"Master Draco, sir." Tickety entered the study and gave a low bow. "There is a visitor at the gate."
"Who is it, Tickety?" Draco asked. Épiphanie was perched in his lap as they looked over the reporting on The Dragons' latest match in The Daily Prophet sports section.
"Mr. Blaise Zabini."
Épiphanie lowered the paper and looked at him. Draco gave her a shrug and shook his head.
"Show him in, Tickety."
"Now, what does he want?" she wondered aloud, folding the paper and setting it on the desk. "Have you even spoken to him since we left school?"
He kissed her shoulder. "Hardly. We offered him a trial with the Dragons, at Harry's suggestion. Predictably, he turned it down."
"Humph! There's a surprise," she said with a derisive snort.
The door of the study opened and Blaise followed the house elf into the room.
"Zabini," Draco barely deigned to give him a glance as he ran an idle hand over Épiphanie's thigh.
"Blaise," Épiphanie gave him a tight smile.
"Draco. Épiphanie, you're looking well." The smile he returned was equally disdainful—or perhaps it was a bit sardonic? No doubt, Blaise still harbored some resentment over her painful rejection of his advances when they were students at Hogwarts.
"Shall I leave you to it, boo?" She looked to Draco.
"Thank you, my beloved. I trust you can amuse yourself until we are finished here?" He traced a finger over her cheek; a gesture she knew was more to unsettle Blaise than it was meant as a sign of affection.
She took it for what it was and whispered in his ear. "You are truly wicked!"
Draco took her chin and pulled her in for a deep kiss. He slid his hand over her bottom and pinched it, then splayed his fingers over the curved fullness in the jeans that she wore. She gracefully unfolded herself from his embrace and took up the paper, tucking it under her arm.
"Good to see you, Blaise."
"Épiphanie, always a pleasure." He held his thin smile as she left the room, his eyes lingering on her retreating figure as she pulled the door closed behind her. Draco cleared his throat, and he snapped back to himself. "Well, now. Look at the two of you, so cozy in your muggle attire. No doubt Lucius would be…proud." Blaise took a seat in one of the chairs that faced the desk. "And what does the Minister have to say to this little arrangement? I'm surprised the press hasn't gotten wind of it—or does the Malfoy name still hold sway over the information The Prophet may print about them?"
Draco calmly leaned back in his chair, and steepled his fingers as he leveled his gaze at Blaise.
"Not that it is any of your business, Blaise, but as Épiphanie maintains her own residence in the players' village at Dragon Grove—along with the other members of the Wiltshire Dragons Quidditch Club, The Minister of Magic does not seem to be too disturbed. I'm certain that my love life is not the reason for your unannounced visit, and I do happen to have a business to run." He gestured to the parchments on his desk. "So, why don't you cut to the adagio?"
Blaise withered a bit and heaved a sigh, looking back towards the door as if hoping that Épiphanie might return and interrupt their discussion, giving him an excuse to back out of his plan for being there in the first place.
"It's Mother. She's gone." He gave Draco a look of defeat as he spoke. "And our vaults are empty."
Épiphanie wandered down the second floor corridor away from the study. She paused when she reached the stairs and instead of going up, continued on to the east wing of the house. She examined paintings of witches and wizards who mostly looked upon her with disdain, until she came upon a portrait of a boy standing beside a rocking horse. She paused and studied the boy. She surmised his age to be about four or five years old. He had silver-grey eyes and a cherubic face framed by downy white-blond curls, and wore a dark middy blouse with matching knee breeches adorned with silver buttons. His serious expression softened when Épiphanie approached the picture, and his eyes widened in wonder.
She smiled, recognizing the subject of the painting immediately, and winked at the boy as she turned to continue down the corridor. He started anxiously, and began to follow her from painting to painting, much to the consternation of the other portrait subjects.
"Are you following me?" she asked. He nodded vigorously. "Why?"
"Because you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen—except Mother!" he exclaimed.
"Well, I'm flattered."
"I'm going to marry you!"
"Are you really? Aww, that's cute!"
"I'm not cute! I'm handsome! I'll be a famous wizard one day!"
