Draco Malfoy and his Unknown Fate:
Author's Notes: This story is going to be somewhat of an epic, so if you don't like long reads you may not want to read this story. However, I have almost all of it already written, so it will be finished. I usually don't post WIP's, but this one's so big you'll have quite enough to keep you occupied while the last few chapters are written. It will have romance in later chapters (H/D), but it mainly explores Draco's life as a Slytherin and how he deals with being his own person. And, in case I forgot to mention it, it's the summer before his 6th year.
Warnings for this chapter: Er, nothing much I guess. Draco's trying to put his life back into order. He's a bit snobby I suppose, but that's nothing out of the ordinary. It's mostly filler.
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to J.K. Rowling. I'm merely borrowing them for the time being. This will be slash (eventually). Don't like it? Don't read it. Otherwise, enjoy.
The Leaky Cauldron, like most of the wizarding establishments in Diagon Alley, was very old. It was small and cramped, though some people would say cozy. Draco was not one of these people. In normal circumstances he wouldn't be caught dead in the run-down building, but these obviously weren't normal circumstances; or worse yet, they were from now on, and that thought was so depressing he didn't even protest when the bartender refused to serve him brandy. His sneer was only half-hearted when he turned away, and he knew his face was still paper-white from shock. The man with the room keys was bald and toothless and had the common name of Tom. He was looking at Draco like he was the spawn of Satan (obviously recognizing the Malfoy silver of his hair and eyes for what it was), though he accepted Draco's money eagerly enough. But then again, they always did.
Draco didn't know what to do with himself, but he knew he didn't want to sit around downstairs like a bump on a log with all the other patrons. Their raucous laughter grated on his sensitive nerves, and the smell of the greasy food was making him nauseous. The steps upwards were narrow and dark, but he ignored his distaste as he made his way towards room number five. The room itself wasn't all that bad, though it wasn't much in comparison to his bedroom in Malfoy Manor. Draco couldn't even summon up the energy to snap at a house-elf to draw him a bath before he tumbled into bed. He spent the next few hours letting his mood dip between despair and fury, as well as everything in between, as he tried to work out this new, awful change in his life. Finally, he buried his face in the pillow and ignored the hot tear tracks on his cheeks until he mercifully tumbled into unconsciousness.
When he woke up, his formal dinner robes were crumpled, so he emptied out his pockets and ordered a house elf to put his belongings back to their proper size. The elf, a malnourished little thing with a crooked nose, did his bidding and left before he changed into his older green robes. He sat for a while in the chair near the fireplace with his head in his hands, wondering what was going to happen now. Being the Malfoy heir wasn't just what he was - it was who he was. His whole life had been mapped out from the moment of his birth until he would have had children of his own to continue the cycle. Despite the fact that he wasn't attracted to women, Pansy was intelligent and funny, and if a Malfoy was allowed to have friends she would be his best one. He wouldn't have minded being married to her. Marriage was, as far as he was concerned, simply a partnership, and he and Pansy had always worked well together. Now… well, now he had his father's disappointment, a measly 32 galleons, and a future unencumbered by tradition.
Slowly, it hit him. He had choices. He could make his own decisions, for good or for ill, and reap the consequences, without his father peering over his shoulder constantly. His life was his own now, though the price he had paid to get it had been far too high. Even taking that into consideration, freedom was a heady thing. He could even start a fucking flobberworm farm if he wanted to - not that he really did, but still. It was mind-boggling. It was like he'd been stuck in a gilded cage all his life, and suddenly he was free. He just didn't know if that was a good thing. Draco knew that any animal caged for too long rarely survived in the wild. Draco didn't even know if he had enough money to stay at the Leaky Cauldron all summer. And he'd have to buy his school supplies. Money had never been a concern before, unless he counted whining to his father for a handful of galleons or an increase in his allowance as managing his finances, which he didn't.
With this in mind, he ordered himself some breakfast and was disappointed when all the Leaky Cauldron could provide was some mediocre food. He would have complained about how it was poor fare when compared to what the Manor provided, but he had a hunch that once he got over how things were before he'd be better able to improve how things were now. So he choked down the runny eggs and slightly-too-crispy toast and exited his room. The halls were silent save for a few heavy footsteps from the floor above him. Draco made his way downstairs and paused to check for Death Eaters, mainly his father's associates, before slipping out the door and into the street.
