Chapter 9

Draco was surprised, the floo network deposited him not in another oversized fireplace, but what appeared to be a specialized closet. Stepping out, he found himself in an oversized great room, two walls made of glass giving view to the park and the city beyond. He found himself blinking at the bright light and unfamiliar surroundings.

"Close your mouth boy, you look like a fool." His father's icy voice cut through his reverie. Lucius was standing at a sleek ebony bar, lowball in hand, amber liquid sloshing. He gestured expansively with the other arm. "Welcome to Westfoy. The servants have already arranged your room, it is on the second floor, down the hall from the library. Gemini Black is joining us for dinner. She is the head of the New York Blacks. You are expected to be on your best behavior. Her approval is critical for us at this juncture."

"Yes sir," Draco found himself involuntarily standing straighter. There was something when his father used that tone, that no matter how much he wanted to rebel, even with the minimalistic defiance of a slouch, he couldn't. If he were more paranoid, he would think his father used some sort of charm on him to ensure compliance. Instead Draco chalked it up to ingrained responses to negative stimuli, or some other sort of psycho-babble. Really, I need to find better reading material. Why there were books by Wilhelm Wundt, structuralism, and other modern muggle psychology in their library was beyond him.

Draco left his father and went up the large floating staircase, all gleaming steel and Lucite, its ethereal structure surprisingly solid underfoot. Similarly, his bedroom was a tribute to modern design and architecture. The penthouse the polar opposite of the ancient and quixotic places he had called home before, the country estate, and Hogwarts. Different even from the posh London townhouse where the family had holed up for the past several months, with its heavy antiques and sense of tweedy formality. The place was cold, clean, and looked more for display than living. Draco immediately hated it.

A low slung king size bed dominated his bedroom, it was swathed in a dark silk duvet and looked surprisingly inviting despite its masculine style. He explored a series of chrome handled doors, and was pleasantly surprised with a large closet, water closet, and his own study. A note was on the dresser, diner is at 8, drinks before, dress appropriately. He snorted, as if his father thought he had forgotten in the short walk to his room. Speaking of drinks though, Draco was pleased to notice a well-stocked bar in one corner of the room and fixed himself tonic, the ice tinkling pleasantly into the glass.

It was 8pm in London, so 3 in his new homeland. Draco weighed his options, go out for a walk and explore the city, wonder around the penthouse and risk running into his father, or nap? Pulling out his wand, he whispered a charmed and smoked the floor to ceiling windows, a nap is probably my best option for staying out of trouble. He pulled off his clothes and studied himself in the mirror. His trademark pallor remained, nothing in the few months since the end of the war had caused him to get time in the sun. On the other hand, his muscles were more defined, not only had he taken to reading everything in the library, but he had started a religious workout regime. To an extent, the recent self-imposed home imprisonment had done a great deal to improve his health. He ran a hand through his pale hair, it had gotten long. Considering his options, Draco decided that he could forgo a salon, but still make a few improvements. Taking out his wand, eyes still riveted on his reflection, Draco began muttering and flicking.

Short minutes later, a tanner, but still pale young man with dark honey hair and a well-trimmed goatee lay down to sleep, a smile on his face. Defiance can take many forms, he thought, let this be mine, for tonight at least. Soon enough I will have to screw my courage to the sticking point, but not now.

Draco's dreams were troubled. He was someplace he didn't understand, both library and forest, cathedral and cottage. He felt an overwhelming sense of peace, and he didn't understand it. Through a stained glass window, hanging from green boughs, he thought he caught the glimpse of the back of a women's head, it was bowed over. He moved to see her better, she was sitting cross legged on the floor, the forest giving way to smooth hardwoods. A little girl with wild curls in her lap. The women was reading a story. The closer he move to her, the more elation he felt, and yet the farther away she got. He could never see her face, never hear her voice, but the smell of honeysuckle, and old books floated to him, and his heart sang. The little girl stood laughing, and ran towards him, "Daddy!" Her light brown curls bounced in an unruly pile on her head, her baby teeth a bit overlarge for her face. Draco caught her and swung her high around. The little girl's laughter delighting him, and yet filling him with an anxious panic. Why couldn't he see the women's face? He started walking again, little girl balanced on his shoulders.

He woke, heart beating faster, the vague memory of the dream fleeing in the face of the black and chrome room in front of him. Draco ran a hand over his face. Hitting the goatee, he paused. Maybe not.

After his shower, a smooth faced Draco emerged, towel slung low over his hips. He wandered into the study to refresh his drink before dressing. A stack of smooth envelopes were on his desk, obviously delivered while he slept. Checking the time, he decided he could spare the minutes to review them and still be appropriately groomed for their guests.

On top, a note from his mother. Wear the Armani tonight, with the blue tie. It brings out your eyes darling. He smiled indulgently and tossed the page back on the desk. At least one decision made for the night.

Next was a perfumed missive from Pansy Parkinson. His eyes rolled involuntarily. Pansy was his ex-girlfriend, and despite the resolution of the war, and his recent change of fortune, she seemed determine to drop the ex part. He dropped it without reading into the steel mesh trash bin. She would make someone a fine trophy wife one day, and she would drive the man to success, or drive him mad, but either way, he knew that she was not the sort for him anymore. He wanted someone more substantial.

The next was from Crabbe, the young man's family was still under investigation and he had not been receiving the same kind treatment from the tribunals. Lucius had made it clear that the association with the Crabbe's and Goyle's had come to an end, the families having no more to offer in terms of influence of loyalty. Draco had not been upset to quit the relationship, but Crabbe had stubbornly clung to writing Draco. He scanned the lines, his former henchmen begging for an invitation to New York, and the protection of the Malfoy name. Draco sighed, he would have to talk to his father. Crabbe was loyal, and that loyalty should not be abused. The man should be shielded in part, and given a chance to atone…maybe in Argentina.

Draco checked the time and dropped the rest of the envelopes back to the desk. He had to finish getting dressed, one did not keep Gemini Black waiting.

a/n So excited! I just got my 5th follower – Welcome mlangrell!