A/N: About 7,000 words. Next chapter (which will be posted on Friday) Draco finds out his mate is Hermione. Ohh, drama.

Enjoy!

Friday

12:08 AM

It was a witch that stood in front of him, not a Muggle. He watched her form curiously. Why did she come to a Muggle park, night after night? He had reasoned that if she visited Muggle attractions and shopped at Muggle places, she was either a Muggleborn or wished to be.

He put himself under a Disillusionment charm and crept closer. She was - crying? He saw her shoulders shaking. A second later, a flood of sadness overwhelmed him and he fell to his knees. It was extremely difficult, but he remembered what Vedette had told him - he could influence his mate's emotions and vice-versa - and pulled together the sadness, balled it up, and suppressed it behind his Occlumency masks. He tried to feel calm.

His mate stopped crying abruptly. She stood and looked around her anxiously. He clearly saw her outline raise a wand and cast a spell...and a second later, she was gone.

Shit!

Still Friday

8:28 AM

Draco was busy manipulating.

He had received a missive saying that, unless they came to an agreement, the Minister expected completed blueprints for his fancy new building a week from tomorrow. That was insane. The Minister clearly didn't know how to design a building, especially one as complicated as the Ministry building. Currently, he had to deal with a sobbing Mary Mastil, who couldn't figure out how to neutralize the magical charges in the Floo-in area, not to mention Nick, who was arguing with Joanne about whether the walls would look better curved inwards or outwards. A nightmare. He needed to convince the Minister to extend the deadline at least two weeks. He cast a few more spells to his face, making his pallor slightly grey and sickly - not that doing so was hard. Then, he sat at his desk and wrote a note, in his most elegant handwriting:

Dear Minister Dupont,

I have found myself unexpectedly with a rare moment of calm. I have completed all the scheduled work I missed when I was ill with Dragon Pox and would like to speak with you at your earliest convenience.

Thank you,

Draco Malfoy

CEO, Sleeping Dragon Architecture Firm

Head of the Malfoy Family

Head of the Black Family

Draco's hand nearly trembled as he traced over the last line in his silver ink. Head of Black family. The cursed family that hadn't given him anything good...He dried the letter and sent it through the Floo, waiting for a reply.

As expected, it was only five minutes later when a creamy parchment sailed through his fireplace. It was obviously very expensive, and he opened the envelope with care. The note was short:

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

Would today right now work for you? I'd be pleased to meet with you.

Sincerely,

The Minister of Magic

Jon Dupot

Draco had known this would happen. Minister Dupot was an impatient man. He pressed his wand to the "Yes" box on the letter and it disappeared, presumably to France. He wasted a second wondering about time differences, before deciding that for a man like the French Minister, time differences were hardly applicable. Hadn't he been in Monaco yesterday, and Switzerland the day before last?

It didn't matter. While he waited for the man to appear in his office, his thoughts turned to his mate. He didn't know what was going on, but ever since this morning, he'd been feeling intensified feelings of lust towards his mysterious mate...he wanted to pin her against the wall and ravish her until she was screaming his name...

"Mr. Draco, the Minister is here to see you."

Draco took a second to cast a very fast Notice-Me-Not charm on his lower regions, wanting to blush. Curse his insatiable libido! He hadn't gotten laid since this Veela curse manifested. Then, he stood, smiled pleasantly, and greeted his guest.

"Minister Dupot," he said, pronouncing the name perfectly. "Enchanté de vous voir." (Pleased to see you).

"Merci, Mr. Malfoy," the Minister said graciously. He was a small man, but carried himself with grace. Draco respected him, even if he was entirely too impatient for his own good, and had very specific ideas. Draco enjoyed his company in small increments.

"Please, sit down." Draco went behind his desk, as he wanted to intimidate the man into agreeing into extending the deadline. Sitting behind his desk lent him power. "Would you like some water, or tea, or perhaps something else?"

The Minister declined.

Draco coughed, pretending his throat was still sore from his illness. "You'll excuse me if I take some ice water, I hope? The Healers told me to stay hydrated."

They chatted about his sickness for a few minutes, Draco inserting comments about the amount of work he'd done in the past day, and the Minister growing more and more sympathetic.

Finally, Dupot cleared his throat. "It seems like you had a very tough battle, Mr. Malfoy. I wouldn't want to overwork your team; perhaps we could push the deadline one week?" One week was shit. Time to change his mind. Draco leaned forward and deliberately flicked his eyes to the door. The first time, nothing happened. The second, the Minister looked wary. The third time, Dupot actually turned around and gazed at his office door. "What is it?"

"Excuse me, Minister?"

"What were you looking at?"

Draco looked innocent. "I really don't know what you're talking about, Minister."

