Harry Potter belongs to JKR
Chapter 41
Warning: Cursing
Draco's cane clicked on the stone walkway as he passed the ruined fountain on his way to the Manor. Consumed by his thoughts, he didn't even spare it a passing glance. The double doors opened on their own as he climbed the steps. He stopped in front of the hall mirror and realised he still wore his plum coloured Wizengamot robes. He shrugged out of them and threw them over one arm.
"And?" his mother's voice echoed. He looked up to see her fully dressed in a light green summer robe.
"Azkaban for life," Draco said.
Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly.
"So, she did get her hopes up despite promising she wouldn't," Draco thought.
The Ministry letter had arrived with only a little more than a day's notice to the trial, and despite being extremely busy, it was one meeting Draco couldn't afford to miss. Truth be told, he might not have known about it at all if not for Pansy. Once the news hit the Prophet, she'd taken to quizzing the team about what they knew, and then eventually Draco himself. That led to him seeking out the newspaper and reading up, then sharing it with Mother. The official trial notice arrived less than a week later.
"My eldest sister lives, but I can't visit her," Narcissa said, "my other sister knows where I am, and has chosen not to respond. I believe it is an appropriate time for a drink."
She shuffled off toward the cellar.
"Not too much," Draco called after her, but she did not acknowledge him.
Andromeda had yet to respond to Draco's entreaty, neither by visit, nor floo or owl. Every time Draco considered pressing her, he figured he would give her at least one more day, and today was no different.
"Does Aunt Bella being alive change anything?" Draco thought. He worked through the implications for a few seconds, but eventually came to the conclusion that, as she was never getting out of prison, her somehow surviving the battle actually changed very little.
"Still can't bloody believe it," he thought as he descended the steps to his new potions laboratory. As much as he tried to focus on testing the formulae for several new soil infusions for weed flavours though, thoughts of the trial kept interrupting.
"Did Granger know all along?" Draco thought. He recalled when Tracy told him they were dating. While he found it difficult to believe Granger would willingly date someone like Aunt Bella, even if she were somehow magically younger, the thought of Aunt Bellatrix having anything to do with a muggleborn was well beyond difficult to imagine.
"She couldn't have known," Draco thought, "and Aunt Bella… even if she didn't have all her memories, Merlin knows what was going on there. Bloody hell, this doesn't make any sense."
The way Granger had argued to defend her, the way she'd reacted when the verdict was read, made it clear she was emotionally invested. Despite being practically mortal enemies, he almost wanted to owl her to find out the full story… almost. It did involve his family, after all. The brew in front of him started boiling furiously and threatened to spill over.
"Fuck," Draco muttered as he shifted the cauldron off the heat before it ignited. It was only then he remembered that Julia White had written him asking for employment.
"Shit, was that to gain access to the Manor? And Mother?" Draco thought, "not that it matters anymore..."
His mind played out how things might have been different had Aunt Bella approached him while they were at Hogwarts together.
"Nundu balls, I can't get anything done,"he thought. He doused the heat and climbed the steps again and through the summer humidity as he followed the path to the greenhouses. It was even hotter inside. Shawn noticed him first as he entered the one closest to the Manor. The trained Auror cocked his head to the side to wordlessly ask how it went.
"Life in Azkaban, no Kiss," Draco said.
"I was actually asking if you had our pay for the week," Shawn replied as he put a hand out. Pansy and Daphne appeared out of the foliage.
"Bloody hell, that's right, payday," Draco muttered.
He fished out several galleons and distributed them to the group. With the sale of the European properties complete, all except the beachfront home on the French Riviera, he had enough gold to expand operations and pay the team for several months at least.
"So… what happens now?" Pansy asked.
"Now? We get back to work. We have quotas to meet and these plants won't grow themselves," Draco replied.
Thankfully, nobody pointed out that they would, in fact, grow by themselves, just much slower without magic spurring them on.
"Where's Tracy?" Draco asked.
"Greenhouse three," Daphne replied.
"Right," Draco said.
Draco hiked over to the third greenhouse and found the former prefect, sleeves rolled up past her elbows, mixing flavour infusion into a large tub of rich soil.
"Afternoon Draco," she said as she continued churning.
"Hey Trace," Draco said, "I have a special job for you tomorrow."
She stopped churning and stood up straight, her pale forearms covered in dirt, to give him her full attention.
"Take Pansy and head to Diagon, look for two lots, one close to the entrance at the Leaky that can serve as a shopfront, and one close to Knockturn we can use as a back office and research workshop," he said.
She arched a single eyebrow.
"Pansy?" Tracy asked, "why aren't you coming, another meeting?"
"Yes, and I want to get moving on this yesterday," Draco replied.
Tracy stared at him, demanding more of an explanation, and he sighed.
"Fine, this limits the amount of damage she can do," he added, "who knows, maybe she'll have an eye for this sort of thing, she's got to be good at something."
Tracy chewed the inside of her check for a second.
"A day touring around Diagon with Pansy? You owe me," Tracy said.
"I'll make it up to you," Draco said, "do you mind closing the greenhouses tonight? Just give them a once over before you go. Honestly, I can't trust anyone else to do it without stuffing it up."
Tracy nodded and got back to mixing.
"Good luck," she said. He made his way back to the fountain, and apparated to Diagon.
An hour later, Draco sat in Darren's modified car as the engine roared. Draco was pressed back in his seat as they accelerated onto the motorway. The engine hissed and took on a lower pitch as the drug dealer shifted gears, and then they were cruising towards the suburbs and a meeting with Martin O'Donnell.
"Haven't heard anything about the match, so I think we're clear," Darren said as he smoothly overtook another car, "word is the weed really saved his da's arse after some casino scheme literally went up in smoke, so hopefully that means we'll be able to bargain for a bigger cut."
"Casino scheme… casino…" Draco thought. Something rattled around in his memory, something about a casino, and a fire, and then it hit him, the botched Ministry raid on a casino in Scotland.
