Draco sipped red wine, praising it and the host with the etiquette expected of a Malfoy. With a blond on his arm, he was the presented impeccably for both the occasion- a luxury charity auction- and the gossip papers that would undoubtedly slander him in the morning. Having won 'Sexiest Bachelor', 'Richest Bachelor', 'Most Intelligent Bachelor', and goodness knows what others, the gossip rags delighted in predicting the likelihood of a future with each and every date. His last date, a brunette named Rosie, found her parents had been interviewed, about everything from Rosie's preference for children to her star sign. Interestingly, there was a whole backstory for the apparent secret relationship they had, following several dates and Draco pestering for engagement. This was made all the more interesting by the fact he had been set up with her as a blind date, and the event they went to together – a gallery opening- was both the first and last time they'd met. Rosie had made it clear that Draco's money was the most interesting part of him, and whilst her body tempted him, he chose to end the evening chivalrously- dropping her home with a kiss on the cheek and a thank-you-for-a-lovely-evening.
Polite, but clearly not interested.
He wasn't faring better with this blond either. She was one of those who changed her name depending on her mood, for now she was called 'Wave', because 'It's like, so peaceful', but he knew her real name to be Karen. Her insistence on droning on about how alternative medicine was far more effective than medicine bored him, mostly because he knew far more about it than she did, and her sweeping statements about how 'Potions only work because the companies tell us they do', made him secretly want to curse her and see how long it was before she believed in potions again.
Not only that, he'd attempted conversation about a range of topics, from books, to spells, to news, all of which she'd sneered at. As a self proclaimed ex snob, Draco fully understood her attempt to seem above it all, but now with a little humility, he just found her attitude frustrating.
Ah well, he thought. Just one night. At least he could then acquire the 600 year old Booke of Spelles that he was attending for.
It was a silent auction, whereby sealed bids are submitted, and read out over a dinner. Although it was less exciting than an active auction, he had to admit it tended to raise more money. He'd sized up the other attendants, and put a weighty bid on the book, sure that no one else attending could afford to beat it.
As Wave/Karen babbled further on to him, as unfortunately wine seemed only to encourage her, he cast his mind back to his puzzle.
Back at the Office, he'd discovered that whilst there was frustrating little known about their workings, some details could be gleamed from their investments and donations, which could only be reflective of their creator.
Many of the donations were to do with education. Investments in schools, bookshops, and future education. There was a lot for children, hospices, orphanages, play parks. The list went on. This gave him two key pieces of information about the beholder- One: They were far more successful than they were ever given credit for. The donations were often close to blank cheques, there was no concern for bankruptcy at all. No one was that careless, and so the fortunes were almost unimaginable. Well. Not unimaginable for Draco Malfoy. The second thing he could learn from this list was the person was extraordinarily intelligent. Obviously, to get into their situation they had to be, but they valued their knowledge, and wanted to further others.
Very noble, he thought, with less sarcasm than he wanted. He begrudgingly was impressed.
The only other information Johnson could gather was that the creator and manager – like with his, the same person- was a woman.
Merlin, he couldn't imagine a woman with business savvy like that.
'Ladies and Gentlemen', a booming voice echoed in the room. 'Would you please take your seats. Dinner will be served'.
Unsurprisingly, Draco found himself seated with a few familiar faces. Some were business clients, to whom he was happy to converse lightly with. He was always cautious speaking to them, one alcohol influenced suggestion could damage both the business, and the business relationship with Malfoy Incorporated.
He was surprised to be sat on the same table as a familiar red headed Weasel.
Searching his memory, he tried to remember where Ron Weasley ended up. Certainly not with Hermione Granger, as his high profile romance was destroyed by his high profile affair. He remembered talks of the Weasel being in and out of rehab for potion addiction, and some talk of Quidditch but he wasn't sure.
'Mr Weasley is here as on his PR's advice', Mr Ryan, a balding and overweight owner of a company Draco had invested in, muttered to him. Draco raised an eyebrow. 'I saw you thinking. He got arrested for being drunk outside Diagon Alley, shouting about how money raised in regards to the war should go to him because he was the one who won it.'
'He always was greedy,' Draco replied in a similarly quiet voice. He rarely showed negative opinion in public, but his hatred was well known.
'There're all sorts of rumours about him. Prostitutes with children, estranged from the other two, spent all his money gambling and then demanding more'. He continued. 'He had a thing with an up and coming model, but she threatened to sell an expose on how crap he'd treated her and he ended up paying her hush money. She wouldn't tell me the ins and outs of it, but she reckoned she had enough to make the public hate him. I take it you know him?' Draco remembered now why Mr Ryan was great with gossip, he ran a model agency. He'd given him a start up investment, and now it was extremely successful. The models ran in all circles for all sorts of business, whether advertising or high fashion, and it meant they absorbed a lot of information. Secrets, Mr Ryan claimed, were the currency you could trust.
'I knew him from school. Never quite understood where he fit in, he always seemed to be shouting over nothing much. Compared to the other two, I never quite got it.' He replied. Much better to speak to Mr Ryan than Wave/Karen, who had now began pestering the poor woman next to her.
'Well, compare then and now,' he continued, puffing out his chest in a way that reminded him of Professor Slughorn. 'I remember him being the saviour of the wizarding world. Well, the sidekick to the saviour. He was in every newspaper every week'.
'Indeed. Look at him now.'
Both did, taking in more of his appearance than the first glance had. His hair was groomed and styled, but was mismatched in length. His face was riddled with marks, some scars, some just the haggard appearance of a Wizard addicted, emphasised by his scrawny underweight figure. Far from the grotesque scenes in the Great Hall where he shovelled food like some crazy animal, he looked as if he hadn't eaten a full meal in some weeks.
