Harry Potter belongs to JKR
Beta by FedererEx
Chapter 34
"We're not setting it up on the walkway from the gate to the Manor," Draco said, "all of it has to go on the grounds proper, back there."
He struggled not to lose his temper at Mr. Philpott, the gruff, middle-aged bearded construction team leader, as the already sweating man grumbled a little bit, then nodded.
With the galleons from the sale of the chalet in Switzerland having come through to his account at Gringotts, Draco was now flush with capital but had a limited window with which to use it. Going forward, instead of receiving a stipend from the Ministry, he would need to send them gold every month; in fact, he'd made the first transfer just yesterday.
"I need to start earning before the reparations payments eat myself and Mother alive," he thought.
Philpott cleared his throat.
"Follow me," Draco said, "I'll show you where."
He led the way past the broken fountain and onto the grounds.
Philpott was contracted to set up a half-dozen fully functional greenhouses, similar to the ones at Hogwarts. Draco needed the controlled environments to grow the potions ingredients he preferred not to purchase. They walked the paths through the woods, now in the lush green of late spring and alive with chirping birds.
"How bloody far is it?" Philpott asked.
"I swear, if I didn't need this done immediately…" Draco thought.
"Just here," Draco replied as they emerged into the clearing where his parents were wed. Here, they wouldn't be seen from the front gates, and were still concealed behind the grounds' wards.
"You're going to cost us half a day just moving the materials in," the construction team leader said.
"I don't care," Draco replied, "our agreement was clear, and I'm paying you more than enough. I'll add your workers to the wards at the start of each day, you do what you're being paid to."
Draco had eschewed a contract; construction wizards like Philpott often worked at a discount for under-the-table labour, but Draco had paid slightly above market rates in exchange for discretion. The construction wizard would not talk about the work to anyone, not if he didn't want the Ministry asking why he hadn't reported the earnings.
"Let's put them in three rows of two, in the centre for maximum sunlight," Draco said.
Philpott grunted but acquiesced, and Draco accompanied him back to the gates. Three other, younger wizards sat around numerous parcels just outside the gate. Draco drew his wand and aimed at each of the workers in turn.
"Emita patet," he said. The charm would allow them to pass through the wards and onto the grounds until dawn the following day.
"It's a long walk, we'll have to make several trips," Philpott said.
One of the workers slipped off a pallet and levitated it.
"Right then, what are we waiting for?" he said.
Draco led the four of them back to the clearing. They made two more trips that morning, and it was nearly lunchtime before all the materials were in place. Draco transfigured a fallen log into a desk and chair, and sat beneath the shade of a large oak to simultaneously oversee the construction, and work out the remaining ingredients and quantities he needed to purchase. With limited time remaining in the school year, there was no time to grow right now; he needed to use the potions lab to perfect his brews as much as possible, and then construct and stock one later, likely in one of the cellars.
"One point from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy, for not paying attention," Professor Collins said, "go retrieve your toad please."
"Bloody hell," Draco thought as he slid the parchment he'd been writing on beneath his book. The class tittered as he stood up, but the large amphibian croaked and hopped away as he approached. He drew his wand and levitated the annoyingly energetic creature back to his desk.
"Petrificus totalus," he whispered, immobilising it before it could hop again.
Whether it was his replacement wand or a lack of practise, nearly thirty minutes of effort in attempting to transfigure the toad into a toadstool ended up with a large toad that wore a mushroom-like hat, and not much else. Collins approached his desk and wordlessly un-transfigured the unfortunate creature back to its original form.
"Stay after class, please," she said. Some blonde Hufflepuff smirked at him from the front of the class, and he resisted the urge to sneer.
"Twelve inches on amphibian to fungus transfiguration, due next week," Collins said, "class dismissed."
Draco grumbled as he closed his books; he needed to get to the library and double check a few equations for the potions he was working on, and he definitely did not have time to waste talking about a NEWT he didn't care if he passed or not. The other students filed out of the room; most of them ignored him completely.
"Just how I like it," Draco thought. He stood near his desk as the young professor approached.
"She's not bad looking, actually," Draco thought as his eyes took in her form, as much of it as he could make out without staring, "can't trust those looks at all though Draco, she's a transfiguration master. She might not even be Irish."
"You've a long way to go to pass your NEWT, Mr. Malfoy," the transfiguration professor said, "we offer extra sessions in the evening. I'm available Mondays and Wednesdays."
"No, thank you," Draco replied.
"It wasn't a suggestion," Collins said, "this is my first year teaching at this school. I aim to have every seventh and eighth year student pass their transfiguration NEWT, and I will not let a latecomer spoil what would otherwise be a perfect record. Be at my office tonight at seven o'clock, sharp."
Draco fumed at the lost hours; he needed every available second to finish working on the potions, and then he had to get back to the Manor to finish setting up the greenhouses. He couldn't afford to get himself in more trouble though, so externally, he kept his cool, barely.
"Yes Professor, see you tonight," he said. He picked up his books more violently than was appropriate, hefted his cane, and stormed out of the classroom, only to round the corner and nearly run headlong into Professor Winthrop.
The DADA professor stopped short and regarded Draco over the top of his horn-rimmed glasses.
"Mr. Malfoy," he said, then withdrew a hand from his pocket to extend, "Frances Winthrop."
The DADA professor had a slight, unplaceable accent. Draco shifted his books to shake his hand.
"If I could have a moment," Winthrop said, then continued without waiting for a response, "do you have plans for after graduation?"
"Avoid getting served a hot dose from Martin and his goons," Draco thought, "Figure out a way to get large quantities of flavoured weed grown, infused, cured, and shipped to muggle London… without getting caught. Finish testing and get the potions business off the ground. Avoid Sanguini and the Death Eaters. Sort out what to do with Mary. Avoid bankruptcy and destitution."
"Why?" Draco asked.
"I'm always on the lookout for talented students," Winthrop replied, "I've heard about your experiences. Quite impressive."
Almost nobody in the entirety of the wizarding world would describe his exploits as 'impressive', so Draco knew Winthrop was buttering him up, probably so he would want to chat more, to divulge more. Even though he realised it, Draco still had to stop himself from asking what Winthrop wanted to know. Given a second to think about it, something about the way the Defence Professor spoke set off warning bells in Draco's head, and he narrowed his eyes ever so slightly.
"Well, I truly do not have any spare time to speak of, so declining is probably the right thing to do regardless," Draco thought, "it's not like he's going to dangle a fifty thousand galleon opportunity in front of me."
"Reasonably busy, actually, what with keeping the Ministry off my back," Draco replied coolly.
Winthrop nodded.
