Ulterior Motives

Pansy and Draco sat in the morning room. She had her nose buried in a book from his library. Black Magic, fact or fiction? By Thomas Riddle was a book a teenage Voldemort had written in school for a project. It was not very successful until he became the most feared Wizard in history, then booksellers burned them, fearing they would be cursed. Lucius had managed to get hold of three copies, including Voldemort's original essays and notes. Draco was wary of Pansy. Although she showed keen interest in dark magic, deatheaters and was indeed "Pure-blood", Draco knew she was only doing so to impress him. For that fact, he had never revealed to her he was a real Deatheater. Merely hinted and teased, as if he were joking. He hadn't even told Moaning Myrtle, in fact he had only visited her four times in total. Something he would have to pick up on, if his secret friendship with her was to remain secret.

"You're doing it again!" Pansy smirked, as she turned a page.

"Sorry!" Draco stopped grinding his teeth and stretched. He had a lot on his mind, he wanted to hurt wormtail, but had no idea how to go about doing it, and he had Pansy to entertain, his mother to look after, and his father to brood and sulk over. The huge house, that seemed empty without Lucius, was now suffocating him.

"Do you wanna go out?" Draco stood up.

"Are you asking me out, or do you mean outside?" Pansy closed the book and sneered at him cheekily. Although Pansy and he were in fact a couple, it was never official.

"Outside…Diagon Alley …anywhere!" he sneered back, and smiled as her face fell.

"Sure! Your house, your rules!" She got to her feet, and House-elves who seemed to automatically sense their master's intention to depart, suddenly apparated with his summer coat, wallet, day shoes and leather gloves.

He took them lazily and dressed himself, without even glancing at the elves, who smiled and bowed, hoping against hope that they might get some reaction from their master, some form of recognition. A sneer would have done.

Draco paced down the hallways to the main doors, followed closely by Pansy, who had been given one of Narcissa's beautiful white griffin furr coats. Griffins shed their furr once a year, and white Griffins were incredibly rare. She stroked the soft furr and gazed at it lovingly.

"Fetch the carriage!" Draco called to Poppy, who disapparated immediately to make the request.

"Are we not apparating?" Pansy scoffed.

Draco turned and glared at her. "…and how am I supposed to apparate without my Father's help?" he raised his eyebrow. "Or would you like to get covered in soot and travel by floo powder?"

Pansy went silent. Draco opened the door and a cool, fresh breeze hit them. A carriage pulled by two thestrals stampeded down the drive, and screeched to a halt near the entrance. He let Pansy go and pet the white horses for a moment, before climbing into the carriage. "Diagon Alley and make it quick!" he said to the driver, who looked at him in contempt, only to realise that the Malfoy's paid him well, even if they didn't respect him.

---

Diagon Alley was quite empty, despite the fact it was the easter holidays. Some wizarding families had taken their children out to look for quidditch supplies, and gifts, but the majority of the shops were closed. Lord Voldemort's return to power had made everone become more weary. Ollivander, the famous wand-maker had vanished along with some others, and this lead to higher auror security in the alley, and a curfew. Draco was unafraid, being a deatheater he knew he could wander the streets safely. The Malfoy name had been dragged through the dirt since his father's capture but it only fuelled people's fear of it. He could happily walk into any shop and be accosted by its owners, hoping to sell him everything they owned and get him out as soon as possible.

They walked into Flourish & Blotts so that Draco could add more rare books to his library. He thought he would continue his father's hobby, and through the holidays, ahd found reading to be an excellent way of emtying his mind of troubles.

There were some other wizards and witches in the store, and upon seeing the younger Malfoy enter the shop, shifted uncomfortably and slowly made their way to the back of the shop, pretending to be lost in a book or conversation as they eyed the blonde heir suspiciously.

Pansy fluttered in behind him and headed straight for the Dark Arts section which was filled with 'Magic Moste Evile' which was the most common book on the dark arts one could find. It wasn't a particularly good read either, for the writer always seemed wary of saying anything 'good' about dark magic, for fear of being thought a deatheater or dark wizard.