"Don't bring up that incident in warehouse unless he does. We get this squared away, get us some breathing room, and tomorrow I've got two, maybe three meetings lined up with uni coaches and five with students… oi, you paying attention?" Darren asked.
"Wha-? Yeah, meetings with uni coaches," Draco replied, "how many samples should I bring?"
"One for each of them," Darren said, "strength and stamina stuff for the coaches, the brain juice and hangover cure for the kids. Just enough to get them to the table, that's all we need, then you leave the rest to me."
Draco only half paid attention as Darren talked about various methods of converting prospects to customers, and the differences between selling to students and university employees.
"The Death Eaters and Martin's father had been working together to fleece money from muggles through the casino. The DMLE is looking for the rest of the Death Eaters… if Martin's father is still working with them, I could tip them off… all they'd have to do is watch O'Donnell senior, and wait for the Dark Lord's old sycophants to show up," Draco thought, "that might get the rest of the Inner Circle caught or killed, and then they'd be out of my hair forever. I might even be able to swing a reward out of it."
He smirked. The prospect of reducing or eliminating the remaining reparations was an alluring one. Not to mention with the Death Eaters gone, he would be able to move more openly without having to worry about being ambushed everywhere he went.
"Don't be hasty, think it through…" Draco thought, "you go in and tell them you know where Death Eaters are… they'd probably assume you're working with them. At the very least, they'll demand to know how you knew. They might even question you under Veritaserum… and what would they find out… That you were snorting illegal muggle drugs? That you're selling weed and potions to muggles via a criminal network? That you're sleeping with a muggle?"
Suddenly the thought of trying to parlay a tip-off into concessions or an outright reward didn't seem so appealing… but there was always the possibility of an anonymous tip.
"What if they fuck it up like the casino though?" Draco thought, "a whole bunch of people might get killed, and there goes most of the weed revenue."
He glanced at Darren sitting next to him, and an image of Mary's smirk flashed across his mind's eye.
"Unlikely Mary would be anywhere nearby, but you never know," Draco thought, "plus if they do fuck it up and word gets around it was me that tipped them off… well, there goes all the cash, and then the reparations will fuck me in the arse."
They slowed down as Darren steered them off the motorway.
"You never know, you might need an Escape Card down the line," Draco thought, "better to hang on to it for now, wait for an opportunity, at least until you've made some more money."
Draco suspected they were nearby Martin's house, but he didn't recognise any of the streets. Darren steered them to a small, winding road flanked by gentle rises, and eventually pulled into a parking lot beneath a sign displaying a green shamrock and the word 'PUB' in neon green lights.
"Another Irish pub?" Draco asked.
"Martin thinks English beer is shite, so he owns a string of pubs all across England and imports the bloody water," Darren replied as he switched off the engine, "Bit daft if you ask me, but don't tell him I said that."
They walked across the parking lot, still damp in the shade from a drizzle earlier in the day, and entered through the heavy wooden door. This early in the day, the pub was all but deserted. It was a cosy place with televisions in two corners near the ceiling, currently off, and a large bar against the far wall. A door behind the bar was left slightly ajar, and faint kitchen noises could be heard drifting out into the main taproom. Martin, easily identifiable by his stocky build, sat in the back corner, eating what looked like steak and potatoes. Draco noted two heavyset men seated two booths away from Martin glance in their direction as they opened the door, then they went back to playing cards.
"Ladies first," Draco said as he motioned for Darren to take the lead. The two young men walked across the wooden pub floor, and one of the heavyset men stood up to intercept them, checked them for weapons, then nodded for them to proceed. Draco and Darren and sat down opposite the stocky gangster.
"Oi, Liam," Martin said. A dark-haired middle-aged man with a missing front tooth stuck his head out from the kitchen. Martin held up three fingers and Liam nodded. Less than a minute later, three fresh mugs of what looked like an Irish stout beer were delivered to their table.
"Right, Darren tells me we're ahead of schedule for next month's delivery," Martin said with his distinct Irish accent. He tilted his head slightly to one side, as if asking Draco to confirm.
Draco nodded. With a half-dozen people working on producing and infusing the weed, they'd managed to exceed the ridiculous quota Draco had agreed to, and as they refined their techniques, each batch was coming larger and faster than the last.
"Listen, about before, in the warehouse… you understand, it's no' personal, it's just business," Martin said, "no offense."
Draco blinked. After having to conceal his horror as the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters tortured and killed people right in front of him, for weeks on end, Draco's mask didn't even twitch in the slightest. On the inside though, he seethed.
"The nerve of this arsehole. He was about to kill me, and now he wants to brush it off like it was nothing?" he thought.
"Of course," Draco heard himself reply, "I might have done the same thing if I were in your position. I can only hope I've proven my worth."
Martin scrutinised him for a few seconds.
"Aye. Ye know, I always go wit me gut," Martin said, "and me gut telled me ye were a wild card, but Darren and Bruno vouched for ye, so here we are."
He raised his mug, and the three of them clanked glasses. A little bit of brew splashed onto the table, but they all drank simultaneously.
"Ahh, that's the stuff," Martin said as Draco used a serviette to wipe the corner of his mouth.
"It wasn't easy," Draco said, "I had to move mountains to get all this to you in time."
"If it were easy, everyone would do it," Martin replied.
"Yeah, but it's too much, I'll be glad when the last shipment is done," Draco said as he leaned back. He saw Martin's eyes widen for just a tiny fraction of a second, but it was enough; the gangster needed him.
"I was thinkin', maybe we continue the arrangement until the end o' the year," Martin said.
Draco shook his head.
"It's not worth it for me, you don't know the kind of strings I had to pull to get this out, pay premium rates…" Draco said.
"If yer anglin' for a bigger cut, I'll tell ye right now, there ain't much profit to be sharin', not after dues," Martin replied coolly.
Draco leaned forward.
"Come on. I know exactly how much you're making per ounce, and it's borderline criminal," Draco said, "all I'm asking for is a fair arrangement."
Martin fixed his gaze on Darren, who merely shrugged.