"Do let me know if you change your mind," Winthrop said, and he continued on towards Collins' classroom. Draco heard their voices from around the corner.
"Professor Winthrop? How can I help you?" Collins asked, "actually, it's good that you're here, I wanted to ask about something."
"Yes Professor, I think I know; allow me to allay your concerns," Winthrop said. The sound of Collins' door clicking shut echoed from around the corner, and Draco put the odd conversation behind him. He only had about a half-hour in the library before his next class, and then it was dinner time. Draco scribbled what notes he could, then wolfed food at the end of the table, alone. He glanced to the opposite end of the sparsely populated Slytherin table, where Astoria sat, surrounded by a gaggle of friends. She caught his gaze, smirked, then continued chatting with her hangers-on. The smouldering embers inside him kindled anew.
"I'll show them…" Draco thought as he finished off a last bite and washed it down with cranberry juice. Back in the dungeons, he quickly chopped, heated, and stirred to test a brew. The real trick with the potions he wanted to sell to the muggles was getting them strong enough to make a difference, but make them stop working if too much was taken.
"As long as it's not obviously magical, it's not a Statute breach," Draco thought. He stoppered a modified strengthening solution at five minutes to seven, then returned to the ground floor to endure his extra transfiguration session. Draco strolled to Collins' office, his cane clacking intermittently on the stone floor, and entered through the open door. Professor Collins sat behind her desk, grading papers, and as Draco watched, a lock of wavy red hair escaped their bonds and fell forward in front of her face. Draco waited for a few seconds, then cleared his throat. Collins startled and looked up at him.
"Mr. Malfoy, can I help you?" she asked.
Draco blinked.
"Did you not ask me to attend an extra transfiguration session?" Draco asked.
Collins' brows came together above her bright green eyes.
"Not that I recall, but I'm happy to help, if it's necessary," she said, "I've noticed you're having a little bit of difficulty, and there are only a few weeks left until NEWTs."
"Something is definitely wrong," Draco thought. For a split-second, he thought about trying to delve further, to figure out what had happened between Winthrop and Collins, and why she had no recollection of sentencing him to additional transfiguration practise. Then he remembered he had far too many potion modifications to perfect, and a very limited number of school days remaining with which to complete them, and if he hurried, he could finish another trial potion or two before curfew.
"I'll definitely keep that in mind," Draco said as he backed out of the room.
He kept a tight grip on his cane all the way down to the dungeons, and resolved to be extremely careful around Frances Winthrop.
"You can't even see them from the Manor," Draco said.
"I know they're there, ruining the grass," Narcissa said quietly, almost to herself.
Draco groaned and ran his fingers through his hair as he palpably felt the minutes slipping by.
"We'll plant new grass later. I'm not going to argue about this; it's the best place on the grounds. There's ample light and it's hidden by wards and trees, even in winter," he said, "If we're going to get rid of these reparations, it's the best choice, full-stop. Tempus."
The glowing figure appeared in the air.
"Merin's balls," Draco muttered.
"Language," Narcissa said.
"I'm late, we'll talk about this later," Draco said, "don't smoke all the product."
"Aren't you going to wear a proper robe?" Narcissa asked.
Draco ignored her, apparated directly to St. Mungo's, and walked to the department store exit. The sun hung low in the sky, but a pleasant breeze blew through the streets, and the muggles once again wore lighter clothing; summer was definitely on the way. Draco checked up and down the road to make sure nobody was watching, and stepped out of the Wizarding World onto the London streets. He fished around his jeans pocket and pressed the button to turn on his flip phone as he pulled it out, only to be bombarded by missed call and text messages as the device chirped in his hand.
"Bloody hell," Draco muttered as he dialled voicemail.
"You're behind schedule, where the hell is the next batch?" Darren's slightly distorted voice said, "call me back."
"Hey it's Mike, I found someone who wants to talk, can you meet on Thursday?" Michael Baker's voice said.
"Bugger, that was yesterday," Draco thought.
He tapped out a message to Michael. Just before he hit send, his phone lit up as Darren called him again. Draco growled and answered.
"Yeah, I'm fucking working on it," Draco said, "you'll have a shipment next week."
"Good afternoon to you too," Darren said, "next week's not good enough, we're completely sold out and I have a hundred and fifty missed calls from stoners wanting more."
"Start taking pre-orders and raise the bloody prices then," Draco said, "next batch in a week."
Draco hung up on Darren and sent the note to Michael, then sent Mary a text asking her how she was doing and if she was free later. She responded almost immediately.
"Better now, can't wait 2 c u"
Draco smirked. At least one thing was going well. He arrived just after sunset at his destination, a squarish building almost indistinguishable from those around it except for the sign: Camden Town Library. He passed by a group of chatty muggle students as he entered, then breathed in the smell of thousands of books. Unlike Wizarding libraries, which were normally lit by lantern or candlelight, the bright fluorescent overheads and monochrome grey carpeting gave the place a sterile, clinical atmosphere.
Draco walked up to the information counter and opened his mouth to speak.
"We close in five minutes," the librarian, a woman in her fifties wearing her hair in a tight bun said as she stamped a few books and stacked them.
"I am not making the trip back out here, I'll confund her if I have to…" he thought.
Draco put on his best disarming smile.
"This won't take long, I need to see a book on British military organisations, and their symbols," he said, "and then I'll be on my way."
The librarian sighed heavily, glanced at her watch, then pushed back from her desk.
"This way," she said.
She led Draco through the stacks to a section marked reference, then scanned the shelves.
"Here," she said as she handed a hardcover to Draco, "four minutes."
Draco nodded and brought it to a table to page through it. He was looking for a very specific organisation, supposedly the best, according to Alan, and he smirked when he found it. He glanced around to ensure nobody was watching, then pulled a piece of parchment out of his pouch. With a wave and a muttered charm, the dagger and wings image on the page passed onto the parchment, along with the phrase. Draco juxtaposed the image with the original and glanced back and forth to ensure his wand had functioned correctly.
"Who dares wins. Fitting," he thought.
He folded the parchment and tucked it away, then brought the book with him to the front counter to set it in front of the librarian.
"Thank you," he said, then departed and tried to sort out what his next step should be.
It really was a stroke of genius. Any muggle who saw the symbol and researched it would realise it was a government label. If they tried to inquire, nobody would know anything, which is exactly what a clandestine military group distributing top secret drugs to their soldiers would say if some got out. He patted himself on the back and almost skipped his way towards Mary's flat. Not more than halfway there, his smile had turned to a frown as the realities of hitting his weed production quota hit him. There was no way he'd be able to handle sales, and research and testing on the modified potions, and production of the weed, and the logistics of getting it to Darren, all at once, even with Mother handling some of the growing and curing. He needed help.
