Draco Malfoy, was not happy.
Staff at Malfoy Incorporated recognised the stormy expression, interpreting his heavy stomp as a reason to be suddenly busy with lots of paperwork, and rather wisely had kept themselves out of his way. Their usually relaxed Boss had suffered the collapse of a large deal, one which had been seconds from a signature, and no one dared ask him what happened.
It was unlikely to be the fault of Malfoy Incorporated. The staff were loyal and hardworking, and there was little they could imagine that could be done more. They had great contacts with nearly every field of work they could imagine, and their reputation for fair prices and deals meant if they needed others, it wouldn't be difficult to form. They were popular, if a little monopolising, but had a reputation for ethical practice that made them the biggest company in the problem.
'Perdita.' He muttered, when, urged by curious staff, the Draco's second in command dared to enter his office. Glancing round, he noted a few ceramic shatters near the walls. Wincing, he realised the only ceramics in Draco's office were the near priceless antiques. Reparo wasn't going to solve that one.
'I'm sorry, Sir?', he asked in confusion, before suddenly doubting whether he should have spoken at all. Mr Malfoy was a kind soul, but flashes of his old temper were legendary.
Draco raised his eyes from the desk and met those of his favourite member of staff. James Johnson was a hard working and business savvy man, often the only one he argued with. Johnson was often right though, the cool voice when Draco allowed his emotions to rule his business.
'The French company, Perdita. They've decided to expand into Britain, and they took the deal'.
Johnson digested this. For a long while, Malfoy Incorporated had attempted to form positive links with the French equivalent company, named Perdita. It was one of those mysterious French things, where no one knew who the CEO was, or how the company had become the size it was, but it was renowned for secrecy, efficacy, and did not come cheap. With such a foundation in France, he knew Mr Malfoy had tried to make the companies friendly, whereby if trouble was found, either could help the other for a reduced fee. Favours were more valuable than money at this level of business.
As Malfoy Incorporated had almost a monopoly over Britain, so did Perdita over France, and some of Spain. From what little they knew, it was uncannily similar to Malfoy Incorporated, looking at investments, aids, seek and find. Only Perdita had shown no interest, and even some disgust, at the idea of trading in the UK. What interest they had in this deal , however promising the deal had been, was out of character, and clearly Mr Malfoy was taking it personally.
'That's an unusual move for them. Do we know what prompted it?'. Johnson never spoke more than a few sentences. Time was money, and he spoke to communicate a point and then would stop.
'Nothing concrete'. Draco muttered. He was now staring at his fingers, a sign that he was mulling things over. It was rare that he lost a deal, and now he had to work out what happened. 'But a few rumours. I'd like you to look into what their sudden interest is all about'.
'I can't guarantee I'll find anything'. Their infamous secrecy did not need vocalising.
'Just dig. Anything. Rumours from French news, gossip from the woman in the canteen, I want to know if this is going to become a regular thing, and what on earth they managed to beat us on. That deal was beautiful, beneficial to both of us; for the best price. I have no idea what happened; and I don't like not knowing'. Each word took on more conviction, and though not quite calm, Draco began to resume his business head.
'I want to know more about them. I don't care if you hassle ex employees, nowhere is infallible, and I'm not being embarrassed again'. He continued.
Johnson nodded. 'I'll get right on it'. Turning, he left the room, leaving Draco alone his anger.
Draco sighed, grabbing a paperweight from his desk, before reclining back in his chair and thumping his feet on the table. As he mused, he shuffled the paperweight from hand to hand.
Malfoy Incorporated had been his brainchild since he left school. He started small, a bit of trading, a few shares here and there. Surprisingly, he found he had a knack for it, a good instinct for when to invest and when to bail out. He doubled his fortune ten times over before he found himself bored, and wanting to try something new.
Buying a huge office complex behind Gringotts in Diagon Alley, he decided to create departments. Sure, Malfoy Inc. began as a shares and trading company, but there was no reason why that had to be everything he did.
Next he created labs beneath the offices, paying for research into medical potions and spells. It wasn't the same kind of fortune as the investments, but it was pleasing work, and with no money limit, it was quickly revolutionising medicine. This, though he was rarely hands on now it was so successful, was his favourite department. Though it led to mass production, which he found somewhat boring, he knew he was making a difference. Now, when people heard the name Malfoy, they might think of the potion that saved their loved one, rather than the cold cruelty of his legacy.
He expanded again though, and quickly. He often invited companies in to pitch for investment, something he did deal with personally. He'd put millions of Galleons into new companies, helping the post-war economy. Then he added a real estate department, and then a wand making one, and then another, and another…. The company had so many different departments it was a wonder that Draco had any idea they even existed, but he knew each and every employee, and had a say in the goings on of each one.
