Set Adrift on Memory Bliss…

"Fancy spending the Easter break at Malfoy Manor?" Draco sat down beside Épiphanie, brushing her hair back and nuzzling her neck. She edged away from him and snorted.

"As if! You really think my dad would agree to his underage daughter spending a week alone with a wizard of…dubious…moral standards?" she gave him a wink and turned her concentration back to the official-looking form she was filling in. A bevy of owls began landing in front of her, bearing various packages and other mail.

"What's all this?" Draco asked.

"Wand Permit Application." She said. "I'm not feeling all that cool about providing all these details. It almost makes me want to leave it home—no, after all I've been through with this thing, it stays with me. And these—" She pointed to the largest packages. "Are probably my new dress robes from Madam Malkin." She began to unburden the owls, who were impatiently waiting for attention. The other Slytherins nearby looked on curiously.

"Wand Permit Application and dress robes? What for?"

"Dad is making an official State visit to MACUSA, and guess whose presence is mandatory? Tours of MACUSA, Ilvermorny, USA Quidditch training center, and I have a keynote speech to present at the Salem Witches Institute's Spring Convocation. Yaaay," she said unenthusiastically.

"Oh. Well, erm…"

"You know, I would much rather spend it with you and the gang, but what can I do? Such is the life of The Minister's kid I guess. Since I was raised in the U.S., it's kind of a big deal." She gave a regal wave. "It's weird, though. I mean, coming here was like—whoa, but it was different and new. Going back there with a title and all that seems—I dunno." She shrugged. "Hey, I'll take lots of pictures and send them to you. Why don't you invite Harry and the gang out to The Manor?" she suggested.

"Yea-ah, no. I don't think that will work. Besides, I'm fairly certain that nothing short of an Imperius curse will ever get Hermione back into Malfoy Manor," he replied. Épiphanie looked at him curiously. "My dear, departed, deranged Auntie Bella did torture her and then threaten to murder her on the floor of the drawing room." He grimaced. She looked at him in horror.

"Is that why you don't want to go back?" she asked.

"It's one of the reasons, yes. I know I should go and begin seeing to affairs there, especially with Mother still abroad. I honestly don't believe that she plans to return. She's been at our villa in Tuscany since just after the trial ended. She wrote last week about going to Spain and staying there until summer."

"How many homes do you own?" Épiphanie asked. Draco squinted as he considered her question.

"Well, there's the Manor, and Antares Hall, of course. I also received in my birthright, an apartment in Paris and a lovely holiday home in Martinique. There's the villa and vineyards in Tuscany, a residence in Monte Carlo—mother hates it there. An estate in the South of France—we share that with the Black family—well, I guess that would be Harry now. Hm, I wonder if he knows about it.

"Wow!"

"But my dearest, I happen to know that the Shacklebolt family also has a number of homes. The Minister has a fine residence in Worthing, as well as a home in Ethiopia, as well as a lovely beachfront property in Jamaica." Draco snagged a piece of toast and spread some jam on it.

"Really? But you didn't know that he lived across the street from your own house?" Épiphanie smirked.

"I didn't even know the location of Antares Hall until I first landed within the property, so I would have had no idea. Clearly Lucius had no idea either. I'm sure he would have sold Kingsley out to The Dark Lord without a second thought."

"Why do you call him the Dark Lord, and Harry and the others call him Tom Riddle?"

Draco shrugged. "I dunno. Differences in perception I suppose. I'm certainly glad that he's gone. There's just that taint that he left on The Manor."

"So change it. I thought the place was rather dark and depressing myself."

"Shall I paint it pastel pink?" he scoffed. She cut her eyes at him.

"Draco, remember when I told you to be the change that you want to see? Just because it's been done the same way for centuries, doesn't mean it has to stay that way. It's your estate. Turn it into a place that you would be happy with. Hell, burn it to the ground if you like. Start over from scratch. I wish I could spend the holiday with you, but maybe this was meant to be an opportunity for self-reflection—as long as it doesn't include an endless swim in the fountain or any calming draughts chased with hash. You have to do the work—starting from the inside." She gave him a pointed look.

