Harry Potter belongs to JKR
Warning: Cursing, nudity
Chapter 45
Draco stepped out of the fireplace and into the stuffy, nearly barren room. Against one wall, a wobbly card table and a pair of stools sat, the lonely setup the extent of house's furnishings.
"As a home, it's not much, but at least it'll keep the vampires out," he thought.
Draco hefted the hockey bags and slid through the front door to set them down on the concrete front porch. The notice-me-not charms extended to the edge of the property, so he'd be fine where he was. Again, he considered purchasing a car of his own, but then he recalled the one time he sat behind the wheel of Darren's.
"I definitely do not have the time to jump through the hoops of acquiring a proper license, much less actually learn how to drive," he thought, "Darren's the one usually driving me everywhere anyway."
He spotted the headlights first, then the modified Lancer Evo pulled into his cul-de-sac and stopped. Bugs swirled about the headlights for a moment until they flicked off, though the engine kept purring. With a sigh, Draco picked up both bags, one in each hand. With the added weight straining his joints, he walked the short distance to the street.
"Fuck, where the hell'd you come from?" Darren asked through the open driver side window.
"Just there," Draco motioned vaguely with his head, "pop the boot."
He dropped one, and then the other bag into the vehicle's storage compartment, then slammed it shut it with a clunk.
"I need you to come with," Darren said, "just in case."
Bugger.
"In case of what?" Draco asked as he walked around to the passenger side and slid in.
He strapped in and they accelerated evenly down the residential street. Draco noticed that with the massive amount of weed in the car, Darren drove much more carefully, and obeyed every traffic regulation.
"We're heading into the Ruskies' territory," Darren said, "supposed to be just Quaid to meet me but you never know."
"Fuck… I told you I didn't want to have to see him and his stupid fake blond hair," Draco said.
"Stop yer whinging. Hang on to this," Darren said. He passed something to Draco down low, Draco felt it, heavy and metal, drop into his hands. He recognised it almost immediately from the muggle films he'd seen.
"A gun," he thought as the turned the black weapon over in his hands.
"Are you bloody insane?" Draco said, "I've never shot one of these before."
"And you won't have to, it's just for show, not even loaded," Darren said, "if he's not alone, stick it into your waistband where they'll see it."
"What happened to Bruno, isn't this supposed to be his job?" Draco asked as he held the pistol gingerly.
"Martin's pulled him in for something," Darren said, "don't worry, it'll be fine."
They turned onto a motorway and headed east out of London, then turned down a few smaller roads and eventually into a dark industrial park. Street lights dotted the central drive here and there, but for the most part, warehouses were only visible as dark shadows against the city glow of the night sky. Draco squinted as headlights passed them in the opposite direction; it was a car much bigger than theirs, with a flat-bed in the rear for transporting larger items. Darren turned his head as he watched them pass, and he tapped one finger repeatedly on the steering wheel as he continually glanced around, including the rearview mirror.
"He's nervous," Draco thought, "what the fuck has he gotten me into…"
He reached down to retrieve his wand from where it was strapped to his calf and moved it inside his sleeve for easier access.
"Why the fuck are we meeting him here?" Draco asked.
"We used to use this place in the past, me and him," Darren replied, "I guess he's worried if me met somewhere he didn't know, we might fuck him over. I mean, he is earning for Konstantinov's old man now, so I can't really blame him."
"You have another way out of here?" Draco asked, "just in case?"
"Yeah, there's an old dirt access road," Darren replied, "hopefully we don't have to use it; it'll fuck up my alignment."
Finally, Darren turned into an abandoned parking lot, one with room for about twenty cars, plus spots for a pair of lorries next to the warehouse. Darren drove around the rear of the building, pulled a U-turn, and switched off his headlights. In the ensuing quiet, the hairs prickled up on the back of Draco's neck, but he kept his mouth shut. It was, after all, a great deal of money they stood to make. Headlights illuminated the ground and chain link fence before a second car cleared the corner of the warehouse. Darren reached up and flashed his own headlights, and the car turned towards them and stopped between them and the exit, about fifteen metres away. The glare of the headlights obscured any details, but Draco heard the sound of a car door closing.
"Here we go. Stay by the car," Darren said as he flicked his own headlights on, revealing Mack Quaid and his obviously fake blond hair. Darren unbuckled his seat belt and slid out into the night air to walk towards the other car. Draco did the same but, completely ignoring Darren's instruction to show his pistol, stayed between his open door and the seat. Mack and Darren got about halfway to one another before Draco heard another car door open, and beside the light of the other car, three more people stepped out and drew pistols.
They jabbered something in Russian with the word 'blyat!' interspersed.
"Whoa whoa whoa!" Darren said, holding his arms out to the side, as Quaid spun around.
Draco recognised Viktor Konstantinov, along with the large meaty bloke who had broken his wand. Draco recalled subsequently breaking his arm, which probably didn't endear him to them at all.
"Bloody hell," Draco thought as he drew his wand.
"Hey, what are you doing?" Quaid asked the Russians.
"You said they weren't coming!" Darren said.
"Dmitri insisted!" Quaid replied over his shoulder.
"Why are you such a fucking chimp?" Darren yelled.
"Fuck your whore mother, Welch!" Konstantinov said, his accent noticeably stronger than the last time Draco encountered him.
Figuring the darkness would cover any magical shimmering, Draco quietly cast a protego shield.
"This is bad," he thought, "a decent protego should stop bullets, but you know, you probably should have tested that theory earlier, idiot."
Darren and Quaid were both talking to the Russians.
"…here to do business, did you at least bring the money?" Darren asked.
"Yeah, we have the money," Quaid said.
Konstantinov spit on the ground.
"Fuck your money, how about we put you in hospital, keep money and take weed, fair is fair," he said.
"You want to start a fucking war?" Darren asked.
"Maybe put you in the ground instead. No witness, no war," Konstantinov said.
"Stop fucking around, Dmitri," Darren asked.
"Who is fucking?" Konstantinov asked. A few seconds of silence stretched into eternity, and Draco felt a bead of cold sweat trickle down his back as he half expected gunfire to erupt from the other car.
"Fuck that," Draco thought. He could strike first, confringo their car and take them all out before they could fire a shot. It would be risky, but he couldn't lose Darren. Thoughts raced as he tried to figure out what he could say to try and defuse the situation.
"I'm kidding, English prick," Konstantinov said as he holstered his pistol, "you should see look on your face, like used fucking condom."
Draco exhaled his pent-up tension.
"Yeah yeah, you got me good," Darren said, "can we deal now?"
"You should not be here. This is our territory. We do deal, then you stay out," Konstantinov said.
"I'm only here because your boy wanted to meet here," Darren said.
"He's fucking svolich," Konstantinov replied, "you stay out."
"Alright, alright, I hear you," Darren said.
Konstantinov snapped his fingers, and the large one, arm fully healed, reached into the back seat of the car and emerged with a briefcase. Darren and Quaid walked towards Draco.
"You're a bloody arsehole, Quaid," Draco said quietly as the other young man passed.
"Fuck off," Mack Quaid replied.
Darren and Mack hefted the bags from the boot and walked back towards the space lit up by the car headlights. Draco watched as they went through the process of opening one of the bags to check the contents, and Mack handed the briefcase to Darren so he could keep inside. Draco heard one of the Russians call something out, and he glanced over to see him pointing: reflecting off the side of the warehouse, a flash of a blue light from far in the distance.
"Politsya," Konstantinov said.