"With the amount we're putting out? Everyone knows the going rates," he replied, "we could raise prices. It's good stuff and nobody else has the flavours."
Martin made a face like he'd smelled something foul. Draco saw an opportunity to press the advantage.
"It's business, right? I'm telling you, continuing just isn't worth it for me. I'm not opposed to producing more, but if we want to keep going, we need to talk about the rates," Draco replied.
Martin stroked the side of his mug a couple times, then smirked.
"Right then, let's talk," he said, and they got down to the nitty gritty. It was quite a different conversation from when Martin had him literally at gunpoint. Given the amount of cash flowing into Martin's organisation courtesy of Draco, it only proved the point that when it came to negotiation, leverage was everything. Darren chimed in with ideas on potentially having a limited run of other flavours to sell at a premium to select clients. Martin made some token attempts to find out more about Draco's past, but generally it seemed that as long as the weed and the money kept flowing, he didn't much care. As they went back and forth, a few more patrons entered the pub, but all of them chose to sit far away from Martin's booth. In the end, they shook hands over the table and shared a second pint.
"Not as much as I wanted, but definitely more per kilo than before," Draco thought, "higher quota too, and now with the staff more or less up and running, plus the potions lab, we'll be able to meet it no problem."
He mentally tabulated how much this latest agreement would eventually net him. It still wasn't near enough to clear what he owed to the Ministry, but it would allow him to put a sizable dent into it.
"Maybe a few years, depending on how the potions go," Draco thought. He fought against a smile at how his fortunes had changed, and a kind of giddiness flooded through him.
"Heard you were making a lot of money in sports," Draco said. He felt Darren stiffen next to him.
"Heh, luck o' the Irish," Martin replied as he sliced off a morsel of steak and shoved it in his mouth.
"Any chance I could get in on that?" Draco asked.
Martin's expression became more serious as he simultaneously chewed and regarded Draco. He swallowed and pointed his fork in Draco's general direction.
"No, because I don't know shite about ye," Martin replied, "ye're not talkin'? Fine, keep yer secrets, but you stay in yer feckin' lane."
"Can't blame a bloke for asking," Draco said quietly.
"Just hit yer feckin' numbers," Martin said as he dropped his voice as well, "an' don't come to me with stupid shite."
"I'll hit the targets, long as the money keeps flowing," Draco said.
"Seems we have an understandin', now get the feck out," Martin said.
Draco stood up and led the way out into the late dusk, and Darren stayed quiet as they got into the car. As soon as the doors slammed shut, he exploded at Draco.
"What the fuck was that? How hard is it to keep your bloody mouth shut?" Darren asked.
"I dunno, figured it was worth a shot," Draco replied.
"Worth a shot? For what? You're gonna cost us a finger, or our bloody heads," Darren said, "we had it, we were done, shitloads more money, on Martin's good side for a change, all we had to do was say thank you very much and get the fuck out of there! Why the fuck did you have to open your chimpy mouth?"
Not that losing a finger would be much more than a temporary problem; without Dark magic causing the injury, Draco was fairly certain he could get it re-attached or re-grown. Losing his head was another story.
"I dunno, wasn't thinking I guess," Draco replied, far too casually even by his own estimation.
"That's the problem with you, dumb as a fucking rock sometimes," Darren said as he shook his head, "how about let me do the talking from now on."
They accelerated back towards London and Darren stayed quiet all the way until he dropped Draco in front of Mary's flat.
"Remember, eight am tomorrow," Darren said.
"Right," Draco replied.
Draco watched as Darren's tail lights vanished into the night, then pressed the button for the flat. It took a moment for her to answer.
"Hey it's me," he said, and was rewarded with a long buzz to let him into the building.
Mary, dressed casually in running shorts and a black tank top, waited by the door to greet him with a long, passionate kiss.
"Don't just stand there, come in," she said once they broke apart.
"How is everything?" Draco asked. What he really wanted to know was if his compulsion was holding, but he couldn't just come right out and ask.
"Been working a lot," Mary replied, "want anything to drink?"
"Water," Draco replied.
Mary filled a glass for him.
"I shopped around a bit. Tuition for the universities that offer vet programs is bloody expensive," Mary said.
"Oh yeah, how much?" Draco asked.
"It's a thousand pounds a year," Mary replied, "used to be free, but seems the wankers in charge decided that wouldn't work."
"Hmm. Can Bruno help?" Draco asked.
"Funny that, he told me to ask you," Mary said with a sheepish grin.
Draco made a few mental calculations based off his new rate with Martin.
"When's the first one due?" he asked.
"August or September," Mary replied.
He shrugged.
"Shouldn't be a problem," he said, "I'll have the cash in a few weeks."
She all but leapt into his arms, and he struggled to balance with her kissing him and trying to ensure the water didn't spill.
"Oof… really, it's not that big of a deal, it's only a thousand pounds," Draco said as he set her down.
"Not sure if you realised, but I make four quid an hour," Mary said, "a thousand pounds is a lot of hours."
"Yeah…" Draco said, but then he recalled something he needed to take care of, "hey, I have a question."
"Save it," Mary said, and she kissed him again.
He never remembered to ask.
The following day, after Darren warned him repeatedly to keep his mouth shut, Draco sat through the first meeting and only said a single word, to confirm that the 'PED' was undetectable. Darren steered through country roads on their way to the second meeting. Draco's thoughts turned to the floo house in Tilbury. The notice-me-not charms on it wouldn't stop anyone from finding it on whatever records the muggle government kept. He needed a long-term solution, and Mary had inadvertently distracted him enough the previous night he completely forgot to ask.
"Definitely worth it though," he thought as he recalled the now familiar sensation of sliding inside her. He shifted in his seat.
"Hey mate, you bought a house. I need to buy one too," Draco said, "what do I have to do?"
"What do you mean, what do you have to do?" Darren asked, "like… paperwork wise?"
"Right, obviously I have the cash, or soon will," Draco said.
Darren glanced around even though it was just the two of them in the car.