"That'll have to wait," he thought as he pressed the button for Mary's apartment.
"It's me," he said, and was rewarded with a long buzz. Draco took the worn steps two at a time, and Mary greeted him with a smile and a long, passionate kiss, one Draco fully reciprocated. He looked down at her and drank in her backlit form; definitely a sight for sore eyes. Her cheeks had filled out; she'd almost certainly stayed off the smack, and Draco suspected she had been eating healthier as well.
"What are you waiting for, come inside," she said as she grabbed his collar and dragged him across the threshold and to her bed.
Four pewter cauldrons stood on their respective stands, their contents bubbling and steaming. Draco read a few lines, glanced up at them, then continued reading. If what this biography asserted was true, the Dark Lord was the true Heir of Slytherin, but he was a half-blood, with a muggle father. It boggled the mind, but somehow it made sense. If the Dark Lord had truly been pure blood, he would probably have used his real name.
"In fact, I probably should have seen it sooner," Draco thought, "too busy trying not to die."
Instead, Lord Voldemort did the opposite: he made sure nobody spoke, or even knew his real name. Draco lifted the edge of the next page with the pad of his index finger and glanced up at the potions again.
"Oops, those are done," he thought. He stood up and finished them off by stirring clockwise the prescribed four times, then added crushed mandrake leaves as he turned the knob to douse the fire. He continued reading while the potions cooled, and his thoughts wandered as his eyes slid across the words.
"Aunt Andromeda ran off with a muggleborn, and her daughter was a metamorphmagus," Draco thought. Rare magical abilities like metamorphmagic or Seeing were highly sought after in pureblood society. Had she been born a proper Black, or a Malfoy, or any of the old families, she would have been celebrated and hailed as proof of the supremacy of the pure.
"That makes the Dark Lord, Aunt Andromeda's daughter, and Dumbledore as three exceptional half-bloods," Draco thought, "but it's not all half-bloods, obviously, otherwise we'd be overrun."
He drummed his fingers on the table in thought, then closed his eyes tight enough to see stars as he groaned to himself.
"And Saint bloody Potter is a half-blood too," Draco thought. His chest itched where Potter's curse had left a jagged scar, and he absently rubbed it through his robes.
There was something here, he was sure of it.
"The Dark Lord's pure-blooded lineage was the longest, and he was incredibly talented," Draco thought. He shuddered as a chill crawled up his neck at the mere memory of the raw and terrible power the Dark Lord possessed.
"The Black line is long too, so were the Potters. Maybe it's only if a very long pure-blooded line mixes with muggle blood?" Draco thought. He tried to think of other instances of where that had happened, the one-time pureblood lines turned blood traitors.
"It definitely didn't happen often," Draco thought, "Was Dumbledore from a long pure-blooded family? He has a brother though, and there's nothing special about him."
He sat back on his stool and rubbed his chin in thought.
"Maybe they don't have the same father?" Draco thought, "but surely that would have come out by now…"
His thoughts continued down their path as he poured and stoppered the potions in their respective bottles, each with a small SAS label stuck to the bottom. With the number of pure-blooded heirs dead or in prison, and the blood traitors having mixed their lines long ago, the Malfoy family was possibly the oldest undiluted line in Britain.
"I could have had a son, or daughter," Draco thought as Mary's face, at the moment she told him she was pregnant, filled his mind's eye, "would he or she have been special?"
Draco packed up the leftover ingredients, those that could be saved or reused, and vanished the rest.
"Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to stay with Mary," he thought, "Mother would throw a fit, and Mary would never fit in in magical Britain, but maybe, if we had a Seer in the family, or a metamorphmagus…"
That hadn't been enough for Mother and Aunt Andromeda to reconcile after the Dark Lord's first defeat. Then again, Father and Aunt Bella had still been alive at the time. Things might be different now, especially as Mother was confined to the Manor for the foreseeable future, and they were already social pariahs.
"And if these talented next generation half-bloods were aligned with us, they would help the Malfoys climb to even greater heights in the years and decades to come," he thought.
Draco continued pondering as he picked up his cane and the book and exited the lab to return to the common room. He read while he walked, but his thoughts churned at the possibilities of somehow reconciling his duty to his house with his feelings for Mary McKay.
"It's just a dumb fantasy Draco," he thought as he tried to talk himself out of even thinking there was a possibility of staying with Mary long term. But the more he considered it, the more he realised it wasn't, not really. Most pure blood families were governed by tradition, but he was head of his house at the age of eighteen, with his whole life ahead of him. Almost every lord of a pure blood family took their position at an older age, seventy or eighty, but if he stayed alive, Draco could be Lord Malfoy for a century or more.
"I could do whatever I want," he thought, "I could set it up however I want."
The possibility of taking a pure blood wife, a foreigner perhaps, to keep the line intact while also siring children with Mary to bring rare magical talents into the fold had only just started germinating when his thoughts were rudely interrupted.
"There you are, you're not going to believe this," Tracy Davis said, and she looked like she just might explode if she didn't release whatever juicy secret she'd uncovered.
Draco slowly looked up from his book to regard the blonde prefect.
"This had better be good," Draco said.
"Hermione Granger is dating Julia White," Tracy said, a triumphant grin on her face.
"If they're so talented though, how could I be sure they won't turn on us? Maybe I could use some kind of blood magic to ensure their loyalty…" Draco thought.
"I don't…" Draco said.
"I don't give a fuck about Granger," Draco thought.
"I always suspected she was a dyke. Either that or Weasley turned her gay, wouldn't surprise me," Draco said, but even to his own ears it sounded like he was going through the motions of pulling an insult together.
Tracy's eyebrows came together and she regarded him as if he were a puzzle to figure out.
"You've changed," she said.
Draco was about to ask what she meant but she kept walking towards the exit of the common room. It was only then that Draco realised, just a year ago, he would have railed about blood traitors and mudbloods, and today it hadn't even crossed his mind.
"Hey Trace," Draco said just as she reached the exit.
She stopped and glanced over her shoulder. Draco looked around to ensure they were alone in the common room, then took three long strides to close the distance.
"What are you doing after graduation?" he asked quietly.
"Pff," Tracy replied as she blew a strand of blonde from her face, "fuck all, why?"
"I'm working on something and I need help," Draco said, "I can pay you. Not much, but it'll be a job."
"Doing what?" Tracey asked as she turned to face him fully.
"Potions stuff, maybe some herbology, easy work, but more than I can handle alone," Draco said.
The prefect thought about it for a moment, then shrugged her slender shoulders.
