gratefully and taking a sip. "You can have your lunch hour now."
"Oh, I hope you don't mind, sir, I had my lunch two hours ago," Emma said, biting her lip.
"What? What time is it?" Draco asked, widening his eyes and setting down his coffee. It was strong, black and sugarless, just how he liked it.
"Two-thirty, sir," Emma replied, awkwardly taking a piece of parchment from the front of her folder and placing it on Draco's desk. "I just need you to sign this, sir."
"Fine, what am I signing?" Draco replied tiredly, still dazed from his nap. He took a quill from his top drawer and dipped it in the silver Slytherin inkpot on his desk.
"It's just a form for the pen order sir, to consent that you placed it."
"But I don't remember placing that order." Draco frowned. Had he really been asleep for three hours?
"Well, sir," Emma began sheepishly, "I ordered it for you. You were, er, otherwise engaged. It's coming through at three."
"I see. Well, thank you, Emma. That is all." Draco waved his hand in dismissal as he took his second sip of coffee. His immediate alertness drove him to wonder whether Emma had slipped a dose of Wake-Me-Up Potion inside the beverage.
Meanwhile, Emma's disappointment went unnoticed by her boss, who looked as if he'd been slapped in the face a few times. Smirking at her inner-Slytherin choice of spiking his coffee, Emma turned on her heels and headed towards the door of the office.
"Emma?" Draco called out as she reached for the door handle, and she turned around, her breath bated. "You don't need to call me 'sir'," he quipped, raising his eyebrows in amusement as he watched Emma smile politely and leave the office, silently closing the door behind her.
As soon as Emma was out of sight, she groaned inwardly and raised her hands to her head. When will you notice me?
She'd had feelings for her boss since her time at Hogwarts, when she was at the tender age of twelve and he was fifteen. The dark times in his adolescence had only made her want him more.
She had managed to get over him when she went back to Hogwarts after the war, dating a string of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws until she left after a year without completing her N.E.W.T.s. When she saw the job for personal assistant to the infamous Draco Malfoy, she'd leapt at the chance, even if it meant being his slave. He was the only reason she'd taken the stupid job. She wanted to be a personal assistant as much as she wanted to work for Malfoy Incorporated. She had come up with a Plan of Seduction for Draco, complete with strategies, sexy outfits and accidental bumps. Now she'd been there for six months, and he didn't even know her name.
The old assistant, Daphne Greengrass, had advised her to seek out employment elsewhere, and Emma was starting to think she was right. She laughed hysterically as she sat down behind her messy desk placed outside Draco's office. How stupid could she get? She was making good money and in a position many women her age (and older) could only dream of: working for the notoriously handsome Draco Malfoy. Calming herself, she breathed out with a 'huh' and got on with sorting the paperwork.
On the other side of the door, Draco rubbed his temples and exhaled slowly. No doubt he'd have to stay late tonight to catch up on the three hours he'd missed. It was a vicious circle – he would stay late to catch up on work, then the next day he'd fall asleep from the exhaustion of staying late the previous evening. Luckily, it was a Friday.
There was also the problem of his personal assistant. What was her name? Draco thought. Emily? Ella? Emma. That was it. It was obvious she had feelings for him. He hoped it wouldn't turn obsessive like his previous personal assistant, Daphne. He had hired her when he had been dating Astoria: as a favour to his now ex-girlfriend, he had employed her sister, believing her to be a useful addition to the company. However, eighteen months after he and Astoria had split up, he had found Daphne lying provocatively on his desk in red lingerie, confessing her love for him. He had fired her on the spot.
He hated working behind a desk. He was almost thankful that his father hadn't passed over his role of chairman of the entire company to Draco when he was sent to Azkaban for ten years after the war. Instead, he was made head of 'Muggle to Magic', a small company that took Muggle products and converted them into magical objects to sell to the everyday witch or wizard. So far, the company had made pens with unlimited ink, self-heating kettles, a magical storage device and some other small gadgets. There were only four people in the offices – Draco, Emma, Kevin Whitby, the researcher, and Malcolm Baddock, the charmer. It was Malcolm's job to actually bewitch the Muggle objects into working wizarding items. They were thoroughly understaffed, which meant Kevin helped Malcolm cast the spells on the gadgets instead of creating new product ideas. This meant Muggle to Magic was suffering in sales and hadn't come up with a new idea for weeks. Of course, even five years after the war, many people were reluctant to buy anything associated with Muggles, but Draco refused to see his business closed and carried on regardless. He had learnt that blood superiority was a stupid idea years ago and had come to understand and even appreciate the Muggle way of life, which, Draco realised, was his father's reason for making him head of this particular aspect of Malfoy Incorporated. This meant he could appear supportive of Muggles, Muggle-borns and everyone else and get on with his life without suspicion of having any more Death Eater values. What Lucius Malfoy didn't count on was Draco actually being supportive of them.
After a few minutes of silence, Emma popped her head around the door and smiled at Draco.
"The pen order is here early. Do you want me to let them through to your office?" she asked.
"Yes, that would be great, thanks," he answered, standing up and knocking the dregs of his coffee over in the process. "Fuck. Scourgify."
