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IV. The Art of Facades
"Who does she think she is?" Draco exclaimed as he stormed into his private quarters, his face etched with annoyance.
The entire west wing of Malfoy Manor was reserved for him. The residence was so vast that he seldom ran into his parents, which suited him just fine. The fewer encounters he had with Lucius, the better. Each passing day strained his relationship with his father even more.
Draco had expressed a desire to leave the family Manor to move into his own residence. Narcissa hadn't seemed thrilled with the idea, and he had eventually dropped the plan. He couldn't deny his mother anything.
With a huff of irritation, Draco untied his cloak and threw it onto his desk chair. It wasn't the first time the Blood Traitor had dared to defy him. Weasley's sheer audacity at the apothecary had rendered him speechless. She had been fortunate that day. He had simply left the shop without another word, inexplicably flustered.
Draco had, however, made up for it when he encountered her again at Malfoy Manor. This time, her misplaced arrogance had completely vanished. She had even appeared intimidated in front of him, her gaze evasive and her demeanour submissive. So different from the sarcastic and insolent woman he had met in the shop. He had even felt a pang of disappointment.
The moment she had revealed her blood status, he had understood exactly who he was dealing with. Like all those of her station, known for their lack of manners, Weasley was uneducated. They didn't know the codes of high wizarding society. Draco Malfoy rarely mingled with those considered beneath his station. Those he encountered usually adopted a submissive stance, a natural response when faced with wizards of his pedigree. Naturally, Draco couldn't resist the idea of intimidating Weasley and putting her in her place, as he should have done during their first encounter. The little fool needed to know whom she was dealing with.
In a foul mood, Draco pulled the chair towards his desk and slumped down. Among the carefully arranged supplies, he grabbed a quill with a delicate tip and dipped it in the inkwell before leaning over a blank parchment. Moments later, he heard a buzzing noise. He waved his wand toward his cloak.
"Accio mirror," he intoned.
A two-way mirror floated towards him, and Draco snatched it out of the air. His own reflection disappeared, replaced by a female face.
"What do you want, Pansy?" he asked wearily.
"Someone's in a foul mood today," Pansy replied in a velvety voice. "Have you chipped a nail, princess?"
Draco rolled his eyes.
"I have work to do. You know the hotel opening party is tomorrow night," Draco reminded her, running a hand through his hair.
He glanced quickly at his watch and grimaced. He still had a lot to do.
"Of course, I'm aware. Mind you, I've had my dress for the occasion for ages," Pansy informed him cheerily.
"Have you made sure the Daily Prophet team is in place?" Draco queried.
"For the fifteenth time, yes. Aunt Narcissa's assistant is already nagging me enough about it. Daddy has arranged for a team to cover the event, as promised. And of course, the photos will be on the front page of the next edition," Pansy assured, taking a serious tone that was unlike her.
"Perfect," Draco responded, relieved.
"You look all stressed out, kitten. You know it's not good for your skin. You're prematurely wrinkling your face," Pansy commented.
"You'd be in the same state if you had my responsibilities. Unlike some, I have more decisions to make than just choosing a dress for my next gala," Draco snapped.
"On the contrary, Draco. If photos of said dress were splashed across the national papers, you'd realise that it's a huge responsibility," she retorted, sticking her tongue out.
An amused smile crossed Draco's face at her reply. As usual, Pansy had an answer for everything.
"Also, stop being so unpleasant. It's no way to treat your best friend," she reminded him, feigning outrage. "You know how your bad mood triggers my anxiety."
"Apologies. Shall we discuss unicorns and mead instead?" Draco replied with a hint of sarcasm.
Pansy seemed not to hear his reply. She had turned her gaze away from the mirror and appeared to be giving instructions to someone at her side.
"Sorry, what were you saying?" she asked, refocusing on him.
"I could ask you the same. I still don't know what you want," he said, rather grumpily.
"Fancy joining me tonight? Blaise's new club just opened—it's bound to be a blast," Pansy announced enthusiastically.
Draco's face soured at the mere mention of Blaise Zabini. The Zabinis chose to open a nightclub just a day before the Imperial Augurey's inauguration? A blatant attempt at sabotage, it seemed.
"No, thank you. I've got too much to handle before tomorrow night," he informed her. "By the way, don't drink too much tonight; I really need you at your best for my event."
"Don't worry, kitten. You know I'll only go all out for you," she assured.
"Promise me, then," Draco insisted.
"I won't make a promise I can't keep now, will I?" Pansy retorted with a smirk. "Don't overwork yourself, love. See you tomorrow."
Before Draco could utter another word, Pansy's face vanished from the mirror. He sighed in irritation. He contemplated checking his mirror once more to ensure Pansy's proper conduct but thought better of it. Adding his best friend's antics to his list of worries was the last thing he needed. However, for all her unpredictability, Pansy Parkinson remained unwavering in her loyalty and would never betray him.
Draco placed the mirror back on the table, sinking into the plush chair with exhaustion. He gazed at the pile of parchments, feeling both frustration and discouragement. There was still so much to be done before the inauguration. He couldn't afford to rest. Everything had to be perfect.