"Touché, my love." He kissed her cheek. "Perhaps, if I had something to remember you by in your absence…"

"It's Lent. No vices. Besides, that is a privilege reserved for one who has earned my trust," she replied, her tone reminding him that he had yet a ways to go before she would fully forgive him. She waved her wand at the numerous packages and they stacked themselves in an orderly pile. Draco groaned in frustration.

"In the hope to meet shortly again, and make our absence sweet."

"Dearest, I am always with thee." She smiled and laid a finger alongside her temple. She stood and began gathering all of her parcels.

They looked up to see Professors Slughorn and McGonagall approaching the table.

"Good morning, Headmistress, Professor Slughorn." Draco took the larger packages from Épiphanie.

"Mr. Malfoy." The Headmistress nodded.

"Draco." Their head of house gave them a smile. "That's quite a haul, young lady!"

"Yes sir, preparations for the holiday," Épiphanie replied.

"Ah, yes! A state visit! How thrilling!" the professor gushed. Épiphanie shrugged.

"Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt, if you would care to join us in my office after you have secured your belongings?" Minerva interrupted what she was sure would be an effusive litany of Slughorn's most notable students.

"Yes, ma'am."

Épiphanie stepped off the moving staircase and into The Headmistress' office a little while later and took a seat beside Professor Slughorn.

"Thank you for your promptness, Épiphanie. I see that you and Mr. Malfoy have mended your fences."

"We're working on it." She bit her lip.

"Excellent. Now then, I've called this conference in order to enquire about your decisions for the future. Normally, these sessions take place in a student's fifth year, prior to O.W.L.s examinations. Of course, yours is a special situation, so we thought it best to have this discussion ahead of revisions for your N.E.W.T. examinations."

"You have proven yourself to be most exceptional, young lady. Few witches or wizards of your age would have managed so gracefully to enter school at such a late date and excel beyond her age level so quickly!" Professor Slughorn gushed. "Completing N.E.W.T. levels in one school year! I daresay you've outshone Miss Granger and even our Mr. Potter!"

"Thank you, sir. I suppose Ma Mère should receive some of that credit." Épiphanie was a little embarrassed by the praise.

"Épiphanie have you had the opportunity to give any thought to what you will do when you finish school?" Minerva asked her.

"I—I guess I really don't know, ma'am. I always thought that I would finish high school and apply to college. Is there wizarding college? Do we go to college?" she asked.

"Well, most witches and wizards who have the requisite N.E.W.T. scores are able to go into the career of their choice upon leaving school. However, there are some who choose to apprentice for masters in certain disciplines such as Potions or Herbology. There is training available for Healers and Mediwizards. I understand that you assisted Madame Pomfrey with the arrival of a certain surprise. However did you think to conjure a birthing chair?"

"Oh, um. Ma Mére had one. Tante Celeste is a holistic midwife. She uses one quite a bit." Épiphanie bit her lip.

"I see. Well there is quite a plethora of careers from which to choose. You have a talent that, with the scores I'm sure you will obtain, would be suitable in any one of them. And yes, some witches and wizards—mostly muggleborn and half-blood—do in fact attend university if they wish. Given your dual citizenship, there are also unique career choices available to you in America."

Épiphanie exhaled slowly, giving The Headmistress a look of wonder. "Wow. This is heavy!"

"I'm sorry? Is there a weight upon you? What's heavy, my dear?" Professor Slughorn.

"Oh, no sir. It's just an expression we have in America. It's a muggle thing—like um, overwhelming." She explained. The professor nodded, but a perplexed expression remained on his face and he studied her as if looking for the source of the weight.

"I understand that it can be daunting. I would encourage you to speak to your peers and some of the professors. Perhaps while you are abroad, you will have an opportunity to have this discussion with your parents. I understand that you will be seeing your mother?"

"I hope to have the opportunity for a visit."

"Very good. Now then, here is a list of some careers you may be interested in with descriptions of the jobs and requisite skills. If you have any questions at all, do let me or Professor Slughorn know." She passed Épiphanie a number of pamphlets.