"Yeah, but you can't just wander up to any old bank and buy a house with nothing but a stack of cash," Darren said, "you need an account and income and all that shite."
"Hmm, this could be more involved than I expected," Draco thought.
"…pretend I don't know the first thing about houses or banks or any of that," he said.
Darren rolled his eyes. As they shuttled between several towns near universities across England, he gave Draco a crash course in real estate, specifically the difficulties individuals like themselves could experience in purchasing property.
"The banks want to verify you're not receiving income from illegal activities, which is an issue if large deposits magically appear," Darren said.
"Hmm," Draco replied. All you needed to open an account at Gringotts was a wand and a blood thumb print; the goblins didn't really ask many questions. It appeared the muggle banks operated slightly differently.
"What do you need to open an account?" Draco asked.
Darren took his eyes off the road for a moment to look at Draco incredulously.
"Wait, you don't even have a bank account?" he asked.
Draco shook his head.
Darren narrowed his eyes.
"The usual, identification, proof of residency, that sort of thing," the drug dealer replied.
"Can I use this?" Draco asked as he pulled out his Ministry issued muggle driver's license.
"That's a bloody fake and you know it," Darren replied, "you need a real one, or a better fake than that."
This was starting to become problematic.
"Why can't I just pay with cash?" Draco asked.
"You might be able to, if you paid up front, but you still have to pay all the shite taxes to the government if you don't want Inland Revenue up your arse, which, trust me, you do not want," Darren said.
Draco fell silent.
"I need an identification, a legitimate one," Draco said quietly.
"Once again, why not just use yours?" Darren asked. He smirked, as if he already knew what Draco would say to that.
"I can't," Draco replied, "that's all I'm going to say about it."
Darren snorted.
"Fine. Martin can do it," Darren replied, "he's got someone on the inside, takes care of this kind of administrative bollocks all the time."
"You sure? It's fool proof?" Draco asked.
"Dunno about fool proof, but it's worked before. How do you think I got my probation sentence reduced?" Darren replied with another sly grin, "I'll get Bruno to talk to him. What do you need?"
Draco had no idea what was required.
"Uhh…everything," Draco said, "and make the name Drake Malcolm."
Darren scoffed again.
"I bloody knew it. It must have been really fucking bad, whatever happened that you can't use your real name," Darren said, but Draco stayed silent.
Darren shook his head.
"Whatever mate, we'll need some photos; we can stop by a place on the way, pick them up later today," Darren said.
Draco reclined in the large leather chair in his study, re-read the letter, and placed it next to a second on his desk. Both Edmund Macnair and Frances Winthrop had formally requested his support to become the next Minister of Magic. Draco considered for a moment what concessions he might be able to extract from either of them.
"Nothing approaching relief of the reparations of commuting Mother's house arrest," he thought.
He left the letters in the study, then made the walk to the greenhouses to look for Tracy again.
"Trace?" he called as he entered.
"Over here," she said,
He found her planting rows of seeds by hand in long, soil filled containers, each neatly labelled with the various flavours of the infused soil.
"How did it go with Pansy yesterday?" Draco asked.
"She didn't stuff it up, but she didn't exactly help either," Tracy replied, "We found two good ones. I've got her burping the jars now; there's no way she can mess that up."
Draco nodded. At least she wasn't being a liability, for now.
"Wash up, I want to see them for myself," Draco said.
A few minutes later, he and Tracy apparated to Diagon Alley. As they walked the twisted streets, Draco noted several for sale or rent signs on vacant lots or empty storefronts. These days, he usually kept his head down and focused on his destination, but now that he was in the market to acquire some property, he noticed how few people were out and about shopping.
"Things have gotten worse, haven't they," he said.
Tracy nodded. Actually, it made sense; the only reason he'd been able to hire his former classmates is because they hadn't been able to find employment anywhere else.
"The bloody Wizarding Equality Act can't be helping either," he thought.
Just before they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, Tracy steered him to the opposite side of the street, to an empty storefront with a large 'for sale or rent' sign out front. It was mostly covered by wood, stained black, to make it appear more homely, but Draco spotted old brickwork beneath it in places. She led him inside, and Draco lit his wand in the gloom. Dusty shelves greeted him, and he noted a long scuff mark on the floor. A few scraps of packaging from whatever merchant had previously used the space lay scattered on the shelves and floor, as well. Cobwebs drifted in the light breeze from the open door, and Draco spit out a strand of web that snagged on his mouth. Deeper inside the shop, he spotted at least one trail of mouse or rat footprints in the dust, but overall Draco found the front of the store acceptable.
"What's in the back?" he asked.
"Store room, office," Tracy replied. They toured through the simple property, which opened into a narrow alley in the rear that ran behind the other stores on the street.
He walked back out to the front of the store. It wasn't directly across the street from the Leaky Cauldron, but it was close enough that a large sign would catch the attention of anyone who came through.
"This'll do, let's see the other one," he said.
They closed the door behind them and Tracy led him through Diagon. Just before they arrived at Knockturn Alley proper, she stopped at a partially burnt out shophouse. They entered and Draco reflexively inhaled as the smell of wax reached him. He found the source fairly quickly; apparently, before it was gutted by a fire, the first-floor shop used to sell candles. A gigantic congealed blob of melted wax lay against one wall.
"Bit of a fixer upper, isn't it?" Draco said as he noted large holes in both the floor and ceiling.
"Yeah, but the price is right, and the location's not bad," she said, "This one's owned by the Ministry, so we'll need to pay the back taxes as well, but we should be able to get a good deal."
They explored the rest of the structure. There was ample space in this one, with a cellar, an office and storeroom on the ground floor, and a living space on the second floor, complete with bedrooms, a small kitchen, and a loo.
"It's perfect," Draco said, "have the owners draw up a letter of intent, for purchase."
Tracy looked at him questioningly.
"Purchase, not rent?" she asked.
Draco nodded.
"That's right, I don't need a bloody landlord poking their nose in where it doesn't belong," Draco said.
Tracy narrowed her eyes.