"Time to go," Darren said as he snapped the briefcase shut and sprinted back to the car. Draco opened the door for him as the Russians grabbed the second hockey bag, and Darren tossed the briefcase into the back seat. Under the heavy load, the Russians couldn't move as fast, and Darren's modified engine roared to life. The drug dealer threw it into gear and took off without bothering to close the driver side car door; their acceleration was enough to slam it shut as they zipped around the other car.
They hit the main road and cornered sharply, then Draco was pressed back into his seat as Darren floored it, whipping through the gears. Lines on the street blurred and the engine whined as he pushed the modified Evo to its limit.
"We'll hit the back road," Darren said as flashing blue lights appeared far behind them, "Hopefully Dmitri's smart and hides out somewhere in the park until morning."
They slowed down to take a turn, then Darren pulled up to a chain link fence, and darkness beyond. He stopped with the headlights shining on a chain and a small padlock holding the gate shut.
"Shit," Darren said.
He stepped out of the car, and Draco opened the door. Sirens echoed in the distance; they only had a minute or two, at most. Draco considered magically opening the lock, but before he could do so, Darren pulled out his own gun.
"Bloody hell, hope this doesn't end up bouncing back in my face," he said as he aimed at the lock. Draco's eyes widened and he ducked back into the passenger seat.
Darren took aim and fired three shots at the padlock until the metal, ripped and torn, hung limply from the chain. Then he walked up and tried to pull it off but recoiled in pain.
"Fuck, that's hot," he said as he sucked on a finger. It took a little bit of wrestling, but he got the damaged lock off and unwound the chain. Draco jumped out of the car again and helped open the gate, then they were back in the car and rolling through.
"Wait," Draco said as Darren started pulling away.
"Wait for what? It's not like Bob's on our arse or anything," Darren asked.
Draco ignored him and jumped out of the car to pull the gates shut again. He picked up the chain and wound it twice around the two larger posts of the chain link fence, then aimed his wand.
"Colloportus," he whispered. The chains bound themselves tighter; they wouldn't be coming off without significant effort. Draco jumped back into the car.
"That way it's not immediately clear which way we went," he said.
Darren nodded.
"Good one. Okay, here we go…" he said.
They turned off the paved road and rolled onto a dirt path, bouncing and shifting over the uneven terrain. Tall grass lined both sides, and occasionally they crossed over a makeshift, single lane bridge, wooden planks clattering as they passed. Then Darren rolled to a stop and switched the headlights off. Draco was about to ask what happened, but then he saw it, reflected off the humidity of the night time summer air, flashing blue lights in the distance ahead of them.
"Fuck. Looks like a checkpoint," Darren said. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.
"What, like they stop every car going through?" Draco asked.
Darren gave him the look that Draco had come to understand meant he'd said something idiotic, and nodded.
"And check them… we might be fucked," Darren said.
Draco nodded. Then an idea popped into his head.
"Hang on, I want to take a look," he said. He opened the door and stepped out. Darren opened his door too.
"Stay inside," Draco said.
"What are you-" Darren asked.
"Just stay the fuck inside," Draco said as he walked around the car and physically pushed the door shut. He walked around and tapped his wand on all four corners of the car, whispering a notice-me-not charm on it.
"That should do it," he thought, "with Darren still inside, he probably shouldn't be affected by it. Probably."
Draco sat back down in the passenger seat.
"Let's go, just drive casual," Draco said. Darren gave him a look, but complied. They pulled off the bumpy dirt road and onto a paved access road, and then they rounded a corner and Draco spotted the checkpoint not more than two hundred metres ahead of them: a pair of police cars, one on either side of the road, blue lights flashing. Darren instinctively let off the accelerator and they started to slow.
"Don't stop, just drive slow right through it," Draco said.
"Are you barking?" Darren asked.
"Mate, trust me," Draco said.
Darren held his gaze for a moment, and then turned back to face the road with both hands on the wheel.
"Martin's going to have a bloody fit if I get arrested again," he muttered.
They rolled up to the checkpoint and the two uniformed police officers stared down the empty stretch of road as if they weren't there… they had flashlights ready to point at drivers and inspect identification, but Darren simply eased between the two squad cars and onward towards freedom.
"Holy shit," Darren breathed as they accelerated away down the road, "holy shit!"
He was speechless for a few turns until they stopped at a red light, just off the entrance ramp for the motorway.
"What the fuck did you do?" Darren asked.
"Eh-" Draco said, and then headlights from behind them was the only warning before a jarring impact that slammed his head against the headrest. Draco shook his head and looked around to find they had been hit from behind by another car and pushed into the middle of the intersection.
"What the fuck, really?" Darren yelled as he craned his neck around to yell at the driver behind them.
"Shit," Draco said as he quietly ended the notice-me-not.
Darren stepped out of the car, probably to check the damage. Draco opened the door and half stood up.
"My car!" Darren said.
"Fuck it, we can't stay here," Draco said, "let's go."
"Mother Fucker!" Darren said as he ran back to the driver's seat.
"Confundus," Draco whispered as he pointed his wand at Darren, and the drug dealer blinked in confusion.
"We can't stay here; we've got to get home," Draco said, "motorway's that way, but be careful, police are nearby."
Darren blinked a few times and shook his head.
"Right, let's get the fuck outta here," he said.
Once safely on the motorway and headed back to London, Draco deliberately slowed his breathing and attempted to calm his racing heart.
"Deal done, fuck Quaid, not doing that again," Draco thought, "and fuck the Russians too, arseholes."
Draco carried the crate of pouches down Diagon Alley to The Welcome Wagon, the name he'd eventually settled on for the shop across from the Leaky Cauldron. Unlike the previous several weeks, when the streets teemed with families making back to school purchases, Diagon Alley was all but deserted except for a few stragglers rushing to pick up whatever they hadn't been able to secure ahead of term, no doubt to be owled to schools across Britain. The first batch of mobile phone protecting bags, in various colours and designs, sold out in less than a day. He and Shawn then worked around the clock to produce as many basic pouches as they could to fill the backorders as quickly as possible before terms began. Draco stepped beneath the signs proclaiming 'British Pounds Accepted', 'Protect Your Mobile Phones Here', and 'Your First Stop in Wizarding Britain'.
He'd hired Tilworth & Jones to handle the patent application, and true to their reputation, they'd completed it in a matter of days. He was now the proud owner of a patent on rune-powered ambient magic protection pouches, designed for muggle mobile phones. The bell tinkled as he entered, and Tracy looked up from her Witch Weekly magazine. He stopped at the front of the shop and noticed a half-dozen mobile phone pouches still sitting on the shelf.
"We finally filled all the backorders?" he asked.
"Clearly. And business has been slow since school started," Tracy replied.
"I suppose we could use the break," Draco said as he set the crate down on the counter, "we made enough in the past few weeks to tide us over until winter holidays. Probably."
"Good to know," Tracy said as she went back to reading.
Draco started transferring pouches from the crate to the shelves.
"What I really need are smaller, lighter ones, maybe invisible, so the phone can be used while it's being protected," he thought as he stocked the shelf, "even better would be figuring out how to make something like that clingfilm shite Mary uses to cover bowls in the microwave… without having to wrestle a demiguise."
The Dark creatures, the hairs the source of invisibility cloaks, were incredibly dangerous, and reagents harvested from them were expensive. He paused as he set the last pouch on the shelf.
"Invisible creature… not dangerous," he thought, and he recalled the strange prawn like, chitinous thing he'd seen in the infirmary, Callista McKay's 'monster'.
"Fuck," he muttered as he realised he would most likely have to speak to Rubeus bloody Hagrid to find out more. He closed his eyes and sighed, then snapped them open again and stood up straight as another thought crossed his mind.