"Thank you, ma'am." She glanced through the list and pamphlets. "Executioner? Um—no. Maybe not that one."

"Oho! Wise choice!" Professor Slughorn exclaimed. They all laughed.

"Wait! I could play professional Quidditch?" Épiphanie opened a pamphlet describing the professional teams.

"Oh, yes!" Minerva perked up at this. "Making a team is quite competitive and trials are not offered on a regular basis, but scouts are always on the lookout for fresh young talent. There is also the national team—here and in the United States."

Épiphanie thought she detected a slight note of wistfulness in The Headmistress' voice. She gave her a smile.

"I wonder what my dad would have to say about that," she said. "There's a lot to look at here. Thank you, Professor."

"Of course."

Épiphanie was still debating her possible career choices, and wondering if she could even compete with professional quidditch players, as the weekend rolled around. The entire school was stunned to watch Ravenclaw defeat Gryffindor 130 to 50, with Harry losing the snitch to a third-year Seeker. However embarrassing the loss, Ravenclaw's victory wasn't enough to knock the Lions out of Cup contention. With their scores in the Cup standings tied at 480, the Quidditch Cup match would pit the two bitter rivals, Gryffindor and Slytherin in just a few weeks. Despite the mountain of work that the instructors set, students still found time to engage in spirited debate with each other and their professors about the likely outcome of the match.

On the day of the train's departure for London a week later, Draco and Épiphanie stood on the platform and bid farewell to their friends. Draco planned to apparate to Malfoy Manor and Kingsley was meeting Épiphanie at the castle that evening with a portkey to New Orleans where they would celebrate Easter with Angelique before beginning their tour.

"Will you be okay?" Épiphanie looked into Draco's cool grey eyes.

"I plan to conduct a full property inventory. I'll be far too busy to think of anything too mawkish." He gave her a smile. She touched his face, happy to see that he had resumed taking an interest in his appearance. His pale cheeks were smooth and his sleek platinum tresses had been neatly trimmed to shoulder length, their ethereal glow making him appear far more innocent than anyone knew him to be. Draco wore a crisp oxford shirt in emerald green with a charcoal cashmere blazer and black jeans. She had admired the way his backside looked in the dark denim when they walked down to the station.

He escorted her back to the gates and gave her a kiss. The intense passion that they had previously shared had dimmed, but the magical connection remained an Draco was buoyed by the feeling, his heart aching just a bit as he watched her walk back up the path before he turned and apparated.

He landed in the grand entrance hall and was surprised to be greeted by his two beloved greyhounds, Castor and Pollux. Draco ad believed that the dogs were either killed or had escaped the estate during the occupation by Voldemort. He wondered now what had happened to his father's Borzoï hounds as he vaguely remembered the stately dogs shrinking away from the great snake, Nagini, but he couldn't remember where they might have disappeared to.

"Hello, my boys!" he crouched to pet the slender blue canines, reveling in their affection as if he'd only been gone for a day. "Where have you been? Were you hiding from me?"

The dogs followed him into the study where he poured himself a brandy and took a seat by the fire, sipping languidly as the two animals rested at his feet.

"Pippy!" he called. Seconds later, a tiny house elf appeared.

"Yes, master—L-Lucius?" she stammered, her face a mask of fear and confusion.

"No, Pippy. It's me, Draco." He pulled his hair away from his face.

"Oh! Pippy is so s-sorry, Master Draco! Pippy is confused. M-master's hair—Pippy is not meaning to—" the elf cowered, reaching for the fireplace tools.

"Pippy, stop! You are not to harm yourself, do you understand?"

"Y-yes, Master Draco." She held her hands together tightly to resist the urge for self-flagellation.

"Pippy, I was wondering where Castor and Pollux came from. Where have they been all this time?"

"Oh, sir! Castor and Pollux was never lost! When the Dark Lord came to stay, the pups were frightened. Pippy and Tickety was hiding Master Draco's pups behind the horses' house, sir! Pippy wanted to rescue Master Lucius' Borzoïs too, but they was not liking the horses and ran away. Master Lucius was most furious!"

"You saved my dogs?" Draco was astounded.