"Sure, why not?" she said, "do you need more than one? My cousin's looking for work too."
"Cousin… cousin… Shawn?" Draco thought.
"Err, probably. Is he any good?" Draco asked.
"He passed the Auror trials, but they won't hire him," Tracy replied, "fucking Ministry, they're actively discriminating against purebloods."
"An Auror?" Draco said, "that-"
Tracy seemed to pick up on his concern right away.
"He's okay," she said, "whatever it is, he knows how to keep his mouth shut. We can floo call him from my parents' if you want to talk to him first."
Draco nodded.
"Aright, let's do that," Draco said.
It might work out perfectly; if Shawn Davis was currently unemployed, Draco could definitely use him right away, and then after graduation, if what he'd heard was true, he'd probably have his pick of Slytherin graduates to hire, assuming everything hadn't fallen to shit by then.
Draco skipped up the steps towards Mary's apartment. Now that there was an actual possibility of them staying together, and he had actual cash in his pocket, he'd agreed to an actual date with her. He'd made reservations at Skyline, an upscale restaurant with a fantastic view of the sunset and city lit up at night, something unavailable in Wizarding Britain. He pushed open the door to find Darren sitting on the mouldy couch texting on his phone. Mary, clad in a small black cocktail dress, sat next to him with her knees held close together, but her arms were crossed and she wore a sour expression.
"Good, put this on, you're coming with me," Darren said as he tossed a windbreaker at Draco.
"The fuck I am," Draco said as he tossed the outerwear back at Darren, "we have reservations, what are you even doing here?"
Darren tucked his phone away.
"Got collections to make, and a few drops, and Bruno's meeting Martin," Darren replied, "Quaid's not answering, and Alan's busy with internet or clients or some shit, so that leaves you. Are you in, or out?"
Draco looked at Mary and her perfectly made-up face and his body immediately knew what it wanted to do. Draco also knew she would be furious if he cancelled their date, but on the other hand, Darren needed to make the drops to collect the cash so they could pay Martin his share, and it was too dangerous for him to go alone. Draco looked at Mary and took a breath.
"Fucking hell," Mary muttered as she ripped her heels off and stalked barefoot to the bedroom.
"Look I have to do this," Draco said.
"It's fine, I have studying to do anyway," Mary's voice echoed from the hallway.
Draco did not need legilimency to know it was, in fact, far from fine.
"I'll make it up to you," Draco called after her.
"You'd better!" Mary said, and she punctuated her statement with the slamming of her bedroom door.
"She'll get over it," Darren said as he held out the wind breaker, "let's go."
"You can't just drop in like this out of the blue," Draco said as he looked over his pressed slacks and dark shoes, "besides, I'm not dressed for this. At all."
"Believe me you're not my first choice, but if we don't pay Martin it's going to be ten times worse. And the clothes are fine, nobody cares," Darren replied.
They took the steps down and walked to the car park, the one with the hole in the wall. It was now covered over by plastic sheeting and bright orange cones stood nearby to warn people away. Darren led them to an unfamiliar car; Draco guessed it was a rental.
They strapped in and drove west towards the dipping sun. Draco pulled down the little blocker across the top of the windshield to keep the glare from his eyes. They drove for about ten minutes through the growing rush hour traffic, then parked on the side of the road in another run-down neighbourhood.
"Just keep quiet, let me do the talking," Darren said. They stepped out of the car and walked up to a rough looking teenager leaning against the side of a building. He stood up and glanced both ways as they approached.
"What've you got today?" Darren asked.
"Another good one, seven hundred," the boy said.
Darren nodded as he casually accepted a wad of cash as he passed by, then turned towards the wall to thumb through it quickly.
"I need more of that flavoured shit," the seller said.
"You and everyone else's mum," Darren said, "increase the prices 50% for that stuff, I'll have more in a week."
The boy nodded. They exchanged some kind of handshake, more of a series of bumps and taps, and Darren stuffed the wad in his pocket and kept walking. They circled around back to the car and strapped in again. Darren reached over to the glove compartment and pulled out several white envelopes and a pen, then contorted to pull the wad of cash out of his trouser pocket and handed it to Draco.
"Stuff that in there and label it #1," Darren said, "not like that you chimp. Down low, so nobody can see."
Draco leaned forward and stuffed the bills into the envelope beneath his legs as they drove off, then dropped the cash back into the glove compartment. It went like that for over two hours, collection after collection, envelope after envelope, sometimes on the street, sometimes in a flat or a small grocer, as late afternoon turned to sunset and twilight. Occasionally, someone asked who Draco was, but Darren simply said he was with Martin, and that was that. Draco kept a running mental tally of how much money they collected: over ten thousand. Draco's stomach reminded him he was supposed to have dinner with Mary, and he started to wonder just how many stops they had to make.
"Police," Darren said, "don't look, just keep walking."
Draco didn't see any police, but he did as he was told, and they walked straight past the dealer and stopped at a bustling restaurant.
"Good a time as any for dinner, hungry?" Darren asked.
"Yeah, how often do you do this?" Draco asked.
"All the fucking time," Darren replied, "not that I get to keep much of it."
Draco nodded. It made sense; Martin took the lion's share of the profits. That was the whole point of starting up the potions sales; he would get to keep all of it. They each ordered a pint, and Draco ordered a cheeseburger while Darren went for a meat pie.
"So what's he into, aside from what we're doing today?" Draco asked, as the beers arrived, being careful not to use Martin's name this time.
Darren clinked his glass against Draco's then took a long swig.
"We really doing this here?" Darren asked, "loans mostly, why?"
"I'm working on something," Draco said as he took a sip of the dark brown brew, "want to make sure I'm not stepping on toes."
Darren looked at Draco silently for a few seconds, then he shrugged.
"So are you gonna tell me what it is?" he asked.
"…nah, but Alan said you know everyone, right?" Draco asked.
"I guess I know a fair few," Darren said.
"Know any sports people? Like professional players, or agents, or even university coaches or players, those types of people?" Draco asked.
Darren got a calculating look on his face as he regarded Draco, as if trying to figure out exactly what his deal was.
"I might, what's it about?" Darren asked, "and which sports?"
Draco raised an eyebrow.
"It's about a finder's fee," Draco said, "any competitive sport, really, football, rugby, cricket, running, swimming. Anything people want to win."
Darren made a 'pshh' sound as he shook his head.
"Our boy's all grown up eh?" Darren said, "alright, let me think about it."
