Chapter 2 - Malfoy
"Scorpius, come here please".
Draco Malfoy, now twenty-three, knew he was in the very prime of his life. Standing at just under six feet, he had filled out in the years since the Dark Lord's defeat and cut an imposing figure in his black robes, blonde hair gleaming.
Life had been kind to Draco, considering he was the son of a well-known death eater and carried the Mark himself. After the Dark Lord's defeat, his Father had been imprisoned in Azkaban for life for his crimes during the War and although Draco hadn't known it at the time, Lucius' absence had allowed him to flourish.
The first order of business that Draco had undertaken in an uncharacteristically selfless manner after his Father had been taken had been to care for his Mother. Narcissa, broken by the years of control and fear exerted by Lucius and his fellow Death Eaters, was quite simply unable to devote herself to the family affairs including appearing to comply with the Ministry in the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat. Draco had, swallowing his pride, handled all engagement with the Ministry and its aurors, handing over most dark artefacts his family had collected over the generations and only keeping those that were simply irreplaceable hidden away.
Draco wasn't a Slytherin for nothing and he had spent the better part of a year lying low, simpering and scraping his way into the good graces of those purebloods that held a shred of sympathy towards him. He had also joined the Order of the Phoenix – a decision which still caused his lip to curl – to distance himself from his Father's legacy. What had surprised him the most had been that he had a newfound respect for some of the members of the Order, in that despite their inferior status many had sacrificed everything for the cause.
Not one to rely on word of mouth alone, Draco had also used his considerable charm to climb his way up the social ladder of society. By the time Narcissa was able to draw herself from her deep depression a year later, she found the Malfoy name was no longer mud in pureblood circles as it had been after Voldemort's defeat and despite the hefty fines the family had paid in restitution for Lucius' crimes, they enjoyed a similar lifestyle to before the War. As long as she remained prepared to denounce her husband, she could continue to live in relative luxury.
Of course, Draco knew that he was very lucky to have escaped imprisonment or some other form of punishment for his actions during the War. Had it not been for the insufferable Harry Potter testifying that he had been forced into the unforgivable actions he may very well be sitting in a cell next to his Father. Draco scoffed. He hadn't seen Potter in years now, and whilst he was grateful for Potter's assistance time had not healed old wounds. Deep within himself he felt a small shred of sympathy for Potter – it was well known that the man had lost his wife and his wits shortly after – but he didn't dwell on the thought.
His priority now was the young child who ran into the hall as fast as his chubby legs would carry him. Draco had married the youngest Greengrass sister when he was only nineteen, part of his attempt at restoring the Malfoy name. His son had been born less than a year later, and he and Astoria parted amicably shortly after Scorpius' birth.
He and Astoria had continued to co-parent Scorpius in an oddly muggle fashion – one week with Draco at the manor, and one with Astoria in her home in Scotland. Their relationship was cordial and even semi-warm, for although they had never loved one another there was a mutual respect between the two. They had married for the benefits the union could offer, and the large payment Draco had provided to Astoria on their divorce certainly helped her move on with her life.
Draco smirked to himself. The reason that Astoria was more than happy to take his money and move on with her life was that she knew his deep, dark secret. Draco was gay and wasn't prepared for the world to know, and Astoria wanted to escape the control of her pure-blooded family. The arrangement had worked well for them both, and he also had an heir out of the deal.
"Daddy!" Scorpius ran towards him, a stuffed green dragon clutched in his right fist. Draco smiled – he intended to raise Scorpius in a more relaxed manner than a typical Malfoy heir, and whilst he wasn't used to seeing stuffed toys in the manor he was relieved that at the very least it was a dragon.
"Scorpius," Draco scolded gently, his lips turned down in a frown. "What did I tell you about pulling Beeky's ears?" Beeky was Draco's house elf, an elf whom had lost her family in the war and had been left alone in a London flat that Draco had acquired for his inner city business dealings. Beeky had been overjoyed to have a family and young master to serve and although Draco didn't treat her as family, he wasn't cruel to her either.
"But Daddy," Scorpius pouted, "Beeky's ears are BIG". Scorpius spaced his hands out several feet apart to make his point. Draco hid a smirk – his son always made him laugh, even though he knew he had to teach him to behave appropriately.
"Scorpius, you hurt Beeky," Draco scolded, watching as his son's smile drooped. "You shouldn't hurt anything that cannot defend itself." He ignored a brief flashback of Albus Dumbledore atop the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts. He would raise his son to be better than the coward he had been.
"Sowwy Daddy," Scorpius apologised. His shoulders slumped. "Didn't mean to."
"I think you should tell Beeky you're sorry, what do you think?" The suggestion was delivered gently but with an undercurrent of steel that Scorpius knew well – his Father wasn't asking. Scorpius nodded and his chubby legs carried him away from Draco, calling Beeky's name with that damned stuff dragon still clutched in his hand.