"I'm a bloody business owner, I don't need to do this shite myself," he thought.
"Trace, need a favour," he said as he leaned over the counter.
"Hmm?" she replied without looking up.
"I… hang on," he said. He pulled some parchment and a muggle pencil from his pouch and started sketching out what he could recall of the thing he saw in the infirmary.
"I need you, Tracy Davis, former prefect, to head to Hogwarts and ask the overly tall and hairy Care of Magical Creatures professor what the bloody hell this is, and whether its plates can be used to make things invisible," Draco asked.
Tracy raised an eyebrow.
"What, right now?" she asked, "why?"
"I saw it in the infirmary a few months back, and yeah now," Draco replied, "I'll man the shop."
"I want overtime," Tracy said.
"For the rest of the day, fine, just get me the info I need," he said.
Tracy snatched the drawing from his hand and sauntered out the front door, hips swaying, while Draco went through the shop and double checked everything was neatly ordered and clean. Several hours passed while Draco served customers, mostly muggleborn parents who had no idea who he was. He even managed to make a few galleon exchanges, accepting pounds and giving them gold along with whatever they'd purchased. It was a better rate than the goblins but still profitable. He couldn't exactly advertise it, but he figured word would spread on its own.
"I still need a way to make galleons," he thought. As the sun sank low in the sky and street lights lit up, Shawn strolled through the door with another crate of pouches.
"Thought I might find you in here," he said as he set the crate down on the counter.
"About time. Looks like we don't need to kill ourselves on enchanting these bags anymore, so I've got another job for you," Draco said, "head around to every shop and store in Diagon and offer to sell these bags to them, for resale. For large orders, offer them a license to sell, and we'll supply the raw materials, that way we don't have to spend time making each one by hand."
"Sure, I'll see what I can do," Shawn said with a yawn.
Motivation was always a problem with Shawn. The would-be Auror pulled out a small flask from an inside pocket and took a swig.
"And he's drinking a lot, especially after Tammy's death," Draco thought.
"Look, I'm serious, I don't want anyone knocking off our product; I want our bags in every shop, so I'm going to sweeten the deal," Draco said, "commission on every sale you make. Ten percent of the profit, on top of your regular salary."
"Now you're talking," Shawn said as he screwed the cap back on.
"Take over here and close up tonight," Draco said, "I need to handle something."
He apparated to the Manor and hiked to greenhouse number one. As he pushed open the door, the stifling humid air washed over him and he saw Daphne and Pansy busy bottling the weed they'd grown over the past several hours.
"Looks like another big day," Draco said as he closed the door behind him.
"Thanks," Daphne said as she paused to wipe some sweat from her forehead.
"How much of this is yours?" Draco asked.
"About three quarters," Daphne replied.
"Oh suckle my left tit, I did at least a third," Pansy said. Her whining voice grated on Draco but he kept his expressionless mask in place.
"Huh, okay. Good job, both of you, go knock off," Draco said.
The girls dusted off and scourgified their hands, and set about closing up the greenhouse as Draco traipsed his way back to the Manor.
"I've really got to find something for Pansy to do," he thought. He clumped down the steps to the cellar to find an ice hockey bag stuffed to the brim with weed, ready for distribution to the street dealers.
"Thank you, Mum," he thought.
He changed to muggle clothing, then retrieved the bag and tossed in a handful of floo powder into his private fireplace. On the other side, he hefted the bag to the porch and sat in the rapidly cooling deepening darkness to wait for Darren to pick it up. It wasn't long before he saw the headlights and Darren parked near the kerb. Draco trudged down, deposited the bag into the trunk, then wordlessly picked up a fat envelope through the window and tucked it into his pocket. He returned to the Manor, to his office, and emptied the contents of the envelope, several thousand pounds, into the nearly full hockey bag sitting in the corner of the room.
"That's a shitload of cash," Draco thought, "what the fuck am I going to do with this…"
He rummaged through the desk and picked up a letter, one printed on pure white paper, much lighter than any parchment, signed in ink at the bottom by John C. Wentworth. Draco pulled his mobile phone from its magic protection pouch and dialled the number at the top of the paper. As the line rang, he dug into his trouser pocket and pulled the muggle ID Martin had provided him, the one no doubt secured by Sanguini.
"Hello?" he said, "this is Drake Malcolm."
The following morning, he sat in the posh investment advisory office of a large muggle finance company in the heart of London. Across from him, looking very sharp in a dark suit and perfectly combed hair, sat a clean-shaven man wearing golden specs. Grey hair at his temples gave him a more experienced look, but other than that he appeared to be only about ten or fifteen years older than Draco.
"It's so hard to tell with muggles sometimes," Draco thought.
"I am saddened to hear about your father's passing, we didn't speak often, but he was my best client for years," Wentworth said.
"Yes, he passed before his time," Draco said, "I've spent the last year trying to put the pieces back together, and I've come into some money of my own in the process. I'd prefer to continue investing through your firm, if that's convenient. What do I need to do to start the process?"
Wentworth smiled, and Draco swore he heard the sound of a cash register ding from the other man's mind.
"I'm glad to hear that Mr. Malcolm," Wentworth said, "you'll need to fill out an application, show proof of citizenship and residency, and we'll need your tax forms for the past three years. All fairly standard."
"I'm only nineteen, I don't think I've ever filed taxes," Draco said.
"Not a problem," Wentworth replied with a small wave of the hand, "oh, and we'll need to know the source of your funds as well."
"Hmm," Draco said.
"That could be an issue," Draco thought.
"Where did my father transfer funds from?" Draco asked.
"Eh… I believe the majority of the funds came from bank accounts in Switzerland," Wentworth replied.
"I see," Draco said.
"The goblins of Zurich," Draco thought.
Another piece clicked into place… in an attempt to evade Gringotts, the Dark Lord, and the Ministry, his father had travelled to Europe to exchange currency and legitimise their capital to the eyes of muggle authorities; Draco wouldn't be surprised if the goblins of Zurich had connections to the muggle banking system there.
"I might have to do the same," he thought, "seems like a trip to Europe may be in the cards. Too bad I already sold the chateau."
"I… could try to find out the specifics, if you'd like," Wentworth said.
"That won't be necessary," Draco said as he stood up and extended a hand to shake, "I'll see that these forms are filled out and returned to you, then I'll be in touch about the funds transfer."
"It's called a Filcher," Tracy said as she pointed at the picture, "native to northern Europe, they're pack rats, collecting shiny objects to line their nests. Tough to get rid of because said nests are usually inside walls and they only come out when it's dark. Oh, and they can run through walls and turn invisible."
She turned the page.
"Wards will stop them, and other magical barriers," she said, pointing at the relevant passage.
"So the one I saw in Hogwarts…" Draco said.
"Must have been brought inside and left there, maybe fourth year, during the tri-wizard tournament," Tracy said, "Hagrid says it could have stowed aboard the ship from Durmstrang and gotten through the wards that way."
"That's all well and good, but can its carapace be used to make things invisible?" Draco asked.
Tracy flipped a few more pages and pointed out the relevant passage.
"Durand pioneered a process decades ago, but it was generally considered inferior to invisibility cloaks made using demiguise hairs, because it only makes the object itself invisible, not anything beneath it," Tracy said, "sorry."
Draco read through the passage, then read through it again as his brow furrowed in concentration.
"This… this might actually…" Draco muttered, "Good job Trace, excellent work."
"And my overtime?" she asked.
Draco, still reading, reached into his robe and pulled out his pouch, then fished out several galleons and dropped them into Tracy's outstretched hand.