When Draco first expressed his desire for more responsibility in the family business, Narcissa's initial reaction was the affectionate look she reserved only for him. Like a child who had just made a particularly adorable joke to amuse the room. To his mother, his newfound interest in the family's financial dealings was but a fleeting whim. She didn't take him seriously when it came to business matters.
Draco couldn't blame her. He had frittered away much of his adolescence and early adulthood on an excessive and irresponsible lifestyle—indulging in social outings, leisurely pursuits, and opulent parties without a care for true responsibility.
He often told himself that anyone in his position would have acted the same way. After all, someone like him could afford anything. He was the heir to one of the country's most powerful and wealthy families. His name had always opened doors for him, and he could snap his fingers to get anything he wanted.
Yet, he resented being viewed merely as a pampered heir devoid of personal merit. Draco was driven by his own ambitions and was determined to prove himself. He had to live in the constant shadow of his father, the Governor, and his mother, a talented businesswoman who had proven herself in the financial sector. Draco perpetually grappled with a latent frustration and a repressed inferiority complex. He couldn't afford to be mediocre, not when bearing the name Malfoy.
Narcissa had entrusted him with a major part of the Imperial Augurey's renovation. He knew this was a test. She wanted to see what he could do under real-world conditions. Having frequently demanded more responsibility, Draco couldn't afford any setbacks or failures now. If he didn't measure up, earning his mother's respect and trust would be difficult. Despite her maternal adoration for her one and only son, Narcissa Malfoy was a perfectionist. When it came to family business, she became an unyielding fury.
Well past three in the morning, Draco finally succumbed to fatigue and crawled into bed, having had a long conversation with Allegra—his mother's assistant—through the hall's fireplace. They had gone over the last-minute preparations for the next day in detail.
Draco barely got a wink of sleep for the rest of the night. As dawn's first light filtered through his curtains, he lay awake, probably restless from the looming event. Yet, when Draco entered the grand dining hall of Malfoy Manor, his face showed no signs of nerves. If there was one thing the Malfoys were experts at, it was masking their emotions.
"Attitude is everything," was Narcissa's frequent mantra. "What truly matters is what people are led to believe."
She had taught him that mood swings and emotional displays were simply not acceptable for people of their stature. The Malfoy name was meant to evoke an aura of mystery, fear, deep respect, and boundless admiration amongst their peers.
As usual, his parents were already seated at the long cherrywood dining table. His father was engrossed in The Daily Prophet, and his mother directed two house elves. As Draco entered the room, one of them quickly placed a napkin on his lap and served him a cup of tea.
"Ready for the big day, Draco?" Narcissa asked with a smile, setting her teacup back on its saucer.
Though her tone was warm and pleasant, Draco immediately sensed the underlying expectations. He lifted his cup, but struggled to swallow. His throat felt constricted—likely another effect of stress.
"I'm as ready as I'll ever be," he answered, forcing himself to sound confident.
"I am confident it will be a success," Narcissa assured.
"It had better be. I'd rather not be humiliated in front of all those people," came Lucius Malfoy's icy voice.
He hadn't even bothered to look up from his paper to make this cutting remark. Instantly, Draco felt his left hand grip the butter knife he was holding.
"Most of the Governors will be in attendance," Lucius added haughtily, flipping a page of his newspaper.
"I'm aware of the guest list, Father. Thanks for the reminder," Draco retorted, refraining from rolling his eyes.
"No one can handle a project of this magnitude better than a Malfoy," Narcissa interjected, her tone firm.
Clearly, she aimed to forestall another of Lucius's verbal barbs directed at his son. Tensions between father and son had intensified, often with Narcissa playing the peacemaker. Most of the time, they preferred to ignore each other. In public, however, nobody would have guessed that such a turbulent conflict roiled within them. In front of the world, the Malfoys wore a mask of perfection and unflinching composure. They presented a united front to fend off potential scavengers ready to exploit any weaknesses to their disadvantage. Belonging to such a powerful family made them a perennial target for scrutiny and envy, particularly from their peers in the Sacred Thirteen.
Shortly after, in the grand hall, Narcissa took Draco aside near a statue of Armand Malfoy, the 17th-century patriarch who had commissioned the Manor's construction.
"You know this is an opportunity to show the greatness of our Name and our dominion over these people," she said, carefully adjusting the collar of Draco's shirt.
"I'm aware, Mother. Between your comments and Father's, I think I've heard enough," Draco replied wearily, unable to hide the irritation in his voice.
"Someday you'll grasp the gravity of it all, Draco—when you, too, bear the weighty mantle of our heritage as a Governor," Narcissa assured him.
"If I prove myself worthy," Draco muttered, bitterness evident in his tone.
"We set high standards because we understand the sacrifices required, the relentless pressure involved… It's not for the faint of heart," she asserted earnestly, taking Draco's hands in her own and staring at him intently. "We want to give you all the tools to face it. I know you're worthy."
Draco didn't reply. He'd endured his mother's lectures on duty and responsibility more times than he could stomach. He barely listened anymore when she started one of her sermons.
"I'm sure you'll do an exceptional job tonight. After all, you take after your mother the most," she added with a satisfied smile.
