The Malfoy name was something of a disgrace after the war. After my father was sentenced to The Dementor's Kiss, there was nary a man who wouldn't ridicule the Malfoy and use it as a horror story to scare their children into good behavior. Following Voldemort's defeat, alarming accounts of my father's war crimes came to light and as it turned out, there were some things that could not simply be excused by the Dark Lord's wand pointed at our throats. My mother had fallen into a lilting depression which was only lifted by pretty trinkets and other extravagances. Perhaps my acceptance of her indulgent behavior is what got me into the position I was in. The 25 year old CEO and owner of a centuries old business on the verge of bankruptcy, that is.
A mere 5 years that I'd been in sole ownership of Malfoy and Co. and I already stood to lose all of our assets. The ones accounted for by the Ministry anyway. There was only so much I would give up in reparations. My father had done many villainous things, but the greatest of these sins, was not teaching his only heir how to beat the odds.
When I first came into possession of the CEO position, things had seemed like they would make their comeback after people lost the bitter taste that the name Malfoy left in their mouths. Our company focused on investments, sales, antiques, and other small home goods. But then other grassroots businesses rose up out of the Malfoy ashes to thrive on the wounds we'd left open.
Over the course of those next few years, I lost a lot of sleep, but never my composure. When people spat at me, or when my calls were refused or blatantly rejected, I smoothed myself and moved on to the next venture. My mother knew nothing of what the world had become for us. Even now, she was vacationing in Madrid and spending all the money her little broken heart desired for her new favorite relation, Teddy Tonks. The boy was quite charming, even I could grudgingly admit when faced with his toothless grin and open heart.
Andromeda was one of the few in good standing after the war who had never turned her back on us for a moment, even spending whole nights with my mother after my father received The Kiss. I made myself scarce on those nights, losing myself between the legs of any girl who would have me, and staring into the bottom of glasses before they were refilled.
Those early days of debauchery were sad but some of the best of my life, I could always look at them fondly. Now I had to look forward, I had to face the future of our lives, and most importantly, figure a way to tell my mother as if I hadn't hidden it from her for years. There were young wizards and witches who must now be laid off, whose hard work hadn't been nearly enough to claw us out of our debts.
The burden weighed heavy on me, so I poured myself a Firewhiskey inside a larger glass than decorum suggested, because who the hell cared about that anymore? The Malfoys were soon to be more destitute than even the Weasleys, a thought my 11 year old self would have scoffed at.
My 11 year old self hadn't seen much of a future past the looming figure of my father at all.
"Mr. Malfoy," my intercom, a fabulous device made completely for wizard use by that insufferable Weasley, cut through the brooding silence. "Mr. Zabini to see you, sir."
I dropped my head on the desk. Just the man to announce my bankruptcy to, my long time business partner and advisor, Blaise Zabini.
"Tell the bloke that I'm not here, Rhys." I answered. As fine an idea as it seemed to speak with him and receive counsel, it seemed even finer to drown myself in a bottle.
"Malfoy, I'm coming up now. You sound perfectly sloshed already. Do sober up, we've got a lot to discuss," a deep male voice cut in and I groaned aloud. I wouldn't even be able allowed the day to mourn.
As I prepared to take another gulp, the door burst open with a certainly unnecessary amount of force. Zabini entered, removing his hat and raking his hands through his hair. He shook out his umbrella on my floor and I looked on disapprovingly.
"I have a lobby in this building for a reason," I told him.
He paid me no mind and immediately set about his business.
"How long have you been drinking, Malfoy?" He asked, now beginning to search my cabinets.
"I'd reckon it's been since I had my first glass of wine at age 11," I replied snidely.
"Ah, I've got it." He said turning to face me for the first time since he entered. He had my modified pepper up potion in hand, as he grabbed my glass and poured it down his own throat. I eyed him warily, whatever he had to say to me couldn't be good. Zabini was never one to drink, especially since he'd grown up seeing his mother a sloshed mess most of his childhood.
He set the potion on the table and as I began to stand, he forced me back down.
"You're going to want to sit down for this, mate," Zabini told me seriously, uncorking the potion. He handed it to me and I took it gingerly. He looked at me intently, watching me to make sure I swallowed and when I got my headache as expected he cleared his throat.
"Mate, I don't know how to tell you this but I want you to know that it isn't the end and I will support you no matter what happens. You've been my best mate for years now," he told me. This was the most impassioned I'd ever seen the man outside of the solace of a woman's arms.
"If you've turned into a bloody poof for me than you're all out of luck, my friend," I said, half jokingly. He glared at me and all I could do was gape back at him and it was clear that it was making him uncomfortable because he turned his back to me.
"As of today at 10 am, all shares of Malfoy and Co. are essentially worthless. You're bankrupt," he said solemnly and looked over his shoulder.
I chuckled lightly. "Tell me something I don't know, Zabini. To think, I was just trying to think of way to tell you the same thing,"
Zabini turned, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed, I could see the gears turning in his mind.
"How long have you known?" He asked me.
"I knew this company wouldn't make it about six months in, mate. Any allies my father had basically turned their backs on me as soon as they could for their own benefit," I said, bitterly.
"And you've never made any effort to prevent it? Never thought to tell me?" He began io raise his voice, "To downsize? Cut back on your spending perhaps?"
I leaned back in my chair, taking in his loss of composure. I did feel a bit of guilt niggling at me, he had clearly worried himself sick over how I would take the news.
"I'm sorry," I told him simply, out of impulse. His anger disintegrated and he floundered for a response.
"You? You're sorry?" He asked with no small amount of surprise.
"I am," I nodded, solemnly. "I didn't know what to do, I thought the way to handle it was to pretend it wasn't happening. To carry on business as usual. An unfortunate remnant of my father's child rearing."
Of course an apology from me was not to be taken without suspicion, as Blaise well knew so he continued cautiously. He cleared his throat and straightened his robes.
"I'm glad that you understand the severity of this situation without my needing to knock some sense into you." He folded his long frame into the plush seat across from me. "Now we need to figure out a way out of this mess, Malfoy,"
"A way out?" I scoffed at him. "What do you think I've been doing for five years other than thinking of how to get out of this?"
"Obviously you weren't thinking hard enough!" Blaise said sharply and that silenced me. He pulled out a dark green folio.
"I've got a plan, mate. You may not like it but it's our best option,"
I opened the folder and the words stood out in gold script, burning themselves into the back of my brain.
Hermione Granger,
Entrepreneur