"What exactly are you planning on doing with these places?" the former prefect asked as she looked around the abandoned shophouse.
"The one by the Leaky is to sell to muggles," Draco replied.
"Muggles," Tracy said as a confused and distasteful expression came over her features.
"That's right, parents of all those bloody muggleborns and half-bloods swamping us," Draco said, "they're going to need galleons and supplies, and we're going to take their muggle cash when they come in through the Leaky."
"Okay… and what about this one?" Tracy asked. She leaned over and looked down into the hole in the floor.
"Production and storage for the supplies we're going to sell at the other place, and for accounting and other paperwork and whatnot," Draco replied, "plus there's some research I want to do, and the cellar would be useful for that, I think. We'll have to get it cleaned up and repaired, but that shouldn't be too difficult, I wager."
"Uh huh," Tracy said, "I hope you know what you're doing."
"Yeah, me too," Draco said.
"One thing is for sure, I need to find a way to bring in galleons," Draco thought.
The proceeds from the sale of the European properties wouldn't last forever, especially with the reparations due every month. He estimated if he didn't start earning galleons by the end of the year, he'd have to start exchanging with the goblins again, which he really wanted to avoid. With the shop, he knew he could undercut the goblins and exchange for the muggles before they ever got to Gringotts, but that would only work if he had a supply of galleons to exchange. He turned the mobile phone in his pocket over a few times. He had a few ideas, but they needed testing.
Tracy cleared her throat and Draco blinked.
"I want to move quick, see if you can get those LOIs today," he said.
Tracy crossed her arms.
"If I'm also going to be a property manager for you, I want a raise," Tracy said.
"Do a good job first, then we'll talk," Draco said.
The engine stuttered and died as Darren switched the car off, and Draco stepped out into a shaded parking lot. Birds chirped and wind rustled the leaves of large trees flanking the rectangle patch of asphalt. The last week had been filled up with meetings with all sorts of people in the muggle world: a few semi-pro athletes, uni coaches of all stripes from football, to rugby, track and field, swimming, and more, and over two dozen small time dealers who mostly sold weed to secondary and university students, but never had they driven so far out of London.
"What is this place?" Draco asked as he looked around at fields and gentle hills dotted with trees and woods.
"Earth, you bloody space cadet," Darren replied. It took Draco a moment to get the joke, and Darren rolled his eyes again.
"It's a golf course, Drake, surely they have those on whatever planet you're from," he said.
"Golf…" Draco repeated. He didn't know much, only that it was some kind of muggle sport.
"Come on, he said he'd meet us at the driving range," Darren said. Draco slung his bag over his shoulder and followed.
The drug dealer, uncharacteristically wearing a blue polo shirt tucked into khakis, same as what he had insisted Draco wear, had set up a meeting with a football sports agent, Benjamin Lane. He noticed Darren's gaze lingering on some of the cars they passed, all of them obviously recently cleaned and shined, and he assumed they must be higher end models.
Draco glanced around as they climbed the steps into the open entrance foyer of the facility. There were no doors; the entire structure was open. Dark floors reflected light from the rear entrance and multiple windows. The back of the building opened to more rolling fields and small wooded copses. Golden trophies behind large glass cases lined the wall to his right, and a wood panelled reception counter stood to his left.
Darren led the way past Reception, and Draco took note of some of the individuals in the entry hall. Pastel coloured clothing, pressed trousers, pristine equipment and bags, and a certain ease and confidence, even at mid-morning on a Tuesday. He was once one of them… muggle or not, he could smell it: wealth.
Darren led them a flight of steps and onto a long platform. Ahead of him were a series of stalls, perhaps twenty-five. To his right, a long, green field with several distance markers set up stretched into the distance.
"There he is," Darren said. He walked past several occupied stalls where patrons swung oddly shaped clubs to smack little white balls onto the field, with varying levels of proficiency. At the far end of the driving range, a middle-aged man wearing a similar polo shirt and khakis to what Darren and Draco wore, only his was dark green, practiced by himself.
"Benjamin," Darren said as they approached.
"You're not supposed to talk during someone's back swing," Benjamin said without looking up.
"It's a bloody driving range, not the British Open," Darren said.
The sports agent swung a long club and made contact with the ball, knocking it so high and far that Draco lost sight of it.
"See?" Darren said as he squinted into the distance.
"It's shite," Lane said, "this the guy?"
Darren nodded.
"Ben Lane," the sports agent said. He held out a hand, and Draco shook the firm grip as Benjamin flashed him a picture-perfect smile. Beneath his shirt, Draco noticed some bulk; the man obviously kept in shape.
"Malcolm, Drake Malcolm," Draco said.
"Double-oh?" Benjamin said, followed by fake laugh. It was obviously meant to be some kind of joke, one that Draco didn't get. He responded with a small smirk and a nod, but he already had the measure of the man.
"This guy's a bloody snake," Draco thought, "perfect."
He knew how to deal with snakes.
"Shall we head to the café?" Darren asked.
Lane stowed his club in a bag alongside several other similar looking clubs, then led them back across reception to a nearly empty canteen. High ceilings adorned with motionless fans made it look grander than it was, and floor to ceiling windows looked out on manicured grounds.
"What can I get you?" Darren asked.
"Flat white," Lane replied, "let's sit outside."
Darren gave Draco a glance as if to say 'don't say anything stupid'. Lane led Draco to a small table in the shade beneath an overhang. They were slightly above ground level, and looked down on a paved area that sat between them and the well-kept green grass of the actual course. Chirping birds mixed with the light clicks of golf balls being struck, mostly from the driving range, to create a calming background track to the outdoor café. A row of small, doorless vehicles, much smaller than cars, sat near the steps.
"Do you play?" Lane asked.
"Not really," Draco replied as two patrons, both wearing white shoes and carrying golf clubs in heavy bags, finished loading up one of the carts and drove off.
"Ah, well take it from me, we don't get many days like today," Lane said, "soon as we're done here, I'm heading out for a round."