They finished their meal and made the collection from the dealer they passed earlier. It was only another five or six after that, and they were done for the evening. Darren dropped Draco off in front of Mary's, and Draco stepped up to press the button for the flat. It was a long several seconds before the door buzzed, letting him in. He took the stairs fully intending to apologise, but when he entered the apartment, Mary, now wearing a t-shirt and sweats, was washing dishes in the kitchenette and Bruno sat on the couch flipping channels. The boxer looked up as Draco entered, and Draco was about to launch into a tirade at him for ruining his date with Mary, but the murderous expression on the gang enforcer's face stopped him dead in his tracks. Draco stood in the doorway and almost reached for his wand.
"Better not wake me up," Bruno said suddenly, then he stood up and headed towards his room. Draco slowly shut the front door and walked to the kitchen.
"What's wrong with him?" Draco asked.
"No idea, stress maybe," Mary said, "he has a fight tomorrow."
She dropped a plate into the drying rack with a loud clang.
"I bought concert tickets, you owe me seventy-five quid," she said.
"Sorry?" Draco said.
"You said you'd make it up to me, so you're buying me concert tickets," Mary said, "and you're coming."
"Fine, whatever," Draco said. He moved close to kiss her neck, but caught her elbow in his ribs instead.
"Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all, "I'm knackered, just going to sleep. You can take the couch if you want, or head off to wherever."
She shouldered her way past him without making eye contact and walked towards the bedroom.
"Hang on, you think I want to do this?" Draco asked the back of her head, then he remembered Bruno's warning and lowered his voice, "did you forget the part where if I don't make Martin enough money in the next sixty-two days, he's going to kill me?"
That slowed her down, but she didn't turn around.
"And I can't let Darren go alone, it's too risky," Draco said.
"He's only doing it because you won't tell him what he wants to know," Mary said. Now she turned around, a mixture of anger and anxiety visible on her face even in the shadow of the hallway.
"Where do you go when you're not hanging out with us, with me?" she asked, "who are you with?"
"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," Draco replied with a smirk.
"Seriously," Mary said, "you can't even tell me?"
Draco considered coming clean with her, showing her magic and swearing her to secrecy. If he was going to have children with her, she'd need to know eventually, right? But he didn't know for sure if that's what he wanted to do.
"Soon," Draco said.
Mary nodded.
"Right," she said, then spun on her heel and marched into the bedroom.
"You can take the couch, or fuck off to wherever it is," she said, "I'll see you next week."
The sound of the door closing punctuated her statement.
The following Friday, Draco, already wearing jeans and muggle trainers, apparated from Hogsmeade to the Leaky Cauldron. He'd managed to exchange messages with Mary a few times during the week, and she didn't seem upset with him anymore. As he approached the brick wall, the exit to the muggle world, he noticed several witches and wizards standing about, and a table set up nearby. He tried to discern what was happening but then someone tapped him on the shoulder.
"Mr. Malfoy, step over here please?"
Draco glanced over to see blue Auror robes; thank Merlin it wasn't Potter or Weasley.
"Certainly, what's this about?" Draco asked as he was led away.
"Checkpoint for illegal substances," the Auror replied.
Draco's heart nearly leapt into his throat and the Fiend rattled its cage, but he tamped down his emotion with Occlumency. They entered a small, flimsy hut that looked like it had been conjured or transfigured specifically for this purpose. The Auror who had tapped him on the shoulder, a dark-haired man whose badge identified him as 'Jenkins', and a young brunette Auror with wide blue eyes named 'Moore', squeezed into the hut with him. Pure white walls reflected a ball of luminescence hanging near the ceiling to light the room, and a small counter sat at the far end of the hut.
"Put your belongings on the table please," the dark-haired Auror said as he started running a probity probe over him. It beeped when it reached his pouch.
"Is that mokeskin? Empty the pouch please," the Auror said.
"They don't know shit, otherwise you'd have been arrested already," Draco thought as he desperately tried to calm his racing heart. He placed his cane and wand on the counter, along with the canister of garlic and his magical glove.
"What's your business in muggle London today?" Jenkins asked.
"Going to see some people I met during my probation," Draco replied as smoothly as he could. It was true, after all, but he wanted to talk about his experiences in muggle London as little as possible. He decided to change the subject.
"Nobody else is being pulled aside for such a detailed search," Draco said.
"They don't have the history you do," Jenkins said.
Draco set several items down on the counter, including a potions rack with several modified potions in it, and his leather-bound journal with all his business plans and potions formulae in it. The potions rattled as he set them and the journal down almost carelessly, as if they were worthless.
"What are these?" Jenkins asked.
"Wiggenweld, wit-sharpening, things like that," Draco replied.
"Is that lightning in a bottle?" Jenkins asked as one of the potions flickered.
Draco winced. He'd forgotten about that.
"Yes," Draco replied.
"Do you have a license for it?" Jenkins asked.
"I haven't gotten around to it yet, but I will," Draco replied.
Auror Moore picked up the glove and the cane.
"Why do you need all this?" she asked.
"The cane is a family heirloom. My original wand was broken, and this new one doesn't work very well," Draco said, "I need to be able to protect myself. The Dark Lord's followers aren't too happy with me, and they're still out there somewhere."
She nodded, and Jenkins picked up the book with his finances, business plans, and formulae.
"What's this?" he asked.
"My journal, it's private," Draco said.
Jenkins' hand hovered over the cover as he considered paging through it anyway.
"Cast any diagnostic spell you need to, it's just parchment and leather, but you're not allowed to look through my personal writings or correspondence without a judge's approval," Draco said.
Jenkins placed the book back on the counter.
"Right, I'm handing you a citation for possession of a dangerous defensive item without a license, you'll need to apply at the Ministry," Jenkins said. He wrote in a small pad as he spoke, and tore off the paper as he finished.
"Fifty galleons," Draco thought as he read through it. Inwardly, he railed at the injustice of it all, and also calmed down significantly as it appeared he'd get through with only a relatively small fine. He folded it up and tucked it into his pocket.
"Better put on a show," he thought.
"This is outrageous," he said, "you can't find the Death Eaters so I need to defend myself, and then you fine me for it? If I get ambushed out there what am I supposed to do, wait for Auror Jenkins to come rescue me? I'll be lodging a formal complaint; we'll see if this citation stands up in court."
"That is your right," Jenkins said, "You may be Lord Malfoy, but you're subject to the same laws as the rest of us."
Draco sneered.
"Apparently not, as I'm the only one in this booth," Draco said, "now, am I free to go?"
Jenkins opened the door and sunlight flooded in. Draco took his time gathering his belongings, and then strode out without another word. He checked the street from inside the Leaky, and it wasn't until he was a full hundred meters away that his hands started shaking.
