TITLE: Reputations
AUTHOR: Eleanor Pepperland
RATING: T [for language and some themes]
PAIRING: Draco Malfoy/Original Character
SUMMARY: Even in ten years' time, some people don't change. They still believe that what people think of them is more important than what they actually are. Take Draco Malfoy, for example; twenty-seven, living in a posh Belgravia apartment, deeply committed to his life's work. He doesn't have time for serious relationships, only casual flings with women he meets from his job. As rumours swirl that Malfoy Industries is in danger of being bought out, he hosts a dinner at his almost palatial abode to let everyone know that all is well. Little does he know that the destruction of his pride and joy comes to his party neatly wrapped up in a disarming little black dress.
WARNING: mentions of adult themes and use of profane language
DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter series, its corresponding films, characters, places, concepts, etc., are property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers Pictures.
The business column didn't have anything bad to say about him that day. With a sigh, he flipped the pages, moving to the society and entertainment section. Ah, there he was in the society page, smiling (or rather, smirking, to the untrained eye) gleefully up at the reader. The accompanying article stated how the company grew when he took over the reins, and how it was so hard to catch wind of any news on his personal life. Draco smirked, mirroring the moving image of himself. There was a knock on the door—three precise raps in quick succession, the trademark of his executive assistant, Lisa. He had taken note of how she did so before.
"Enter," he said from behind the broadsheet, audible enough for Lisa to hear. She was a tall twenty-five-year-old with a head full of russet red hair, a dusting of freckles across her high-bridged nose. Pretty enough in his book, but she was his assistant. The idea repulsed him, dating someone who was subservient to him. Lisa was engaged, anyway. "Excuse me, Mister Malfoy," she spoke up. He folded the Prophet up and put it down on his desk. "What is it, Lisa?" he asked, not unkindly. "Sir, Clarence Weatherly from Witches and Riches would like to schedule an appointment with you," Lisa informed him, reading from a page in her day planner, which he had issued all the employees that worked with him directly. "Did he say what the appointment was for?" he leaned back slightly in his chair. "He didn't, sir, but considering what Witches and Riches churns out on a monthly basis, I don't think it's for an informative article and a becoming portrait," it also happened to be in Lisa's job description to give him as much information as possible before he made a final and ultimate decision.
Ah yes, he recalled, the memory of stumbling upon an issue of the periodical that had been forgotten by one of his secretaries in the office, permitted female releases of perversion. "Tell him never in a million years, I'm a Malfoy, not a stripper." The corners of Lisa's mouth twitched upward at the comment, but fell back down as soon as she read from her planner again, "Yes, sir, I'll owl him right away. Also, Mary Bell-Gilmore from Oversight and Compliance told some members of the press that you were gay, shall I send them an owl carrying your official statement?" his nose wrinkled at the mention of the rumour, "Tell the chief competition of the tabloid who broke the story that I am certainly not gay, I'm married to my work. Send Miss Bell-Gilmore's superior a note containing the message that I request her immediate removal, will you, and release an ad to the Prophet's classified section that we have an opening for the position of junior business associate." Lisa nodded, "Consider it done, sir. About the dinner to be hosted this Friday evening, will there be an apéterif or a cocktail to be served before the entree?" she moved on to something less disappointing to think about. "An apéterif, yes, and contact Mister Zabini about the fine Vermouth and Pernod he keeps on talking about."
"Should I also ask about some accompanying anisette for after supper cocktails, along with the usual staples of wine, brandy, and scotch?" asked Lisa as she scribbled something in her planner with a ballpoint pen. It may have been a Muggle invention, but the traditional quill and inkwell wasted too much valuable time. "Yes, Lisa, you should. I expect you to be present as well, you're integral to the entire event. Please, feel free to bring your fiancé. I'm looking forward to meeting him. That will be all, thank you," he said, finality in his tone. The redheaded secretary nodded and shut the door quietly, just as he had told her to do every time she left his office. He looked in his own day planner, checking for any previous engagements. Much to his surprise, his next meeting was not for the morning. He closed it and slid it into his briefcase. There was no reason not to leave, it seemed, and this saddened him slightly. He loved his work so much that he hated going home without anything related to it to do—so a free evening for himself presented a sort of challenge on how to spend it.
Thankfully, the answer conveniently burst through the door, held back by the hulking security wizard.
"I told her you were busy, sir," explained the wizard in a booming voice, "But she wouldn't listen to me." He stood up and told the man, "It's quite all right, Bruce. I do advise you to let her in next time, she's an old friend." Bruce gave her a wary look before releasing her forearm and soundlessly deserting the scene. "If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were keeping me out," grinned his sudden and unexpected guest, "but I know you far too well for my theory to even be remotely plausible." He chuckled, "It's good to see you as well, Claudia." His guest was one of his friends from childhood, if friend was the right term for another scion of two separate and equally important pureblood families that his mother had sent him off to 'play dates' with. Her name was Claudia Brightfeld, and she was still the definition of the word for him, even when he was at Hogwarts and she was being schooled at Beauxbatons, he owled her regularly. When the war had ruined their comfortably predictable lives, he sought comfort in her words, so much like his very own.
Claudia hadn't changed from the first time they'd met: her eyes were still colossal, still that greenish-blue hue, her hair still long and dark. What had changed with age was her form, now willowy and sinuous from the inevitable stage of puberty. Her dark brown hair fell to her waist in a mantle of relaxed waves, he knew, but she had braided it and pulled it further back into a bun to keep it away from her face; proud forehead, colossal greenish-blue eyes, ski-slope nose, adequately high cheekbones, and light pink mouth, all set in a creamy complexion. Her voice was still comforting in its softness, making whoever it was she was speaking to lean closer in effort to hear her. Whatever exterior of feminine fragility that Claudia had been granted by inheritance she made up for in her intense fanaticism for fledgling Wizarding bands and musicians, being one herself. In the daylight hours and rare nightly ones she modelled to take advantage of her looks before she 'expired,' only doing so to pay the bills and not touch the grand fund that had been left to her by her deceased parents. Nonetheless, whenever Draco thought he needed advice or a pick-me-up, Claudia would find her way to him, without knowing previously that he needed her. In her words, 'I've got great timing in that aspect, Drake.'
"Can I come to your dinner this Friday? I haven't gone to one of your charming little crushes in ages," she sat down in the pod-like chair in front of his desk. He leaned on the edge of the oak table where he did most of the activities that energised him and quirked a brow at the brunet, "Are you asking to come because of me or the six music producers that I've invited?" Claudia looked sheepish when she admitted, "OK, so maybe it's for the producers. Please, Draco, let me get them to hear the band I'm in play. I'm not even asking much." He suggested, "What if you're my musical guest who stays after the performance for wine and cigarettes?"
"Ah, perfect," grinned Claudia, "you really are good at what you do, aren't you?" he smirked, "You underestimate me gravely, Claudia. Of course I am."