The first owl landed on his desk at seven o'clock that morning.
Getting owls at that hour was not unusual; Draco had taken to starting his day at barely seven simply to try to get enough done so he wasn't playing catch up after meetings for the rest of the day. No, the owl wasn't the problem, it was the parchment attached to it.
The writing was uneven, loopy and inexpert, more the out of control wiggling of youth than the spidery shake of age. But that wasn't the problem either. No, the problem was the content. Draco read it over at least four times, and each time he shook his head and read again. It was as he was about to read it for the fifth time in the vain hope that possibly the script would have magically changed that he realized he was being ridiculous and instead apparated directly into his own bedroom, the crack bringing Hermione out of a sound sleep.
"This is not happening." She blinked owlishly at his taut, agitated expression and tried to focus on the parchment in his hand.
"What isn't happening?" She tried to reach for the letter but he paced past without even noticing and shook the offending parchment again.
"Really, is there anything about me that cries 'hero' or 'saviour' to anyone with half a brain or a modicum of common sense? No! I have never made one promise to anyone to do anything at all noble, the very concept is ridiculous, and yet, somehow, this..this…thing comes in by owl this morning! What the bloody hell does anyone expect, that I'll come sailing in on a golden broom, wave my hand and fix everything? It's preposterous!"
"Draco!" He stopped at her shout and finally looked back to where she was sitting on the bed, glaring at him.
"Merlin's nobblies, woman, there's no need to shout I'm right here."
"In body perhaps, but I think your mind departed some time ago. Now what the bloody hell are you talking about?" He walked over and stuffed the letter under her nose.
"This! What on earth am I supposed to do with something like this?" Hermione recognized the childishness in the script immediately and glanced quickly over the letter, her eyebrows climbing as she did so.
" 'And since Hagrid says that if you have a problem then you should take it to someone who you can trust to help then I am writing to you since you are on the board of Governors and my father says that you might be the first decent man in the Ministry in a decade. But please do something quick because Wallace won't tell and I'm afraid that when term lets out and he has to go home then he won't last to come back next term. He doesn't think anyone can help, but I think you can. Please, you will help, won't you?' " She was tearing up by then, and chuckling at the same time.
"Well, we were going for the young vote, I think you did a bit of overkill, though."
"Hermione! That childs' friend is going home at the end of term to a family that mistreats him terribly and you're cracking jokes? What if the blighters do kill the little thing, what then? I'm not bloody Robin Hood or Merlin, what does this child expect from me?"
"I suspect he hopes for the one thing everyone hopes for, to know someone out there is on his side. Obviously the childs father works at the Ministry and you've made quite the impression with him, what do you think you should do?"
"If I knew that would I have come to you? You can't know what it's like to be so young and know that when you get home…" he trailed off and she realized why the letter had such an effect on him.
"Draco, if you want to do something, do something. Talk to MacGonagall, Floo Childrens Service, hex the father so badly he won't be out of hospital until next term, but do not pace around our bedroom because you feel strange about having an altruistic urge."
"That is hardly the point."
"No, the point is that you aren't comfortable with the fact that despite all your wishes to the contrary you are a decent man, perhaps even a good man, and the plight of a helpless child bothers you. Get over yourself, darling, and go help the boy. Do it in a particularly nasty manner if it bothers you so much."
"I..that's…dammit!" He strode out of the bedroom a moment later casting her a heavy glare. Hermione simply yawned, stretched and padded for the shower.
"Mr. Malfoy, without the testimony of the child or any corroborating evidence I do not know what it is you expect me to be able to do. I would like nothing more than to help, but unless the child comes forward my hands are tied."
"You don't understand what it is like for a child like that, Headmistress," he snapped, glaring into the Floo. "That sort of child is completely convinced that nothing in the world can help him, and that adults of all kinds are enemies to be feared even more than the abuser. Is there any wonder why that is? Of course not. Whoever the bastard is that is abusing the child is vested in convincing the child of this. Do you even know what child I am referring to? Have there been signs?"
"Wallace Prewett, yes, I know who the child is. I have suspected for quite some time that all was not right at home for the boy, but no matter how I broach the topic he skitters away from me as though I were poisoned. The family is too influential for me to have been able to secure an inspection by Childrens Service as well, and believe me I tried. I am at my wits end."