Draco retreated to his study, which had been artfully redecorated to his taste. The dark gothic feel of the room quite simply wasn't conducive to work in, and Draco wanted to feel comfortable in the place that he spent most of his time. The blackened fireplace had been painted and restored a warm brown, the intricate grates polished until they gleamed. Warm candle sconces had replaced the old stone fittings and the heavy layer of dust on the bookshelves had been cleaned. Draco had also replaced his Father's straight-backed chair with a plush chesterfield sofa, which was infinitely more comfortable to work on.
Draco needed his study to be comfortable – as a wizarding genealogist, he was in stronger demand than ever following the War and spent a lot of time in the room. Pureblood families, decimated following the eradication and capture of death eaters, sought links to distant relatives to continue bloodlines. Yet it wasn't just pureblood families whom wanted his help. Rather, it was wizarding families wanting strong genetic matches for future children that comprised most of Draco's customers. It was a role that Draco was inherently suited to do – he had a stronger understanding of pureblood lineage's than arguably most people alive – and the income generated from his business meant he had no need to touch the reserves of Malfoy wealth.
Yes, Draco had indeed been blessed to escape the War with nothing more than a few thousand galleons being lost, and he reminded himself of this fact every time the loneliness of his life threatened to overwhelm him.
Draco snarled under his breath at the incompetence of the drivelling wizard in front of him. He was in London on business, attempting to obtain an old book on ancient wizarding bloodlines which had been advertised in the Daily Prophet. Draco had arrived with more galleons than required to purchase the book for its use in his research, only to find the idiot salesperson had misplaced the tome.
"Well stop apologising and find it" Draco growled at the clerk, rolling his eyes as the man scuttled off behind the counter. Scorpius had been particularly difficult that morning, refusing to floo to Astoria's for the week, and it had taken Draco several hours to prepare him for his Mother. He was therefore not in the mood to be patient.
When the clerk apologetically bumbled his way through an explanation about the lost book, he simply turned his heel and left. He was well known in wizarding circles and if the store wanted his business and galleons, they would know how to contact him.
Still absolutely filthy with how his morning had progressed, Draco was not prepared to return to the manor with only Beeky for company. Running a hand through his blonde hair, he spotted an old bar across the busy London street. The building was traditional with wooden panelling and black window frames hiding the interior, and Draco was all too keen for a drink to drown his terrible mood.
As Draco ran across muggle traffic, he briefly regretted not simply apparating home from within the wards of the wizard bookstore, which was cleverly hidden between a café and apartment complex. He couldn't stand living as a muggle – having to walk across traffic and dodge speeding, smelling motorcars was abhorrent to him, as was threading his way through oblivious, stupid muggleborns. Draco might have a newfound respect for some muggleborn wizards; however, his respect did not extend to those without magic.
Lost in his thoughts, Draco jerked in surprise as he entered the bar. It wasn't the surrounds that bothered him – yes, the bar could use a bit more light – but rather the heady rush of power that washed over him and made him instinctively reach for his wand. The thrum of a powerful witch or wizard was unmistakeable and again Draco thought how stupid muggles were to not recognise something abnormal in their midst.
This power was different, however. Draco was a strong wizard, one whom prided himself on keeping his wits about him, and yet this kind of power simply called to him. It was the wild, uncontrolled power of a witch or wizard who no longer cared about leashing the wildness inside of them and was stronger than any other magical signature Draco had ever felt. He could taste it on his tongue – it attracted him, aroused him, and he wanted more.
Draco wasn't stupid. As much as he wanted to know who that enticing power came from, it would not be wise to simply walk up to an unknown threat. Not wishing to draw attention to himself, Draco approached the barkeep and ordered a scotch on the rocks. He leant against the bar casually, concentrating hard to locate the source of the aura when a figure caught the corner of his left eye. "Gotcha," Draco muttered to himself. Turning his head slightly, Draco was able to make out the shape of a male seated next to the window looking into the street. He was the only person in that part of the room, so the magical signature had to be coming from him. Draco couldn't make out any features of the wizard, but it didn't escape his attention that the man was clothed in a thick coat and had his head tilted to avoid his face being seen.
Draco frowned. Although muggle London wasn't devoid of magic by any means, it was extremely rare for a wizard with so much power to remain undetected for long. Draco almost lost his battle and approached the man, even pushing away from the bar to do so when his instincts kicked in. If the wizard was hiding in the back corner of a muggle tavern, there was a high probability he wouldn't like being recognised by someone from the wizarding world.
Especially a Malfoy, he thought to himself sardonically. His family were not known for being on the side of the light, and the first thought of any wizard with the power this man held would be that a Malfoy was attracted to their magic. In this case, he wouldn't be wrong.
Resolved in his decision, Draco placed some money on the bar and strode out of the building back into the bustle of the muggle world. He was very interested and more than a little attracted to the power emanating from the wizard, and very few things interested him in his perfectly controlled world. He would come back at the same time next week and hope the man was present; if not, he would start his own inquiries to track down the man. Carefully of course, so as not to attract unwanted attention.
Besides, he thought to himself, if he was caught, he could always convince the wizard he was only worried about uncontrolled power being unleashed on the muggle world. Draco smiled to himself and used this as his justification to further pursue the man, regardless of the way the unknown wizard's power had caressed Draco.