"Yes, Master! We is knowing how much Master is loving his pups!" she replied.

"Thank you, Pippy!" he smiled at the elf. She stared at him in shock. He laughed. "It's okay, Pip. There are things that are going to change around here. I want you to go to Antares Hall and fetch Diggy and Tickety. I shall need them to help you with some of the changes I have in mind."

"Yes, sir!" The elf disappeared with a pop.

Draco savored his brandy and watched the fire absently as he pondered just what changes he would like to make. First and foremost was maintaining some sense of sobriety. He looked at the snifter in his hand.

"This doesn't count," he said to himself. "I'm still sober, and I'm only having the one glass." He swirled the glass and drained it, setting it on the side table and closing his eyes. "I miss you already, my love."

Épiphanie stared around in awe as she followed her father down the lane in the Magic Quarter. Their portkey had deposited them in a hall that reminded her of a bus station. There was a row of windows above a counter at one end where witches and wizards, holding what looked like boarding passes, queued to receive a portkey. They then proceeded to cubicles on one side, where they gathered with any others who were traveling with them, to depart. On the opposite side of the room, groups of witches and wizards were arriving by portkey in similar cubicles. There were benches along the center of the hall and an area near the exit held rows of lockers for luggage and belongings. She was amazed at the efficiency of it all as they exited the building and stepped out onto the street. The street appeared much like the other avenues in the Vieux Carre, except for its much more antiquated appearance. Like stepping back in time, the streets were cobblestoned, and gas lamps flickered on the corners. The buildings were two and three stories high, most with living quarters above some type of magical business. She was quite surprised by the number of clothiers whose shops dotted the quarter. There was Cosette's Quality Cloaks, and Bruneau: Makers of Fine Men's Robes Since 1799. Further along the street, she saw Fanchon's Couturièr, which apparently specialized in dress robes for women, a children's robe shop with a display of Ilvermorny uniforms in the window, and a maker of work robes. There were, of course, the other usual wizarding businesses as well—a wandmaker, owl and pet shop, bank, bookshop, broomstick dealer, and the apothecary that Ignace and Iolanthe's parents owned. The street was quite busy as wizards and witches went about their daily business. Épiphanie was also quite surprised to find that many of them wore muggle clothing. She inhaled deeply as they passed a café with an outdoor seating area and paid little attention to where they were headed, until her father stopped abruptly and she nearly walked into his broad back.

Kingsley tapped his wand to a disc in the middle of the door and it was immediately opened by a slender young man with curly hair and a thin moustache. He ushered them inside and up to a security desk.

"I shall have to check your wands and permits please, Minister," said an officious looking woman wearing blue and white robes and a severe bun that reminded Épiphanie of Professor McGonagall. Her father handed over his wand and nodded for Épiphanie to do the same. She looked surprised, but quickly complied, drawing her wand from the inside pocket of her jacket.

"What's this?" she asked, curiously.

"Security check," her father replied. "Something like customs."

"Please stand just there, sir." The woman pointed to a circle a few feet from the desk. Kingsley stepped into the circle and the woman pointed her wand at him.

"Hey!" Épiphanie reached for her wand.

"It's fine, my child. It's just a formality." Épiphanie drew her hand back and watched skeptically as the woman spoke.

"Revelio!" A blue light erupted from her wand and surrounded Kingsley before fading away. "Thank you, Minister. Now you, Miss." The woman nodded for Épiphanie to step into the circle. Épiphanie reluctantly stepped into the circle, with her arms crossed and a look of uncertainty on her face. The woman repeated the incantation and again, there was no effect. "Thank you, Miss."

The woman gave them back their wands and the slender young man returned, ushering them down a corridor to an office with a frosted glass window. The lettering on the window read Department of Magical Law Enforcement-New Orleans Division. Underneath was the name of the director, Michael Robichaux. The young man rapped on the door and opened it. Michael Robichaux was younger than Épiphanie expected. He was a tall, sturdily built man who looked to be in his early to mid-thirties with sandy, close-cropped hair and bright blue eyes. He stood when they entered.