Narcissa gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then grabbed her handbag and headed towards the grand Manor doors, where two Death Eaters waited to escort her to her destination.
Draco entered the main hall of the Imperial Augurey shortly past nine. He was immediately greeted by Allegra McGrath, who had seemed to radiate boundless energy for the past few days. Draco was quite certain she hadn't slept a wink last night. Clearly, Burke wasn't exaggerating; his Sleep-Defying elixir did wonders. There was no doubt they would be greatly appreciated by the guests.
For reasons he couldn't place, Draco's mind wandered to the apothecary's assistant. Now that he thought about it, he was relieved he had not managed to sabotage the potion. Draco had been driven by a desire for immediate gratification and had tried to cause her problems with her employer. He had almost forgotten the repercussions this could have had on him and his event.
Although it stung his pride, Draco had to admit his parents were right. His emotions sometimes got the better of him, leading to impulsive decisions. With a clear mind, he was as shrewd as his mother. However, when provoked or humiliated, he often reacted with petty malice.
He spent his morning in various meetings, receiving reports on the event's logistics. He signed off on the final arrangements – decorations, catering, entertainment, and security – and felt his nerves settle.
"All is set for tonight, Mr. Malfoy," assured Allegra, responding to Draco's repeated query for the umpteenth time that day.
Allegra hid any annoyance well, should there be any at his incessant checking. He was no longer surprised by her unflappable professionalism and calm under pressure. If Allegra had been working with his mother for so long, it meant she could work with anyone. Narcissa Malfoy was the most demanding woman Draco had ever encountered.
"Your attire awaits in suite 305," Allegra informed before moving away towards an elf. "Mrs. Malfoy should be arriving shortly. She will assist you in welcoming the guests, as planned."
Draco gave a distracted nod and headed towards the hotel's grand central staircase. His assigned Death Eater trailed at a respectful distance, careful not to intrude on Draco's musings. The staircase, gated with a gilded grille, vanished as Draco neared. The upper floors were off-limits to guests during the grand opening. Only the banquet and grand halls were designated for the evening. The public opening was scheduled for the following week. Tonight was an opportunity to give a taste of the establishment's standing and attract potential clients.
In the suite, Draco carefully studied his reflection in the mirror. Adorned in a tuxedo of the finest Italian fabrics, tailored especially for him by one of the country's elite designers, he looked sharp. Another Malfoy trait; they had a penchant for the finer things, always valuing appearances. A brief knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts.
"Yes?" he asked, his attention elsewhere.
The Death Eater who had followed him and was now keeping watch outside the suite appeared in the doorway.
"Miss Parkinson wishes to speak with you," he informed.
"Let her in," ordered Draco as he adjusted his tie.
Moments later, the door opened to reveal a young woman. In the mirror reflection, Draco saw his best friend. Pansy Parkinson was tall for a woman; her height made all the more imposing by her constant wear of endlessly high heels—a guilty pleasure of hers. She was very thin, almost skinny—a result of the rigorous diets she subjected herself to. A must-have, she claimed, justifying it by her notoriety. Her expressive face and intense black eyes had a mischievous glint that generally boded no good. While Pansy didn't fit the mold of traditional beauty, she more than made up for it with her overwhelming self-confidence and a refinement many younger, yet prettier, women terribly envied her for.
Like Draco, Pansy was an only child and came from a sacred family. Pius and Adrina Parkinson, her parents, were both media moguls who owned the country's most consumed editorial channels—the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly.
Naturally, Pansy followed suit in this field as an adult. She had her own column and radio show aimed at a female audience, in which she shared her opinions on various topics and offered advice to her subscribers. Over the years, she had attained the status of a national celebrity.
Behind Pansy, Draco caught a glimpse of a colossal figure in the doorway. A man so tall that the top of the doorframe reached only to his chest. This towering figure was Galileo, Pansy's life-long personal security guard. She motioned for him to stay put, signalling he should remain outside. The door closed behind her.
It was whispered among wizards that Galileo's veins pulsed with giant blood. Giants were now a rare species, on the brink of extinction since the end of the Great Conflict, during which Lord Voldemort had seized control of most of the United Kingdom in a bloody war lasting nearly a decade. It was also said that Galileo could kill a man with his inhumanly strong fingers. No one had ever confirmed this rumour because he never spoke. Nor had anyone dared to provoke him or get too close to his charge to find out the truth.
As far as Draco could remember, Galileo had always ensured Pansy's safety. According to her, Galileo had been a gift from a wealthy Austrian diplomat to the Parkinsons, just a few days after their daughter's birth. He followed her like a shadow, and no one ever managed to get within a few feet of Pansy without being stopped by this titanic figure. Few, including Draco, could approach Pansy without his swift intervention.
As usual, Pansy was dressed to be noticed. Her heliotrope pink gown had a long train of about two feet that flowed with her every movement. She would undoubtedly be the centre of attention. Having someone of Pansy's notoriety at his event was unquestionably a plus.
"This place is amazing," Pansy exclaimed excitedly, eyeing the suite with undisguised delight. "I'm so proud of you, darling."
