Title: The Storm Within
Author name: MissRose727
Category: Angst
Sub Category: Friendship
Rating: M
Spoilers: Up to DoM of OotP then slightly AU, not much.
Summary: When Lucius Malfoy goes to Azkaban for life, the burden of being the Head of the Malfoy estate and corporation falls painfully, and heavily, on the shoulders of the only living heir. He isn't sure how much longer he can bear that weight. An absent mother, vengeful family members, and a society who loathes him, all threaten to break the once strong, proud Draco Malfoy. DM/BZ (Not Slash!)
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Authors Note: This is the one shot I promised KodeV for being my 100th reviewer. I hope I did well with what she wanted to see. Thank you so much my dear for being such a dedicated reader. This is placed the summer after Draco's fifth year after running the estate and company for nearly 3 months. It's rated M for language and dark themes. I always promise a happy ending though, so never fear my darlings.
Special thank you to LR Earl for beta-ing this for me. It's a million times better now! Thank you so much!
The Storm Within
Ghostly white curtains billowed in the fierce wind on a night Mother Nature decided to take her frustrations and anger out on the world. Leaning against the doorway to the third story balcony stood the shell of a boy, no older than sixteen, but with all the weight and responsibility of a grown man pressing heavily on his shoulders. The weight was unbearable at the best of times and he was about to cave under the strain. He could no longer stand on his own. He wasn't strong enough to take on the world.
Draco Malfoy had met his match. It was himself against the world and the world was winning.
Skin that was once pale, but full of health and beauty, now lay pasty and sickly on the poor boy's bones. Ever since his father's imprisonment, since his mother's tailspin into depression, since he became the sole provider for his family, the man of the house, he could think of nothing but desperation and loneliness.
Luxurious robes of the finest materials hung limply from his dejected frame, since there was simply no time to see a tailor, nor a desire to do so. So much of his time was spent trying to figure out where it had all gone wrong.
The letters didn't help. He held the latest in his hand, the strength of the wind tried desperately to tear the parchment from his bony fingers. It was just one of hundreds of hate letters from every witch and wizard in the wizarding world. They all said roughly the same thing, just with a different signature at the bottom.
…disgrace to the world of magic…
…shouldn't return to Hogwarts…
…should snap your wand too…
…poison to all the good children…
You'll be just like him…
Every owl that flew to his window took a piece of his willpower when it left. Each letter brought him closer and closer to truly believing its contents. Perhaps he should give his uncle the family business. Perhaps he shouldn't return to Hogwarts. He was a branded traitor in the eyes of the world, even if he never took the Mark himself. His father had made sure to take his son down with him. Guilty by association.
Thanks for that, he thought bitterly.
Course he'd never done anything wrong so he could never be convicted, though many Aurors tried to find something, anything, to pin on him. He wasn't guilty of anything except being his father's son.
Instead he was punished, not by the Ministry, but by his own flesh and blood. An entire family fortune and business handed to him on a poisonous platter. His own father gave only a few moments of preparation before his trial and a simple 'good luck', knowing what his only son was in for.
The men who worked for Malfoy, Inc., hated him because they'd been passed over as Draco Malfoy was the rightful heir. No matter that he was only fifteen, nearly sixteen, at the time. It didn't matter to anyone, besides Draco and his employees, that he was a mere boy lost in the world of men.
And he was just that. A boy. In a man's world.
It was unfair.
His uncles were just as supportive. His mind spat the word bitterly, the thought of his relatives made his stomach revolt against his meager dinner. They relentlessly sent letters and fire-calls telling him that he couldn't handle the pressures. Just give them the reins. 'Go be a child', they'd say. 'Leave the responsibilities to us,' they'd plead. Give them everything.
It was tempting.
But it wasn't right. They didn't have any right to the family-anything anymore. No, Draco's grandfather had seen to it that his other two sons, both older than Lucius, would never oversee the business. The reasoning was not clear to Draco, but he trusted that there must have been a good reason for his grandfather to expunge them from his will and write addendums to ensure they never had one share in the corporation. Someone much older and wiser than Draco had seen something horrible in his two uncles. Who was he to argue with that knowledge?
Even if he did, where would that leave his mother and himself? If he gave them the business then they would also receive the title of Head of the Malfoy Family, making them the proprietors of Malfoy, Inc., with access to every knut of the fortune. Including Malfoy Manor. His mother had already lost her husband, how could he give away her home as well?