There had been no real disasters in his seven years of trading, that this unforeseen setback, despite really being of little impact long term, had really shocked him. The only problems he'd come across were either structural- a few explosions in inventing departments needed a rebuild- or prejudice – whereby a few would still refuse to trade with a Malfoy. The fact someone who had so happily negotiated with him had chosen another company bothered him, and he wasn't afraid to admit it was his ego that had been dented the most.
This simply wouldn't do, he decided. He got up, summoning his cloak wandlessly and leaving the office.
This was a benefit to being the boss of a good company; it would run for a while without him. Certainly he could give himself the day off , and this was definitely a good day for it. The walk would clear his head.
As he reached the street he was reminded of his first trip to Diagon Alley. Far from the gloomy streets of war time, Diagon Alley was its usual bright and flamboyant self. Shops were colourful and inviting, filled with equally brightly dressed witches and wizards. As it was summer, children seemed to be everywhere, a few probably buying Hogwarts supplies, whilst some merely wanting to ogle at broomsticks or pets.
For years, Draco had only seen Knockturn Alley, and it was always in twilight and always with secrecy. It wasn't until he was about nine that his Mother insisted on his company, and took him here instead. Although he never managed to convince her to buy him Ice Cream, he remembered the trips fondly, mostly as times away from his father.
He took another turn, one he hadn't taken in a long time, and took the shortcut away from Diagon Alley and into the Muggle World.
When he first began in business, he often came into London. Though it took him a while to admit it, their lives were fascinating and forward thinking. Far too much had been ignored by wizards out of laziness and superiority, and he'd concluded he had a lot to learn.
He followed a familiar path, enjoying the total anonymity that came with being in London. In his jeans and shirt – if the manager couldn't be comfortable when he wasn't meeting clients, he didn't see the point in being manager- he blended in with muggles. He loved it. Everyone seemed to have somewhere to be, and everyone ignored everyone else. Apparently this was a British trait, but one the Wizarding world had never adopted. Though it was lovely, he always felt uncomfortable when random people approached him just to talk about odd things. He was used to solitude, and though now polite, didn't want to encourage a large social circle. A few friends here and there, a few women with whom he had arrangements, were all he needed.
He walked for about twenty minutes before finding one of his favourite buildings in the whole of London. He smiled to himself, feeling calmer, as he pulled the door and walked in to what he believed was the greatest bookshop in London. Paradise Discovered was actually a chain of bookshops, but had managed to retain the unique feel. No two were the same, and this one had bookshelves enhancing the two hundred year old architecture. Wooden floors, and inviting spiralling staircases hidden round corners, it was as fun finding the book you wanted as it was purchasing it. Though they of course stocked books by every publisher, they specialised in hard back books with unique covers, either leather bound or fabric, the style of old rather than new.
He knew which book he wanted, and it didn't take him long to locate it. He handed the book to the cashier, glad that he kept muggle money alongside his wizard money, and handed over a crisp note.
After exchanging pleasantries – compliments on his choice, as well as recommendations for the next- the spotted teenage cashier popped the book into a bright purple bag, and passed the handles to Draco.
'Thank you,' Draco said, smiling. His eyes dropped to the bag, noticing the emblem in the bottom corner just as he swung it from the table.
Shock passed over his face. He rapidly pulled the bag back onto the table, and examined the bottom corner.
'Are you okay, sir?', the teen asked. He sounded a little alarmed, which made Draco realise his reaction was somewhat unusual, but more suspicious. He rearranged his features, relaxing himself as if he'd just realised everything was okay. No use scaring the poor lad.
'Yes, I apologise', Draco replied, resuming his smile. 'I just recognise that logo, I've been trying to find some information about it, but I doubt it's the same one. Sorry to worry you.'
The cashier wrinkled his nose, not particularly persuaded by Draco's sudden change of mind. With no customers behind him though, and looking a little bored, he clearly decided to take pity on him.
'I see, Sir. Well it's the group that own Paradise Discovered, Perdita-' Draco's jaw dropped, but he carried on. 'Most people don't know that they own it. They've got loads of stuff though, like, they've donated stuff to the British Museum and Library, and like, that concert in Hyde Park was bought by them, so we all got free tickets, and they run academies and stuff. Me little brother goes to one of them, gets a load more stuff than I did at school, like iPads and IT labs and stuff'.
Whilst not entirely sure what an 'iPad' was, Draco was reeling from the revelation. Clearly they'd always been looking in the wrong place, it wasn't that Perdita didn't trade in the UK, it was that they didn't trade in the Wizarding UK.
'Thank you.' He said, before quickly shuffling out. Pulling a muggle mobile phone from his back pocket- another part of the muggle world he had both embraced and edited with magic, he dialled the number for the office and relayed the news back to Johnson.
'I'll be back in ten minutes', he ended the conversation. What an odd mystery. Draco Malfoy was rarely stumped for long though, and he certainly wouldn't let this one get the better of him.
Perdita, 1, Malfoy Inc, 0