"If I could make a bag small enough, thin enough, then muggles might be able to use their mobile phones without taking them out of the bag," he thought as he kept reading, "Hmm, Filchers aren't sold in England… I might have to go abroad to find some."
Considering he was likely headed to Zurich in a few weeks' time, it seemed the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.
"Maybe build a holding pen first…" he thought.
Mary groaned as she set her pencil down and leaned back in her chair, her dyed dark red hair nearly reaching down to the edge of the mattress as she staired up at the ceiling.
"Hmm?" Draco asked as he reclined against the headboard and tapped out a message on his phone. Having to repeatedly press the number buttons to get a single letter nearly drove him mad, but he kept at it.
"Still loads faster than an owl," he thought.
"This is bloody impossible," she said.
"What's wrong?" Draco asked as he pressed send and stood up.
"I'm behind. Like, way behind," she said, "a lot of the people in my class went to fancy boarding schools; they learned a lot of this in secondary, so I have catching up to do, while also keeping up with the class. Even with the stuff you're bringing me, it's..."
She sighed.
"But I have to do it," she said as she sat up and picked up her pencil to hunch over her desk again.
Draco's phone buzzed and he glanced at the message from Michael Baker.
Can't do this week, maybe next week or the week after?
"Mother fucker," he muttered.
"What is it?" Mary asked as she twisted around in her seat.
"Nothing," Draco said as he stood up and planted a kiss on top of her head, "keep revising."
He exited the bedroom and closed the door behind him and in the darkness of the hallway, stared at the glowing screen again. Michael Baker had turned back the clock and had been selected for the Rugby World Cup in Wales, starting next month. He'd also signed a new professional contract, one significantly more lucrative than his old one. And now…
"Now, he's blowing me off," Draco thought.
He stood in the hallway a few moments and listened to the thumping sound of Bruno punching the heavy bag. Draco knew Michael personally, through Pam, but at the same time, the rugby player owed him.
Draco pressed the 'call' button.
"Hey Drake, I told you, I'll have it next week or the week after, promise," Michael said without preamble.
"Good afternoon to you too," Draco said, "what's the issue?"
"It's a little tied up right now, and you know I don't get everything up front right?" Michael said.
"Doesn't mean you get nothing," Draco said, "I know you're not putting me as a lower priority; don't forget who helped you when you needed it."
"Yeah yeah, I know," Michael said.
Draco got the sense that this was going to be a constant issue with Michael Baker. Whether he was spending the money on a new car or kitchen or whatever else, Draco didn't much care.
"You have three days," Draco said. Then he hung up, and knocked on Bruno's door.
Draco heard a few more slightly harder punches, and then heavy panting. The boxer opened the door, and with is other hand, he towelled off beaded sweat from his forehead.
"Yeah?" Bruno said.
"Going to need you to pay Michael Baker a visit later this week, assuming he hasn't settled," Draco said.
Bruno picked up a plastic bottle and squirted some directly into his mouth, swished it around a bit, then swallowed.
"Yeah, how much?" the boxer asked, "anything special?"
"Five thousand. He still needs to be able to play," Draco replied.
Bruno nodded.
"Uh huh. Not a problem," Bruno said, "anything else?"
Draco started to shake his head, then paused.
"Maybe do it when Pam's not around," he said.
Bruno nodded and closed the door.
"Fuck, I need a beer," Draco thought.
He padded to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and pulled out a glass bottle, but as he closed the door, he caught sight of a letter stuck to the fridge via strawberry shaped magnet. Neat handwriting, but definitely written by a child.
"A lot of the younger kids are getting adopted, but not me, I know I'm too old now-"
"Callista," Draco thought.
He scanned the letter, two full pages of it, reading through the difficulties the orphan had in getting along with other kids, about how she was still being blamed for stealing things.
"There's a filcher at the orphanage," Draco thought, "it'd be perfect to test a holding pen before I buy a dozen or however many of them from Europe. Macmillan is a lot more likely to let you hunt it down at the orphanage than McGonagall is to let you into Hogwarts, too."
He filed this at the back of his mind as he brought the letter back to the bedroom, still reading. Three separate times, little Callista asked Mary to visit her.
"She's still being bullied," Draco thought as he flipped over a page, "not that I care, she's not my family."
He paused in front of the closed bedroom door.
"But she's a witch, living with muggles. She doesn't belong there," Draco thought, "then again, you don't know if she's a witch, maybe she's only a squib."
He opened the door to see his girlfriend hunched over the desk, still taking notes from her textbook.
"This letter from Callie?" Draco asked.
"Hmm? Oh yeah," Mary said without looking up, "I keep meaning to see her, but it's so bloody busy with school and work and all, I'm up to my eyeballs."
"You should, at least for a bit," Draco said.
"Don't get involved," he thought.
She looked up at him and smirked, then stood up and plucked the letter from his hand and placed a delicate kiss on his cheek.
"You're sweet," she said, "and I will, promise."
Andromeda Tonks is at the front gate.
Draco's eyes widened and he stiffened.
"Well, the ward attunement worked," he thought. Winters, the ward specialist, assured him he would eventually be able to interact directly with visitors via the talking gate, but not yet.
"I've got to run, see you later," he said.
"Later," Mary said without looking up.
Draco ran out into the hall and up to the door with the broken lock that led to the roof. The heat of the afternoon sun baked the top of the stairwell, and rather than exit into the light, he held his breath in the dark stairwell and turned on the spot. He appeared at the apparition point near the fountain, and strode to the gates. His aunt stood just outside the black iron wrought bars. She wore a light green summer robe with loose sleeves that came down only to her elbows. Upon her head she wore a matching hat with a golden trim. If she thought it odd he arrived wearing muggle clothing, she didn't let on at all. Draco's gaze drifted down to where little Teddy Lupin stood, holding hands with his grandmother. On her other arm, a cloth bag, likely filled with accessories for the toddler, hung from her elbow.
"Uh oh," he thought as he saw his cousin, the half-blood werewolf's son.
"Apologies for dropping by unannounced, but the urge struck me and I thought if I didn't act on it, I might never," Andromeda said.
"It's quite all right, it's not like Mother has a full schedule these days," Draco replied, "err.."
He glanced back towards the path which led to the greenhouses.
"Mother can't leave the house, Andromeda's not going to see anything," Draco thought.
"Come in, please," he said. He tapped his wand on the gates and they opened to admit his aunt, and she stepped onto the grounds.
"Unluna intrare," Draco muttered as he waved his wand once over Andromeda, and once over Teddy. The spell would allow the two of them entry past the Manor's wards for one evening.
"Fair warning, I'm not sure how Mother will react to him," Draco said.
"If she wishes me to visit, she'll have to get used to the idea," Andromeda replied, "might as well tear the plaster off quickly."
Draco nodded. It had to be done eventually, but he stopped himself from wincing as he considered the range of Mother's possible reactions. Andromeda glided along the path as Teddy toddled on his short legs, his gaze turning this way and that, taking it all in. She gave the ruined fountain a passing glance, but said nothing. The doors of the Manor opened as they slowed to Teddy's pace, walking up the steps one at a time, into the entrance foyer.
"Ahh, there's not much in the way of refreshments, and… would you mind waiting here while I inform Mother?" Draco asked.
"Not at all," Andromeda replied as she reached into the cloth bag to pull out a wind-up dragon plush toy.