"Minister Shacklebolt. It is an honor to have you in our city. I have to say we are beside ourselves to discover our own Petite Marie is in fact a witch, and the daughter of such a respected wizard!" He looked at Épiphanie then. "Miss Glapion—er—Shacklebolt?"

"Glapion-Shacklebolt, or just Shacklebolt. Heck, Épiphanie's fine with me. It ain't so much of a mouthful." She shrugged. He laughed.

"Well, I'm sure you're anxious to get to your destination, so we will dismiss with the formalities, if that is alright with you, sir?"

"It's perfectly fine. I understand that there is a security detail?" Kingsley asked.

"Yes sir. MACUSA has sent a detail of our top Aurors. You will each have an escort detail to accompany you while you are in the city. We have undercovers patrolling the Vieux Carre streets around La Maison Duminy de Glapion at all times. When you depart for New York, we will provide a secure portkey from this office."

"Excellent. Well, if there is nothing further, I believe we should like to proceed to La Maison Duminy de Glapion at this time."

"Right, we have arranged with Ms. Glapion a secure apparition arrival point at La Maison Duminy de Glapion. She's expecting you."

They were introduced to their escort detail, and Épiphanie was chagrined to learn that she was not to go anywhere without her security detail.

"And you will remove the wards around your bedroom as well, young lady," said Kingsley as they stepped back into the corridor.

"Oh, my God! I can't believe they snitched on me!" she moaned. Her father chuckled.

Angelique burst into the sitting room the moment that they apparated in, her arms wide. Épiphanie dropped her bags and ran into her mother's hug. Her aunts stepped in just behind Angelique and greeted everyone warmly. A banquet was laid in the courtyard and with their usual hospitality, they invited the Aurors to join them. As the afternoon wore into the evening, Épiphanie reluctantly removed the protections around her room and went to draw a warm bath. As she sat in the tub blowing suds from her hand, she could hear music floating up from the sitting room. Occasionally, her mother's melodic titter rang out, joined by her father's low laughter. She smiled and closed her eyes and whispered.

"Legilimens."

Épiphanie looked up into her father's smiling face. His eyes were lit up as she'd not seen them before. They were dancing!

"You remember that?" he asked.

"Of course I do! I wondered why someone who seemed so worldly otherwise, didn't know a single popular dance! Well—except The Hustle!" Angelique's voice echoed.

"I must confess that I didn't know The Hustle either."

"You're kidding! You certainly danced it like you were auditioning for Soul Train! How did you pick it up so fast?"

"I watched you. I'm generally a quick study, and it wasn't too far different from the quadrilles that I'd learned as a child attending balls with my parents."

"Well, honey you sure had me impressed! It was like you became a totally different person that night, just light and happy and smiling…" Angelique thought back to their experience at a London discotheque.

"You did that for me. You took me away from the terrible things that were happening in my world. I never wanted to let you go. I wished I could have told you the truth then. I never would have dreamed that you managed to figure it out on your own." Kingsley's eyes took on a reflective look.

"I may not have inherited Ma Mère's magic, but I'm still pretty perceptive. After all, this place was a success before our darling little sorceress began exhibiting her powers."

"Yes, well…Angelique, I never stopped missing you. When I look at Épiphanie, I see so much of you in her face. I wonder what it might have been like for us to have been a family all along…perhaps we might have had other children…Why did you never marry?" He asked.

"I could ask you the same thing."

"There was a war. I was an Auror. It just wasn't a good idea." He pulled her closer.

"Your friends married didn't they? Harry's parents? I'm sure there were others who did too."

"Yes, and they died. Others have been left permanently damaged by their experiences. Their children were left behind. Some of those children had no idea that they were wizards. The things that they experienced in the second war—the final battle…I—I couldn't do that…but I suppose that I did, didn't I?" He looked away from her. She placed her hand on his cheek and turned his gaze back to her.

"You did what you thought was best. I thought you were some kind of government agent with a life of danger. I didn't think you would understand my beliefs—a lot of people outside of New Orleans and this local culture don't get it. The Glapion women don't always do well in relationships. Few of us marry, so I wasn't too bothered. We both made the choice, Kingsley. We can't change yesterday. We can only delight in the beautiful creation that we had a hand in and look forward to what tomorrow brings."