She gave Draco an enthusiastic peck on the cheek and placed an affectionate hand on his shoulder. Pansy grabbed her sparkling clutch bag and took out a rose gold cigarette case, placing a cigarette between her painted lips. Draco lit it with a flick of his wand. Pansy took a long drag and placed the case on the nearest table. Engraved on it in calligraphic letters was the Parkinson family motto:
- In Pride, We Uphold Virtue -
Pansy gracefully took her seat in a turquoise velvet chair, carefully arranging her long train beside her.
"I assume you've arranged a suite for me?" she asked, an eyebrow arched in expectation. "Don't worry, I won't demand the royal suite, but I'll happily accept the second-best suite in the hotel."
"Of course, I've reserved that luxurious spot right by the elf quarters and laundry just for you," Draco replied, feigning seriousness. "You should feel right at home."
Pansy's outraged expression made him laugh more genuinely this time. At least he could count on his best friend to lighten the mood. It was the first time he'd laughed in days, and the sensation felt strange to him.
"You might find your opinion on my suite choice shifting after tomorrow's Daily Prophet review," Pansy said, looking at her perfectly manicured nails.
She gave Draco a falsely innocent look, but soon broke into tinkling laughter, unable to maintain her serious facade.
"Ah, the pillars of our friendship: gain and greed," she mused. "And a taste for top-tier tipple."
Pansy rose and headed for the suite's integrated bar, which house-elves had already stocked at Draco's request. She eyed the expensive liquor bottles as if faced with a particularly agonising choice. Finally, she waved her wand towards a bottle of white mead, filling two flutes generously. They floated towards them.
"To my best friend and his impressive work in pulling this project together," she said, catching her floating glass.
Their glasses clinked sharply. Draco emptied his in one gulp, much to his childhood friend's amusement. If a bit of liquid courage could steady his nerves, he was all for it.
"How are things going downstairs?" Draco asked as he put on his waistcoat.
"All the high society is starting to arrive. Also, Narcissa was looking for you," Pansy tossed in, as if just remembering an important detail.
"You choose to mention this now?" he said, with an eye-roll.
Pansy feigned innocence, earning a resigned shake of the head from Draco.
"Let's go," he said, once ready.
Upon stepping into the hotel's grand entrance hall, Draco observed the gathered guests with satisfaction—many were sipping mead, deep in animated conversations, and casting appreciative glances around. He immediately spotted his mother, adorned in a magnificent emerald green evening gown and a matching necklace. She stood by the main doors, conversing with an elderly wizarding couple. Draco recognised them as Governor Cressida Warrington and her husband, Casparus.
The Warringtons, known as the wealthiest family in the United Kingdom, were famed for their philanthropy. They had significant investments in international trade with other purified nations. On the matter of blood purity, the Warringtons were less conservative than most families within the Sacred Thirteen, which often earned them disapproving glances from their peers. Draco frequently heard his father vehemently criticise Cressida Warrington for her 'ridiculous and alienating ideas, wholly unbefitting her station.'
Governor Warrington championed more lenient labour laws for lower-ranking wizards and advocated better integration for the more adept among them. This notion was considered utterly absurd by most sacred families, known for their traditionalist views. However, the Warringtons' immense fortune ensured they had a significant voice in governmental discussions. It was this wealth that allowed them to join the Sacred Coven last century, following the downfall of the Abbott family.
Since the establishment of Voldemort's purified regime nearly two centuries ago, the country's political landscape had transformed. Initially, the politics of the regime were entirely dictated by the tenets of blood purity. Yet, after Lord Voldemort's death and the formation of the Sacred Thirteen, it became necessary to build a self-sustaining society with limited international trade. Gradually, other aspects had been highlighted alongside blood purity, making the regime less extreme than at its inception.
Lord Voldemort was a charismatic, resourceful and gifted war chief. He excelled at annihilating enemies and expanding his political ideology across geographical boundaries. Yet, leading a country in a stable fashion required other skills he did not possess. His relentless bloodlust and profound paranoia often made him unreceptive to his trusted advisors' counsel. His inexperience in governance, especially regarding economic, social, and legal matters, had grown increasingly evident over the decades. Yet no one had dared voice this aloud for fear of exemplary reprisals from the Dark Lord, known for his limited patience and impulsive temperament.
The fall of Voldemort paved the way for the rise of the Sacred Thirteen—a transition many greeted with relief. Tasked with nurturing the regime while maintaining the traditions and values of a pure and conservative society, the Sacred Coven had ensured the country's development. This flourishing model had been followed by other nations over the decades.
Upon joining his mother, Draco caught a subtle glint of annoyance in her eye—most likely a silent commentary on his tardiness. However, like the perfect hostess she was, Narcissa Malfoy flashed a radiant smile upon his arrival.
"Madam Governor," Draco greeted, slightly inclining his head before the elderly couple in a sign of respect. "Mr. Warrington."
"This hotel is truly a masterpiece, Draco," Cressida remarked, taking in her surroundings with keen interest. "You were fortunate to win the bid. I had even grander plans for this place. But the investment wasn't worth the price, in my opinion."