Draco left them as she started to wind, and Teddy reached his little hands up to try and grab it. The sound of the laughing toddler followed after him as he first walked, then started jogging the length of the house to find Mother. First stop was the cellar, which was vacant, volumes of weed still piled high and waiting to be tucked into Ziploc bags and loaded for transport. He checked the sitting room next and found her next to the window, in a spot of sunlight, rolling a joint on the table. A nearly full bottle of sherry and a half-empty glass also sat in front of her.
"At least she's properly dressed today," Draco thought.
"Good, you haven't started," Draco said, "Aunt Andromeda is here."
She blinked.
"Say again?" she said.
"Aunt Andromeda, your older sister, is here. She's in the foyer right now," Draco said.
Narcissa stood up.
"Why didn't you inform me she was visiting?" she asked as she ran her fingers through her long blonde hair.
"I didn't know, she just… dropped in," Draco replied, "the wards informed me, and then I apparated straight home."
Narcissa reached for her wand and waved it a few times. Her hair pulled itself straight then flipped and tucked itself into a simple yet elegant style.
"Leave it to her…" she muttered, "well, don't keep her waiting, send her in. And bring something from the dining table."
"Yes mother," Draco muttered as he departed to return to the front foyer. It seemed that in the absence of a house elf, he would be filling the duties as long as he was within range for Mother to order. He didn't even mind, though, at least, not today. He heard Teddy's giggling and babbling long before he arrived back at the foyer.
"She'll see you in the drawing room," Draco said, "ehhm, we've sold most of the furnishings."
Andromeda looked slightly confused at that, but picked up the floating dragon and followed him through the empty hallways and rooms. Teddy almost immediately realised his voice echoed magnificently, and loud shouts heralded their approach. Draco picked up two platters as they passed through the dining room. Andromeda stopped at the threshold of the sitting room, and Draco sidled past her. Mother stood at the far side of the room, sunlight glinting off golden hair, her gaze fixed on Teddy.
Draco set the platters down on the table, and quietly exited the room.
"Andy?" he heard his mother whisper.
"Hello Cissy. Meet your great-nephew, Teddy," Andromeda said as Draco closed the dining room door behind him. He breathed a heavy sigh. He could only hope the two of them got on; the fact Mother had barely seen anyone in months, much less her elder sister, just might overcome her disdain for anything not pureblood. He didn't want to leave the Manor though, just in case things turned sour…
"I suppose Mother won't be packing the bags today," Draco thought as he returned to the cellar.
Several hours later, everything was labelled and tucked neatly into one of the large hockey bags Draco used to carry the goods to London. He returned to the sitting room and nudged the door open to see Andromeda and his mother sitting on one of the only remaining couches in the entire Manor, speaking in hushed tones. The bottle of sherry still sat on the table, though it was now nearly empty, and next to it stood two glasses and an empty milk bottle. As Draco grew closer, he spotted Teddy, asleep on his mother's lap, muggle pacifier in his mouth, with his head in the crook of his mother's arm. It struck him as such an odd sight; he realised he'd never seen his mother with a small child, though for all he knew, she might have sat in this exact spot with him when he was small.
His mother looked up and motioned him closer. A book sat between his mother and his aunt, and with horror, Draco recognised one of his old photo albums.
"Come, we're just looking through some memories," Narcissa said quietly.
He caught a glimpse of a mischievous grin as a toddler version of himself, wearing only a red shirt, streaked in front of a roaring fire and Christmas stockings while Dobby chased after him with a set of nappies in one hand.
"Like another life," he thought.
"I think I'd rather not," Draco said.
He beat a hasty retreat and decided to visit the greenhouses to check up on the team. Satisfied with the quantity of weed they had produced, he returned to the potions lab to whip up another batch of soil infusion and weakened potions for the muggles. Eventually he heard a child's voice from upstairs. He switched off the fire and climbed the steps to see Mother walking Andromeda and Teddy to the front door.
"It was lovely to see you Andy," she said, "do visit again."
"I certainly shall," Andromeda replied, "I'll owl you."
Draco caught up to them and they fell quiet as he fell into step next to them.
"Draco, thank you so much for arranging this," Andromeda said. He felt his mother turn her head slightly, but that was all.
"Thank you for coming. I thought it would be a welcome development for everyone," Draco said. He left out the part where she showed up unannounced.
Narcissa stopped at the front door of the manor and watched as Draco walked Andy and Teddy down the path to the gate.
"Why is there no furniture?" Andromeda asked as they passed the broken fountain.
"Ministry reparations, we had to pawn most of it off," Draco replied, "though, things have turned around and we're secure, for now at least."
Andromeda nodded.
"It was odd, seeing this old manor with none of the tables or chairs or bureaus," she said.
"I know, we'll redecorate at some point," Draco said.
"I'll be sure to owl before arriving next time," Andromeda said as she exited the gate.
"That would be best. I am quite busy, after all," Draco said.
She smiled, and Draco was struck both by how pretty she still was, and how odd it was to see that expression on someone who looked so similar to Aunt Bella.
"Bye!" Teddy said with a wave. Draco waved back, and then Andromeda drew her wand, and she and Teddy vanished with a loud crack. Draco walked with a spring in his step back to the Manor to see his mother still standing at the threshold. She looked at him in silence for a few seconds.
"You didn't tell me you arranged this," she said, "and that she would bring… her grandson."
"Everyone who cares about any of that…who she married, who his father was, is dead," Draco said, "and I thought you might appreciate the company."
She smiled at that, a genuine smile, and Draco grew uncomfortable.
"Really though mother, you let the child fall asleep on you?" he asked. She understood his good-natured joke, and continued smiling.
"Well, you're gone and grown up while I wasn't looking, and there aren't many children around for me to hold these days," she said.
"Hmm," Draco said, and they walked in silence back to the sitting room.
Draco pulled out a third glass and poured himself a measure of sherry.
"Family first," Draco said.
"Family first," Narcissa said as she clinked her glass against his.
Draco pointed at drawing in the open book on the desk.
"So, this is what I think has set up shop in your orphanage; Callista McKay has been drawing it for months now," Draco said, "that's why there have been so many stolen items, and none of them found."
The older edition of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them clearly displayed the drawing of a prawn like creature, supported on two legs that seemed too small to hold its weight. Several hook-like appendages extended from where its mouth would be, stubby arms on either side of its body, and chitinous plates covered the length of its thorax. A finger painting of Callista's sat juxtaposed with the sketch in the textbook, the resemblance unmistakable.
"You really think one of these is here?" Macmillan asked as he leaned over the drawings.
"I'm almost certain of it," Draco said, "and it just so happens I need to capture one alive, so maybe we could help each other out."
"Hmm. What do you need?" Macmillan asked.
"Permission to stay on premise overnight," Draco replied as he closed the book and stowed it in his pouch, "this thing is shy, but it likes shiny objects and sweet food, and walls won't stop it. Wards should though; I figure we'll set up a warded wooden crate, and bait it with some jewellery or trinkets or something. Wait until night, it goes in, we close the door, the ward activates, and Bob's your uncle."
"Hopefully," Draco thought.
"Sounds simple enough. Anywhere will do?" Macmillan asked.
If Callie was being blamed for the thefts, then the filcher was probably around the primary age girls' dorm; he couldn't stay there though.
"Perhaps the girls' lavatory on the second floor," Draco replied, and he saw the questioning expression on Macmillan's face, "Callie's been accused of stealing quite a bit, it probably lives close to the girls' dorm."
"Ah," Macmillan said. He fell into thought for a moment.
"If it's an issue, I can arrange a donation," Draco said, and immediately regretted it. Macmillan waved a hand.
"No no, I don't think that will be necessary," Macmillan said, "do you still keep in touch with her sister, Mary?"