"That was bloody close," he thought. The current plan called for bringing a shipment of weed through tomorrow, if that checkpoint had happened a day later…
Apparently, Mary had forgiven him, because she ambushed him as he entered the flat, and dragged him to bed. They took a break for dinner and then were right back at it, and Draco spent the evening sleeping next to her. Stroking her arm as she clung to him in her sleep, her slim naked body pressed against his, convinced him more than ever that he had find a way to make their relationship work. The following morning, he returned to the Manor to pick up the next shipment for Darren. It was the largest to date, and Draco had trouble carrying it all on his back. He'd found that shrinking and enlarging the weed caused some of it to lose its flavour, so he'd taken to carrying it through to muggle London in backpacks. With the risk of being stopped and searched by Aurors though, that option was off the table. Even featherweighted, he struggled to situate the two bags comfortably, and ended with one slung across his back and the other carried in his left hand.
"Destination, Determination, Deliberation," he thought, and turned.
*crack*
He appeared in the abandoned warehouse where he'd delivered the first batch to Darren. Draco set the bags down with a swirl of dust and small debris, and felt a draft on his foot. He looked down to see the laces and tongue of his trainer had completely vanished, exposing his sock.
"Fuck, nearly splinched myself," he thought, "lucky that wasn't a toe, or a foot. Should have made two trips."
Missing a limb would have been interesting to explain. Apparition was only a temporary solution; the more times he did it, especially in rapid succession, the more likely he'd screw up and seriously splinch himself, especially with a wand that wasn't his. He looked around for the missing piece of footwear, then gave it up as a lost cause. Draco turned his phone on and received a message from Darren asking if he was ready.
"I'm here," Draco tapped out.
A few minutes later, a car rolled into the loading area of the warehouse, and Draco opened the rusty metal door. His eyes widened and he slammed the door shut again.
"Fuck," Draco thought. He pulled out his wand and cancelled the featherweight charms, then stowed the wand again just as Darren approached.
"That was close," Draco thought as he reopened the door.
"Where's your car?" Darren asked as he entered.
"Took your advice and didn't use one," Draco replied as he bent over and hefted one of the bags.
"How'd you get this here then, boat?" Darren asked as he picked up the other.
"Don't worry about it," Draco replied.
"This is the good stuff, right?" Darren asked as they loaded the bags into the trunk of the car.
Draco nodded.
"We're still behind schedule, you going to be able to make up the difference?" Darren asked.
"I bloody well know we're behind schedule, it's about all I can think about," Draco thought, but he did his best not to let the stress show on his expression.
"Should be; I have more bottles now, can cure more at once," Draco said.
"It's not hopeless. Worst case, I can use curing solution," Draco thought.
Darren nodded.
"Don't miss," he said, "do you need a ride?"
Draco shook his head.
"No thanks, I'm fine," he said, "I'll see you later."
Darren nodded and, obviously with splitting up of the goods and then deliveries to make, headed out. Draco waited until he was out of sight and then apparated back to the Manor. Pride warred with necessity, and he hesitated. Shawn Davis had not been home when Tracy floo called, and Draco did not want to risk sending an owl, but he still needed help.
"Do I really want to ask Mother?" he thought, "sod it, if she can help, it would be foolish not to ask."
"Mother?" he called.
There was no response, and he started walking the empty halls. He found her in the drawing room by the window. The curtains lay tied wide open so the golden sun shone on her face. A silver lunch platter rested on the table in front of her, and beside it, a burnt-out joint sat discarded in a glass ashtray.
"No need to be so loud, Draco," she said as she set her fork down.
"At least she's eating," Draco thought.
"Good news, demand is high, business is growing," Draco said, "bad news, volume is going up and I need a way to reliably move goods to muggle London, one that isn't apparition."
He gestured to his splinched shoe.
"Do I look like a shipping agent?" his mother replied.
Draco sighed heavily and carried a chair over to sit down adjacent to her at the drawing room table, close enough to see her bloodshot eyes.
"No, but you're about the only other person on the planet who knows what's going on, and I'm out of ideas," he said.
"You shrank them before," Narcissa said.
"Ruins the flavour," Draco said.
She paused to think, then snickered at some thought that flitted across her stoned mind. Normally, Draco would find the image of his mother high as a kite hilarious, but right at this moment, there was not a moment to spare.
"Bloody hell Mother, could you focus for a second?" he said.
"Language," Narcissa said, more out of reflex than anything else.
"If only there was a family that pioneered and made profitable a method and infrastructure to move people and objects quickly and safely," a male voice said from the entrance to the room.
Draco looked over to see the imposing figure of his ancestor, Septimus Malfoy, in his painting frame above the doorway. He turned back to Narcissa.
"What's he talking about?" Draco asked, but his mother seemed not to have heard.
"The head of House Malfoy does not know his own history? Truly, this is a sad state of affairs," Septimus said.
"Fucking pervert," Narcissa whispered.
Draco resisted the dual urges to cheekily remind her to mind her language or inquire as to what had happened, and instead stood up and walked to the door. He looked closely and noted that the hawthorn wand he currently claimed as his own rested easily in the portrait's hand.
"My father probably intended to tell me, but he is gone before his time," Draco said, "I am working to rebuild our legacy."
Septimus Malfoy glanced across the room with an odd expression Draco couldn't quite place, something between disdain and disappointment, then returned his expression to Draco.
"Are you really going to make me ask?" Draco asked.
"That is typically how one approaches his elders for advice," Septimus replied.
Draco pursed his lips in annoyance.
"Great-grandfather, I would very much appreciate any information you might have that would help me in my current dilemma," Draco said, "please."
"I suppose it will have to suffice," Septimus said, "the Malfoy family was always well-to-do, but it was I that catapulted us into the elite of society. Wealth can come from many places, but the most secure is ownership of those things that allow a society to function, in our case, the floo network."
Draco knew that they had had partial ownership of the floo, unfortunately confiscated as part of the war reparations, fucking Ministry. That aside, there was a very good reason why Draco had discarded the thought of transporting tons of weed that way.
"The floo is monitored by the Ministry, there's no way I could move anything through there, not in the amounts I need," Draco said.
Septimus' steel grey eyes glittered.
"Not if you set up your own private tunnel," the portrait said with a knowing smile.
Draco was confused.
"I wouldn't even know how to get started," he said.
Septimus looked across the room again.
"Dear Cissy should be able to help you," he said. Then the portrait returned to its usual pose, and Draco knew it would not answer any more questions for some time.
"What's he talking about?" Draco asked.
Narcissa muttered something about the sunlight only lasting another hour, but she stood up and led Draco out of the room.
"What happened between you and great-grandfather?" Draco asked.