He looked over his shoulder suspiciously before returning to the conversation. "Do you think one week would be adequate?"

He let his eyes slide back to the door as he answered, "Due to the setback we received, I'm not sure, Minister. Our Ministry has been conducting searches on our staff and that has put as back at least two."

His eyes once again focused on the door. This was the smallest and simplest tactic he had up his sleeve, but also the one least likely to work. However, he enjoyed playing with people, and he was looking forward to unsettling the Minister. This trick was the oldest in the book. He smirked as the Minister looked behind him nervously. "Ah, your Ministry...very meddling, yes?"

"Very much so," Draco said non-committedly.

The Minister brushed his hands on his robes. Draco scratched his arm. Dupot spoke up again, "Mr. Malfoy, what do you suggest?"

"For the extension?" Draco wanted to smile. Right where he had him. "At least a month, Minister." Just for good measure, he looked at the door again. He was sure the Minister believed there were listening devices embedded in the hinges by now.

"Take a month and a half," Dupot said hastily, clearly wanting to escape before he said something that could be recorded and used against him. "It was excellent to meet you, Mr. Malfoy, but I have a meeting scheduled in half an hour." They stood and shook hands and all the typical end-of-meeting actions, before Dupot practically ran into the Floo. The door swung open to show Daphne standing there, along with Gabrielle, Nick, and another of his female employees: Joanne Lellins.

"Draco!" Gabrielle squealed. He ground his teeth; she was an excellent interior designer, but she grated on his nerves. "That was brilliant."

"Eavesdropping, Daph?" Draco said, raising an eyebrow. She was the only one who could have even made a tiny hole in his wards, a hole big enough for a single Extendable Ear to drop through.

Daphne laughed, loping an arm around his shoulder. She pulled him out of his office and into the "lobby," where his employees gathered around him. "You, sir," Daphne said playfully, "Got us a month and a half!"

"How'd you do it, Mr. Draco?" Nick leaned against the doorjamb. Draco smirked, noticing how it was an exact copy of his look.

"I'm the best, Nick," Draco said, grinning. "And by the way, you need to tilt your foot up to get the right effect."

Nick blushed, and Joanne nudged him. "Nice one, Mr. Draco, you made Mr. Stoic blush."

Draco had a sneaking suspicion that Joanne had a serious thing for Nick. This, he told himself, was the reason he gave her a teasing look and said, "I bet that's not the only thing to make him blush, Joanne." They sported identical flushes now, and Draco turned, still laughing, to see somebody standing in the doorway, looking at him with veiled shock. His face shut down immediately. "Mother."

Theo came up behind him. He put his hand on Draco's shoulder, appearing to give comfort, when instead sticking a piece of paper under his collar. Draco pretended to push off his hand, transferring the note into his hand and up his sleeve.

Narcissa's sharp eyes caught the note, he knew, but that was okay. Theo probably intended that to happen. Draco looked at his friend and quirked the left side of his mouth. Translation: Did you want her to see? Theo copied the movement before giving the tiniest shake of his head. Translation: Yes, but let her think she spotted something we didn't want her to see. If Narcissa caught this movement, she probably translated it as Theo telling Draco not to let her see the note.

"Draco."

He took the slightest step forward, and his employees gathered behind him. "How did you get up here?"

Her facial expression didn't change. "Your doorman was perfectly happy to let Draco Malfoy's mother see her son."

"My ex-doorman, you mean," he said. Daphne flicked her wand at a paper on her desk and it folded into a paper dragon, which breathed orange confetti over Narcissa as it zoomed through the door and presumably to the poor doorman.

Narcissa smiled warmly at Daphne. "That was an excellent spell, dear."

If Narcissa's smile ranked about five on a 1-10 scale of warmth, Daphne's was a negative sixty-three. "I learned it when I was six."

There was an awkward silence. Draco cut his eyes towards Daphne, who then turned to Nick, Joanne and Gabrielle. "We'll reconvene in thirty minutes in the room we used six days ago after lunch," Daphne said cryptically. As there was only one room the team preferred to use - seven in the entire building - this would be sufficiently obvious for them while slightly irritating for Narcissa. The three murmured goodbyes to Draco and left, Nick lingering the longest.

Passing by Draco, the ex-Durmstrang student muttered, "Shall I call security?"

"If she's not gone in precisely thirty-five minutes."

"Don't tell her anything."

Draco gave Nick an icy stare. "Don't presume to tell me what to do."

He gulped and hastily left, leaving only the quote-unquote "Silver Trio" and Mrs. Malfoy. The latter cleared her throat. "You look happy, son."