He couldn't. She was already wasting away to nothing. She tried to stay within the folds of society, to hold her head high when others were watching, but in reality, her home and her possessions were all she had now. And him, he guessed. Though he didn't seem high on her priority list lately.
So, that left him with two uncles and a multimillion galleon business filled with employees that hated him. Any one of them wouldn't think twice about Avada-ing him once his back was turned, on the off chance they could obtain the infamous Malfoy fortune. It didn't help that Lucius had belittled them and ran them ragged. They were pissed off and therefore, Draco was the obvious outlet for that anger.
Family and co-workers aside, he could always count on the public to round out his daily dose of hatred. They seemed to hate him more than his employees or uncles combined.
They told him so every day.
The wind howled its rage and whipped his dulling hair and robes. Draco wished he could float away on the wind currents and disappear. So many problems would be solved if he didn't exist anymore.
His mother would get to keep the house. It was a loophole he'd found, created so the widow of the house wouldn't be uprooted in her time of grieving. How sweet, he sneered. No matter his opinion on it, it was a solution none the less.
At least she would be taken care of. The business would figure itself out, the assistant CEO would take over until another Malfoy descendant became ready to take up the reins. Draco didn't know how that worked since his uncles were banned from the business and he had no heir yet. He honestly couldn't bring himself to care about Malfoy, Inc.
It had been three months and he couldn't even begin to understand the politics within the walls of his corporation. The intricacies of running Malfoy, Inc., seemed so far away that, before the summer started, he hadn't wasted his precious time on them. Of course he'd known that someday he would be in charge of the business but never in his wildest nightmares did he think it would be before graduating from Hogwarts. There was so much he'd wanted to do before that burden fell upon him.
There was no hope of accomplishing that any longer. At this point, there wasn't even hope of graduating. He couldn't return to Hogwarts. He would be a pariah at best.
Draco Malfoy, a pariah. How far he had fallen, through no fault of his own.
He didn't choose his father. He never signed up to be a Death Eater's son. He never asked to be the poster child for all evil children. All he ever wanted was to make his father happy. To make his mother smile. For them to be proud of him.
What every child wanted.
Child. That was exactly what he'd been four months ago, when he stalked the halls of Hogwarts with a smug smirk and entitlement in his step. He'd been leader of the Inquisitorial Squad, with the ability to finally get Harry Potter and Co. into trouble. Even though it meant having to suck up to that Umbridge psycho, it had been worth it to see their faces. He'd done it all because his father had told him it would make him proud; make him happy to call Draco his son. The attention hadn't hurt, Draco had to admit.
How was Draco to know that his father was insane? That everything he'd ever been taught by his father was either: crazy, immoral, evil or a combination of the three? He'd never been taught anything different so how could he know that the ideals drilled into his head, into his soul, were so appalling and twisted?
But it had made his father happy. A happy Lucius meant there were no punishments to be given or 'lessons' to be taught. A happy Lucius meant a happy Draco. A happy Draco meant a happy Narcissa. It was always in their best interest to keep the Lucius pleased or, at least, content. He had the scars to prove Lucius had a temper when he was annoyed or angry or…anything other than delighted. Looking back, Draco's entire childhood was one long example of what not to do when raising a child.
The balcony rails complained against the force of the wind around them. Debris rolled across the grounds below him. The white peacocks, his father's pets, were huddled together to fight off the summer storm.
At least they have each other to lean on, he thought morosely.
Draco had no one. His mother was fragile enough. She didn't need to know about the letters, about how he was treated at the business. It would break her. He refused to tell his friends. There was still a chance that he would return to Hogwarts. He didn't want to seem like a sniveling child.
After all, life after Hogwarts wasn't as cut and dry for them. They were free to hope and dream and work towards a life they wanted. They had time to be children. They didn't have the weight of countless lives on their shoulders should they make a complete cock up of running a company. They didn't have their mother's health to worry over.
His classmates would never understand why his resolve was breaking. They'd never appreciate how much exhaustion, pain and agony he felt at not knowing the right course of action for himself, his family or his corporation. They'd never feel the shame that came from feeling the burning tears that threatened to fall every night.
They wouldn't understand.
If he were to disappear though, things would be better for everyone. But could he be that selfless? Could he put the entire world before himself?
Potter would, his mind spat. For Harry bloody Potter, the decision would be easy. But Draco wasn't perfect saint Potter. He'd never done anything selfless, and definitely not to that magnitude.