Most of the shops were still closed so early in the morning, since it was barely six. Draco had fallen asleep so early yesterday that he hadn't been able to sleep in like usual. And despite his usual practices, he could be a morning person when events required it. He relished the quietness of the almost-empty streets as he headed towards Gringotts. The money that remained from his birthday and that month's allowance jingled softly in his robe pockets as he approached the large white marble building.
Despite the early hour, Gringotts was as busy as ever with bustling goblins. Draco's steps were quiet, almost hesitant as he approached a teller. His mother, for reasons unknown at the time, had insisted that Draco start his own account when he was thirteen. Now, Draco suspected that Narcissa had realized the extent of her son's rebelliousness, as well as his deviant sexual preferences, and had considered it her duty to make sure Draco was able to provide for himself when the inevitable happened. After three years of maintaining his own account, he no longer needed parental permission to withdraw or insert funds. Which was a damned good thing, considering how eagerly his father would refuse him any and all resources now that Lucius no longer had to provide for his wayward heir.
He captured the attention of a goblin and let it escort him to the tunnel entrances. Draco enjoyed the ride as usual, despite the events that had led him to being in the position to take it. It was his favorite thing to do as a child and had annoyed his father to no end. His mother, however, didn't mind bringing him on trips, so Draco had accompanied her on almost all her shopping expeditions. He knew a few goblins by name, but this one was new and rather sullen to boot, so Draco ignored him in favor of trying to catch a glimpse of his namesake. He'd seen a dragon once while traveling in the cart when he was twelve and ever since had been on the lookout for another down in the vaults. It's why he had actually enjoyed the Triwizard Tournament despite Potter's involvement: because he had gotten to see so many different breeds of dragons.
"Here you are, sir." Draco nodded and watched as the little creature opened his vault for him. He peered inside and sighed with disappointment at the pathetic pile of coins. He counted them out and the amount came to about eleven galleons. The ten his mother had given him upon initially opening the account and the one he had added to it over the years before forgetting it's existence. He had completely forgotten about the vault until that morning, when he realized he really needed it or something like it. It was a truly sad amount, but it turned his 32 galleons into an almost respectable 43. Not that Draco was satisfied with that, not by a long shot.
He dumped all his money into the vault except for a paltry three galleons, wary of robbers and thieves. As a Slytherin he wasn't so naïve as to think he could prance about Diagon Alley by himself with a pocketful of clinking coins without attracting the wrong sort of attention. No, as long as his money was safe, he'd be free to roam with less caution, though he'd have to be careful of mudbloods and angry Gryffindors. Without the Malfoy name to protect him he was a great deal more vulnerable. Draco considered a few get-rich schemes (from the plausible to the ridiculously fanciful) while he and his goblin companion rode back up to the surface.
Instead of returning to the Leaky Cauldron, Draco wandered about Diagon Alley, checking out the newest merchandise. It made him irritable when he realized that many things he would have been able to purchase without a second thought before were far beyond his finances now. He stopped at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor and ordered himself a triple raspberry chocolate fudge cone. From there he wandered to Flourish and Blotts to gaze at some of the newest releases. Not noting anything of interest, he continued on towards the Quality Quidditch Supplies shop to stare longingly at the Firebolts and other brooms displayed in the front window.
A new model caught his eye, the Quicksilver. It was beautiful, made of high quality birch and polished to perfection. According to the advertisements, the newest racing broom on the market made all the previous ones, including the Firebolt, practically obsolete. The list of features was a long one, including a better cushioning charm for the seat, more maneuverability, new braking charms, and the ability to accelerate to impossibly high speeds in a handful of seconds. Apparently, it could turn on a dime and do dives at speeds previously unheard of. It was basically an upgraded version of a Firebolt, but unique enough to be another line entirely instead of the Firebolt Mark II or some such nonsense. Best of all, it was actually custom-made for its rider, and it even required several flying and fitting sessions with the local Quicksilver sales agent to properly order a broom and personalize it. Once made, it would only respond to its owner and was set to buck off anyone else who tried to ride it. Depending on which quidditch position you favored and how you flew, the performance of a Quicksilver could vary greatly from broom to broom. It was a marvel of broom technology and quite an improvement on his old Nimbus 2001.