Darren arrived with a plate of scones and three small coffee cups, with the usual accompanying saucers, sugar, milk, and small stirring spoons.
"Breakfast of champions," the dealer said as he sat down, "how's business?"
"Been better, but can't complain," Lane said as he took a bite of a scone, "how about on your side?"
"Same," Darren replied.
Draco kept his mouth shut as the two exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes. He wanted to get a move on, but Darren had told him in no uncertain terms not to screw this particular meeting up. So, he pretended to pay attention while sipping his coffee, until they eventually got to the point.
"Right, so did you bring a sample?" Lane asked. Draco took that as his cue and shook his bag.
"And it really works?" Lane asked.
"Of course it works, don't insult me," Darren replied.
"Well then, let's give it a go," Ben Lane said as he stood up.
"What… here?" Darren asked as he looked around, "how would you even know if it works?"
"We'll use the weight room," Lane said as he drained his cup, "come on, unless there's a problem?"
Darren and Draco exchanged glances, then trailed after the sports agent as he led them down a half flight of steps, doubled back down another, and walked beneath the building. They ended up in a deserted room which smelled lightly of sweat and grease. Draco stepped onto the padded floor and took it in. Various steel grey and black weight machines, most of which Draco did not recognise, sat at even intervals around the room, along with a shelf of dumbbells lining one wall. A large mirror lined another.
"Let's have a look, then," Lane said. Draco unzipped his backpack, withdrew the small bottle, and handed it to the sports agent. He swirled the green-blue liquid around a bit and held it up to the light. Then he uncapped it.
"What about cameras?" Darren asked as he looked around warily.
Lane gave him a withering expression.
"Trust me, nobody gives a fuck," he said, "now, I usually bench about seventy…"
"Add on another fifteen," Draco said.
Benjamin Lane looked at him, then at the bottle, then up at Draco again.
"We have to do it evenly," he said, "let's make it sixteen."
Draco nodded. Based on his calculations, the diluted strengthening solution should give about a twenty percent boost to raw physical strength… though he hadn't thoroughly tested it himself.
"An extra sixteen should be doable… I hope," he thought.
Darren helped Ben load up the silver bar with squat black cylindrical weights.
"Right, bottom's up," Lane said. Darren glanced around again as he drank the potion down and finished with a small belch.
"Give it a moment to kick in," Draco said, "… okay that should do it."
"That fast?" Lane said, "I don't feel any different."
Draco nodded and gestured to the bench. The sports agent lay down beneath the bar, and Darren took up a position behind his head, to spot him. He grunted as he lifted the bar, then his eyes widened as he slowly lowered it to his chest, then pushed it up again, and then again a second time, and set it back on the rack with a clank. The sports agent stood up to double-check the weight on the bar.
"Holy shit," Lane said, "it really works. How long does it last?"
"'Course it works. About an hour, give or take," Darren replied, "so, what do you think?"
Lane whistled as he picked up the empty bottle again and looked it over. He handed it back to Draco.
"You'll forgive me if I don't just take your word that it doesn't show up on PED tests," Lane said, "it would be bad for everyone if any of my clients got flagged."
Darren nodded.
"Do what you need to do," he said, "don't take too long though; we can't sit on this forever."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Lane said, "give me three days to test it myself."
"There's endurance, and healing, too," Draco said, and Darren shot him a glance, "for faster recovery from injuries."
"No shit… okay. I'll be in touch," Lane said.
They shook hands, and Darren led Draco out of the golf club. Once they were in the car, the drug dealer held up his hand for a high-five, and Draco obliged him.
"This bloke's the one, he represents some of the biggest names in the Premier League," Darren said, "we get a few of them, we're swimming in it."
"I'll take your word for it," Draco said. Once he had the cash in his pocket, he would celebrate, but not before; there was still too much that could go wrong for him to get excited.
On the drive back, Darren chattered about what kind of payment structures or fees would work best for the sports stars, but about halfway there, Draco realised he would not make it to the Manor in time.
"And I can't just leave Darren," he thought, "or can I…"
"Hey, where are we?" Draco asked.
"Ehm… coming up on Reading, why?" Darren replied.
"I just remembered there's something I need to take care of in Reading," Draco said, "mind dropping me there?"
"Yeah sure," Darren said, "what's in Reading?"
"Just… some business," Draco replied.
"Alright," Darren said. He fell quiet after that, obviously curious as to what Draco had going on, but not wanting to press the matter.
As fields turned to tighter packed buildings though, Darren spoke up again.
"Hey, you can make a little extra weed, no problem, right?" Darren asked.
"How much are we talking?" Draco asked.
"Another ten percent on top what we're sending to Martin," Darren replied.
"That's a shit load of weed," Draco replied, "who's it for?"
"Remember how Konstantinov's running part of London now?" Darren asked.
Draco nodded.
"Well, we're not allowed to sell in their territory, and after our uhh… history, we can't sell to them directly," Darren said, "luckily, Quaid's worked with them before, and he'll act as a go-between."
"Quaid, that wanker?" Draco said, "and Konstantinov? The bastard who put Mary in the hospital?"
Darren grimaced as if he understood exactly where Draco was coming from, but he pressed on regardless.
"Hey, money's money," Darren said. Draco paused; he had a point. Even if he didn't like them, he'd be a fool to turn more cash away, especially as Darren had no doubt negotiated a better rate with Quaid than with Martin.
"Okay, long as I don't have to see or talk to either of them," Draco said, "does Martin know?"
"No, but as long as we kick up to him, I don't think he'll care," Darren said.
Draco thought about it a little bit more. Adding an incremental increase to his production schedule would be child's play at this point.
"Alright, let me know when and where to make the drop," Draco said, "should we cut Bruno in?"
Darren made a little victory fist pump.
"We'd better, just in case we have trouble collecting," Darren said as he turned down a few smaller streets in downtown Reading, "I'll SMS you."
He dropped Draco off at a bus stop.
Draco waved as Darren accelerated away, then he walked until he found a restaurant, and went straight to the loo. A large puddle on the floor greeted him, and he walked slowly so as not to disturb the water pooling on the tiles, entered a stall, and locked the door behind him.