But wouldn't dying being a blessing to him as well?
No more hate mail, no more oppressive weight on his back, no more scathing fire calls from his uncles. He wouldn't have to see his mother whither into nothing. He could stop pretending to care about pureblood ideals…he wouldn't be alive to care anymore.
Thunder rolled in the distance and a few short seconds later lighting cracked across the sky. The storm had arrived. Draco welcomed the chaos of the approaching storm; it made him feel more in control of himself when everything else around him was in anarchy.
There was only a few weeks left before term started again. Decisions needed to be made; arrangements for the year had to be put in order. If he were to return to Hogwarts, someone would have to watch over the company in his stead. But could he handle the possible ridicule and rejection from his peers?
Another owl appeared in the distance. His heart wrenched at the thought of what was written on the parchment. Was it from his uncles again? News from the company perhaps? More fan mail to make him all warm and fuzzy inside?
The owl landed with difficulty on the iron railing. The owl stuck its leg out and Draco reluctantly released its burden. Without waiting for a reply, obviously not from the company then, the bird bit Draco's hand, hard, and flew away without so much as a hoot in good-bye.
There was no name for a return address. There never was. Every once in a while there would be a name that he would recognize. A name that he had known for his entire life, a close friend of his father's. Sometimes it was a familiar name that supported the Malfoys, who had tried their best to remain in their good graces. Now, those people saw themselves above the Malfoy family. Draco wasn't surprised; he and his mother would have done the same thing if the roles were reversed. It was just status quo within their social hierarchy.
Draco thought about just tearing the letter to pieces, maybe watch it burn slowly in a fire. He thought that with every new delivery. He would read it, however. He knew that. He was a special sort of masochist, evidently.
Another flash of Zeus' bolts lit the sky. The thunder that accompanied it rattled the floor beneath Draco's feet. Draco ignored the warning from the gods. He stubbornly stayed put, staring down at the small envelope in his hand.
No time like the present, his mind chided. After casting a quick charm, he was reluctantly granted partial magical abilities from the Ministry throughout the summer due to his becoming head of house, to check for dark arts or curses placed within. Finding none, he tore open the envelope.
Malfoy,
You are a disgrace of a wizard. Your family should all be rotting away in Azkaban. Instead you sit in your big manor and lick your ugly wounds. Outrageous if you ask me!
You shouldn't be allowed back into Hogwarts, in my opinion. They should have snapped your wand with your father's. What a horrible excuse for a human. He spawned an exact replica of himself! You should be sharing a cell with him. Since you seem to have hidden well your transgressions against anything good in this world, including the great Harry Potter, the least you could do is not return to Hogwarts, where good, loyal staff and students reside. People greatly dislike you and your pathetic excuse of a pureblood family.
The public has been notified, by a respectable source, that you are keeping tabs and rallying remaining Death Eaters. I hope they give you the Dementor's Kiss for being so evil.
At the very least do us all at least one act of kindness in your sad excuse for a life and transfer to Durmstrang. At least you'd be with your kind. Pathetic. Evil. Vile. Disgrace to the name of Wizard. You're all the same.
Better yet, do the entire world a favor and just die. Then we won't have to see your despicable disgrace of a family continue to pollute our lives any longer. Happy Christmas to us all, I would say! I shall hope to see the day when the Malfoy line is no more.
Draco glared down at the parchment. The bastard hadn't even the nerve to sign the letter. No matter, it wasn't anything different than the others, rather mild in fact. Although this was the first one to tell him to just die. Subtle, the author was not.
After so many letters, it was hard not to believe what was written. And who was this 'reliable source'? Draco was definitely not consorting with Death Eaters or rallying the group. He hated everything to do with them. Everything they stood for was just like his father: evil, cruel, terrible to the core. If he knew where any Death Eaters were hiding, he'd turn them over to the Ministry quicker than they could say 'Alohamora'.
Draco turned away from the storm outside. It was too reflective of his own inner turmoil. He sat down in the chair by the fire. The office surrounding him was massive and that only increased Draco's feeling of insignificance. He was only one person; how was he to deal with everything that had been thrust on him?
Giving up would be so much easier, he thought again. No one would miss him, his mother would be better off. He would be free of everything.
"Draco?" A small voice called through the howling wind and relentless rain. His mother. Wonderful.
"Yes, Mother?" he responded, pulling his weary body to an upright position to address her formally, as he'd always been taught.