"I spoke to Vedette," he said, cutting to the chase as soon as Daphne nodded in confirmation that she and Theo had erected privacy wards.

She looked taken aback. "How did you convince the portraits to let you speak to her?"

He smirked, and told her arrogantly, "Mother, I'm afraid that you are out of touch with my intimidation tactics."

Theo snickered. Daphne smiled smugly. Narcissa didn't respond. "I can help you find your mate, Draco," she said softly. "I have discovered a very important spell to help you determine..."

"-That won't be necessary, I'm afraid," Daphne said, stepping slightly ahead, but not enough to overshadow Draco. "Theodore, Daphne, and I have already figured out our next step."

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. He appreciated her stepping up, but that last sentence was entirely unneeded. He did not condone her lying like that. He'd figured it out, and what she was doing now was akin to riding on his coattails. Theo took her arm and said flatly to Draco's mother, "Daphne and I must go add to our Cure research, we've almost made a breakthrough, can you believe it?"

Translation: We have a plan, go along with it.

Narcissa took a physical (and figurative, Draco supposed) step back. She didn't lose her composure, though, which he found slightly impressive. Years of being under Lucius' control had trained her well. Narcissa watched Draco's friends leave, and then turned cool eyes on him. "Your friends lie well."

He quite rudely turned his back on her, walking the short distance to his office. She followed him, which gave him the perfect opportunity to say, "I don't recall telling you to come."

"I don't recall telling you were were done talking, Draco. You are my son and I demand you treat me as such."

He clenched his teeth. "I don't consider you my mother, and I demand you treat me as such," he mocked, enjoying the hurt look she sported. To his dismay, her hurt didn't stop at a look. It continued with a tear and morphed until Draco was sitting across from a weeping woman.

Oh shit.

Seeing his mother cry brought back awful memories. Her crumpled form, twitching on her floor, surrounded by blood, and the tears...he remembered those tears. Those were the tears that drove him to join the fucking Dark Lord so that she wouldn't be tortured and brutally murdered. And now, the bloody woman was using them against him again.

"D-Draco," she sobbed. "I miss you so much!"

Oh, Merlin. He was sure this was a calculated display to tug on his heartstrings, whatever the hell those were, but it was still working. He wanted to comfort her, and Draco Malfoy didn't do comfort. "Leave."

Narcissa glanced up, and the tears stopped. As if she were a Metamorphmagus, her facial expression instantly changed until her eyes were no longer red and her countenance showed nothing but icy disdain. "Draco, darling," she said sweetly, "You wouldn't want your mother to be seen unaccompanied outside of her son's company, on her way to a very important press release in the Ministry announcing her wonderful return to England, would you?"

He wanted to groan. The press would have a field day with that. The Malfoys, split apart! He would be blamed, he knew, judging from the amount of hate mail he received after Narcissa had fled to Italy, as if he'd driven her away. It was a tragic story: the mother, who lied in the face of danger to save her son, who then refused to associate with her. Even if he had threatened Jamie Callagher into not accepting bribes, he couldn't stop the man from commenting on something that was blatantly obvious. Draco thought his appearance over and said, "You go on without me. I will be there in precisely five minutes."

She smiled a smirk of somebody who knew she'd won. "Do try to look better, son; you're appearing rather ill."

Draco ground his teeth.

As soon as his mother left, he called in his friends. Only Theo appeared in his office, explaining to Draco's inquisitive look that Daphne was supervising a meeting.

"A meeting...why?" Draco shook his head. "It doesn't matter. My mother has scheduled a press release to talk about why she came back to England."

Once upon a time, Theo's intellect had made him the subject of Slytherin's derisive mockery. Now, the Prince of that house was grateful for it, as he jumped past the tedious talking Daphne would have required from him. Theo whipped out his wand, and three minutes later saw Draco looking like the rich, attractive, single entrepreneur he knew he was. "Don't give any straight answers, look coolly confident, and smirk like you know something she - and everyone else - doesn't," Theo schooled, and Draco nodded.

"Veela?" Draco said sharply, not willing to waste any time.

"Only if you need to bring something out. If she mentions it, Confundus the hell out of her and rush her to St. Mungos."

Draco laughed, and Apparated off before the confidence faded from his face. He appeared in front of the Ministry looking relaxed, still with hints of a smile playing on his face. The press started a commotion, but he ignored them and strode in. He spotted his mother immediately. She was talking with Minister Kingsley, laughing and looking completely calm.

"Mother," he said, walking up to her. He deftly avoided her attempts to kiss his cheek while masking it as an attempt to shake the Minister's hand.

"Mr. Malfoy," Kingsley said charitably. "It's excellent, though unexpected, to see you here."