Despite catching the thinly-veiled barb in the old woman's words, Draco maintained a polite smile. Six years earlier, at a Ministry auction, Narcissa had outbid the Warringtons to secure the hotel.
An undercurrent of discreet competition ran between Cressida and Narcissa. Beneath their facade of smiles and insincere compliments, the two women held little affection for one another. Narcissa loathed Cressida's lack of a filter. The Governor never minced her words.
"Draco, Narcissa mentioned you took charge of much of the renovation. Impressive for your first go, though some aspects do hint at it being an initial endeavour," Cressida commented as her magical eye darted around, scrutinising the surroundings. "You should talk with Cassius, my son. He handled the renovation of Damasus the Decadent's theatre for the Notts. He could probably teach you quite a bit on the subject."
Draco managed a forced smile.
"With pleasure, Madam Governor," he replied through gritted teeth. "May I offer you some refreshments?"
He signalled to a house-elf to lead the Warringtons into the banquet hall.
"This old, blind harpy always has a comment to make," Narcissa murmured to Draco.
She spoke in such hushed tones that only Draco caught her words. However, Narcissa still wore a radiant smile as the Warringtons walked away towards the reception hall.
"Where were you?" she questioned sternly, turning towards her son.
"I had to sort out some last-minute details," he lied.
Fortunately, the answer seemed to satisfy Narcissa, and she asked no further questions. They continued to warmly welcome their esteemed guests—particularly those from the sacred families and high-ranking Purebloods—before proceeding to the banquet hall.
The room radiated grandeur and opulence, boasting large crystal chandeliers and tables adorned with delicate dishware, set upon draped tablecloths of the finest fabric. An orchestra played a subtle tune on the stage set up at the far end of the room. The ceiling had been enchanted to reflect shining lozenges, casting a soft light throughout the room. As Narcissa entered the hall and nodded several times, Draco felt a wave of relief. He knew his mother well, and he knew that this was a sign of approval for her. She was pleased with the outcome.
Draco took a glass of firewhisky from an elf's tray. He let his gaze linger on the guests, savouring the fruits of his hard labour. At last, the stressful past months seemed worth it. He allowed himself to relax. Instantly, he felt the tension that had built up over the last weeks dissipate.
"Oh, Draco, I forgot to mention. You'll be assisting Burke and his employee with the gift baskets at the end of the evening," Narcissa said, distracted. "It slipped my mind. "
"Draco turned to his mother, raising a surprised eyebrow upon hearing her request.
"Burke's here?" he asked, surprised.
Narcissa nodded and took a sip from her glass.
"With his... employee?" Draco pressed further; his eyebrows now furrowed.
"That's what I've been saying, Draco," Narcissa said with a sigh.
"Do you realise she's just a Blood Traitor, Mother? Is that the kind of riff-raff we want at such an occasion?" he asked with clear disgust.
Narcissa turned towards him.
"If it were up to me, Draco, I wouldn't tarnish this inauguration with the likes of her. But she's here for a specific purpose," she stated.
Of course, Draco thought. His mother never did anything without reason. She always had a motive.
"You know the upcoming election is just around the corner, and your father stands a good chance if we play our cards right, Draco," she said, lowering her voice.
"I'm not sure I follow," he admitted.
"We need to tilt the balance in our favour for the primary. We need to secure some of the votes we wouldn't normally get. Particularly that of the Warringtons," Narcissa explained, sighing.
"Governor Warrington despises us," Draco stated the obvious.
"She doesn't truly despise us. She just looks down on us, that much is clear," Narcissa clarified, her voice tinged with contempt. "Thankfully, she won't be voting for Shacklebolt on this occasion."
Every seven years, a Minister for Magic was chosen by the Sacred Coven amongst the current Governors. The Minister officially represented the Coven before the general populace. The election occurred in two stages. First, a primary vote took place, wherein three candidates were chosen to campaign until the final vote. One month later, the Minister for Magic was elected through a second round of voting.
Kingsley Shacklebolt currently held the post. An election would be held the following year to determine his successor. Members of a sacred family couldn't stand for re-election. In the last election, Governor Shacklebolt had been overwhelmingly endorsed by the Coven, which also meant that he couldn't serve a second term. This gave Lucius Malfoy a serious chance of competing. However, he still needed to secure some voting pledges, which was no small task.
"Very well, but what does this have to do with Burke and that Blood traitor?" pressed Draco, failing to see where his mother was going with this.
"You are fully aware that Cressida Warrington has this... obsession with better treatment for the Unbloodeds in the job market. Your father has told her he's open to considering some legal changes in that area. But you know that ancient crone - she won't believe it without concrete action on our part."
Narcissa emptied her glass, casting an imperious gaze around the banquet hall.
"So, I want to show her that we offer opportunities to these... people," she explained with a grimace. "Proving that the Malfoys are fair employers could sway her to vote for us when the time comes."
"But Father doesn't really intend to change anything?" asked Draco, incredulously.
His father was an extremist when it came to blood purity. Draco could hardly imagine him making concessions on that matter.
"Of course not, Draco. But we need to make her believe we will," Narcissa said patiently, adjusting the shawl draped over her shoulder.