"Nothing you need concern yourself with," his mother replied, "it is history that I would prefer to leave buried in the past."
She led him to the library where they walked the rows, as Narcissa scanned the titles. She turned down an aisle and stopped in front of a pair of old, dark leather tomes.
"Here, these are the volumes on the floo network, a record of events and meetings, and the plans for it all," she said.
"Including the formula for floo powder?" Draco asked, incredulous.
"Probably not," Narcissa replied, "we only ever had partial ownership, and the Ministry controlled the network and production of the powder."
Draco drew his wand, noted how Mother's eyes narrowed when she saw it, and he waved it a few times to levitate the set of books to the floor. Draco sat cross-legged on the ground and paged through the first, while his mother picked up the other. Draco skimmed what appeared to be a handwritten history of the pioneers of the floo network, before it was purchased and expanded by Septimus Malfoy and the Ministry.
"Here," his mother said, and she knelt down with her book opened about halfway. It was a schematic of a fireplace. Draco looked it over and flipped through the next several pages.
"It's not that dissimilar to a Vanishing Cabinet," he thought. Setting up a hub like the Ministry used, one that would allow anyone to travel from one fireplace to any other, would be incredibly difficult… but he didn't have to. There were more than enough fireplaces in the Manor, and he could link any of them with a specific muggle fireplace, as long as it wasn't already on the Ministry network. His thoughts whirled with the possibilities.
"This will work," Draco said as he stood up with the book in hand, still reading, "I'll need your help to test it… and I need to find a fireplace on the other side to use, but… yes, this will work."
"There were some abandoned houses in Tilbury," he thought, "that would be perfect."
He carried the tome to the nearest fireplace, set it on the floor, and got to work.
Draco stepped quickly through the drizzle and pressed the small button. A faint 'ding-dong' echoed through the door as the bell chimed. Pam Baker, wearing a yellow sundress despite the rain, opened the door and flashed a perfect smile.
"Hi Drake, quick," she said as she stepped back to let him in. Draco closed the door behind him and stopped on the small doormat. Normally he would dry his shoes to avoid tracking water through their home, but he couldn't cast a drying charm in front of Pam and Michael. He noted Pam's bare feet as she moved to the kitchen and let his backpack drop to the floor to unlace his trainers. He left them by the door, then pulled his socks up a bit in an attempt to make them somewhat more presentable.
"Dinner's almost ready, the boys are over there," Pam said as she peered into the oven, "did you bring it?"
Draco smirked and withdrew a pair of small baggies from his pocket.
"Vanilla, and this one is apple," he said as he placed them on the counter.
"Oooh, definitely going to try them out later," Pam said as she pocketed the weed, "how much?"
"On the house," Draco replied.
Pam was about to reply when they were interrupted by Michael calling from the other room.
"Drake, bring a couple of brews with you," he said.
Draco opened the fridge, pulled out three bottles, and brought them to the living room. Michael and another bloke Drake didn't recognize reclined on the couch watching football.
"Drake, this is Peter," Michael said. Extremely fit and with an easy movement, Peter wore days old stubble on his face. He stood up to shake hands, and Draco deposited the beer on the coffee table and set his bag down next to it, then had his hand crushed by Peter.
"Hi," Peter said, "Michael's mentioned you once or twice."
"Okay, this is definitely a pro sports player," Draco thought as he flexed his fingers and sat down, then reached out for the bottle opener to prise open the caps.
The three of them clinked bottles.
"Do you have it?" Michael asked before Draco had even finished swallowing.
Draco glanced at Peter, then looked at Michael.
"He knows," Michael said.
"Right," Draco said as reached for his backpack.
"We'll be back," Michael said as he stood up. Draco followed him up to the master bedroom, where thick cream coloured carpeting covered the entire floor. A king-sized bed with solid bedposts and a dark wooden headboard sat against one wall, with a similarly dark stained large bureau and mirror opposite.
"Cash first," Draco said.
Michael opened a bureau drawer and withdrew a white envelope. Draco opened it to thumb through the stack of bills inside, then, satisfied that it was at least roughly the right amount, he folded it and stuffed it into his pocket. He unslung his backpack and pulled out four vials, each lightly engraved with the SAS symbol, and set them on the bureau.
"Two each, these are for strength, these are for stamina," Draco said, "they'll last about an hour each, long enough for a game I guess."
"The bottles are different, are you sure they'll work as well as the last ones?" Michael asked as he inspected the vials.
"They'll work, just don't take them all at once," Draco said, "adding more won't increase the effects… in fact it might do the opposite."
"What? That makes no sense," Michael said.
Draco shrugged.
"I'm not replacing them if you don't follow instructions," he said.
Michael didn't reply, but he seemed to realise he was inspecting the bottles one by one and had gone through all of them twice over. He stuffed them inside one of the dresser drawers and closed it.
"Right, Peter is my teammate," Michael said, "he's interested as well."
"Yeah okay, I'll talk to him," Draco said, "if you like those and you want more discounted doses, you can introduce more blokes to me."
"We'll see," Michael said.
"Mike! Drake! Dinner!" Pam yelled from downstairs.
They shook hands and descended as the fragrant smell of meatloaf filled the house. Pam cracked the sliding glass door near the rear patio as she smoked, and the juicy meat along with au gratin potatoes and apple scented marijuana had Draco's mouth watering. Peter sat down and helped himself to a large portion of meatloaf.
"Whoa, this is fantastic," Pam said between puffs, "do you have any more?"
"Of course; we can talk," Draco replied, "Let's eat first though, it all looks and smells delicious."
"There must be betting houses though," Draco said.
"Yeah, you can bet on anything, but why the interest all of a sudden?" Darren asked.
"I just have a hunch," Draco said.
Darren rolled his eyes.
"I have a hunch that this is tied to whatever it is you're working on and won't tell me about," Darren said, "and not like I don't have anything better to do, but fuck it, let's go."
The drug dealer led Draco through several twisting streets across the wet pavement, until they arrived at their destination. They entered through revolving doors into a massive room with dozens of chairs facing numerous screens that nearly filled the entire wall. Most were dark with multicoloured numbers and letters, but several were normal televisions displaying sports games or horse races in progress. Beneath the screens, workers sat behind a long counter. Several of the numerous chairs set up to face the screens were occupied, mostly by men, who to Draco's estimation appeared deeply invested in what was happening on the screens, but were attempting to appear nonchalant. Draco tried to make heads or tails of the glowing numbers on the boards, but none of it made sense to him.
"Right, what are we betting on?" Darren asked.
"What are the odds on the Mercer Killer Bees to win the rugby championship?" Draco asked.
Darren narrowed his eyes.