He gave him a knowing smirk. "I was afraid I'd be thrown in jail due to another misinterpreted testing accident, Minister, I'm sure you understand."

There was a slightly awkward silence where Kingsley simultaneously flushed and cleared his throat multiple times. Narcissa tittered lightly and said, "Oh, Draco, our conference is almost about to begin."

She clearly intended him to follow her like a dutiful son, but he pretended to catch sight of somebody he'd met before - she'd commissioned a building, he knew, but Draco couldn't remember the name - and went over to say hello.

"Mr. Malfoy!" She was an odious woman, with messy brown hair and a distracted expression. "So wonderful to see you. My daughter loves her beach house, just loves it, she wrote me yesterday telling me how lovely it is, and can you guess what I said?"

Draco gave a self-assured smirk. "That of course it's lovely; it came from Sleeping Dragon, didn't it?"

"Right in one, Mr. Malfoy!" The woman boomed. Draco was pleased to see that people were giving him interested looks as the woman - Mrs. Allis? Mrs. Allyion? Mrs. Al? - rhapsodized about the "darling shingles" and the "creamy tile floor" and the "ah-mazing view."

"I'm so glad you liked it, ma'am," Draco said graciously. "And I'd love to hear more, but my mother is waiting; I'm sure you understand."

Mrs. Whatever pouted like a young school girl denied - had she no class? - and said fake-sweetly, "But your beach house was so excellent, Mr. Malfoy, that I was thinking of getting one for Mr. Allian and I!"

Allian! As she said that, he remembered her first name was Barbara. "Oh, Mrs. Allian - may I call you Barbara?" He practically smoldered at her, and she giggled. Disgusting. She was a sixty year old woman. "Well, Barbara, I'd hate to keep my mother waiting, but how about you give me a Floo call and we'll talk?"

She agreed happily and he walked into the large room Narcissa had booked. They were all clearly waiting for him, and he smiled apologetically at his mother. "Oh, has this started already? I apologize, Mother, I was in the middle of business."

"That's my son," she said fondly, shooting him a secretly angry look. "Always working."

"Mr. Malfoy!" A reporter yelled rudely. "What do you have to say about your mother's return?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Is that how high-class press conferences are conducted these days? I'm sure out of the times."

The reporter blushed a lovely shade of red and sat down. Narcissa stifled a smile and led her son behind the microphones, and the two sat down next to each other looking like a matched set: same snowy features, identically grey eyes, and that platinum hair. Draco realized he was looking a little too smug and changed his expression so that he was looking slightly bored.

Narcissa cleared her throat. "As you all know, I recently returned from my five year visit to Italy and France. The Blacks have family there and I was researching..."

He tuned out his mother has she spoke about "revitalizing familial connections" and answered questions about her "wonderful journey." He was about to say he had an extremely important meeting and opt out when she said something that put him on guard. "While I was there," Narcissa revealed, "I discovered a very interesting relative of mine - V-"

"Vanessa Rosin," Draco interjected quickly. She was going to bring up Vedette! Like hell! "Vanessa was an amazing Potioneer, but unfortunately was sequestered away out of shame - she was a halfblood, see."

The reporters hummed in sympathy. One raised her hand. "Jenna Rose, from Witch Weekly. What do you have to say about the quote-unquote 'black sheep' in your family, Mr. Malfoy?"

He schooled his expression to be slightly derisive, as if the question didn't concern him. He was pleased to see the reporter's uncertain expression as she slowly lowered her hand. "I don't consider them black sheep, Ms. Rose, and such I have nothing to say."

If that wasn't a non-straight answer, nothing was. Narcissa shot him a reprimanding look. "Vanessa is certainly a fabulous example of the talent I discovered, but I was actually going to speak about - "

Draco was quick to interrupt again. "Oh, Mother, do let me tell this story."

She clenched her teeth. She couldn't very well not allow her son to speak. "Certainly, Draco."

Draco fabricated an account of yet another fake relative, capturing the reporters. He finished with a humorous ancedote that ensured he would be written about favorably in the majority of papers, and quickly followed that up with, "Mother and I would love to take questions now," before Narcissa could bring up Vedette.

"Mrs. Malfoy, why didn't you bring your son with you?"

Yeah, Mother, I'd like to know that too. Draco watched, face smooth, as his mother answered, "I'm afraid I was just, just, just driven mad with sadness after the unfortunate demise of my husband. I wasn't thinking properly."

He cast a subtle Confundus charm over their audience, hoping none of them would remember that answer. It was disgraceful. He had plans to turn this conference around to his side, and Narcissa garnering sympathy would not do.

"Mr. Malfoy, what do you have to say about that?" The Daily Prophet reporter asked curiously.