Draco leaned back at the sudden change in subject.
"Yes, she's started uni, studying to be a vet, an animal doctor," Draco replied, then he paused as he weighed whether to say more, "we're dating, have been for some time. I haven't told my mother yet."
Macmillan nodded to himself, then smiled.
"Ah, congratulations. I can imagine that might make for an interesting conversation," Macmillan said.
"Yeah, I have no idea… anyway, I'll figure that out later," Draco said.
Macmillan nodded again.
"Be that as it may, it seems your business is growing, and it's always a pleasure to hear our former residents are adjusting well," Macmillan said, "I'll arrange for the girls' lavatory to undergo maintenance and you can try to capture the filcher alive. It certainly would be a positive development, assuming that's what's causing the issue."
They stood up and shook hands, and Draco's thoughts whirred as he walked towards the exit.
"Magical Menagerie sells warded crates, I'll have Shawn or Tracy pick one up-" he thought.
"Drake?" a little voice asked. He turned around as Callista McKay exited the loo. Draco almost didn't recognise her with her former blonde bob cut short, like a boy's. She wiped her cheek with one sleeve.
"What happened to your hair?" Draco asked.
She ran her fingers through what remained.
"Margaret and her friends cut one side, so I had to get the rest of it cut down to match," she said, "it's okay, it'll grow back."
She gave a despondent shrug and cast her grey eyes down towards the floor.
"Have you seen Mary?" she asked, "she's my sister."
"I have," Draco replied, "I'll ask her to visit you. You'd like that, right?"
"Yes," she replied, but she didn't smile, "I have to get back to arts and crafts. Bye."
Draco returned her wave and watched as her slight frame vanished into one of the classrooms.
"It's none of your business, don't get involved," Draco thought, "though… maybe mention something to Mary."
Two days later, Draco carried the large wooden crate designed for transporting swarms of doxies or other flying pests out of the taxi and up the walk to the orphanage. Macmillan met him at reception, which was currently unmanned as it was after hours.
"It's just after lights out now, so the children should all be in bed," the director said. He picked up one end of the crate to relieve the load from Draco, and the two of them carried the box up the steps to the second floor. The distinctive smell of disinfectant washed over Draco as he followed Macmillan through the lavatory door, an 'out of order' sign hung across the front.
"Right," the director said as they set the crate down, "do you need anything else?"
"No, I think I should be okay for the evening. Maybe switch off the lights when you go," Draco replied as he pulled a silver locket from his pocket and held it by its fine chain.
"Good luck," Macmillan said.
Draco nodded and opened the side of the crate and set it on the tiled floor with the opening facing him, then lay the necklace inside. The lights flicked off and Draco locked the door, then conjured a reclining chair for him to sit in, one with a good vantage point on the necklace. He reached into his pouch and pulled out a moonstone, an enchanted bit of rock that emitted a soft, silvery glow. He placed that into the box as well, then sat down to settle in and wait. He must have dozed off, because when he opened his eyes, he heard a faint rustling sound. Then he saw it, the filcher, nasty looking critter, about a half a metre tall, with its eyes looking around this way and that and hooks reflexively probing the air. It padded forward towards the box with the moonstone and necklace. It bumped into the rear, shifting the box slightly, looked around slightly confused, then started circling around to the right. Draco shifted his wand slightly to point it at the lid of the box. The filcher paused halfway into the crate, and just a Draco considered giving it a nudge with a weak depulso charm, it stepped fully into the trap.
"Descendo," Draco thought. The lid of the crate slid shut, and the filcher whined, and slammed itself into one side, then the other. Draco hit the crate with a featherweight charm, then hefted it with one hand. With his wand in the other, he thought of home, and turned to apparate with a loud crack. The filcher kept bumping around the crate as Draco set it on the ground, turned to the side so he could open the trap door from the top. He slid the lid back a quarter of the way, enough to see inside, and that the crate appeared empty.
"Not fooling me, little bugger," he thought. He aimed his wand down into the crate.
"Revelio," he said.
Disillusionment fell away from the filcher, revealing its pale form cowering in the corner, eyes rolling wildly.
"Merlin, it's ugly," Draco thought.
He closed the crate again and carried it to the main dining room, where he set it on the table, poured a bowl of water, and levitated it into the crate. Then he dropped a bag of crickets in, its preferred diet, according to Scamander's textbook, and closed the lid again. Thoroughly exhausted, he traipsed up to bed.
The following morning, Draco returned to the dining room to check on the filcher, and he cracked open the crate to see it dozing in the corner. He thought there were less crickets, but couldn't be sure. He brought it outside, to a long, rectangular wooden platform set near the greenhouses. At even intervals around the edge, small ward stones sat embedded in the wood.
"Cheap junk, but they should do the trick," Draco thought. He lowered the crate down on the platform and opened the trap door. The filcher scampered out, but when it ran into the edge of the ward, it bounced back with a small shimmer in the air as the ward held. Draco recovered the locket and other trinkets, then set the crate to the side.
"Right, now to get the plates off," he thought.
This was easier said than done as Draco didn't want to stun the filcher in case he hurt it. Stumped, he ended up sitting in thought just outside the edge of the ward while the filcher wandered about, disillusioned, occasionally bumping into the magical barrier. He spotted Pansy and Shawn exiting one of the greenhouses; they had just turned around to head back inside when Shawn noticed he'd seen them, and he called to Pansy as he veered to walk towards Draco instead.
"What's all this?" Shawn asked.
"Holding pen, for the filcher," Draco replied, "it's a magical creature that steals things and uses them to make its nest. It can walk through walls, hence the wardstones."
The ward shimmered slightly as the filcher bumped into it again.
"And it can disillusion itself," he said as he pointed his wand, "revelio."
The filcher faded into view and backpedalled away from the trio until it bumped into the ward on the opposite side of the platform.
"It's gross looking," Pansy said, "what's it eat?"
"Crickets and termites and things," Draco said, "though considering the platform is made of wood, it'll have to go without the termites I suppose. That carapace is what I need, but I don't want to kill it. They're kind of stuck to it though."
"Have you tried diluted snail slime?" Pansy asked.
Draco and Shawn both turned to look at the pug-nosed witch.
"No, why?" Draco asked.
"My mum uses it to loosen the shells of crabs, oysters, lobsters, those sorts of things," Pansy replied.
Draco squinted at her, trying to discern if she was having him on or not.
"I'm not kidding; I can go buy some right now and show you," she said.
"Okay…" Draco replied. She held out a hand and he fished around his pockets for a couple of galleons. She snatched them up and walked off towards the gate.
"Bring the receipt!" Draco called after her.
He watched her go, then turned to Shawn.
"How's selling to other shops going?" he asked.
"Not bad, I've a few good leads, and a few meetings lined up later this afternoon and tomorrow," Shawn replied.
Draco nodded.
"I'm heading into town for lunch, fancy a walk?" he asked.
Shawn accompanied him to Fileo's Fillet's, a seafood restaurant in Diagon, where he grilled the former Auror about exactly what the Ministry could or couldn't do on his private property. They returned to the Manor and found Pansy waiting by the filcher pen. A small glass vial filled with a cloudy liquid sat just outside the wards.
"Took you long enough," she said, "it should be ready now."
The filcher lay on its side near the edge of the platform.
"Bloody hell, is it dead?" Draco asked.
"No, I sprinkled some powdered asphodel root on the crickets," Pansy said, "knocked it right out."
"That's actually pretty clever," Draco thought.
She reached through the wards and shifted one of the chitinous plates, wiggling it until it slid off.