"They're a bubble team, they might not even make the playoffs. Are you sure?" Darren asked.
Draco nodded, and Darren looked up at the screens for a moment.
"It's one in twenty," Darren replied.
"Great, how do we bet on it?" Draco asked. Darren led him up to the counters, where Draco placed ten fifty-pound notes on the counter. Once Peter and Michael both knew how well the potions worked, Draco was fairly certain he could convince the rest of the team to start. They still might not win, but they would definitely have better odds than what the bookies were giving them, and in Draco's mind, that was a good bet.
Darren glanced at the notes and then gave Draco a long, appraising look, one that simultaneously said 'are you mad?' and 'what do you know that I don't?'
"Probably should have returned by myself after I figured out how to place a bet," Draco thought, "then again, I don't really have the time, and I'm not even sure I could find this place again. Sod it, too late now."
"Actually, can I place bets for each Bee game all the way through?" Draco asked.
"You certainly can," the woman behind the counter said.
"Right, let's make it a thousand pounds, and spread it evenly over each of their last two matches, and each round of the playoffs," Draco said.
"Same bet for me," Darren said, "make it two hundred spread across though."
They walked out a few minutes later, into the warm, overcast afternoon, each with their ticket stubs.
"Don't miss any shipments," Darren said.
Mary linked her arm through Draco's elbow as they approached the stadium. Concertgoers on the walkways next to the roads increased in density until it seemed they formed a large, wide river, a mass of young people trekking on some kind of pilgrimage. Most wore similar casual outfits: t-shirts and jeans.
"This is going to be so amazing!" Mary said. Draco glanced over at her as she buzzed with anticipation, and she looked as healthy as he'd ever seen her. Thoughts of sharing a life flitted through his mind again, and she caught him staring.
"What?" she asked with a smile.
"Nothing," Draco replied, "you look good."
Mary rolled her eyes.
"Just glad to be out of the flat, to be honest," Mary said, "Bruno's been brooding for days since he lost that fight."
Then they passed through security and metal detectors, much like they had for the rugby match six months earlier, and into the stadium. An anticipatory buzz filled the venue, and Mary led Draco down past the seats and onto the field. A large stage had been set up at one end of the grass, and dozens of massive speakers and a pair of huge screens flanked both sides. The crowd grew dense as they approached the front, until they ended up squeezing between people to get within three or four rows from the barrier separating the crowd from the no-man's land in front of the performance area. The heat and press of sweaty bodies was oppressive, and Draco almost felt like they were closing in on him and he needed to escape. He compartmentalised his mind, kept the disgust at being surrounded by so many muggles, all excreting their body fluids and odours into the air around him, and focused on Mary standing next to him, how she bounced up and down waiting for the band to appear. Finally, after what seemed like an hour of standing around surrounded by sweaty, stinking, muggles, the lights dimmed, and a roar grew from the crowd. Someone shoved Draco from behind and he twisted to shove back, only to see a swell of people surging forward like a tide as everyone pushed closer to the stage. He stayed on his feet and saw movement on stage, nothing distinct, until the lights abruptly switched on again to reveal a pale red-headed woman wearing a sleeveless shirt, sequins sparkling in the stage lights as she stood before the mic stand. Draco finally understood where Mary took inspiration for her change in style: the dyed hair, the heavier makeup, she'd been emulating this singer.
The band, all older looking men on guitars and drums, launched into a powerful rock song. The sound vibrated through his chest, and Draco could barely make out the melody due to the sheer volume overloading his eardrums, but he definitely felt the energy pouring from the crowd.
"Oh my God, I love her," Mary shouted in his ear, and Draco soaked it all in as the band switched from one song to another, with the lead singer alternately crooning slower numbers or strutting about during instrumentals. At one point she said something about making music for those who just never quite fit in, her Scottish accent even thicker than McGonagall's, and her words seemed to strike something deep within him. He didn't fit in at Hogwarts, not anymore, and not in Wizarding society, not unless he was paying someone, and even then, it wasn't a sure thing. He certainly didn't fit in with the muggles.
"Where does that leave me?" he thought.
He held Mary's hand, bounced along with the crowd, let himself get lost in the overwhelming sensation of the music and lights, elbowed muggles when they got too close, and shouted himself hoarse for an encore. Then it was done. The stadium lights switched on, shining down on the field and the tired but exhilarated concertgoers. Draco's ears rang in the aftermath as they walked to the nearest Tube entrance, then he balked at the crowds jamming the stairway.
"F that, let's walk," Draco said.
He took Mary by the hand and led her through the streets of London for a few minutes, until Draco spotted a free taxi driving by and practically leapt in front of it to flag it down. They piled into the back seat and Draco gave the cabbie the address for Mary's flat.
"That was so great, don't you think? I've always wanted to see them live," Mary said. Her voice sounded muffled over the aftermath of the concert still ringing in Draco's ears.
"It definitely was something," Draco replied. He caught a glimpse of her face in the light of a street lamp, rosy cheeked from the excitement and heat of the concert, then he pulled her close to kiss her on the lips. The sharp salt of her sweat hit his tongue but Draco didn't care; his lips must be much the same. She kissed him back and they grew steadily more heated until the cabbie yelled at them to knock it off. Mary pulled back with a smirk and fondled him through his trousers until they arrived. They raced up the steps but as they entered the apartment and Draco tried to kiss her again, Mary turned her head so he landed on her cheek.
"Shower first," Mary said, "we're not going to bed like this."
He supposed he could wait a few minutes. Mary went first, and Draco considered the logistics of perhaps joining her in the shower, then determined the old tub was not large enough for the two of them to comfortably stand in. He hit himself with a contraceptive charm instead. She walked by him in a pair of towels, one wrapped around her torso and the other twisted about her hair, and then it was Draco's turn; he didn't think he'd ever showered so fast in his life. Even so, the stream of water started turning cold just as he finished rinsing. Without anything clean to change into, he chanced carrying his clothes to her room while wearing a towel around his waist. Luckily, Bruno was either in his room or outside, and Draco made it unseen and shut the door behind him. Mary lay with her comforter pulled up to her neck, one towel still wrapped around her hair and the other draped over the back of her chair. Draco reached out and slid the comforter back to bare her breasts, then let his towel drop to the floor as he slipped into the bed next to her, fully intent on punctuating a glorious end to an excellent day.
It wasn't until Sunday night when he returned to the Manor that Draco finally made up his mind to take the first step to try and make it possible for he and Mary to stay together long term. He sat at his desk in the Manor study, door locked, unfurled a clean piece of parchment, uncapped a new inkwell, dipped his quill, and began writing.
Dear Aunt Andromeda,