Draco nodded. Before being an outright extremist, Lucius Malfoy was a master of opportunism. A trait he shared with his wife, who was equally skilled in the art.
"I've asked Burke to bring along his low-rank employee. He'll make small talk with Governor Warrington when he hands her gift basket. I want you to be nearby to ensure everything goes... smoothly," instructed Narcissa.
Everything goes smoothly, Draco repeated to himself. In other words, that Burke would do as expected. Draco often found his mother's relationship with the apothecary puzzling. They seemed to have known each other for a long time—and the Potion Master was at her beck and call, like a house-elf would be with its master. Narcissa frequently availed herself of his services for reasons she kept veiled.
That day, when he had visited Burke's Bountiful Brews, Draco had asked why she hadn't sent a random employee or Allegra to run the errand, but Narcissa had insisted that Draco be the one to go to the shop and collect the mysterious package. He didn't know what was inside, but it was likely something dubious for Narcissa to entrust this task to no one other than her own son.
"Normally, you know I wouldn't invite a Blood traitor. I don't trust them, as Voldemort knows. But this one works for Burke, and he's promised to keep her in check," Narcissa said firmly.
Draco rolled his eyes. Burke had probably made that promise to his mother just to ensure his own attendance at the inauguration. The apothecary was one of those opportunists obsessed with associating himself with the upper echelons.
Draco doubted that Burke's employee would toe the line. His limited dealings with Ginny Weasley had exposed her blatant disregard for decorum. She was insolent, and behind her seemingly submissive demeanour, there lay an obvious disdain for conventions. He had seen evidence of this on two separate occasions. Nonetheless, he wouldn't let the silly girl ruin anything tonight. This evening had to be a success. And Draco was determined to see it through.
/
Ginny cast an exasperated glance at the door, sighing deeply for what felt like the hundredth time since her arrival. She had done everything in her power to avoid the Malfoys. Yet, it seemed fate had once more entangled her in their twisted web. That very morning, Burke had casually mentioned they were invited—or rather, in Ginny's eyes, summoned—to the inauguration of the Imperial Augurey to ensure that the Sleep-Defying elixirs were correctly distributed to the guests and that Burke could offer some advice on the proper and safe usage of the potion.
This would undoubtedly serve as extensive advertising for Burke's shop. However, Ginny couldn't understand why they insisted on her involvement. After all, a plethora of house elves and employees were available for such tasks. So why did she have to be there?
She'd been relegated to a tiny office, doubling up as a makeshift storage room for the night. The room was sparsely furnished with just a table, two chairs, and a shelf stacked with brochures about the venue. Ginny surmised that they'd likely hand these out to guests later in the evening.
An hour earlier, a house elf had brought her a filled plate and a glass of mead, which had lifted Ginny's spirits. Even if she had to spend hours locked in this narrow office, she at least had the opportunity to indulge in some luxurious mead— a first for her. The young woman had been astonished by the gesture. She'd half-expected to be left starving, given her status. To them, she was on par with a house elf.
Ginny swallowed her last clabbert egg toast and sank back into her chair, gazing around the room in profound boredom as she chewed her canapé and skimmed through a brochure. Just how much longer would she be stuck here? Burke had expressly instructed her not to leave the room, depriving her of even a brief distraction by exploring her surroundings. They probably feared she might steal something.
Suddenly, the lock on the door clicked, and Ginny straightened up in her chair, assuming a more proper posture. The door creaked open, and a familiar face filled her with a surge of unease. Draco Malfoy stepped into the room, casting his haughty gaze upon her.
This was precisely why she'd protested so vehemently to Burke about coming back to this place. Ginny had wanted to avoid running into Draco at all costs after their last encounter. She knew he probably hadn't appreciated her antics from the previous day. Was he going to make her regret her impudence?
"You always seem to pop up where you're least wanted, Weasley," he drawled. "It's growing rather suspect, isn't it?
Ginny was taken aback that he remembered her surname but held her tongue. Draco looked her up and down, his eyes filled with judgement.
"Dressed for a different occasion, are we?" he teased with familiar mockery.
"I thought the dress code was 'Casual,' she retorted before she could stop herself.
Shut it, Ginny, she thought immediately. Why did she never have any restraint? To her surprise, Draco Malfoy didn't seem offended by her reply. On the contrary, he let out a brief laugh. Not his usual mocking smirk or openly sarcastic grin. This was genuine laughter, which entirely changed his face, making him look almost relaxed. Ginny stared at him, taken aback. For a fleeting moment, he seemed almost... human. The only emotions she'd ever seen on his face had been a mask of cold indifference and a stern anger that had sent a chill down her spine. His laughter subsided, and his features resumed their typical stern demeanor.
"Dobby," he called, not breaking eye contact.
"No, I'm Ginny," she retorted.
He shot her a surprised glance but did not respond as a house elf with long, hairy ears appeared in the room. Presumably Dobby. The little creature bowed deeply to Draco.
"How can Dobby assist Master Malfoy, sir?" asked the tiny creature, visibly delighted to serve.
"A bottle of white mead," ordered Draco, without even casting a glance at the elf.