"Won't you come down for an evening snack? You have a visitor tonight." Her voice trembled where it once was solid. The only time she kept her composure now was in the company of friends, the few who hadn't deserted her.
"I'm not hungry, Mother. Please extend my apologies to whoever has come to visit." Draco dismissed her by returning to his seat, brooding into the fire.
He expected her to retreat. She always did. When another voice sounded out, however, Draco's insides clenched. This was not good.
"I'll take it from here, Mrs. Malfoy. Thank you for escorting me. If I can convince him, we will be down shortly."
Draco resisted the urge to toss himself over the balcony. Dying really would be easier than getting rid of his long time, nosy friend. The only one he had left, apparently.
"Bless you, Blaise. Thank you. I shall be in the dining room until nine." Draco heard the door shut behind her. For a brief moment he thought Zabini had left with her, but the distinct sound of two tumblers clinking together told him he was not so fortunate.
"You have her worried, you know," Blaise rambled as he poured a drink. There was only alcohol in this room, as scotch was his father's drink of choice when dealing with business. The cupboard remained well stocked, though Draco honestly couldn't bring himself to care about his father's precious stash. In the last few months, he'd indulged in a drink or two. It helped him sleep mostly.
"What do you want?" Draco snapped, even as a tumbler with more than two fingers of Scotch dropped into his hand.
"Do I need a reason to visit a friend?" Blaise asked taking a sip from his own glass. Draco glared, but it went unnoticed, as always. Blaise set his drink down on the mantle and folded his arms. "Actually, your mother called me. Said you were starting to look thin and she didn't know how to help. She was afraid things weren't going well with the company."
So she's noticed. A part of Draco was happy that she had. The other part was angered that she'd sent Blaise instead of confronting him herself. Coward.
"It's no concern of hers how I am running the company. So long as money stays in her bank account, she shouldn't be worrying." The drink burned Draco's throat. It felt good.
"You are her son. She'll worry until the day she dies. It's a mother thing or so I'm told. I wouldn't know." Blaise's bitterness at his own mother was obvious, but Draco didn't comment. It wasn't warranted. They both knew Blaise's mother was only interested in money and her children were the perfect way to achieve that goal.
"I have to say, I agree with her." Blaise picked up his drink and took an alarmingly large gulp. Sixteen or not, Blaise could hold his liquor. Having a mother who didn't care about anything except her next vict- er husband, left plenty of time for a teenage boy to experiment in the liquor cabinet.
"On what?" Draco inquired semi-interested.
"You look like shit," Blaise said nonchalantly, as if describing the outdated wallpaper. Never one to mince words, Draco thought dryly.
"Fuck you too, Zabini," Draco sneered. Draco knew he looked like shit, thank you very much. He just didn't have time to care anymore. He didn't have the energy to keep up with meals or glamour charms or hair products. There was too much to be done, so much to work through. Blaise put his hands up in surrender.
"I'm just sayin', is all! It's out of character for you to be about fifteen -no twenty- pounds underweight and hair as far from healthy as possible. Even an overworked business man should keep up appearances, you know."
"Just fuck off and mind your own business. I didn't ask for your opinions, nor do I want them. I'm doing just fucking fine without your concerns," Draco snapped, nearly throwing his tumbler into the fire. Was he mad at Blaise? No. But he had to yell at someone. He had to get the weight off his chest or he truly would collapse into the ground.
"You know, I don't think I will. You've been left alone with your burdens far too long. Your mother is suffering, you're suffering. It's not right for a sixteen year old to look like you do, Draco. You look…well you look like fucking Potter when he gets back from summer holidays. Do you even eat?" Blaise leveled his gaze onto Draco, as if daring him to lie.
"Of course I eat! I wouldn't be alive if I didn't-" Draco stood to escort Blaise out of the room and firmly out of his life when another owl flew into his office. Another small brown barn owl, insignificant and dull with, yet another, letter tied to its little leg.
"Post at this hour?" Blaise asked, surprised. It was a bit late in the evening for owls. Draco had to repress a grimace at how completely fucked he was now. Blaise was nothing if not a curious bastard. Draco untied the letter and, like the others before him, the owl bit him hard on the knuckle and took off into the night.
Draco threw the letter on his desk, maybe Blaise wouldn't press if he seemed flippant about it.
"Aren't you going to open it?" Blaise asked inquisitively, gesturing to the letter.
"Later," Draco dismissed him with a wave of his hand. This only seemed to pique the Italian's interest more.