"I never stopped—"

"Neither did I." Kingsley inclined his head towards hers.

Épiphanie blinked and abruptly sat up, splashing water over the side of the bathtub. She shuddered, and berated herself for delving into her mother's consciousness. Were her parents falling in love again?

Draco dozed fitfully in the quiet of the mansion. A fine sheen of sweat coated his forehead. When he closed his eyes, he could hear Lucius calling his name. The man held out the flask with the silvery vapor.

"All you have to do is drink, Draco. All of your cares will be gone!"

"No! You're not real! You're done, Lucius!"

"You're not fit to be Lord of the Manor! You are the weak one!"

"I am stronger than you, Lucius! I am Lord of Malfoy Manor! I will not destroy its legacy!"

"Draco." A soft, familiar voice intoned close to his ear. He turned his head to see Épiphanie smiling gently at him, her head on the pillow beside him.

"Épiphanie? What? How?"

"I'm always here when you need me, Ma Furet." She kissed his nose.

"But you're—" he stammered. This couldn't be real.

"Shhh…" She was above him now, kissing his forehead, his eyes, his lips. She drank him in.

Draco stared at her in awe as she made quick work of removing his pyjamas, planting a trail of kisses down his chin. She lingered over his throat, licking it, her tongue trailing gently to his chest. He let out a groan and lifted his hips, seeking out the warm cleft between her thighs.

"Patience, my love!" she whispered, pushing him down. She continued her ministrations, working her way down his abdomen. Draco stared down at her as she kissed his navel, her tongue making lazy circles around it. She gazed up at him and gave him a wink before disappearing under the covers.

"Oh, Merlin!" he exclaimed, closing his eyes and gripping the sheets. The halls of the Manor echoed with Draco's moans of utter pleasure and unbridled ecstasy. He arched his back, convulsing under the exquisite torture that his beloved meted out. "Oh! Oh! Ma Zirondelle! I love you, Dragonfly! Oh! Ah! Oh! Are you really real?"

She dragged her fingernails down his skin and he twisted her hair in his fists and held her until he feared he might have suffocated her. Finally, Draco let out a guttural cry she extracted from him the last tortuous ounce of decadent, carnal satisfaction. He lay panting among the downy pillows of the large ornate bed, his hair damp with sweat.

"This has to be a dream! But it can't be! It feels so real!" he exclaimed, reaching out to her.

"Of course it's a dream, mon cher. That doesn't mean it can't be real." She disappeared.

A thin sliver of bright sunlight fell across the darkened room and Draco awoke gently, clutching a pillow to his chest, Épiphanie's name on his lips. His eyes fluttered open slowly as he murmured to his beloved.

"I love you, Ma Zirondelle. Stay with me always, my love." As wakefulness roused him completely, Draco realized that he was alone in bed. The dogs panted softly as they slept before the fireplace. He drew back the covers to see that he was fully attired in pyjamas, although there was nonetheless, telltale evidence of his amazing late night experience. Diggy appeared with a pop and Draco quickly drew the covers back up to his chest. The elf bowed low.

"Good morning, Master Draco!" he squeaked. "Would Sir like to take breakfast in the dining room or here?"

"I shall take light croissants and café au lait in the dining room, Diggy. Thank you. If the owls have arrived, please see that the paper is beside my plate. I shall be down directly."

The elf bowed and disappeared with a pop. Draco fell back against the pillows and closed his eyes. "It felt so real!" he breathed and tried to recall the feeling to the fore of his memory once again. His body responded immediately and he took himself in hand to relieve the tension. Having succeeded in finding release in the morning hours, yet disappointed that he could not completely recreate the intense passion of his dreams, he trudged to the bathroom to attend to his morning rituals. Draco peered into the mirror over the sink, pleased to see a face that was not dogged by shadows of weariness. He raked his fingers through his hair, flicking his wand to the large stone shower. Steaming water flowed from spouts in the ceiling and surrounding walls behind a wall of semi-transparent crystal. He unbuttoned his shirt, startled to find bright red scratches running down his skin.

