A/N: Warning- sad scene, but no deaths

For most people, it would be an utter nightmare if you came to work in your birthday suit, and everyone knew except you. Now Draco got to live that particular nightmare out, in a way, as he and Luna came in to land in the large, open-plan office that constituted the Administration floor of Malfoy Enterprises. His officelurked menacingly at the far end.

He saw Weasley, front and centre, standing around in a group of office workers, chatting, laughing, looking as though they didn't have a care in the world. And also, Draco noted darkly, not doing any bloody work. He recognised the robes Weasley wore as the ones he wore today. There was a tea stain on them already.

Weasley had one eye on the office entrance, and when he heard the sound of the Floo whisking someone into the building, his demeanour changed from easy-going jokester to panicked librarian. 'He's here! Shush everyone, Malfoy's here!'

And as if someone had dumped a large, cold bucket of water on the staff members, they scrambled like mad to their desks, writing memos, summoning owls and looking very business-like.

Observer Draco felt rather pleased at this immense display of efficiency. Watching himself as he strode through the office, he approved of their deferential stance with their eyes to the ground.

But then he saw each and every worker look at his retreating back with malice and resentment in their eyes.

The office atmosphere wasn't business-like. It palpitated with churlish malevolence.

Goosebumps formed on his skin. Every bit of it.

'Do you know your workers' names?' Luna asked.

'Of course!' Draco spluttered. 'There's Weasley, of course, and there's... um... Vera? I'm sure one of them's a Vera. And... um... Mike?'

Luna looked at him with pity. He could practically see her thinking 'Stupid twat doesn't even know the names of his employees.'

Instead, she said 'They don't seem to like you very much.'

'Well,' Draco blustered, 'I'm not paying them to like me! I'm not here to be liked! I'm here to run a business, and they're here to get paid for helping me run the damn business!'

Luna ignored him. 'They don't seem very happy, either.'

Glaring, Draco had another look around. He saw lots of clenched jaws and sad, mopey eyes. Aside from the people who burned with resentment, the remainder gave off an almost palpable stink of depression.

So, Luna was right. Big deal. He paid them, didn't he? He tried to recall the last time he gave everyone a pay rise, even if it was only to adjust for inflation, and...

His pale cheeks burned. He couldn't remember.

'Is this it?' Draco snapped. 'I get to stare at a bunch of sad sacks that I already see five damn days a week?'

Luna arched a delicate eyebrow. 'You seem a little upset, Draco,' she said. 'Do you want to talk about it?'

Draco's face turned purple.

'Anyway, to answer your question,' Luna continued, 'we do, in fact, have somewhere else to go. Take my hand.'

As the pair dematerialised out of the building, Draco entertained himself with all the ways he could make his employees' working days worse. Charge admission to the toilets, perhaps?

The place Luna took them too had Draco's skin crawling. It was a kitchen, he was fairly sure, but it was crammed with... with... crap! And – and wood!

It was everywhere. Wooden walls, wooden furniture, warped wooden beams holding up a very low ceiling. The table looked to be just a bunch of planks of wood slapped together. Every surface had something on it. Usually lots of somethings. And nothing matched! Every chair surrounding the table was in no way related to its neighbour, and even the windows were different – leadlight here, stained glass there, plain in the middle. And even though it was dark and snowing outside, he could plainly see what the windows looked like because there were no curtains.

Draco had never set foot in a place that didn't even have the decency of drapery.

And on top of that, it was also crammed with... people! Hordes of people shoe-horned in this ridiculous excuse of a kitchen!

But even though Draco's fine sense of interior decoration was getting a thorough spanking, the expressions on their mostly ginger-haired faces didn't escape his notice. They were smiling. Laughing. Talking animatedly. Eating, and asking for seconds. Little children ran around the table, getting underfoot.

A nice, roaring fire made the scene chaotic and... cosy.

Draco peered closer at one of the men. 'Hey! That's Weasley!'

Luna nodded. 'This is the Weasley household, earlier this evening. Listen to what they're saying.'

One young man, whose mirror image sat next to him, said 'You got home early tonight, Ron! Did you finally escape the clutches of that miserly old bastard, Malfoy?'

Draco gave him the finger.

'He's not old, Fred,' Ron reminded him, helping a child sitting next to him cut his food. 'He's younger than you.'

A red-haired, matronly type of woman sailed past Fred, rapping his knuckles with a wooden spoon. 'No swearing while the young'ns are about,' she sang.

'Sorry Mum,' muttered Fred, rubbing his hand.

'Ah! There she is!' Ron cheered, standing up as a well-breasted blonde woman came carefully down the stairs, cradling an infant. 'How's the little petal, then?'

Lavender, Ron's wife, sat at the end of the table, pasting a brittle half-smile over her doleful features. 'She's not eating very much at all,' she confessed. Then she bit her lip. 'She's losing weight, Ron.'

Ron's face dropped and he fell silent, as did the other adults at the table. Mrs Weasley (Molly) squeezed Lavender's shoulders. 'I'll warm up a bottle, love,' she said encouragingly. 'If she's hungry, she'll surely take to it this time.'

'I hope so,' Lavender whispered, soothing the forehead of her weak but fretting baby.

'What's wrong with the baby?' Draco demanded of Luna angrily. 'Why won't it feed?'

Luna ignored his accusatory tone. 'She gets a dreadful tummy ache when she feeds,' she replied. 'She can't keep her mother's milk down, and she's had no success with the bottle. She needs to see a paediatric Healer, a special one, but they can't afford the Healer's fee or treatment costs.'

Draco's mouth fell open. Fancy being so poor that you couldn't afford medical care for your child.

'What will happen if she doesn't see the Healer?'

Luna's silver eyes met his. They were diamond-hard. 'Then she dies, Draco,' she snapped. 'She leaves her parents behind with nothing but a body to bury in the ground, and a lifetime's worth of grief and regret.'

Ashen-faced and silent, Draco watched as first Lavender, then Molly, tried to coax the wee thing to take some milk – only to watch the poor, tormented babe turn her head away and weakly cry.

The warm kitchen was quiet, save for Lavender and Molly's quiet, coaxing voices. Even the children were silent. Draco watched Ron scrub a tear from his face. Only for it to be replaced by another.

Draco locked onto Luna's hand. 'Take me away, for the love of Merlin,' he croaked. 'Now!'

Luna nodded. And they disappeared.