"I have no doubt that you will be one day. Everyone will know your name."
"Everyone already knows my name!" he said, haughtily. Épiphanie laughed.
"You know, that's true, Draco Malfoy. I'm going to go now, okay?"
"Farewell, my immortal beloved!" the boy in the painting gave her a courtly bow, and Épiphanie curtsied in return before continuing on.
"Do you not have any idea where she's gone?" Draco asked Blaise. "If the vault is empty, she'd have had to transfer those assets—unless there were none."
"Those wretched goblins at Gringotts won't tell me a thing because I wasn't an account signatory." Blaise scowled. "An estate agent arrived this morning with a notice to vacate. I have to be out in ten days! She's selling up! I can't believe it! That—that—bitch!" he spat.
"Really, Blaise." Draco's tone was unsympathetic. "You had to anticipate something like this. With Shacklebolt running things, the Ministry was bound to get aggressive and begin to question all of these untimely deaths. Barely a year passed between the last three. You ought to consider yourself fortunate that you're still on this side of the rose garden yourself." He went to a shelf behind the desk that held a tray with a small number of choice liquors and picked up a decanter. "Single Malt?"
"Glenfiddich?"
"Laphroaig."
"Quarter cask?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "An Cuan Mor. Honestly, Blaise. What am I—a philistine?"
"Ah, yes, of course. Forgive me. Although, one is led to wonder…having seen an automobile parked in front of your house." Blaise couldn't resist the dig, and raised a brow. "Am I to assume that it belongs to The Lady?"
"The car is mine." Draco poured two fingers of scotch for himself and capped the decanter without making another offer to his classmate. "What is it that you plan to do about your situation?"
Blaise looked longingly at the scotch decanter, wishing he had restrained his general urge to be supercilious. A little liquid courage would go a long way right now.
"I was rather hoping that you might see your way to give me a loan."
Draco returned to the chair behind his desk and sipped his scotch thoughtfully. He set the double old-fashioned glass down on the blotter and traced a finger over the rim of the cut crystal vessel as he regarded the wizard who had once been one of his closest friends.
"What exactly leads you to believe that I would do such a thing?" he asked.
"Well, you did offer me a trial with your club."
Draco snorted. "I offered you a trial, at the request of my partner—Harry Potter." He gave Blaise a pointed look. "As I recall, you considered a career as a professional athlete beneath you."
Blaise met Draco's gaze with barely contained equanimity. He nodded in concession and stood.
"Very well. Thank you for your time, Malfoy. I'll see myself out then."
Every fiber of Draco's being told him to let the wizard leave. After all, he had consistently insulted him and made every effort to drive a wedge between him and Épiphanie during their last year of school. Nonetheless, Blaise also had the potential to embarrass Draco if he so chose, and their friendship was longer than his memory of a single term of school when they had all been attempting to find footing again in a postbellum world.
"Zabini, wait." Draco swiveled his chair. Blaise stopped, his hand on the doorknob. "Did you not achieve Oustanding N.E.W.T.s in Potions and Arithmancy?"
"I did, as well as Exceeds Expectations in Herbology." Blaise turned to him, unsuccessfully concealing the hopeful look in his eyes. Draco gestured for him to return to his seat.
"I suppose I might be able to do something to assist you with your circumstances. However, as you have no collateral to speak of, a loan is absolutely out of the question. I am, however inclined to offer you something you might not have considered—employment."
Blaise regarded Draco with a look that reminded him of the expression he wore when Épiphanie turned Nott's dinner into maggots their first night back at school.
"Yes, Blaise, a job. There is an opening with Malfoy Apothecary that I believe you will find acceptable. You will have to move to Paris. I have an apartment there where you may lodge until you find your own residence, and I am prepared to give you a reasonable advance against your salary to assist you with relocation. This is a one-time offer, so if the terms are agreeable, I'll have a contract drawn up and owled to you in forty-eight hours."
"Done." Blaise wasted little time in replying. He rose, and they shook hands. "I—what made you change your mind?"
"There was a time when I thought I was down to nothing, and someone—more than one someone—came into my life offering me everything. I will never be able to pay it all back, but at least I can pay it forward."