He drew his wand from the holster strapped to his calf, turned, and apparated home. Draco appeared with a loud crack. A small sizzling sound gave him just a split-second warning before a spot against his thigh heated up, quickly approaching burning.
"Ow fuck!" Draco said as he attempted to fish his phone out of his pocket without burning his hand. He eventually managed to grab it by the antenna and let it fall to the uncovered stone floor, where it continued to spark and sizzle until it eventually burnt itself out.
"Bloody hell, that's the third one," he thought as he looked at the ruined plastic and electronic device. Every time he forgot to turn his phone off before apparating, he ended up destroying it.
"There's got to be a way to-" he thought, and then he realised, "oh… Merlin's beard, that's it."
Muggles were purchasing phones like hot cakes, it wouldn't be long before all of them had at least one, and they carried them everywhere… but they'd need a way to protect them if they ever came to Diagon.
"And that's what I'll give them, a bag or something they can put their mobile phones into, for protection," Draco thought, "I've got to figure out how to make one, and register the design… but then I'll sell one to every bloody muggleborn that comes through the Leaky."
"Draco? Are you in there?" Pansy called from outside the wards. Just the sound of her voice had his teeth grating.
"You said there would be a team meeting after lunch, hellooooo?" Pansy said in an annoying sing-song voice.
"Alright, alright, I'm here," Draco said loudly as he scooped up the remains of his phone and, after realising there were no tables or any other furniture nearby to place them on, settled for dropping them in the corner of the foyer as he stepped outside.
"What are you wearing?" Pansy asked as she wrinkled her pug-nose in disgust.
"Never mind that," Draco said as he surveyed the rest of the team to ensure everyone was present.
"Everyone except Mother, of course," he thought.
"Right," he said, "quota's done for the day?"
"We were done before eleven," Shawn replied as he checked his fingernails for dirt. Draco glanced at Tracy, who sent him a small nod.
"Good, new tasks for today, we're cleaning out the shops in Diagon and getting them ready for stocking," Draco said.
A collective groan went up.
"Hey, finished by eleven, remember?" Draco said, "we don't need everyone to grow and cure the weed full time anymore. It's time to expand to bigger and better things."
He left unsaid that if they didn't expand, he wouldn't need all of them to hit quotas, and staff reduction would be next.
An hour later, he had them hard at work charming and scouring both shops as he shuttled back and forth between the two.
"Shawn, a word?" he asked. The would-be Auror left a charmed mop sliding around the floor and joined Draco outside, while Pansy looked on in envy as she continued scouring a wall.
Draco closed the front door behind them.
"Letters are going to be going out soon to the incoming students, if they haven't already," Draco said, "I want to find a way to get the muggleborn names, all of them, for direct advertising, maybe even direct sales."
Shawn raised an eyebrow.
"It's impossible to get the list of incoming students from Hogwarts, they've got it locked tighter than a dragon's egg," he said.
"Forget Hogwarts, plenty of them don't go there though, do they?" Draco asked, "what about the rest of the schools? There's got to be a way."
Shawn shook his head.
"You think you're the only one who's wanted to sell to muggleborns before they get here?" Shawn asked, "besides, you'd have to steal the list from a dozen schools, you'd be better off going to the Ministry… they have to make sure the Trace is on all of them, so they'll have a list somewhere. Good luck getting your hands on that though."
"Hmm," Draco said… then idea came to him.
"Alright, I think I have a plan," Draco said, "meantime, I want you to go get a sign made up, a big one. We're going to hang it right here so they see it when they come in: British Pounds Accepted Here."
The door opened.
"Does that mean one of us is going to have to stand here, selling things to muggleborns and their muggle parents all day?" Pansy asked.
Draco's temper flared.
"Merlin's balls Pansy, does it matter where the money comes from?" Draco asked, "if we don't do it, someone else will, and I don't know about you, but I'd rather that money go to us."
Pansy put a hand on her hip and glared at him, and Draco sighed.
"Think of it this way, we're going to take as much cash from them as we can, and if we can educate them a bit along the way, all the better. If and if our sales are really good, I'll throw in a bonus for the team," Draco said, "and no, it doesn't have to be one of us, at least not forever. We can always hire someone else to do that, long as there's enough work for everyone. Head to the back and get cleaning, we're on a timeline here."
Pansy huffed and closed the door again as she returned to the shop.
"What are you going to do with her?" Shawn asked quietly.
"I don't know, I'll figure something out," Draco replied, "are you clear on the sign, can I trust you with this?"
Shawn nodded.
"No problem, boss," he replied with a salute.
"Right," Draco said. He checked on Tracy and Daphne at the property near Knockturn, and found they'd completed the repairs on the floor and ceiling, and had almost finished cleaning up.
"At least I can count on them to work independently," he thought.
He returned to the Manor to respond to Macnair's letter.
The following day, Draco sat in Edmund Macnair's office in the Ministry.
"Before the Dark Lord's return, your father was a strong supporter of the old ways," Macnair said, "can I assume the tradition will continue?"
"Look, I don't have a lot of time. You can have my vote, but I want something in exchange," Draco said.
Macnair smiled and nodded.
"I'd expect nothing less," he said.
Draco leaned forward.
"I want the list of incoming muggleborn students, the one the Ministry uses to know who to put the Trace on," he said quietly.
Macnair raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair.
"The Trace is very old, very deep magic, and a request for a list of muggleborns, especially to someone of your… history, could be seen as having dubious intentions," Macnair said.
"I assure you, my intentions are pure," Draco said, paused for a second to regret his choice of words, then ploughed on, "I want to educate them on our ways before they get here, that way they won't be completely ignorant."
"That is interesting. It's good to see a young Wizengamot member with traditionalist streak, even though it may be a slightly different vein than your father," Macnair said, "there doesn't seem to be much in it for you though."
"Aside from preserving our ways and culture?" Draco asked, "isn't that the entire bedrock of your political… group?"
