Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did I would have a caramel latte before class in the morning. Every day. For the rest of my life.

Sorry it took me so long to update, but I have mad amounts of hmwk, and two girls I share a room with (I'm in a quad) aren't speaking to each other cuz they got in a fight, so its rather tense down here. But I skipped my first college class today, I had a migraine, but I couldn't sleep, so I wrote this! And I feel better now.

Thanks to my reviewers, I have the best reviewers in the world!

Zippy Zany: yes, it's finally here!

DCoD: college is alright, thanks for asking, and I love Draco and Harry getting along as well

Wizzabee: your review made me smile as well : )

AngeliqueCollins: thank you, the speeches were hard but fun to write

Alexandria J. Malfoy: I hope you weren't waiting too long, and here it is!

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Almost Six Years Since the End of the War

Draco Malfoy stepped off of the international portkey platform and stepped foot in his home country for the first time in almost six years. The terminal he was in was situated in Diagon Alley and it boasted of platforms leading to over sixty different nations. He couldn't help but notice that the area for arrivals, which was where he was currently standing, was empty. Across the room, a few wizards were departing, but they were dressed in shabby clothes and they wore expressions of grim defeat.

"Are you goin' ta give me the key or not?" asked a testy, irritable voice.

Draco finally noticed the man in the conductor's hat beside him. "Huh? Oh, right, here." He dropped the golden key bearing the inscription Diagon Alley, England into the bucket the man was holding out.

"Will you be needin' the Knight Bus?" the conductor asked around the cigarette in his dry, cracked lips. His craggy face was lined and his hair was lank and gray under the striped hat. When he spoke, Draco could smell whiskey on the man's breath.

"No, thank you," he said. "That will be all." And readjusting his grip on his bag, he left the terminal and stepped into the crowded streets. At least, they used to be crowded.

Draco stood just outside of the doors to the terminal and took in his surroundings. The shops that were usually bursting with people were silent. Some stores were completely locked up and bare with 'closed' signs hanging from doorknobs or inside of cracked windows mended with spellotape, fixed by the homeless inhabitants that now resided in them. The shops that were open were just as dim although their display windows contained a few dusty objects. A few huddled figures entered these stores only to be thrown out again as they had no money to buy anything and were merely looking for a brief respite from the wind. The same icy wind hit his bare face and hands, though his long black coat stopped the wind from doing anything more than kicking up the edges of the thick material and whipping them around his legs.

It was March and dirty snow covered the streets as winter showed no signs of stopping or easing up a bit on those unfortunate to have no place to call home. And those unfortunate were many. Draco frowned as he surveyed the town. Once it had been the capital of the English Wizarding Community, now it was silent and dank and in the grips of economic collapse.

Draco had read about the crisis, had read about it two years ago, and figured that things would sort themselves out, and had continued living in the States, California to be more precise, and had continued increasing his fortune. To be more precise once again, increasing his fortune ten times its original amount. He had been named in the Top Ten Richest Wizards List as number four when he had inherited the Malfoy Estate and business, now he was number one.

He had not wanted to come back; he had created himself a nice life in the sunny state. Many friends, five new businesses, a few nice houses right on the beach, yes, life had been good to him there and it showed. His skin, though still on the pale side, was no longer an unhealthy white, his face, which had tended towards pointed, was now filled out, and although it was still angular, it made women swoon over him. He had grown a few more inches and was now an even six feet, and his body was lank, but still filled out with muscle. His hair was still the same silver-blonde and although it was shorter, the same strands fell into his grey eyes.

He gazed at the scene before him, taking in the poverty and the homeless littering the streets, though his face gave away nothing. He had known it was bad, but this surpassed even his worse scenario. It would take a long time to bring the English Wizarding World to its feet, and Draco Malfoy intended to do just that. But first things first.

He walked to the nearest Apparation point and Apparated to the Malfoy Estate, a large mansion that not only rose seven floors into the air (more in some places), but also sprawled across a well manicured lawn. He appeared in the front entrance and immediately a house elf rushed to his side.