Draco gave a smirk. "I was upset at the beginning, I assure you, but I had other priorities and I was quite busy building my highly successful empire."

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. Only she caught the subtle insult buried in that sentence. He was basically screwing her over in front of the press. He was sure she would be pissed, but he was in control now.

Saturday

1:01 PM

Malfoy's Mother: Forgiven or Forgotten?

by Jenna Rose

As a lucky observer at Narcissa Malfoy's surprise press conference yesterday, I was privy to news that would make Rita Skeeter roll over in her grave. As charmingly suave as I remembered him, Draco Malfoy exuded a relaxed air as he answered all questions smoothly as ever. His mother paled in comparison to the Malfoy heir, leaving no doubt in the minds of many that one of the most hated boys in the country has matured into a well-liked man.

As I'm sure my readers know, Draco Malfoy was left an orphan in the year following The War, with a father driven insane by Dementors for war-crimes and a mother who abandoned him for her ancestral home. Mrs. Malfoy allegedly went to Italy and France to "revitalize important familial connections," but one must wonder why that merited abandoning the most important family connection a mother can have: her son. This reporter was lucky enough to have secured an interview with Mr. Malfoy when he was just seventeen.

"I joined the Dark Lord to save my mother," he'd said then, with a face carved out of stone.

While the blond pair certainly seemed happy at yesterday's release, I couldn't help but wonder whether Mrs. Malfoy's reintroduction to England's society was a welcome advancement or simply an intrusion. Draco's story from a scorned boy to a successful man is legendary (see 'A Dragon's Battle', Astoria Greengrass, Flourish & Blotts) and a tale to be told to all aspiring entrepreneurs.

"Mr. Draco's a fabulous boss," Gabrielle Jenkins, an employee at Sleeping Dragon Architecture Firm, said. She was firmly backed up by Nicholas Brown. Mr. Brown was quick to add, "Whatever he might have done wrong when he was a kid, he'd gone past it. Him and Daphne Greengrass and Theodore Nott are more powerful than any Golden Trio."

Clearly, Draco Malfoy has everything sorted out. I believe the recent introduction of his mother, a woman he's never mentioned since, is more of a hindrance than a help. Only time will tell.

"I have to hand it to you, Draco," Daphne said, an amused smile playing on her lips. "When you launch an attack, you go all out. How on earth did you convince this Jenna Rose to write such an article?"

"It was horrible, truly," Draco mock-shuddered. He then leered at his female friend. "It involved careful seduction, not to mention ravishing her against a wall. Such a chore."

Theo snickered. "You shagged an article out of her? The Sex God strikes again!"

Draco preened. "I never stopped striking, Theo, and last night I struck Miss Rose quite a lot." He waggled his eyebrows playfully. "The pushy ones are always closet submissives."

"Ugh, Draco, honestly," Daphne pretended to retch. "Too much information. You enjoy these chores too much."

He turned serious in an instant. "Actually, it was quite hard," he admitted softly. "I kept feeling like I was betraying, well..."

"Your mate," completed Theo. "Understandable. You are not required to be faithful, but it will be rather hard to stray now that you have met face to face."

"I'm never going to get laid again."

"Good," Daphne said primly. "Penance for all the sleeping around you did at school."

He lifted his head, and gave her his most seductive look. "Oh, Daphne," he breathed huskily, and was pleased to see her immediately blush and shiver. He still had it. "How could I resist? They just threw themselves at me...I had to satisfy their needs. I'm sure you understand, Daphne, don't you? When needs become too much?" Both them knew that he was quoting her. As he'd thought she would, Daphne appeared torn between lust and anger and embarrassment, remembering the time after graduation when she'd tried to convince him to sleep with her when they were both drunk and horny. He'd resisted, but barely, and she hadn't looked at him for weeks.

He expected anger from her, but not from Theo, who clapped his back too hard to be accidental. Hmm. Was there a thing brewing between them? Daphne, who was still flushing a bright red, fled from the room to "straighten up."

"Not cool, mate," Theo immediately said. Draco gave him a suggestive look.

"Is there something, well, between you?"

His friend glowered. "No! Just...treat her with more respect than that, okay? She's not one of your slags."

"For your information, Theodore," he said icily. "I haven't gotten laid for something other than business since I turned twenty-two!"

His friend rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Hey, you have a second? I did have a plan with your mother, by the way."

"Let's hear it." Draco leaned back in anticipation.

Theo summoned a sheath of paper and held it out. Draco scanned it, and his eyes widened. "This is some seriously grey-level magic," he told Theo seriously. "And how the hell am I going to get her blood?"

"I don't know how else you'll find out who she is," Theo snapped back. "And it's not like you have a great aversion to black-level magic either, asshole."