"Mmm," Macnair replied evenly.
"Bloody politician, he knows there's more to it," Draco thought.
"I want to sell them shite when they get here, and I want to market to them at home before they arrive," Draco said.
"That's more like it," Macnair said as he leaned forward, "but what you're asking for, it's not easy to get. Fifteen hundred."
Draco almost laughed at him, but managed to keep it to a single puff of air.
"You want fifteen hundred galleons and my vote? You should be the one paying me," Draco replied.
Macnair leaned back in his seat.
"First of all, vote purchasing is illegal. Second, I don't necessarily need your vote. Call it insurance," Macnair replied, "but, the wheels of government require greasing from time to time, and I know you don't want to see Macmillian as Minister. It's a sad state of affairs, but money makes the world go 'round, Lord Malfoy."
Draco knew it to be true… besides, if things worked out the way he planned, he stood to earn significantly more than this donation, and he might pick up a political ally as well. Still, it was a cardinal sin to accept a first offer. He managed to haggle Macnair down to a thousand galleons.
Draco shifted the work bench in the cellar of the shophouse near Knockturn, then stood back to admire the room one more time. He still needed several magical tools, but he could stock those up over the next few days. The team had done a rather excellent job fixing the properties up, and with basic supplies already on order, and Macnair expected to deliver the list in a few days, things were finally moving. That would free up enough time for Draco to work on figuring out how to create a sack that would block ambient magic enough that mobile phones could survive apparition. A stack of a dozen mobile phones sat on a table, charged batteries next to them in a separate pile. Money made all the difference. Money allowed him to buy both properties and favours, and pay for Mary's schooling, and eventually the muggle house to safely transfer weed from Wizarding Britain.
"A few months ago, it would have been impossible to afford this," Draco thought, "things are finally looking up."
Eventually, money would allow him to pay off the reparations, and possibly buy Mother's way out of her house arrest, and she could leave for France, or wherever she wanted to go. After that, the sky was the limit.
"Careful, don't get ahead of yourself," Draco thought as he climbed the steps, one at a time.
Draco stepped out into the cool night air and turned around to lock the door behind him.
"What do you need a muggle identification for, hmm?" a silky voice asked from behind him.
Draco whirled around and held his cane out to see the vampire Sanguini, fully healed from their earlier altercation, standing not five feet away on the cobblestone street. He wore a dark robe with his hands clasped loosely in front of him, and his hair was impeccably slicked back.
"Shit," Draco thought. His wand was tucked inside his robe. He would be safe inside the shophouse, it was also a residence after all… but he'd just locked the door. Still, they were on the street on Diagon Alley, and even though it was night, surely Sanguini would not attack him here. Surely not.
Sanguini just stood there, unnaturally still, looking more like a statue than a deadly nocturnal predator. Eventually, Draco's mind processed what he'd asked.
"How do you know about that?" Draco asked.
"I know many things," Sanguini replied, "what I can't figure out is what you're… up to."
"I know you're working with the Death Eaters, are you here to kill me?" Draco asked, "remember what happened last time."
"Do you think so little of my word?" Sanguini asked.
"Uh," Draco said. Then he remembered, Martin's father had brokered a peace between himself and Sanguini after the attack in London.
"Well… I didn't hear it from you directly," Draco said.
The vampire inclined his head slightly, as if to admit that Draco had a point.
"Well… if I were, I probably wouldn't have spoken," Sanguini said
"Right," Draco said slowly, still wary, "then what do you want?"
"You never answered my question," Sanguini said, "why do you need muggle ID?"
"Why are you working with… Death Eaters?" Draco asked, his voice dropping as he answered a question with a question.
"Am I?" Sanguini replied, "perhaps tangentially. They aren't particularly fond of people like me."
"That's because you're not a person anymore," Draco thought, but he didn't dare give voice to this fact. Sanguini could easily change his mind about wanting to kill him. But now he needed to reciprocate.
"Maybe I'm just done with Wizarding Britain, for how much they've fucked me over," Draco replied, "need a legitimate muggle ID to really do anything out there."
"Hmm, maybe," Sanguini said. He regarded Draco, and Draco carefully avoided looking the vampire in the eye.
With the immediate potential threat to his life seemingly allayed, Draco's mind turned to how Sanguini could possibly know about his fake muggle ID, and then it dawned on him. He was Martin's contact that made things happen within the muggle government, who got things done for the Irish, probably kept them safe from law enforcement too. He, or others like him, was the reason Darren's sentence had been reduced, and Merlin knew what else. Muggles would have almost no defence against a vampire's powers; it would be child's play for him, assuming he knew who to compel.
"You're helping them… you're helping them operate right under the other muggles' noses," Draco said.
"Well well, turns out he's not entirely idiotic," Sanguini said with a small smile.
"But what are you getting out of it?" Draco asked, "surely you don't give a niffler's kidney about what they're doing."
Sanguini smiled, and Draco was reminded of a malfunctioning magical doll.
"Amusement, which, when you're immortal, becomes increasingly inestimable. That, and the potential for much, much more," Sanguini said.
"Stop speaking in riddles, what the fuck is going on?" Draco said, "what are they up to?"
"Ah ah, that would be telling, and if there's one thing longevity has taught me, it's that interesting developments are only that because they are discovered, and not told," Sanguini said.
The vampire smiled for real this time, though only his lips moved, his canines ever so slightly elongated, just enough to be unnerving.
"And I don't need to attack you. It's risky, and I've no desire to repeat the experience. If I wish to see you dead, all I have to do is wait," Sanguini said, then he paused, "Good luck occlumens, you're going to need it."
Draco's mouth dropped open in shock, and Sanguini transfigured into a bat and flapped his wings, circling higher around the alley.
"Wait, do they know about me?" Draco called after him, but the bat only squeaked once and flew off into the darkness.
It dawned on Draco that Sanguini could easily have been speaking about waiting for him to die of old age… but then again, perhaps he wasn't. He yanked his wand from his robes and apparated straight home.