"Oh, Master is back, sir. Is Master wanting anything, sir? Master must be hungry after traveling such a long way."

He looked down at the elf in the towel wrapped toga style and handed her his coat and bag. "No, not right now Rolly. Is Mister Zabini here?"

"Of course Mr. Zabini's here," said a cheerful voice.

Draco looked up to see Blaise Zabini walking in from the study, a fine ebony cane aiding his approach, and a wide grin on his face.

"Blaise," said Draco, holding out his hand. Blaise grabbed it and then pulled him into an embrace.

"Where the hell have you been, Drake?" Blaise demanded, releasing his friend to look at him. "I haven't seen you since Lida was born and she's five now."

Draco blinked. "She is?" he asked.

"Well, in a month. She keeps reminding us." Blaise smiled at the thought of his daughter. "She looks exactly like her mother."

"That's probably a good thing, I'd hate to see a baby as ugly as you," said Draco, smirking.

"That's because you haven't seen my other kid yet," said Blaise proudly.

"Another kid?" Draco asked.

"I hope you don't mind, I brought the whole family," said Blaise, taking his stunned friend by the arm and dragging him into the sun-room on the first floor. He opened up the door and a little girl launched herself at her father, her blonde hair in curls and a cute pink dress on.

"There's my little Lida," said Blaise, dropping his cane on the floor and scooping up the child.

"I missed you Daddy," said the girl, turning dark blue eyes on her father.

"Missed me? But I've only been gone a few minutes. Here, you remember Uncle Draco I've been telling you about?" The girl nodded. "Well here he is," said Blaise, putting her down and pulling Draco forward.

Lida smiled up at him and stuck out her hand. "Hello, Uncle Draco," she said.

Draco bent and took her hand. "Hello, Lida. You look very pretty."

"Thank you," she said.

"Lida, how about you introduce Uncle Draco to your brother."

"Okay," said the little girl. "He's in here." She led the way into the comfortable living room with the glass ceiling and transparent outer wall.

Draco turned to Blaise in amazement. "She's so big."

"You've been gone a long time," said Blaise. They stepped into the room and Draco's eyes fastened onto a little boy two years old sitting on the light blue carpet. A book was in his lap and his fingers in his mouth. The son was a mix of his father and mother. Fair skin, but with thick dark hair that was not curly like his father's but with a slight wave like his mothers. Dark chocolate eyes looked up at his father and he grinned, taking his fingers out of his mouth and waving.

"Uncle Draco, this is my little brother," said Lida. "He's annoyin'."

"Lida," scolded Blaise good-naturedly.

"What's his name?" asked Draco, still staring at the little boy.

"Dragon," said Blaise quietly.

Draco's eyes turned to his friend in surprise. "Dragon?" he asked.

"Well, you are my best friend," said Blaise grinning again.

"Yeah, but it's a terrible name for a child," said Draco, watching the boy again. He turned back to Blaise. "I'm honored," he said sincerely.

"No problem, Drake," said Blaise.

"He doesn't really look like you though," said Draco.

"I was talking about my other kid."

Draco stared at him. "Three kids?" he asked incredulous.

"Yup. I've got a beautiful six month old girl named Amandine."

"Three kids, though?" asked Draco.

"You have been gone a long time," said a woman's voice from the doorway.

The two men looked up to see Pansy Zabini standing in the doorway. Her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders and she was cradling a baby girl in her arms. One of the infant's hands was fastened onto a fistful of the light hair. Blaise was immediately at his wife's side and Draco was pleased to note that while his friend still had a limp, he seemed to be quite capable of moving without the cane. Husband and wife kissed lovingly and then Blaise took the baby from his wife and brought it over to show Draco.

Blaise was right; she looked exactly like him and it wasn't a bad thing. Amandine had inherited her father's tan Italian skin, the hazel eyes and the tangle of curly almost black hair.

"Hold her," said Blaise.