With the stains on his paperwork and trousers vanished, he called for Emma to come back to his office. Almost at once, his assistant was peering around the door again.
"Tell Malcolm and Kevin I've got a new delivery for them to play with," he ordered happily.
"Yes, sir – I mean, Mr. Malfoy," Emma replied, smiling stiffly.
"Thank you," Draco said, straightening out his suit. A couple of seconds later, there was a large bang and a dishevelled deliveryman arrived in the fireplace, accompanied by a large cardboard box.
"Hi, mate," the man said. "If you could sign here for me, thanks."
Draco complied obediently, noting the use of one of his unlimited ink pens.
"Can't stay; I have to deliver a large selection of books to Flourish and Blotts."
"Yeah, I understand. I'll see you soon, Goyle." Draco grinned, clapped him on the back and gestured for him to leave the box on the floor.
Gregory Goyle had turned his life around for the better after the war. After his father was killed, he had walked away from the fight, and a few months later he was employed by the famous delivery company 'Owlman,' coincidently owned by Malfoy Incorporated. The head of Owlman was now Blaise Zabini, Draco's best friend, who took over when Augustus Owlman died from old age a year ago.
Draco watched as Goyle stepped back into the flames and raised his hand in a wave as Greg said "Owlman delivery room" clearly, dropping a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace. The green flames subsided, leaving Draco with the box of pens and a pile of soot on the floor. Draco sighed. It was going to be a long day.
"Are you dating anyone yet?" Narcissa Malfoy asked sharply after giving her son a stiff hug. She took his black cloak and gave it to the house-elf standing beside her.
"Oh, I'm fine, Mother, thank you for asking," Draco mumbled, dusting himself down to rid his trousers of soot.
"Sorry, Draco, dear. It's just… you've been single for so long. You're not getting any younger, you know," Narcissa said airily. She was the same height as her son and looked straight in his eyes, her own eyes narrowing as she inspected his face.
"You look exhausted, Draco," she told him worriedly. "You work too hard, dear. What time did you get home last night?"
Draco stared coldly at his mother for a few seconds.
"Not late enough," he replied coolly. He walked past her, out of the travelling room, towards one of the three sitting rooms at the Manor. His mother had decorated again, this time choosing a sickening yellow for the hallway. She had obviously taken Draco's advice to 'brighten things up' a bit too literally.
Narcissa followed her only son into the room, sighing exasperatedly.
"Why don't you just sell off the business and make yourself in charge of something else?" she suggested timidly.
"No," Draco replied bluntly, pouring himself a glass of firewhisky that he found in a glass cabinet. He took a sip, enjoying the burn that travelled down his throat and into his stomach.
"Draco, it's not even lunchtime. Should you really be drinking?" Narcissa asked at the doorway, one hand on her hip.
"Mother, I'm an adult, in case you haven't realised." Draco furrowed his brow as he sat down awkwardly onto a chaise longue.
Narcissa sighed again. "Gatsby!" she called. A house-elf wearing a blue toga appeared with a teapot, cup, saucer and milk on a silver tray.
"Your tea, Mistress." Gatsby said, quickly glancing at Draco who had decided to rest his feet on the expensive coffee table.
"You've forgotten the sugar, Gatsby." Narcissa told the cowering house-elf, taking the tray and pouring herself a cup of tea into the delicate blue china cup.
"Sorry, Mistress, Gatsby will fetch it right away." Gatsby disappeared and reappeared moments later with a bowl of white sugar cubes and a small spoon. "Here you are, Mistress. Sorry for the wait, Mistress."
Narcissa took the sugar bowl and dismissed the elf with a small wave of her hand.
"So, Draco," she started, stirring two sugars into her tea and taking a sip, "how did your date with that lovely blonde girl go?"
"Mandy?" Draco frowned as he remembered his antics of the previous Friday. "She was… boring. Pretty, but she lived up to the expectations of her hair colour."
Narcissa raised her eyebrows. "Mandy is from a respectable wizarding family. Her mother, Donna, is a good friend of mine and –"
"Respectable wizarding family? Does that mean pure-blood?" Draco interrupted.
"No. Well, yes, but that's not what I meant. She has a high social status in the wizarding community and –"
"It doesn't change the fact that she was as thick as two short planks," Draco interrupted again. "Don't you know anyone who knows the difference between China and Japan?"
"Don't be rude, Draco. Go on, tell me what else is new with you."
Two hours and three glasses of firewhisky later, Draco made his excuses and Flooed back home to his flat in South London. He had purchased the small flat on his twenty-first birthday as a present to himself. He could have afforded a much bigger property, but since all he did was sleep, eat and bring the occasional girl there, he didn't see the need for a larger place. It was stylish but not uncomfortable, and Draco absolutely loved it. His mother had wanted him to move into one of their properties in France, but he needed to be near his office. Plus, he wanted to do something on his own without his mother's input.
Draco checked the clock as he removed his cloak and hung it on a hook beside the fireplace. One-thirty. Enough time for a nap before he had to get ready for a night out with Blaise. Setting an alarm on his wand for five forty-five, Draco settled himself onto his leather sofa, kicking off his shoes and fluffing up the cushions. He was asleep within seconds.