He replied in kind. "I could just Stupefy her and take a peek at her face before Obliviating her, asshole."

"You could just Stupefy her and take some of her blood before you Obliviate her," Theo said sardonically. "Actually, just taking a peek at her face won't work, Dray."

He barely noticed the nickname. "And why not?" Draco flipped a page, still reading Theo's research. "And when did you have time to do this?"

"Us single men without mother problems have plenty of time," he said loftily. Theo glanced over at his friend, disappointed not to hear a laugh. Draco was too engrossed in the report. "Draco!" No response. Theo rolled his eyes and explained anyway: "You can't look at her, and she can't look at her, unless you are both aware of the situation and each other."

Draco proved he'd actually been listening all along by commenting, "Can we send her a package? With all our information?"

"We could try," Theo said, shrugging. "But honestly, that spell is the best shot. You'll know exactly who she is, and then we can plan off of that."

"But we need her blood, Theo," Draco snapped. "You know what? That's your problem. You get her blood and I'll get everything else." He meant it as a joke, but Theo stuck out his hand.

"Dealio," he said.

"Never say that again," Draco said, and the two friends shook on it.

Sunday

9:00 AM

Draco hadn't slept for approximately twenty seven hours.

It was a new personal record for him.

He felt refreshed as he crossed off "blood of the mother" off his ingredients list. Narcissa Malfoy still didn't know that the mosquito that bit her had actually been a transfigured Potions vial enchanted by Draco. He set the sealed bottle down on his desk. He'd gotten the blood and the hair off of a mandrake so far, which had spiced up his life just a little. He grinned, picturing Neville Longbottom's cry of despair when he realized that some of his precious mandrakes were missing large chunks of hair.

He heard a pinging noise that announced somebody was trying to come through the Floo. Expecting Daphne, he waved his hand, saying, "Open."

As he'd expected, a female presence appeared in his doorway. "Daphne, guess what..." He turned, only to see the blond head of his mother. "Oh, shit no."

"Language, Draco," Narcissa chided. She took a seat near his bookshelves and regarded him as if he were six again and was caught putting rat poison in his mother's narcissus flowers. "I'm concerned the Veela situation isn't going well."

"Honestly, Mother, I did just fine without your concern for twenty years," Draco said, waving his hand dismissively, "Especially in the past five."

"Oh, harsh, son," Narcissa said sardonically. "Why don't you stab me when I'm down, while you're at it?"

"Why don't you kick me when I'm down, Mother, get it straight."

"I was hoping for a bit more cordiality from my only son."

"Don't you dare try to turn this on me," Draco argued, throwing his quill childishly to the floor. His mother watched amusedly as Draco turned angry eyes onto the ruffled feathers, as if they had done him a great personal wronging by getting messed up. He accioed it back towards him and smoothed a finger over the bent vane, trying to fix the brown and white fluff. "Reparo. Reparo, dammit." The blue Reparo spark traveled lazily down the shaft, dancing along the individual lines branching out, but they didn't straighten. Draco forgot about his mother, focusing completely on the quill in his hand. This wasn't just a feather, it represented life, his life, his inability to fix every last bend in his life-feather, even with magic...

Draco Malfoy, get ahold of yourself.

Narcissa Malfoy was now fighting a smile, as her son practically stared at the feather until his eyes watered. The first time she saw that look, he had been seven and completely convinced he could enchant his stuffed dragon to fly by sheer willpower. He'd looked at it meditatively, contemplatively, and then with a fierce determination that had brought a smile on her face that hadn't waned for days. He'd made it, too; he always had great potential for wandless magic. "Draco," she called softly, and he stared at her with a softer face than she'd seen since her return.

"What?"

"Why is there a vial for my blood on your dresser?"

He watched her face carefully, his own immediately shutting off. Was it a bluff? If Narcissa knew he'd taken her blood, that would certainly warrant her dropping in, but if she didn't, she just suspected. "Don't feel so flattered, Mother," he replied with an easy laugh. "It's not yours."

Her face relaxed marginally - she had been bluffing. "Just checking, son. Whose is it, then?"

"Mine."

She shook her head, tsking him. He clenched a fist under the table. "Really, Draco, how irresponsible, leaving it on your desk - "

"I think you've overstayed your welcome," Draco cut in.

This didn't faze her like he'd hope. Instead, she smiled wickedly and said, "Glad to see you admit I had a welcome, then." She stood and stepped closer, stretching out a hand. It lay between them, and he stared at it: the perfectly manicured nails, a light silver; the faint glow suggesting she'd recently used her favorite magical hand cream; the slight callus on the underside of her thumb, coming from what, he wasn't sure. "Draco..." she whispered once more, and his head snapped up, eyes meeting her clear blue ones, so similar to his own grey-blue. He parted his lips, to ask what? He didn't have an answer to that, but it wasn't needed, as Narcissa touched his cheek, slightly, a barely discernible caress before she apparated out, her nails scratching the slightest imprint on his face.