"Oh, no," said Draco. "I'll drop her or something." But then Pansy was dragging him to an off-white suede armchair and shoving him in it and then the little girl was placed into his open arms. Draco looked down at the girl who was staring up at him with wide eyes. The two stared at each other for a minute but then the baby's face started to crumple and the mouth began to open. "Uhh, guys, the baby's crying," he said helplessly as the girl began to shriek.

Blaise laughed but rescued his friend and Draco got up out of the chair before they decided to throw any more children at him. Pansy gave him a hug.

"It's been too long, Draco," she said.

"I know," said Draco feeling slightly guilty. After he had left he had only seen them twice, once for the wedding which was held in Blaise's hometown in Italy, and once when Lida had been born. He had visited and found them happily situated in a quaint Italian town with a beautiful daughter and a new life. He had felt like an intruder.

Pansy pulled back and looked him over. "Well, at least you aren't working yourself to death," she said in sisterly affection.

"No, but I plan too," he said, only half-joking. "I will have to borrow Blaise now and then, is that okay? I'll try not to take up too much of his time. I know it must be a pain to have him in another country and all."

"He won't be," said Pansy, smiling. "We're moving in with you."

"What?"

"You can't pull this country out of a depression all by yourself, Draco, and there is no way we're going to let you try," said Blaise, coming over, gently rocking his daughter. "We are your friends after all."

"Besides, this house is the only thing that I miss in not marrying you," said Pansy, smiling. Draco found himself smiling back.

"So what's the first step?" asked Blaise.

"I have to pay a visit to the French Minister of Magic," said Draco.

"What's in France?" asked Blaise.

"My business manager," said Draco with a grin.

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He stepped off of the international portkey platform and immediately noticed the difference. Here in France people were bustling around, greeting one another with hugs and kisses, or saying goodbye with promises to see each other again soon. He placed his key in the bucket and made his way out of the terminal.

The streets outside were full and colorful, a direct contrast to the country he had just left. The walk to the Ministry was pleasant, even the weather was better across the channel. He entered the white, granite building and walked up to the assistants sitting at the large information desk. A pretty secretary with pretty accent greeted him.

"Monsieur, parlez-vous francais or do you prefer English?"

"English, please," said Draco. "I am here to see Miss Ginevra Weasley."

"Ah, Ginny," said the secretary, who obviously knew her well. "Does she know you are here to see her?"

"No, it's a bit of a surprise," said Draco, giving her a winning smile and letting her assume what she wanted.

"I see," said the witch, her curiosity peeked. "Shall I call her down or would you like to go to her office?"

"I'd like to go to her office," said Draco. "If you can take me, that is."

"I can, the Minister is in a meeting so she should be free to meet you. This way, if you please." She led the way into a waiting elevator. "Top floor, Minister's office," she commanded and the doors hissed shut and they were off. The Minister's office was on the eleventh floor and as soon as they stepped off they were approached by two guards.

"Le Ministre est lors d'une reunion (1), Cecily," said the first. Draco turned to the witch for a translation.

"I know. He's not here to see the Minister; he's here to see Ginny."

"Ginny?" asked the guard, switching to English. "Why? She doesn't have a boyfriend."

"That's what she says," interjected Draco with a smile that practically screamed 'I have a secret'.

"Well, alright, but we're still going to have to search you."

Draco obligingly held out his hand and let the guards run a concealment revealing charm on him to search for any weapons.

"I'm going to have to hold onto your wand for you, sir."

Draco surrendered his wand and Cecily motioned him over to a door that read Minister of Magic, Henri Badeau; Secretary, Ginevra Weasley. She opened the door and poked her head in.

"Ginny, there's someone here to see you."

"Who?" asked a rather distracted voice.

Cecily switched to French; Draco frowned.

"Un homme beau et anglais. Pourquoi ne m'avez-vous pas dit que vous avez eu un petit ami? (2)"

"A boyfr-?" began Ginny but the witch cut her off.

"Francais, Ginny."