"Why not? It isn't normal for post this hour, aren't you even the least bit curious about its contents?" Blaise pressed as he crossed to the desk.
Before Draco could stop him, Blaise ripped open the envelope without any preventative spells. Draco dived for the letter, afraid his friend would be inadvertently harmed by a curse meant for him. A second too late, he grabbed the envelope from Blaise.
The world crashed into Draco, leaving him breathless and shattered as he watched the scene unfold in slow motion.
"Affligo!" cried a voice and a pulsation of magic rippled through the air. "May you dine in Hell, Malfoy!" Blaise's body was thrown across the room and crashed into the bookshelf. Several large volumes of unknown subjects fell on top of the injured Slytherin's head.
Draco hardly noticed the letter incinerate in his hand as he rushed after his friend. He banished the books around the boy and checked if he was still breathing.
Everything about Blaise seemed fine other than the huge lump at the base of his head from where he'd hit the shelf. Blaise moaned and struggled to sit up. He checked for bleeding but found none. Relief flooded Draco.
"What the bloody fuck was that, Draco?" Blaise growled. Draco helped him to stand and steered him to the chair he'd recently vacated.
"Affligo, it's a throw back spell," Draco said studiously after ensuring Blaise had settled into the chair. He went back to the doorway. Mother Nature had yet to relent on her rage.
"I don't need a bloody dictionary! I know what the fucking Affligo spell is!" Blaise spat. "I want to know why you are getting curses by post, or at all for that matter. What the hell is going on, Draco? Do you get those often?"
Only every day, multiple times a day.
"One or two, it's nothing to worry about." Draco shrugged and waved him off flippantly. He missed Blaise's shocked expression.
"Nothing to- Draco that could have killed me, or rather you, had we been on that bloody balcony, or a cliff, or a million other places other than this study!" Blaise exclaimed with a hint of anger in his tone.
"Well, we weren't. You're fine, I'm fine; just move on. It doesn't happen often so don't worry about it. I'm sorry you got the random cursed hate letter. To be fair, I did try to stop you. Curiosity killed the kneazle you know. Honestly though, it's nothing I can't handle; everything is fine," Draco assured him. He didn't want to worry Blaise anymore than he already was. Blaise shook his head in frustration.
"Don't bother trying to lie to me. You know I can see past that façade you put up. Tell me what that was about. Now," Blaise seethed.
Draco sighed. He knew better than to try to pass off his problems around Blaise. He should have just laid it all out when the Slytherin had arrived. They'd known each other far too long. They could see past the masks and fallacies.
Could he tell him though, without losing him in the end? Would Blaise see him as the failure he believed he was? Would Blaise leave their friendship at the door because Draco was too weak to hold himself together?
It was several minutes before either of them moved. Draco was lost in his worries and stared into the night, oblivious to the world around him. The weight of the world was so heavy, such a burden to bear. He knees would buckle soon, he knew. Now his friend, possibly the only one left, had been hurt from a curse meant for Draco. The guilt was overwhelming.
"Draco?" Blaise stood, albeit slowly, and crossed the room to stand by Draco's side. The Italian sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. He looked tired, Draco noted. He wondered if he should have sent for a healer after that fall. Blaise broke the silence.
"Look, I don't know what's going on, but we've known each other since before we were born practically, so I know something is eating at you." He hesitated. "You know I hate this mushy shit. I care about you, Draco. I'm worried about you; your mother is worried about you. Hell, if bloody Granger saw you right now she'd be worried about you… and she hates you!"
Draco quirked his mouth up in a small smirk. That would be a sight, Granger fretting over him. Send him straight to St. Mungo's if that ever happened because he'd assuredly be hallucinating.
"Whatever is weighing on you, just know that you can't carry it all, Draco. No one is meant to. Just…think about what I've said. It doesn't matter what's happening, I'll always be here for you, alright? Don't shut me out. You've helped me more times than I can remember growing up, let me return the favor. Let me help you."
Blaise put a hand on Draco's shoulder, but no response came from the blonde. After a while, Blaise left the room looking troubled and defeated. Draco knew the feeling. He just wanted to lie down and sleep forever. It seemed everything fell on his shoulders now. What had he done in a past life to cause this one to be so shitty?
Perhaps Blaise was right. Perhaps he did need someone to lean on. Would that be considered failure? To lay your troubles on someone else, for them to share the burden meant for you alone, would that be considered cowardice? To Lucius it would. To Lucius, what Draco contemplated now was unacceptable behavior. Not eating, not sleeping, not keeping up appearances. Those were all serious transgressions against the Malfoy code of conduct.