What had that been about?

Sunday

11:46 AM

(Narcissa Black Malfoy's P.O.V)

She sipped hot chamomile tea with a raised pinkie finger, and the painted figure of her ancestor did the same. She felt a smug sense of satisfaction as she did so, and the amused face of Vedette agreed with her. "He's suitably confused, yes?" The portrait asked, a smile playing around her gorgeously painted lips.

"Absolutely," Narcissa answered, taking a sip. Her return to England had not gone as smoothly as she wished; in all honesty, she had thought Draco would be more willing to reconcile. They were family, the last descendants of both the Malfoy and the Black family. That, if nothing else, should bring them together - Veela or no Veela. She supposed she deserved some derision, but Draco was being childish. How was she to stay in England when she was expelled from high society, her husband arrested and tortured to death by vengeful dementors, her son, so emotionless and cold he barely spoke to her. She was looked at with disdain and hatred, and her childhood friend - Alyssa Parkinson - snubbed her nose. Not to mention, Narcissa believed Draco may be the first male Veela in recorded history, and she needed to check that. Draco should have understood.

Vedette gave a musical sigh. "Have you spoken to him about the article?"

She smirked in triumph. "I managed to procure pictures of him and that Rose girl engaged in intimate relations, dated the day before the article was submitted for consideration. I took it upon myself to visit the editor-in-chief of Witch Weekly, and he's fired the girl; he's to release a public statement apologizing for the article any day."

The portrait laughed. "Brilliant, dear."

"Thank you." She loved her son greatly, and it hurt her to battle him. But, he needed to re-accept her into the family, and society needed to do the same. She had much to tell him. Being the first male Veela could have disastrous results if he didn't find his mate; and she knew exactly who this mate would be. Hermione Granger wasn't the best choice, but she was a successful and compassionate woman, and would have to do. "Any news on their potion?"

"Draco discussed it with me," Vedette said, "And they are having trouble obtaining Hermione's blood. They do not know who she is."

"Naturally. Will he turn to me soon?"

Slyly, "Any day now."

Narcissa put her cup down with a clink, summoning a house elf. He popped away and returned with writing materials: a Dicta-quill and creamy Muggle paper that she'd enchanted. She didn't tell anyone the origin of the paper, but used it for its luxurious texture and uniqueness.

"Quill, write," she ordered, and the utensils leaped into the air, hovering in front of her. "Dear Ms. Granger, I have urgent matters to speak of with you.."

While she waited for a reply, Vedette cast a sly glance at her relative. "Who's Teddy?" The Veela asked innocently.

"Andromeda - she's my sister - he's her grandson," Narcissa replied absently. "Draco's cousin."

"Is he a sweet child?"

Narcissa stiffened. "I wouldn't know," she said icily, her tone making it very clear this was not a subject to be expounded upon. She hadn't talked to her sister in years, let alone the Metamorphmagus-werewolf hybrid of a child.

"Why not?"

"Nymphadora Tonks - Metamorphmagus - had a kid with a werewolf," she said in disgust. "That's Teddy. Then both of them got themselves killed. Harry Potter is the godfather."

Vedette cast a sly look at the other woman. "It would be a great political move. Narcissa. Imagine, reconciling with your sister, and hopefully endearing your nephew to you, in one grand swoop! Maybe you'll even be photographed together. It could make footlines."

Narcissa, despite herself, smiled a little. She forgot that Vedette was from centuries ago, sometimes. "Headlines, Vedette, and I suppose it would anger my son."

Narcissa stood abruptly at the thought, not wasting a glance to check her appearance. She knew it'd be fabulous. It always was. She disapparated, not bothering to picture where she was going; Narcissa knew her destination by heart. It was where Andy used to sneak off during the summer to meet with Ted, and where Narcissa would follow stealthily to spy for Bella. It had seemed a perfect summer, the one before anything awful had happened. Bella was still friendly and gorgeous and wickedly rebellious, boys were sending her secret owls, she'd learned of her heritage and felt special, pretty, like her one true love was sitting around the corner, ready to whisk her away on his broomstick to a mansion. That had been the summer she'd been on top of the world, before she had leaned too far one side and her entire life had toppled.

Shaking such melancholy thoughts from her head, she looked around her surroundings. She bit a lip - an uncharacteristically vulgar move - as she spotted a very familiar maple tree, its branches spreading wider and more majestically than she'd remembered, but nearly the same nonetheless. She looked around her, and noticed many people staring at her witches robes.