"Je n'ai pas un petit ami, (3)" Ginny amended.

"Then who is this?" asked Cecily, opening the door and pulling Draco inside.

"Malfoy?" asked Ginny, staring in surprise.

Draco smirked. "Hello, Ginevra." He took in her features in a split second; the six years had changed her from a girl into a young woman. Her face was just as pretty and the smatter of freckles across her nose and cheeks still just as cute. Her hair had grown and was pulled stylishly back into a low, loose bun and she had a slight figure but with womanly curves. He'd seen women with better figures, but Ginny was just on the short side and the look fit her.

Ginny scowled. "Don't call me that."

"Do you prefer Weaselette?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"What do you want?" asked Ginny. "I'm rather busy at the moment."

"Well aren't you little Miss Politeness? I hope you're not this rude to the Minister."

Ginny closed her eyes, took a deep breath, let it out slowly and then opened your eyes. "Hello, Draco. How are you?" she asked in a friendly voice she no doubt used on the Minister's visitors.

"I'm doing well, thank you," said Draco. "I moved back to England."

"You did?" asked Ginny. "Why on earth would you do that?"

"I'm planning on single-handedly pulling England out of her economic depression by financing several charity events, starting new businesses, and increasing the flow of money to the common people."

Ginny stared at him in disbelief, and opened her mouth but then closed it, taking in his expression. "You're serious, aren't you? Only a Malfoy would believe he could do all of that by himself."

"You're right; it's impossible. I guess that means you'll have to help me."

"What?"

"You heard me. Turns out I'm in need of a business manager. I want you."

"Me? I have a job."

"Mine's a better one."

"Give me three good reasons why I should," challenged Ginny.

"I'll give you five," said Draco. He sat in the plush armchair sideways so that his legs hung over the armrest. "Firstly, you went on after Hogwart's to have an internship under the prestigious Abner Dermot, who is a businessman of legendary proportions with a cunning that is the envy of envy investor and who is also a very good friend of mine, and he spoke very highly of you saying that while your business savvy is only mediocre, you possess management skills that surpass even his own. However, you were unable to continue your apprenticeship because of the economic ruin of England and you were forced to take the first available well-paying job to help support your family. Which, really Ginevra, shows a touching devotion. You take so much on yourself." That was said in a mocking tone of voice.

"Malfoy, you can take your offer and shove-"

"Secondly," Draco spoke over her, "as I am not in entirely good graces with the English wizards at the moment, I need someone they will trust, and who is better than Gryffindor good-girl with the Order of Merlin whose father was tragically killed in the war? Not only do you have their pity, but also their respect for going on to succeed in life. Thirdly, I refuse to have a male business manager. We will be working long hours and spending much time together and I much prefer rumors of a heterosexual manner than ones of the other nature. Fourthly, this job could get you any other job you could ever want, all I am asking is, at the most, two years from you, it will most likely only be one, maybe one and a half, if I'm lucky. Fifthly, we are going to be in the news often and I need a pretty face along with brains."

"Listen here, ferret," said Ginny, smarting at his superior tone. "First, it is an honor to support my family, nothing you would ever know. Second, the reason you are not in good graces with Britain is because you pulled your investments out of eleven different companies four days after you got your high and mighty Malfoy Enterprises-"

"Which isn't my fault, they went on strike until I re-joined a few companies that supported the Dark Arts and the late Dark Lord."

"Well, maybe you should have given those reasons, because now your little act is being cited as the beginning of the depression."

"Which started a good three years, almost four years, after I left."

"Doesn't change the populations mind. Thirdly, the mere thought of rumors of an amorous relationship between the two of us is disgusting. Fourthly, after two more years here, I can get any job I want. Fifthly, I refuse to be picked because of my pretty face."

"It pays five hundred galleons."

"Malfoy, I get five hundred here as well."

"Not five hundred monthly. Five hundred a week."

Dead silence.

"A week?" asked Ginny. "Are you daft?"

"Overtime is worth fifty galleons an hour."