Draco headed for the desk, and slammed his hand down on the bell. He spotted some of the witches in the back jump at the noise, and turn to see him smiling at them maliciously.

They quickly turned away and avoided his gaze. Malfoy moved his attention to the manager who had just appeared from a door in the back.

"Good day Mr. Malfoy" he swallowed.

"Indeed." Draco sneered. "Have you any…rarer books in stock?"

The man hesitated. He had been used to such requests from Lucius Malfoy, but now mentioning the elder Malfoy, or any deatheater in store was considered…'bad business.'

"Certainly…there's a room at the back of the store, behind that curtain there…" he motioned toward a velvet curtain, above which hung a sign. "Staff Only"

"May I see it?" Draco asked politely, but with an air that sounded like an order.

"Of course…go right ahead." The man left Malfoy's side, hoping to spend as little time with him as possible. Draco nodded to him and strode to the curtain, whipping it out of his way as he passed through.

He emerged not long after, holding five old, tatty, leather-bound books. "I'll take all of these." He dumped them uncaringly on the desk. The books may have been old and expensive, but they were not the rarest books in the world, and were written by wizards thought to be great, but were not pure of blood. He had no interest in reading them, but Malfoy had learned from his mother and father, that if you enter a shop, you should leave with something, preferably the most precious thing they have.

Throwing a bag of money at the clerk, Draco asked for the books to be delivered to his home, and then sidled over to Pansy. "See anything of interest?" he asked.

"I'm still looking." Pansy smiled.

Draco had ulterior motives. He hadn't wanted to go to Diagon Alley simply for fresh air and retail therapy. "I'm going in another shop, ill be back in a minute, heres some money, if you see anything you like, get it…my treat." He handed her some galleons and pecked her on the cheek. He didn't even turn to see her blush before he left the shop, and walked briskly up the street.

Checking to see the coast was clear, Draco swiftly disappeared into a nearby dark alley. Knockturn Alley. He had visited many times before, but it was not a good place to be spotted, and considering his family's new reputation, he didn't want to draw even more attention to himself.

Slipping the hood of his cloak up to cover his blonde head, he slipped past a number of old witches, who smiled and sneered at him. "Hello handsome? Not lost are you? Do you want to buy some goblin's guts?" He ignored them and charged toward a shop he knew very well. Borgin and Burkes was a popular shop dealing with dark magic and enchanted items. The doorbell tingled as he pushed himself inside. He spotted the spot where the emerald necklace had been. He had purchased it, with the intention of using it against Dumbledore. His plan had been foiled however. He knew it would be…his attempts had been pathetic…desperate…unplanned. This would not though. This had to work…or his father and mother were as good as dead.

"Can I help you?" Mr Borgin appeared behind the counter, wearing a fake, sneering smile. Draco angrily removed his hood and watched Borgin's face twist from smiles, to hidden looks of deep fear and loathing.

"Mr. Malfoy, what an unexpected pleasure." He began to suck up.

"Save me the flatteries, they may have worked on my father, but I'm not interested." Draco sneered and with one hand brushed the hair off his face. "Is it done?" he sniffed and nodded toward the back of the room.

"It was badly damaged sir." Borgin protested, "I'm doing my best but…" He almost seemed to be grovelling.

"You will do it Borgin!" Draco hissed, taking a step toward the gentleman. "I'll double the price, I'll do whatever it takes, and for your sake so should you!"

Borgin gulped as he saw Draco glare at him. Draco picked up the clawed, deformed hand off a nearby shelf, and inspected it. It gave light to the user only, and he thought it may come in handy for the future.

"The other one wasn't that badly damaged, without your help I would never have fixed it. I thank you for that." He nodded toward Borgin. "I will need your assurance that you will do all in your power to fix the other one…the penalty for failure…would be severe…on both of us." Borgin nodded in response and bowed low.

Pulling up his hood, Draco paid for the dismembered hand and left the shop.

---