He honestly couldn't bring himself to give one flying Knut about his father, though. It was his fault Draco was in this position in the first place.
Lucius, with his pureblood ideals and insatiable thirst for power. Lucius, who had claimed that purebloods, that Draco, was better than mudbloods and half-bloods. Meanwhile, Hermione Granger stood as an everlasting example of how wrong Lucius was. She'd bested Draco at nearly everything. What she didn't best him at, Potter did. She was a walking, talking, annoying example of why everything Lucius had taught him was fallible.
It was a troubling thought.
The storm raged around him, filling his world with chaos and reckless abandon. As rain pelted the ground while he brooded over his sad excuse of a childhood, a new flame stoked to life inside him. It was small and barely discernable between the exhaustion and helplessness, but it was there. Where it came from, he didn't know. He found strength within that fire and drank it in. He allowed it to fill him up.
He would prove his father wrong, he decided.
Everything Lucius had touched was tainted, but Draco realized that he could no longer mar the world with his fanatical ideals. Lucius' leader was dead and his father was locked away until he died. Draco was free to make his own choices. He alone had the ability to change his future to how he wanted it.
He alone could fire everyone at his company, could disown his uncles and leave them with nothing. But no, he realized, not alone. That was the barrier in his way all along. He didn't have to do this alone. Blaise would stand by him. His mother, whatever help she could provide, would support him if not by want, then by necessity.
Strength and determination surged through Draco like a drug. With one last glance into the dark of the night, Draco felt a peace in him he hadn't felt in years, if ever.
As quickly as it had come, the rain receded and the lightning faded. The thunder rumbled softly in the distance. The storm had passed and in its wake, a peace settled over the land. Mother Nature washed away the scars on the earth with her fury and rage, leaving a blank canvas, ready to be painted again.
Draco was ready. He had to hit rock bottom, but he found a canvas, picked up his paintbrush and set out to paint his future.
"Mother! Blaise!" he called out, heading to the dining room. He smiled his first smile in months when he saw them. They were where they said they'd be, discussing something in detail. He was relieved to see they were still there, still ready to help and carry some of his load.
"Draco! Are you alright?" his mother exclaimed; worry etched across her face. He smiled at her and Blaise, who looked at him searchingly.
Draco settled in next to them and went on to explain exactly what had been going on for the last three months. He explained about his uncles, the employees, the letters, the article-yet-to-be-read. He laid it all out for them.
Blaise and Narcissa listened with heavy hearts as Draco bared his soul to them, even about wanting to give up and disappear. His mother had noticed the influx of owls, the state of Draco's health, and she apologized for being absent in recent months. Narcissa also admitted that she'd called for Blaise because she didn't think she had the strength to confront Draco herself.
By the end they were exhausted, but Draco felt filled with fire and ready for whatever the world threw at him. While he knew, sadly, that eventually he would have to helm the business again, he also knew that it would not be until he was seventeen and done with Hogwarts. He wouldn't allow his father to steal any more of his childhood.
He would go back to school with at least one friend. He would fight the public, his teachers and his peers if he had to. He would prove to them that he was not Lucius Malfoy's replica. He was his own person, filled with wants, dreams, aspirations and determination.
He was not Lucius Malfoy.
"We have some changes to make," Narcissa stood and muttered about who would make the best replacement while Draco was away.
Draco and Blaise smirked. Draco could think of no one better suited for the position and Blaise, after years of knowing Draco, knew precisely what the other boy was thinking. There were no secrets between the two Slytherins, not because they divulged their every thought, but because they understood each other at a level most friends never reached.
"First, we need a press meeting. Second, we need to get in touch with the family advocate to decide who will watch over the company," she continued, oblivious to the two boys silently plotting.
"Mother," Draco interrupted. If you could, please stop fretting for a moment. I happen to know who would make the perfect replacement for me while I'm at Hogwarts." Draco winked at Blaise who quirked his lips in amusement.
"Who?" the matriarch asked, surprised.
"You, Mother," he stated matter-of-factly.
Draco popped a peanut in his mouth; his appetite had returned.
A/N: So tell me, what did you think? Didn't you just love it? It's about 4,700 words over what I had promised and I love how it turned out. Please leave a little message on your thoughts. Love it? Hate it? Please and thank you in advance for any and all reviews/follows/favorites!