"Voila!" she said as she proudly held it out to Draco. The silvery plate, about the size of a sickle, reflected rainbow colours as the sun hit it.
Draco looked at Pansy, then at the freshly harvested reagent in the palm of his hand, then back to Pansy.
"How'd you like to be in charge of raising these things and collecting the plates?" he asked.
Draco brazenly stared at Mary's pale bum as she lay on her stomach on the bed, an open biology book in front of her. Once Bruno left, they'd had the flat to themselves. One lovemaking session blended into the next, and with the last gasp of summer upon them, the flat grew uncomfortably warm, and they had simply left their clothes where they lay for the past thirty hours or so. Draco felt a drop of sweat trickle down his neck as he reclined on the bed and watched his naked girlfriend study biology.
"As am I, apparently," he thought with a smirk.
Mary turned a page and chewed the end of her pen.
"Are you sure you don't want to skip the match and stay here with me?" she asked without looking up.
The thought was tempting.
"I really shouldn't," Draco said.
"That wasn't a no," Mary said as she glanced at him with one of her trademark smirks.
"Why don't you come with us, he's your brother," Draco said.
Mary shook her head.
"Class is on Monday, and I have to get through this," she said, "are you sure you won't stay?"
Draco sighed and ran his fingers through his hair a few times; he was sure it was a complete mess, given the past day.
"Martin invited me though, and I already said yes," Draco said.
Mary quirked her lips to one side, then pushed herself up on all fours, and Draco's eyes automatically fell to her petite breasts as she slowly moved over to him.
"Alright, I'll see you when you get back," she said in a husky voice as she brought her lips up to his. He felt her fingertips caress his balls as they kissed, and then suddenly she was gone, back to her spot as if nothing had happened.
"Bloody minx," he muttered.
"You'd better hurry if you're going to make it on time," she said without looking up.
"I've got time," Draco said.
He took a quick shower, then searched around for his clothes and dressed, the sensation of fabric over his skin feeling somehow alien after only a day without it. After he stomped his feet into his shoes, he leaned over and kissed Mary on the top of her head, and ran his hand over her smooth bum one last time.
"See you when I get back," he said.
"Love you," she said without looking up.
"Love you too," he replied easily.
"I'm so fucked," he thought. Andromeda had met with mother, and she hadn't completely flown the coop at having the half-blood son of a werewolf in her lap. At some point, most likely soon, he was going to have to tell her about Mary.
"Later," he thought.
Given that he didn't actually have to board an aeroplane to get to Dublin, he did, in fact, have plenty of time. Enough time to catch up with Tracy for tea in Diagon.
"How's it looking?" he asked.
"Everything's running smooth," she said, and then she paused.
"What is it?" Draco asked.
"Well… it's Shawn, he hasn't sold shit," she said.
"What does that mean, I thought he was selling the bags to other shops?" Draco asked.
"Well that's just it, he hasn't sold a single one," Tracy replied, "I'm not sure what he's doing all day, skiving off or drinking maybe."
Draco closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.
"Bloody hell… it's his job to sell, and he needs to do his fucking job or he's out, same as anyone else who doesn't do their job," Draco said, "tell him to get off his arse and see some prospects, and if he's got an issue, come see me."
He glanced at his wristwatch.
"I need to go, let me know if you run into trouble," Draco said as he dropped a few sickles on the table.
Tracy waved to acknowledge his purchasing her drink as well, and Draco apparated home to shave and change into muggle clothes. Less than an hour later, he was back at the floo.
"Augurey's Nest," Draco said. He stepped into the flare of green flame and tolerated the sensation of being squeezed infinitely small, until he appeared in a flash of green in the foyer of a wizarding pub in Dublin. He stayed for a pint or two, at least to make it look like he spent time traveling from London earlier in the day, then stepped out on the now dark streets of the Irish capital to walk to the arena.
Martin had secured tickets for them to see Bruno's match, and Draco held his arms out to the side as muggles ran a metal detector over him on his way into the large, but squat building. Draco passed through a large exterior corridor, similar to what he'd seen at the rugby stadium near London, though on a much smaller scale. In the arena proper, red seats stretched down towards a boxing ring set up in the centre. Half the seats were already filled with chattering patrons, and Draco checked his ticket, then started walking down the concrete steps, all the way to the second row.
"Drake!"
Draco looked up to see Darren waving to him. In front of him, in the very first row, Draco spotted Martin and Conor, both looking smart in dark coloured sports blazers. Draco made his way past a few people to clap Darren on the hand.
"You made it; Mary said you might be late," Darren said.
Draco glanced at his watch.
"Nah, I still have… twenty minutes to spare?" Draco said with a small grin.
Martin stood up and turned and shook Draco's hand.
"Enjoy the show, should be a good one," he said, then promptly ignored the two of them. Draco realised at least two individuals in the front row, including the older man Martin sat next to, were decidedly Slavic in appearance.
"The Russians, is that Konstantinov's father?" Draco thought.
Darren started chatting with some of the Irish blokes sitting with Martin, and Draco got the sense he'd only be intruding, so that left him alone with his thoughts. Draco considered what the Russians might be doing here, with Martin.
"Some kind of rapprochement? Or to cut some kind of deal?" Draco thought.
He tried to observe them without being obvious, but he couldn't discern anything except polite conversation. Darren tapped out a cigarette and offered one to Draco, who shook his head. He continued to surreptitiously observe the interactions between Martin and his immediate neighbour, until the lights dimmed. A host with mostly grey hair, looking very smart in a dark tuxedo, stepped into the ring, and a mic on a wire dropped down from the ceiling.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he started, his amplified voice booming out of speakers set up around the indoor stadium. Draco half-paid attention; he didn't really understand the rules of boxing, except the basics of pound the other bloke until he can't get up. Then it was time for the first fight, something called featherweight. The two small boxers were blazing fast, so fast their hands blurred when they threw punches. The fight went three rounds, and then one of the fighters landed a combination ending in an uppercut, and other collapsed onto his back, out cold on the mat. The crowd roared in appreciation as the referee started counting, and then immediately waved his hands over his head. Trainers swarmed the ring to tend to the injured boxer, who eventually stood up under his own power.
"Okay, I suppose it might be interesting if you'd wagered on the match," Draco thought.
He glanced at Martin, who was shaking the hand of the Russian next to him, and grinning ear to ear. The Russian offered him a cigar, and the two of them lit up, each of them using a single wooden match, and then they again shook hands vigorously.
"That's it," Draco thought as he looked back to the ring, "the bouts are fixed, and they're both making a mint off wagers."
The second fight was a welterweight match, the fighters still lean and quick, but definitely much larger than the first fight. Draco kept watching Martin and the Russian next to him, and when the fight ended in the 7th, they cheered and shook hands again.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the main event," the announcer said. Draco ignored the fanfare and watched Bruno step into the ring and go through a few warmup punches. His opponent was a tall African with rippling muscles; Draco couldn't imagine what it would be like to be hit square with a full power blow from either of the boxers. The heavyweight fighters touched gloves and the bell rung to start the fight. This one, Draco paid much more attention to, internally rooting for Bruno but glancing to Martin repeatedly throughout the match. The two heavyweight boxers traded punches for a few rounds, and then in the 5th, the other boxer side stepped one of Bruno's punches and landed a heavy blow to his kidney, causing the Irishman to crumple to the ground. Draco glanced left to see Martin and the Russian cheering again, and he shook his head.
"No wonder Bruno is so frustrated with Martin these days," Draco thought.
Then something happened. Bruno got one leg under him, rose to one knee, and then stood up while the referee continued counting until eight. Draco glanced at Martin, and he looked murderous.