"No one is worth that much."

"The way I see it, it's merely helping the economy. I pay you lots, you spend lots, the stores make more, the workers get more so they can spend more at other shops so those workers get more, and every one ends up happy."

"I have a nice job here," said Ginny.

"Ginny," said Cecily. "Prenez le travail.(4)"

"Don't encourage him," snapped Ginny.

"He doesn't know what I'm saying."

"Oh," said Ginny. She turned to Cecily. "Je devrait?(5)"

Cecily nodded.

Ginny shook her head. "No, I'm sorry Malfoy, but I have a job here."

The closed door on the left opened and three wizards left after shaking a tall, stately wizard's hand.

"Reason number six," said Draco, leaning back and interlacing his fingers behind his head. "You're going to be fired." He idly swung his legs, which were still over the armrest, and smiled at Ginny who was glaring at him.

"Malfoy, the Minister is here, you had better behave," she hissed as the three men left and the graying wizard came out of his office and walked over to her.

"Et qui est ceci qui rend visite à mon secrétaire? (6)"

"No-one," said Ginny glaring at Malfoy, who was hidden from the Minister's view by the back of the chair, although his legs sticking out were quite obvious.

"Oh, an English someone?" asked the Minister and Draco could hear the smile in his voice. The Minister peeked around and Draco grinned in greeting.

"'Allo, Minister. I've come to steal your secretary."

He saw Ginny's face turn red from embarrassment out of the corner of his eye, and he heard Cecily's gasp. But the Minister grinned back.

"Monsieur Malfoy! It is good to see you again. Tell me, how are things, old friend?"

"Oh, you know," said Draco standing up and shaking the Minister's hand. "Same old, same old." He could barely suppress the smirk that threatened to spill onto his lips at Ginny's shocked face. In order to exasperate her even further, he lapsed into his perfect French. No, it was not perfect French, it was native French, complete with a light Paris accent. "Va-t-elle comment votre épouse? (7)"

They exchanged pleasantries in rapid fire French, until Draco brought the conversation to the present concern, switching back to English.

"I'm afraid the time has come, Henri."

The Minister sighed. "So soon?"

"Afraid so, but you can have her back in two years."

"I doubt she would want to return," said the Minister. "Ginevra, it has been a pleasure working with you. You are the best secretary a man could ever have."

"Wait, what?" asked Ginny, a dangerous flare in her eye. "You agree with him?"

"Of course. Monsieur Malfoy is a good friend, and I understand he plans on setting your country straight again. For that, he will need you."

"You're-but, that's-I-," her stutterings were silenced by the phone on her desk ringing. She picked it up and in a pleasing, professional voice said, "Bonjour. Le bureau du minister.(8)" She listened for a few moments and then covered the mouthpiece. "For you, Minister. Line one. It's Goodard."

"Ah, very well," said the Minister. "I shall get it in my office." He returned to his room and shut the door behind him. Ginny waited until he picked up in the other room then hung up. She stared at him and Draco felt slightly guilty.

"You speak French," she said finally.

"My first language," said Draco. "My mother was French by birth and I grew up here." She nodded but didn't say anything. "I'll cover medical and emergency expenses for you and your immediate family," he found himself promising.

She considered it. "Cover for my extended family as well, and you've got yourself a manager."

"Deal," said Draco.

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I know we find out in HBP that Blaise is African, but I always pictured him as Italian, I don't know why, but I do. If it bugs you, ignore it.

Translations: 1- The Minister is in a meeting.

2- A handsome, English man. Why didn't you tell me you had a boyfriend?

3-I don't have a boyfriend

4-Take the job

5-Should I?

6-And who is this visiting my secretary?

7-How is your wife?

8-Hello. Minister's Office.

None of these translations are mine, cause I don't speak French. I got them off of a friend, who is actually failing French, so I don't think they're that good. But you get the point.

So, please tell me what you think of it now that it's finally six years later. I want to know if it is as good as the back ground, or if there are some places that need work. Please read and review!