The smile he gave to a friend didn't quite reach his eyes, and when it lasted more than a few seconds became clearly forced. He obviously did not want to be here, but if prompted by PR, he had little other choice. It was good advice, and he would be an idiot not to take it.
Starters were produced within a few minutes, a beautiful and simple tomato soup, supposedly made with lavish ingredients but in fact as tasty as the tinned variety.
Draco continued to muse over Ronald Weasley long after the conversation had changed. There were 12 to a table, and with him opposite; he was mercifully saved from engaging in direct conversation. By the look of things, Weasley was pretty quiet anyway. Never impolite, but never continuing conversation. He couldn't work out if Weasley had even spotted him.
It was always strange though, to see someone from your past. Especially considering the far fetched circumstances. Here was Draco, the villain of the piece, successful and philanthropic, popular and well liked. Over the table was Ronald, the hero of the war who fell so far from grace he was half ignored in retellings of the tale now.
How things change, he continued to think. Blaise Zabini had disappeared long ago, Pansy had married some pureblood Russian and lived isolated in some half mansion-half-castle monstrosity. Crabbe and Goyle were now dead, one in the war and one killed by aurors in a ludicrous attempt to free some Death Eaters from Azkaban.
Hmm, he thought. Maybe the Slytherins didn't change much.
Saying that, maybe only Ron had changed. Scarhead was engaged to Weaselette, as per predictions, and was head of the Auror Department. Granger had disappeared, probably back to the muggle world. It always surprised him that she'd turn her back on magic, perhaps she wasn't as clever as she seemed.
Main course was served, but Draco was on autopilot by now. It wasn't often he thought of his Hogwarts years – for obvious reasons- and he realised he'd barely noticed what was going on with his former classmates. He only glanced at the Daily Prophet news section on the way to the business section, and the little scraps of information he did know were mostly gleaned from business partners gossiping. Dessert next.
He began a polite conversation with Wave/Karen, knowing he couldn't avoid her for the entire evening. God forbid the papers call him dull. Thankfully, he was rescued by an unremarkable man taking the stage.
'Ladies and Gentlemen, if I could have your attention. My name is Hugh Legal Bids have been counted, and verified, and we would like to announce and thank our successful bidders'. Hugh said. He carried an envelope with him, which he unfolded now.
'For the special edition Thunderstreak 4000' – a broom that Draco had been sorely tempted by. 'The successful bid was three thousand galleons, and was made by Jack Quince'.
A polite applause was raised, and a man a few tables over grinned widely.
'We thank you for your kind purchase'. Hugh continued when it quietened. 'The next item…'
This continued for several items, the value ranging wildly. Though obviously people took the opportunity to procure these exclusive items, much of the actual purchase was donation. Draco had tripled his actual estimate of the book he wanted, in support of the cause. He'd actually donated millions of galleons to the cause quietly. Hope for Children was a charity helping anyone effected by the war, whether counselling, education, medical fees… The list went on. Considering Draco's involvement, he thought it was the least he could do.
After some time, the book came up.
'The winning bid is…' He paused. Draco prepared his graciously smug face. 'An unnamed donor from Perdita, of an incredible fifty six thousand galleons'.
Voices rang out in shock, lots of muttering to each other almost drowning out the applause. No shock matched that of Draco's though.
'What on earth?!' He exclaimed, before he realised he'd spoken. Luckily, he was barely heard over everyone else.
'Incredibly generous,' Mr Ryan commented.
'Incredibly specific,' Draco retorted, frowning.
'Problem?'
'No, no problem. Just more puzzles'. At this statement, Mr Ryan raised an eyebrow, but conversation was stopped by the announcement of the next item.
After twenty or so items, the auction was declared a success, and a round of applause a speech on the importance of the charity. Once dissolved, people began resuming conversation, shuffling from table to table to chat.
Draco took his mind off his surprise defeat by networking. He greeted business partners, chatted about new investments, and gently flirted. He introduced Wave/Karen to a number of other potential suitors, glad to be rid of her, and enjoyed a fairly remarkable conversation with a teenager. The boy had been dragged to the event by his wealthy mother, and though complained about his presence, was surprisingly astute in his comments on business. Draco passed his mother a card for Malfoy Incorporated when he disappeared, offering an apprenticeship for when he left school.
After an hour or so, people began disappearing. Draco offered an arm to his tipsy date, who kept pawing at his chest and shouting about how great her night was. Definitely not interested, he reaffirmed. Holding her tightly (so she didn't stumble) he apparated to her doorstep.
'Would you like to come in for a coffee?' Wave/Karen slurred.
'Not tonight darling.' He replied gently, as her nails began digging into his arm. 'I had a lovely evening but I think you need a glass of water'. My god, no one ever gave men credit for this rubbish.
'But, coffee?' She was frowning now, some water in her eyes looking scarily like tears. Oh how it would be a million times easier to take her up on the offer and high five someone about it tomorrow.
Nope, she was far too annoying for the risk.
'Thank you, maybe some other time'. As gently has he could, he prised her hands from his arm, looked pointedly at her front door. With a huff and a flounce, she pulled her wand from her handbag and stepped towards the door.
She hesitated for a second, swaying dangerously, before swinging around and launching herself at Draco.
Her attempt at a kiss was ruined by her lack of coordination, Draco panicked in that second as he tried to stop her from falling face first to the floor, but avoid her lips as much as possible. He succeeded in preventing the kiss, but she caught his cheek, and Draco thought quickly and tried to embrace her in a hug to pretend that was her intention.
'Goodnight Wave.' He said firmly, standing her upright. He stepped back, and with a twist, apparated home.
Settling on his sofa after letting himself in, he sighed. He really needed to start dating people who could keep up with his conversation.