"Hey, lady," one little boy said, speeding around on a kid's bike. "Why you dressed up?"

"I'm an entertainer," she said sarcastically, but his eyes lit up and he proclaimed her 'cool' before blushing and biking away. She groaned to herself silently, flicking her wand into her hand, hiding it against her leg. Narcissa cast a very light Notice-Me-Not charm on herself - not strong enough to alert Ministry wards, but powerful enough that nobody noticed when she magicked her clothes to look Muggle. She walked quietly to the three that caught her attention and knelt.

Brushing away dirt, she trailed her finger along the cracked bark before she noticed what she was looking for. AB, she read, and traced the cracked letters with her index finger. AB + TT = 3

Andy had always loved math.

Narcissa remembered watching her sister carve this into the bark with her wand. After she'd left, the blond girl had crept up to the equation and puzzled over it for hours. It didn't make sense to her, back then, why Andy would publicly announce her relationship with the Muggleborn. It had seemed impossible, improbable, and what did "less than three" even mean? Narcissa smiled sadly to herself, remembering how she'd confronted her sister, who'd told her to look at it from a different perspective. She was sure that Andy hadn't meant to literally turn her head to make it a heart, but that's what Narcissa had done, and that's what she did now.

Monday

12:00 PM

(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)

Draco frowned.

The potion was a frothy green. It should be a calm, pale blue color - the color of the Veela bond - and definitely not bubbling like crazy. He wiped his still-bleeding lip against the hand cloth next to his potions station and looked up at a musing Vedette. "What do you think, then?" Draco asked the painting, which he had moved to his office - one at Dragon and one at his home - the day after they had first spoken. She was usually moving in between those two locations, but sometimes she disappeared. To where, he had no clue, but she had hinted the location had to do with his - their - ancestors. Italy or France, then.

Vedette cocked her head. "It's hard to tell," she said, her voice taking on the slightest bit of a British accent. Draco, who secretly loved to hear her sing-song Italian, hoped it would go away, and quickly. He did not appreciate her changing her voice. "I think the blood Nott obtained was not from your mate."

"Fetch him, he's at Dragon," Draco ordered, stirring the potion cautiously.

"Excuse me?"

He looked up impatiently. "Fetch him, Vedette, tell him I need him right now."

Vedette's painted eyebrow rose. The image of the twenty-something year old radiated disapproval. "Potere," she said sternly. Draco winced at the sound of his Italian name. It sounded silly, fake, when he was so used to 'Malfoy' being said (usually with contempt, fear, respect, or all) or 'Draco' by his closest friends. Potere was foreign, and he hated to respond to it. She continued, "That is not how you speak to me."

He gave a firm stir before dropping his ladle on the sparkling clean work table with a clang. "Excuse me," he parroted, his voice full of authority. "Let's get this straight, Vedette. You are a portrait. You are dead. I am the heir of both the Malfoy and the Black houses. I am alive. I could have your portrait stilled with a work. You are in no position to tell me to do anything." Draco stared her down. Something about his speech - the strong words, maybe, the tone infused with confidence, or even how his nose rose ever-so-slightly when he addressed her - something about it made her mouth shut audibly.

"You may be a Malfoy," she finally said a beat or two later. "And a Black. I am a Rossi, Potere, and I am your ancestor. I have lived in this portrait for years and years. I have much wisdom."

"The Rossi line died with you," he sneered, sitting back down on his padded swivel stool. "Which, as pureblood law dictates, means it is carried down through the Veelas in the family. You know the Burbousis', I presume?"

Vedette clenched her teeth, but did her best to project an image of haughty coolness. "I haven't concerned myself with them, no."

Draco smirked at her tone. "Really, Vedette," he said condescendingly, "Their great-great-times four grandmother was infected with the werewolf gene years ago, and the line died with her; however, Violet Burbousis recently re-claimed the line, citing this same law, as she is the only current female in that family that genetically carries the werewolf gene. Important allies to have."

"I suppose," she shot back with deliberate enunciation. "You didn't realize that you are, in fact, not the sole heir of the Rossi line unless you claim the line and pass blood tests?"

Damn. He wasn't the sole heir? He covered his lack of knowledge by smirking secretly. "Ah, Vedette," he said, shaking his head as if he knew something she didn't. "The results should be coming in any day now, and I will be the most influential man this side of Europe. Now, go fetch Theo before I burn your frame and you in it."

She huffed and flounced out of the frame, showing her childish side for one of the first times since he'd 'met' her. Draco allowed himself a triumphant smile and returned his attention to the cauldron. He still got it.