"Prewett, you say? The Pureblood Prewett's that are related to the Weasley's?" McGonagall nodded sharply.
"The same. Generally they were regarded as a decent family, I do not know why this situation has arisen."
"Thank you for the information, Minerva." She frowned into the Floo and put a hand out.
"Mr. Malfoy, you are not planning on doing anything rash, are you? Yours is a very precarious position. I would not like to see it jeopardized."
"I am nothing if not cautious, you know this. I will owl you when the situation has been resolved. In the meantime tell the boy to plan on not returning home for the break. I believe there will be other circumstances that prevent it."
With the resources at his disposal it took less than two days to learn all he needed. Ian Prewett, pureblood pillar of society and careful neutral in the second Voldemort war, had a taste for a very expensive, very illegal recreational potion. A derivative of the famous Wolfsbane potion, this one caused a euphoric state that lasted days, superhuman amounts of strength and amazing reflexes. It also, in almost every case, eventually caused madness and impotence. Apparently Prewett was now in the downward spiral of the addiction cycle and decided to use his son as the punching bag to take out his frustrations on. He also, in his madness attempted to use the boy to tempt his flagging libido in ways that literally made Draco's stomach churn with revulsion. There was no question in his mind about what had to happen. Prewett junior was a Slytherin, there were masks to maintain and reputations to keep up. He would be no help at all if all the sordid details were released, and if he had the boy removed from the home that was precisely what would happen. No, better to make the break clean, then the entire nasty mess could be carefully ignored as such things were, and McGonagall could, under different guises, get the boy the time he needed with the mind healers.
In the end it was the simplest thing in the world. There wasn't a lot in the world that didn't react in some form or another with Wolsbane, hence why the poor lycanthropes couldn't take a sleeping or calming draught at the full moon. Creating a potion that was similar to what he was already used to, the addition of a root that would react fatally in minutes but then pass through his system and magic like water through a sieve. Now, he would distribute it through certain channels and soon Prewett would no longer be an issue. Young Prewett would be rid of the father, the estates would stay with the mother until Wallace graduated Hogwarts and took over the management of his inheritance. It would be perfect.
"You have got to be kidding me." He whirled, finding Hermione glaring at him, hands on her hips. He set the lethal flask gently down on the workbench and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Something I can help you with, love?" She frowned and pointed to the potion beside him.
"If you even try to get that slipped to Ian Prewett you're an idiot. Don't think I don't know how your mind works, Draco Malfoy. Didn't you recall that the Ministry has been working on a method to track the magical signature associated with spells and potions? You are already on file because of your record. If even one Auror has the brain to pick that phial up and have it tested you'll spend the rest of your life in Azkaban." He paused, more surprised by the fact that she seemed to object more to his execution of the plan than the plan itself, then what she said seemed to sink in.
"Damn. No, that pertinent fact had rather escaped me. So, your thoughts?"
"You're assuming I care at all."
"It's a child, Granger, of course you care. Even I care, and I'm a bastard." She chuckled, shaking her head and vanished the potion with a wave of her wand.
"All right then, yes I do care, and I would love to see him swinging from his entrails on his own front gate, but it takes planning. We can make it look like an accident, all it takes is time and money and we have plenty of both."
"Not too much time though, there is a deadline here, pardon the pun."
"I wouldn't worry too much about that, love. We'll make it."
Two weeks later Ian Prewett died face down in a bowl of fish stew having ostensibly choked on a bone. Prewett had taken to renting his house elves to other families to bring in additional capital and was alone in his Manor at the time. His son Wallace was named the new head of the Prewett family. No one shed a tear at the funeral, including the new Prewett heir, and that summer the young Prewett, as he was hosting a house party for several school friends, stumbled upon a room in the house that had been sealed for likely several hundred years. Inside were enough treasures and antiques to replenish the vaults that his wastrel father had emptied and restore the decaying manor to its former glory. Hermione noted that several smaller artifacts around Malfoy manor seemed to go missing around that same time, and reappeared after the auction. She said nothing.