Chapter 2

The main hall of the Ministry was as busy as it always was, the wizarding world here to petition for whatever they wanted—permits, exemptions, and other forms of favor for whatever it was they needed. The wizarding world was back in business after the upheaval of the war.

Enemies had been cleared away and order restored. One by one, all problems had been resolved. Buildings had been restored, the years students had started at Hogwarts, and the Daily Prophet was reporting on improvements made. Attention was turned more towards the problematic muggle society, especially as more economic gains were made in the muggle world.

All undesirable elements had been removed from the Ministry and replaced by individuals who understood what they were building, that strength was needed to achieve their full potential. Weakness had been expelled and shored up. The mudbloods controlled.

The future of the wizarding race was secure. There was nothing holding them back now, and it had been a hard road to get them there.

Voldemort was a problem that needed to be managed, but the spark had gone out of the man with his enemies vanquished. Once there was nothing more to gain, he gave into the madness that burned inside him.

Only a select group of people saw to his wellbeing. Father made the decisions, but the man was a source of discomfort in a time when calm was wanted. It made him problematic, and he was kept distracted by ancient riddles. The promise of more power was the only thing that honed the man's mind. He didn't see the cage around him. It was well hidden.

The hard work was done now—the new order was put in place. The momentum set. Father loved being the Minister, the one everyone wanted to impress.

Of late though, the more stable things became, the more bored Draco was growing. He'd done the necessary things, had headed the Auror division, and had diligently took care of all remaining problems. He'd been very good at it, and the problems were becoming more pedestrian in nature. Petty theft, minor subversiveness, the odd case of domestic violence. This was not the kind of things he was interested in dealing with.

For a while, he'd considering shifting toward international cooperation, but the problem was that he'd lived a life driven by adrenalin for so long now, he struggled to settle. There were no real threats now. Everyone else seemed so happy for stability, but he was finding it suffocating. So was the society scene that was flourishing. Pansy was thriving. She was the queen she'd always wanted to be, everyone around her terrified of landing in her bad books and being excluded. She was the gatekeeper to societal success or failure. Well, for most. There were limits to Pansy's domain.

Between Lucius and Pansy, people were very motivated to do what was expected of them. It certainly wasn't in anyone's interest to listen to whatever subversive voices were left. The benefit of embracing the new order was too great.

Reaching his office, he waved away his assistant and closed the door. The room was large and dark, and it overlooked the main hall of the Ministry. A fire roared in the grate, the wood crackling intermittently.

On his desk was a letter addressed to him. Normally things addressed to him was taken care of by his assistant, but this one had been left untouched, and now he was curious why.

Picking it up, he saw the Ollivander coat of arms on it. Oh.

Sitting back, he stared at it for a while, now not sure what had possessed him. A deep sense of boredom had struck him and he'd done something rash. It was still possible to back out of it. It wasn't as if he'd sent a contract. Merely a suggestion. An expression of interest. It wasn't legally binding.

But if he owned her, she would be at his mercy. He could put her down in a mine, to work all day long. There was always the option of making a spectacle of her, but it was unnecessary. It may not suit them to draw attention to the mudblood, and she had always drawn attention to herself.

He could even bury her in the bowls of Malfoy Manor, to never see the light again—somewhere she could never cause problems. Although it was apparent that no one was motivated enough to rescue her. It would have to be someone powerful enough to circumvent the tracking spells on her. No one had tried. She'd been bait and no one had gone for it.

The Ollivanders would treat her well too. Garrick Ollivander was too soft and he probably was deluded enough to think he owed her. She would have assumed she was safe there, but maybe not now. Her fate was sealed in this letter. He just hadn't decided what that fate was yet. It would amuse him to devise it for her.

Finally taking the penknife, he slipped along the edge of the envelope and enjoyed the sharp cutting sound. Then brought out the letter inside. The paper was thin, showing the modest circumstances of the Ollivander family. While they were respected craftsmen, they didn't have the favor of the Ministry, and that had to hurt them.

The paper was flimsy when he opened it, and it said they regretted that they could not entertain his offer as the slave in question was much comfort to Mrs. Ollivander, who was of weak constitution and could not tolerate change. Hence it was with deepest regret they could not agree to his proposal to purchase the slave.

Anger seared through him. Who were they to say no to him? No one said no to him. People didn't dare. The offer was fair.

Draco wanted to make them pay for their obstinance. And he could. He could withdraw their permit to work, to sell. He could withdraw the permit on their building. He could even reduce the classification of their family, which would have economic detriment to them. There were questionable things in the Ollivander family that could easily be highlighted. It could ruin them.

Not so long ago, he could simply burn the building to the ground with them inside—but it was no longer the time for such measures. Stability had to be upheld above all else—even above obstinacy. Still, they would pay for this. The payment would be subtle, but unequivocal. They would know that their decision to thwart him would hurt them dearly. And all it would take would be some damage to their reputation.

Grabbing a glass, he threw it across the room, and received a grim satisfaction from hearing it smash. How was it she inspired such loyalty? She was truly awful. Every part of her. That unwavering arrogance, the insipid eagerness to be acknowledged, not to mention her sheer audacity at surviving.

She was the very last of his personal enemies, and she'd proven resilient. Somehow, she was the reason the Ollivanders would do something to harm themselves. It only proved how dangerous she was. No, she could not be allowed to linger where she was, festering. She had to be controlled, and this was a mere setback.

More money would of course be offered, but Garrick Ollivander wouldn't be moved by money. Family was most important to him, so harm had to be devised for them. Pressure would be increased until they had no choice but to relent. Now he simply needed to determine how, and to see how long before they relented. They would relent. It would not be an option. The pressure would increase until it became too much to bear.

So this hiccup besides, he still needed to determine her fate.

"Mr. Malfoy," his assistant said quietly. A soft-spoken man with a willingness to do anything required of him. Not even cruelty bothered him. It made him useful, but never well liked. Cruelty was wasted if one didn't have charm, and Mr. Wishy had no charm at all. And he was impossible to charm too, which was what made him a good assistant. Mr. Wishy was not invested in pleasing anyone but him. "There are some reports you should review."

"Are they from my father?"

"I believe there is one he has asked you to look at. There is some evidence that counterfeit galleons have started appearing in Diagon Alley."

"Where in Diagon Alley?"

"A few of the stores now."

"Fine, give it to me. I will look at it."

"Do I take it that your acquisition has been successful?"

"Not yet, but it was only the initial proposal. I want you to bring me the operating permit for the Ollivander shop. I want to know everything about their interaction with the Ministry in the last ten years."

"Of course," he said with an unpleasant smile. "Should I perhaps also find all information relevant to their family home as well? There may be oddities going back years."

"Fine," Draco said and rose to move to the window. Above him, he could see the lights of his father's office. A meeting was happening and his father looked bored. He wasn't bored. He loved this, but he wasn't one who necessarily felt the need to be helpful. Lucius had a notion that if one needed help, one didn't deserve any. A strong person never needed help. A Malfoy did not need help.

"And Miss Parkinson has sent word that she expects your presence tonight in her salon," Wishy said.

He had promised, but he wasn't in the mood for it. Still, Pansy could be difficult if he ignored her for too long.