He stood there for a moment, admiring the symmetry of it and the aerodynamic shape. The shining handle and perfect bristles. His dream broom. He had been hoping Lucius would get him a new one for Christmas, but obviously that was not to be. It galled him that Potter had a Firebolt and he only had a Nimbus 2001. Draco had wanted a new broom, and as far as he could tell it would be a very long time until he could get one on his own. It made the upcoming quidditch season look dreary. He still remembered being only an inch away from the snitch to have it snatched out of his hands because Potter's broom was faster.
Draco sighed in regret and longing before moving on. He popped the remains of his cone into his mouth and licked away a few smears of chocolate. He meandered along, peering at the numerous owls and cauldrons before he spotted the Apothecary. A tiny sign was hung up in the corner of one window, displaying its message for all to see.
"Help wanted for summer - some experience with potions required"
That was all it took to catch Draco's attention before he was striding into Slug & Jiggers Apothecary with a bird-brained plan already forming in his mind. The place itself wasn't too terrible, though its smell was a bit difficult to stomach. It was right next door to the Leaky Cauldron too, which reduced the chances of Draco running into his father during the summer on his way to work. He made his way through the winding shelves of potions ingredients and up to the front desk where an elderly man was peering over the rim of his glasses at what seemed to be accounts. The man's hair was just a fringe of white around his shining bald head, and his eyes were bright and black and clever - much like a raven's. "Mmm-hmmm. Twenty-seven, no twenty-three. How'd that four get there?" the old man murmured to himself, turning a page thoughtfully while Draco looked on.
"Um, sir?" he finally uttered. The man's head jerked up quickly.
"Eh? What are you doing there, young man? Need help with something?" Draco stepped back a little under that sharp gaze. The man was intimidating, though not in a physical way. He just seemed to be so canny.
When he spoke, his voice was barely audible. Draco, while not exactly a coward, didn't have any Gryffindor bravery either. "It's just that - you've an opening don't you? A- a job that is, and I'm in need of employment. I've got experience from Hogwarts, you know, and I'm even a bit of a teacher's pet in Potions." He knew he sounded earnest and vulnerable, and normally he would have hated it, but if it got him the job he so desperately needed… well, what was the harm in not hiding his emotions under petty cruelty just this once? It was Slytherin enough to salve his pride at baring his insecurities to a stranger.
The man leant forward, his brow wrinkled in a thoughtful frown. "Hmm. You've got a name then, lad, or is it to be Teacher's Pet? Me, I'm Arsenius Jigger, and this is my Apothecary. What makes you think I want a boy still in school working for me? I've found your lot like to laze about and be generally irresponsible."
Draco hadn't been raised by Lucius Malfoy for sixteen years without being able to tell when someone was testing him. So he gathered up all his Slytherin ambition and answered as best he could. Which, he reflected, wasn't very well at all. "Jigger, you said? Are you the author of Magical Drafts and Potions? Professor Snape says it's the most accurate book he's ever read next to Most Potente Potions. And I really liked that chapter on Polyjuice." The flattery only made the man's mouth twitch a bit, though Draco was encouraged by the fact that it was twitching upwards and not down. The apothecary raised his eyebrow in silent questioning and motioned for Draco to continue with one ink-stained hand. "Oh, of course. I'm Draco Malfoy." The man's look said it all. His name, for once, seemed to be more than a hindrance than a help. So Draco rushed on, letting the words fall from his lips. "And I won't be lazy or irresponsible. I need this job. I have to pay for all my school supplies and my rent at the Leaky Cauldron. Father and I had a bit of a falling-out and - well, I can't very well live in the gutter, can I? If you need references you could owl Snape. He'll grumble a bit that you bothered him, but he won't mind too much because I'm his favorite student. I'm the only one he'll trust to help the more hopeless students like Longbottom."
Mr. Jigger held up his hand to halt the nervous babbling. The fingers were stained with black ink, and his robes were askew, but his eyes were kind. Two days ago he wouldn't have given the old man the time of day, but now - now he'd be actually working under him. Well, at least if things went his way. "Sounds fine, lad. No references required. Why don't you start refilling the beetle eye jar? We're running low. The bag's in the back on top of that big box. No, the one to your left. There you go." And that was how Draco became the first Malfoy in over three centuries to have a job that wasn't procured by nepotism.
To be Continued
Comments and constructive criticism are more than welcome.