Dobby snapped his fingers, and a bottle appeared on the table along with two glasses. He levitated the bottle to fill the glasses.
"Leave us," Draco commanded, picking up one of the glasses that had slid his way.
Ginny eyed her own glass with hesitation. The house elf vanished with a popping sound.
"I'm not sure Mr. Burke would approve…" she began, uncertain.
"I call the shots here, not Burke," Draco snapped, clearly irritated. "And do you know how rude it is to decline a drink offered by the host, Weasley?"
He brought the glass to his thin lips.
"Of course, you don't. Basic etiquette escapes you," he said with a condescending sneer.
Ginny didn't respond, but she did concede to pick up her own glass, taking a sip of the drink. The mead was delightful, even better than what had been served to her earlier in the evening. For someone used to buying cheap mead from a shop near her flat in Knockturn Quarter, this was undeniably a different experience.
"It's superior vintage," he explained, observing her with his piercing eyes.
Seeing her puzzled expression, Draco elaborated, "It's a designation for meads that meet certain criteria."
"Oh," she said simply.
For the following seconds, which felt like an eternity, silence settled in as Malfoy continued to observe her with his probing eye. Ginny shifted uncomfortably.
"I don't mean to be rude, but what are you doing here?" she finally asked.
Ginny couldn't fathom why he'd abandon the bustling banquet hall to join her in this room. From here, she could even hear the music and laughter. Wasn't he one of the event organisers?
"Don't start a sentence with 'I don't mean to be rude' if you're going to follow it with a rude question," he replied, rolling his eyes at the ceiling.
Ginny bit back a grimace. She'd speak out of turn if she didn't learn to hold her tongue. Who knew what Draco Malfoy was capable of? His cryptic demeanour and calculating gaze spelled trouble.
"What I'm getting at is that your guests are likely awaiting your return. And I'm sure you have better things to do than chat with someone like me," she added hastily.
"You're wrong, Weasley," he replied mysteriously. "What's your first name, again?"
"Ginevra. But people call me Ginny," she added after a few seconds of hesitation.
"Ginevra," he repeated thoughtfully. "Do you like working at that apothecary?"
Ginny eyed him warily.
"Master Burke is a fair employer," she finally said.
That was the politically correct response to his question. She was certainly not going to share her real opinions on Caractacus Burke in front of him. She didn't know Draco Malfoy, but she was sure of one thing—she couldn't trust him.
"It's very… enlightened of him to employ someone like you," Draco commented, his fingers idly tracing the table edge as he eyed Ginny.
"I'm very grateful to Mr. Burke for this opportunity," Ginny repeated mechanically. "He has been very kind to me."
At her response, Draco burst into openly mocking laughter, and Ginny gave him a puzzled look.
"Enough. You're not fooling anyone, Weasley," he remarked after his laughter died down.
His attention back on Ginny, his grey eyes now twinkled with amusement.
"We all do it. Play a role. I know what it's like," he added, seeming suddenly lost in deep thought.
"With all due respect, our worlds couldn't be more different," Ginny asserted, striving for a neutral tone.
Her role was a matter of survival. It was why she could continue to survive in this society where she was considered a lesser being. She had no other option. Draco Malfoy knew nothing of her grievances. He led a privileged existence, far removed from the harsh reality faced by most people in this unequal regime. He spent his time in a gilded cage, surrounded by people who would bend over backward to meet his every whim. He had all the advantages, wielded all the power. He could never understand the problems of the hundreds of thousands who were not deemed adequate by the regime.
Draco seemed somewhat disconcerted by her response. The amusement left his eyes, replaced once more by his typical coldness.
"When can I leave?" Ginny asked, crossing her arms.
"When I decide you can," he responded, his tone icy, before abruptly standing up.
Without another word, he left Ginny to her solitude once more. She let out a sigh, tinged with both relief and frustration. Relief because every interaction with Draco Malfoy made her tense. Frustration because she had no idea how much longer she'd be stuck in this place.
Two hours later, the door opened again, causing her to jump. She didn't know the time, but the confinement, with only her voice for company and the ornaments on the opposite wall for distraction, had worn her out.
This time, it was Burke who entered the room. He had clearly donned his finest wizarding robes for the occasion. What scant hair remained on his scalp appeared meticulously combed in a vain effort to mask his obvious baldness.
"Follow me," he snapped impatiently.
Ginny fell in step behind him, passing a pair of Death Eaters who were on guard in the Hall. The two did not take their eyes off them as they made their way to an adjoining room. The entrance to the banquet hall was open, and Ginny caught glimpses of the festivities. She had never witnessed such a spectacle—such grandiose and decadent luxury. It felt worlds apart from her everyday life.
They ended up next to a grand fireplace, which led to a cloakroom where two house elves were organising the guests' belongings. A table displayed an array of gift baskets, each delicately adorned and tied off with a twisted silver thread.
"Stay quiet, and don't open that never-ending gob of yours without my say-so," Burke declared, the threat evident in his sunken eyes. "Understood?"
Ginny nodded, too drained for conversation. Suddenly, a door opened, and Ginny realised it led directly to the banquet hall. A group of wizards, engrossed in conversation with Draco Malfoy, approached the fireplace.