That doesn't mean it can't be real.

"Sweet Merlin! It was real!" he exclaimed, stripping off the rest of his clothes and stepping into the shower. Draco relished in the sting of the hot water and thought of Épiphanie once more, slouching on the shower bench, his back against the smooth stone wall with the water coursing over his pale skin as he concentrated on the memory of the dream escapade, taking himself in hand once more until he'd coaxed out the last intense convulsion of pleasure.

"It's only Monday! I'll never survive this week!" he panted, washing quickly and stepping out of the shower. He dressed comfortably in a pair of jeans and the thick Dillard University sweatshirt that Épiphanie had given him for Christmas along with the Timberland boots that he'd purchased the previous summer. Draco combed his hair, tying it in a ponytail, and patted his thigh, calling the dogs before exiting the suite and heading down to the dining hall.

"What the devil are you wearing, boy! It's unseemly!" The portrait of Abraxas Malfoy looked down in unadulterated disgust at his grandson as he took his seat at the table in The Manor's dining hall.

"Good morrow to you, Grandfather." Draco stirred sugar into his coffee and rolled his eyes.

"What would your father say to see you attired in such ghastly apparel?" the old man continued to rant.

"I don't know, Grandfather, and since he is dead, I should supposed that it matters not one way or the other whether I wear muggle clothing in my home, now does it?" Draco picked up the morning paper.

"Shameful!" the portrait exclaimed.

"Grandfather, if you continue to carry on in such a manner, I shall be forced to have the elves remove your portraits to the south paddock." Draco looked squarely at the portrait.

"Hmph!" the old man pursed his lips and left the frame.

"Dotty old fart!" Draco mumbled, taking a sip of his coffee and unfolding the paper and read the headline. MINISTER OF MAGIC TOURS MACUSA. He gazed at the large photograph showing Kingsley Shacklebolt shaking hands with MACUSA President William Ritz as Épiphanie looked on. Her hair was braided away from her face in the front and she wore a set of light colored robes that were fitted through the waist, and featured Guinevere sleeves. He only skimmed the article and was unsurprised to find that the reporter used several inches of space to describe the Minister's Daughter's sophisticated sense of modern magical style. He traced his finger over the picture as he watched her accept a bouquet of flowers as she smiled and waved at the crowd that was gathered for the event.

So went the rest of the week. Draco had the best sleep he'd experienced in a long while, awakened with the morning sun and trekked to breakfast in anticipation of seeing Épiphanie on the front page of the Daily Prophet. Tuesday, there was a photo spread of Épiphanie giving a speech at the Salem Witches Institute and attending a state dinner and a ball with Kingsley, the President of MACUSA and Canadian dignitaries. Draco longed to be the one whirling her around the dance floor instead of her father and a boy who was identified as the son of some Quidditch team owner. His jealousy was tempered somewhat by the fact that her eyes did not seem as dazzled when she danced with the American as they did when he took the floor with her on New Year's Eve.

Each morning he left the breakfast table with the paper and headed to the study, where he carefully placed the paper in the drawer of the massive mahogany desk with the inlaid leather top and settled into the well-worn chair upholstered in the same material. By Wednesday, he had managed to decipher Lucius' filing system and sorted the business parchments that had been left behind. A flurry of owls to Gringotts helped to ensure that the pending deals did not fall through or leave Draco paying for worthless investments. He was grateful that Lucius did in fact have some level of business acumen and did not throw money around wastefully—unless he was bribing someone to do his bidding.

It was on this morning that he sat at the desk with a second cup of coffee, watching Épiphanie flying with the USA Quidditch team at their practice facility in New England and being presented with official Team USA Quidditch robes by the team's captain, Gianni Fedele. Now Draco officially considered himself jealous as he watched her eyes light up over and over again. He turned the paper face down on the stack that he had collected, opening the top drawer of the desk to place them aside when a small headline caught his eye. He picked up the paper and read the article carefully a few times. Draco scratched his chin. This could very well be just the inspiration that he needed. He went to the fireplace and tossed in some floo powder.