"Uh oh," Draco thought, but he knew what was coming. Moving much faster than he had in the first four and a half rounds, Bruno's gloves blurred as he backed his opponent into the corner, and then launched ten or twelve punches in rapid succession, the last four finding their mark. The other boxer tried to duck and block, but didn't stand a chance against the onslaught, and he fell to the ground, chest heaving, eyes rolling. The crowd loved the comeback win as Bruno stood with both gloves held high, but Draco spotted Martin trying to reassure the Russians, who, all signs of mirth gone, filed out of the stadium. Then Martin motioned to Darren and said a few hushed words to him, and passed him a key. Darren nodded and passed by Draco on his way out while Martin walked the opposite direction.
"Come on," the drug dealer said, a serious expression on his face.
"What happened?" Draco asked once they hit the cool air of the street.
"Tell you in a sec," Darren said. He led Draco to a car, a white rental, and they both stepped in and buckled up.
"He was supposed to go down in the fifth," Darren said, "Martin's going to 'talk' to him now."
"Shit," Draco said as they fought traffic moving away from the stadium. He needed Bruno.
"What does that mean? I can't imagine Martin letting something like that go," Draco asked.
"I dunno," Darren said, "Bruno's da was good friends with Martin's da, so he probably can't do anything permanent. Gonna make him pay for the losses though, I'll wager, and then some."
"Damn… considering the way the Russians were acting, it's probably going to be a lot," Draco said.
"You saw that too? Well, not to sound callous or anything, but Bruno's just created himself one hell of a personal problem and I do not want anything to do with it," Darren said, "wanker just doesn't know when to go along with a good thing. Anyway, Martin's ehh… business associates are busy cleaning up this mess, so he's got a job for us."
"What kind of job?" Draco asked.
"Blind drop, but we've got to pick it up first," Darren said.
He took them onto a motorway for about five minutes, and then down into the suburbs of Dublin. They pulled into a deserted commercial park, a series of two-storey office buildings. Draco wondered what they were doing there, but Darren drove to the rear of the parking lot, where it butted up against a wooded area. Darren switched off the engine, and the outdoors were eerily quiet as they stepped out of the rental, except for the distant chirp of crickets and croaking of frogs.
"Come on," Darren said as he pulled out his keychain and activated a small flashlight on it.
Draco pulled his wand out and tucked it up his sleeve. He didn't think any vampires would be skulking around way out here, but they were alone, in the middle of the night, in the middle of the woods. As shiver ran down his spine as they walked a narrow, paved trail past a chain link fence, and up to what looked like a private residence along a winding country road.
"This is the place," Darren said.
"What the hell? Why not just pull in there?" Draco asked as he glanced around at the shadowy shapes of trees rising around them.
"So nobody sees the car parked out front, you bloody muppet," Darren replied, "come on."
They walked the overgrown path to the rundown, three-bedroom home. Signs warned passers-by to keep out, and wooden boards covered several windows. Darren led Draco to the rear door and handed the flashlight to Draco while he fished out Martin's key. It took some jiggling in the doorknob before it twisted, and the door creaked open, allowing them entry. The smell of mould hit Draco as soon as they stepped inside.
"Alright, there should be a trap door under the kitchen table…" Darren said as he felt around the edge of the carpet, "hold the light steady."
Eventually, they moved the entire table out of the way, revealing a single wooden plank in the floor with a knot punched out of it. From that, they were able to easily pull up several floorboards to reveal a cramped space, barely enough to stand hunched over, beneath the kitchen.
"Come on," Darren said as he sat on the floor and slid into the hidden storage space, "now, we're supposed to find a heavy black bag, and not 'bloody touch anything else'."
Draco very much wanted to cast a lumos charm.
"Damn Statute," he thought.
He froze as Darren's light fell on several objects on a wooden rack set against one wall. Long, black, and deadly, he recognised them from muggle movies: automatic rifles, at least a dozen of them. Darren whistled.
"There's enough ammo here to fight a small war," he said as the torch light turned to a series of wooden boxes, and he picked up a piece of a gun, the bit that fed the bullets in, then set it back down.
"Let's find that bag and get the hell out of here," Darren said.
Among all the military hardware, they found a small duffel bag wedged between two crates.
"Oof, it's heavy," Darren said as he lifted it. Something metallic clinked inside and Darren and Draco locked gazes for a split second. Darren put the torch in his mouth and pulled the bag open, and Draco immediately recognised the yellowish reflection from inside the bag as Darren's eyes widened: gold. Draco leaned over and spied three perfectly shaped gold bricks. The drug dealer slammed the bag shut zipped it up again, then slung it over his shoulder with another clink.
"Let's get the fuck out of here," he said, and Draco wholeheartedly agreed.
They climbed out of the sub-level, set the floorboards, table, and chairs back the way they'd found them, locked the back door, and walked quickly back to the car.
"What the fuck is going on?" Draco asked.
"Not here," Darren said. He kept quiet until they hit the motorway again.
"I'm thinking Martin, or his da, promised a lot of people the fight was going to go a certain way," Darren said, "now he's got to make good."
"Who the hell would he be paying off with gold bricks though?" Draco thought.
Darren appeared to be wondering the same thing as he tapped his finger on the steering wheel. They slowed down at an intersection, and the dealer stopped and parked on a narrow side street, about fifty metres from a larger, well-lit thoroughfare. Darren pulled the hand brake, checked his phone, and stepped out of the car to lead the way.
"O'Connell street?" Draco asked as they walked onto the touristy road. Muggles wandered this way and that, some of them snapping photos.
"This is where the drop is, between the Gresham and Madigans," Darren said, "keep your eyes open."
They dodged tourists as they strolled down the busy street, both of their heads turning this way and that as they searched for the drop point. Draco saw the hotel first, with the orange, white and green Irish flag hung out front, and the pub just past it. Nestled between the two, a small nook hid a black door, barred by a wrought iron gate. He nudged Darren with an elbow and nodded towards the alcove. Smooth as silk, without breaking stride, Darren walked up and dropped the duffel bag in the shadows, on the small concrete step just outside the gate. They kept walking, and Draco felt the hairs prickle the back of his neck again, and he looked over his shoulder. The gate had opened, and Draco spotted a small figure dressed in green and brown leather bend over to pick up the bag, a figure none of the muggles would be able to see.
"Eyes forward, don't be a chimp," Darren said as he elbowed Draco in the ribs, and Draco immediately complied, but he'd already seen who the delivery was for.
"A leprechaun?" he thought, "of course they'd want gold… but can muggles even strike a deal with a leprechaun? I think they can…"
In turn, the fey beings could manipulate luck, similar to a felix felicis potion, though often it didn't work out well at all for whoever was on the opposite side of the bargain. The numerous times he'd heard Martin or Bruno mentioning 'the luck o' the Irish' echoed in his head, and suddenly made a lot more sense.
"Martin's father is buying the aid of the leprechauns to help break muggle Ireland away," he thought, "how did he even know about them? Is he a squib, or maybe even a wizard? Or… under the Imperius? Or is he even the one who made the bargain? What if it's the Death Eaters and that's why the Ministry hasn't been able to find them?"
Darren stopped by a restaurant for supper, but he busied himself with messaging on his phone, allowing Draco's thoughts to swirl around unchecked.
"To tell the Ministry or not?" Draco thought as he chewed his late-night burger, "better not, at least until I've made some more money. Not that they would care what some muggle separatists are up to, but just a few more months, and I'll be able to pay off a good chunk of the reparations."
He just had to hope his own luck held out.