"Third quarter earnings are five percent over projected growth but current economic climate indicates…" Draco caught his head falling back for the third time in the last half hour. Being head of the family meant monitoring the various stock, bonds and options that make up the family portfolio. Draco, to his initial surprise, learned he quite enjoyed the ins and outs of business. One thing he did not enjoy however was meetings. Especially stockholders meetings! Add to that a man who is in absolute love with his own voice and looks as if he has enough wind in him to keep talking into the next year, it's amazing that anyone was left conscious. As the man droned on and on Draco had time to think about the task he had put on himself. The problem wasn't getting to Potter but talking to him privately. The golden trio (as Potter, Granger and the weasel were known) was involved in as many charities, fundraisers and causes as Draco. But he couldn't very well go up to Potter in the middle of a gala and say" Potter, your dead godfather came to me and told me if I didn't save you from yourself he would haunt me for all eternity". Merlin, they would think him worse than Lucas. Although the look on Potters face just might be worth it. No he needed to make contact in a way so as not to alarm. But for the life of him he just couldn't think of how. So engrossed was he that the rest of the meeting went by unnoticed but at the end he was no closer to a workable plan. "Damn it all to hell!" Draco muttered walking out of the meeting room with the rest of the semi conscious share holders. "What kind of Slytherin am I that I can't plot to trap one lousy Gryffindor even if he is the Boy Who Lived!" Draco walked quickly to the floor in the lobby of the building. Still lost in thought he grabbed some floo powder from the pot placed on the mantle and called out 512 Willow Avenue. Striding out of the floo in his apartment Draco went over to the wall of windows resting his head against the cool glass as he stood looking out at the muggles scurrying to and fro. A soft pop sounded behind Draco caused him to turn around to find Fitz, a house elf, wearing an old scarf wrapped toga stile. The old elf looked two years older than the earth but has served as Draco's valet since he was seven. Fitz was unendily loyal and seemed to genuinely enjoy taking care of Draco. Fitz was one of very few that Draco trusted and was really very fond of him not that Draco would EVER admit that out loud, "Mister Draco, tea is ready to serve and Fitz has post" the little elf said bowing low enough for his long hocked nose to touch the floor.
"Thank you Fitz I'll take tea in here"
"As master wishes" Fitz said and snapping his fingers at the coffee table upon which a silver tea service appeared.
Draco walked over to his favorite wing back chair and after pouring a cup of tea and choosing a scone sat back to contemplate. His main problem was he really didn't know what Potter was doing. At school he talked about becoming an Auror but seemed to have lost interest after the last battle. Not really surprising as he spent most of his teen years fighting psychotic and sociopathic witches and wizards. So what indirect routes are there? Maybe through one of Potters close friends. Draco cast his mind back trying to decide on a likely candidate. Granger was working in the research portion of St Mungos working on werewolves or something like that, Weasly was an Auror partnered with Longbottem. Draco had to roll his eyes at that one talk about the blind leading the blind. And Lovegood was the editor of the quibbler which was now THE paper since it was the only paper that wrote the truth during the war. "On second thought maybe not" Draco thought" if Lovegood was the best bet to help then there has got to be another way. Sighing to himself Draco abandoned his train of thought and started reading his mail. Lawyer wanting contracts signed, accountant wanting Merlin knows what, invitation to the annual ministry ball. Draco picked up the invitation and looked at it speculatively. Everyone who is anyone would be there, most of the people colossal boars but maybe the best chance to open contact with Potter. It maybe the best shot he had.
Oblivion was becoming harder and harder to catch. Alcohol alone wasn't enough anymore but luckily there were many things to mix that bring oblivion that much closer. The logical part of his brain was telling him if he didn't stop one day he wouldn't wake up. "I wonder if that would be so bad. To sleep without dream, to go where no one could reach him, hurt him was very seductive. It would be ironic if he lived through all the crap in his life, all the people who have tried to kill him to die of a self inflicted overdose." The thought was so amusing to his fogged and hazed mind that he started to laugh. A laugh that had a slightly insane sound to it but before anyone could become weirded out the laughter turned with a gasp to quiet sobbing.