After a week she was still in his mind. He resubscribed to the Daily Prophet, then had his secretary research and send him the relevant clips from the last decade so he could get an idea of precisely what the political situation was without it being clouded by Grangers always activist perspective.
He sat in his apartment with a full four fingers of firewhiskey in a tumbler on the table beside him, and an admittedly weird mix of classical, rock, blues and even show tunes shuffling on the mp3 player connected to his high end stereo system. The clippings were arranged perfectly in chronological order by subject, and the tale they told became obvious before he had flipped through more than two years of them.
After the war was won and the heroes were lauded, the government stepped in. Kingsley Shackelbolt was elected Minister of magic in what Draco perceived was mostly a knee jerk reaction to Fudge's myopic weakness. A former Auror, and always one of the most paranoid reactionaries in his group, Shackelbolt won on a platform of tracking down every single Death Eater and eradicating them from the face of the planet. He was better than his word. His squads arrested everyone who even smelled remotely of dark magic, and the rumors of illegal interrogations and torture to get more names began to spread. Legilimency and Veritaserum felt by the wayside in favor of the Cruciatus, the use of which was legalized for Aurors in pursuit of criminals. Having been the recipient of that particular curse many times over the course of his life, he felt a particular revulsion to the notion that it was remotely considered acceptable to legalize any unforgiveable, much less that one.
The trend was all downhill from there. Seeing what a whirlwind their fear had reaped, the citizens became nearly as afraid of the Aurors as they had been of the Death Eaters. Public opinion fell to an all time low, there was talk of a vote of no confidence. The problem was, of course, that no one, having tasted power, ever wanted to give it up. Even with Potters increasingly vehement and public support, Kingsley couldn't stave off the inevitable for long. There had to be something to refocus the population from their course so he would have time to solidify his power base.
He found it in the Marriage Laws. Ostensibly passed to put down the hatred between Purebloods and the rest of wizarding society, Draco saw that it was a master stroke by the Ministry, distracting the people from the real issues, and refocusing on the Pureblood, Mudblood controversy instead of the way politics was going to hell. Shackelbolt and his goon squads were forgotten in the renewed hatred that forced marriages between people barely considered adult was causing.
Spouse murder skyrocketed, abuse ran rampant. People were sent to Azkaban right and left for assault, murder and and attempted murder. If it got much worse Draco thought it likely that Shackelbolt would declare a state of emergency and declare the Ministry under control of the Auror Guild. And that, he thought sourly, was exactly the point.
It wasn't as bad as she had said it was, it was far worse. Damn the woman to hell twice for her interference in his placid, organized and structured world. He was caring again, caring beyond what effected him, it was appalling, it was disgusting. He hadn't felt so alive in years.
He picked up the yearly reports from Malfoy Wizarding Industries, flipping through them. The board had done well with little interference over the years, keeping on with his fathers policy of expanding the family concerns so there were few large organizations, and fewer influential people that a Malfoy who was sufficiently motivated could not touch. For the first time in a long time Draco felt the corner of his mouth turn up in the trademark Malfoy sneer and he wasn't ashamed. It had been a long time since he had used the influence he had. He'd told himself that he didn't need that sort of game, that he could get what he wanted by old fashioned negotiation, and in this world he could. But the truth was, he was a Slytherin and a Malfoy, and while he was possibly the most gentle of his generation, and the most principled in several, there was something deep and visceral that called to him to do something. He wasn't quite sure what, at least not yet, but his mind felt like it was waking up after a decade of sleep, and he had to physically fight off the urge to wake up his staff and make them work right along with him. Unable to shed the excess energy he took the reports and set them on the treadmill in the corner and prepared to read and run at the same time.
He didn't stop until he was covered in sweat, so tired he could barely breathe, and the sun was peaking over the horizon.