"What a spectacular evening, Mr. Malfoy," one wizard enthusiastically remarked. "We look forward to spending time at the hotel."
Ginny didn't hear Draco's response, but she distinctly saw a satisfied smirk tugging at the corners of his thin lips. He gestured to a house elf, who levitated baskets toward the group. Ginny glanced at a clock on the wall. It read one in the morning. Relief washed over her, sensing the festivities nearing their end.
Over the next half hour, Draco personally greeted some guests, exchanging pleasantries before they were escorted to one of the hall's fireplaces or the hotel's exit for those using other means of transportation. Burke also intervened several times to give advice on using the Sleep-Defying elixirs found in the baskets, conveniently slipping in the location of his shop for good measure. Suddenly, he turned to Ginny and gestured for her to come closer.
"Fetch two baskets, will you?" he said in an authoritative tone.
Ginny complied without question. When she returned with the two baskets, she saw Burke and Draco deep in conversation with an elderly couple of wizards. The woman, of large build, sported an intensely blue magical eye in her right socket, which swivelled in all directions. She wore a dramatic cobalt blue hat, adorned with feathers from a bird likely massive given their size. The headpiece complemented her silk chiffon witch's dress. A necklace of precious stones graced her neck, glittering under the bright lights of the chandelier hanging from the foyer ceiling.
"Thank you for gracing us with your presence, Madam Governor," Draco remarked, his voice dripping with pomp to Ginny's ears.
Draco was undoubtedly orchestrating this charade. Watching him converse with his guests so pleasantly, one might almost think him a charming young man. Ginny, though, had seen his true colours – an insufferably arrogant man with an inflated ego.
"I hope you appreciate this special basket as a token of our gratitude," Draco continued.
Burke shot Ginny a knowing glance, prompting her to hastily present the baskets to the couple.
"Charming," commented the Governor, casting a curious glance at the assortment. "Do reassure me, that isn't an anti-wrinkle potion I see in there, is it?"
Clearly, this was an inside joke, as her husband let out a muffled laugh at the woman's comment.
"It's a Sleep-Defying elixir," Burke interjected ceremoniously. "A very rare brew, invaluable in its utility."
He extolled the potion's virtues to the couple and, not-so-subtly, slipped in the location of his shop.
"A top-notch apothecary, if I do say so myself," Draco added, with a nod. "We have been using Mr. Burke's services for several years now. And, Governor Warrington, you will likely appreciate the progressive hiring policy of his establishment."
The aforementioned Warrington, who had looked bored listening to Burke's sales pitch, seemed to suddenly regain interest in his words.
"Indeed, for some years now we have been employing lower-ranking employees to educate them in the prestigious art of potion-making. I have always wished to be a fair employer, providing opportunities to the less fortunate when the chance arises. Miss Ginevra Weasley here is one such individual," Burke indicated, pointing to Ginny. "She assisted me in the brewing of the elixir."
Warrington's magical eye suddenly shifted and lingered on Ginny.
"Really?" queried the Governor, visibly intrigued. "And what has been your experience, Miss?"
She spoke softly, enunciating each word as if addressing a child.
"I'm deeply appreciative of the chance Mr. Burke has given me. Such opportunities are few and far between for someone of my standing," Ginny declared in a measured tone.
"You find the environment a tad daunting, I presume?" the old woman probed.
"I'm profoundly grateful for the opportunity the esteemed Malfoy family has extended," Ginny recited with a fixed smile, flawlessly executing her script.
As the words left her mouth, they felt like deadly venom to her. However, they seemed to ring pleasantly in the Governor's ears as her face shed its bored look in favour of a more appreciative one.
"Well, I never thought I'd hear something of the sort here," she said, pleasantly surprised.
Ginny shot Draco Malfoy a brief glance, catching his supremely smug smirk.
"Let's go, Casparus. We're already well past our bedtime. These parties are no longer for people our age," she added confidentially, addressing Draco.
He responded with a polite nod.
"Allow me to see you out," he suggested as he walked off with the Warringtons.
"May Voldemort accompany you," Burke called after them.
Ginny watched their retreat, her brows knit in contemplation. Though she didn't know exactly why, she sensed that her presence at this opening was not altruistic. The energy Burke and Malfoy had expended to engineer this interaction with the Governor suggested an ulterior motive. And while Ginny was happy to have earned some extra galleons without breaking her back, she disliked the feeling of being used for unknown purposes.
Even more unsettling, a nagging feeling told her this wasn't the last of it.
Oh, Miss Weasley, this is indeed just the beginning!
It seems our little Ginny has certainly caught their attention. Whether that's a good thing or not, only time will tell.
I hope you enjoyed seeing things from Draco's perspective. For someone who claims to be unbothered by Ginny, doesn't our boy seem a tad too ruffled? Someone's certainly invested...
It's always fun for me to delve into his friendship with Pansy. I hope you found their banter as engaging as I do.
In the next chapter, you'll be introduced to Theodore Nott.
See you for the next update! In the meantime, I'd love to hear your thoughts!