Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: My thanks to JK Rowling for having such a splendid imagination and for allowing us to play around with her characters in the fanfiction universe. She gets all the credit for anything you recognize; the plot for this story is entirely mine (though I don't get paid).

Chapter Eight

Draco waited in the shadows, tapping the tip of his wand against his leg to the skip-jump beat of the music playing in his ear. The song came to an end and started over again. Draco sighed and looked at the display of the miniature music box he had taken from some poor, hapless sod of a Muggle the night before. What was wrong with this thing anyway? He could see a whole list of songs on the display, but could not figure out how to make it play more than just this one. The words were memorized, not to mention the entire drum solo, and the noise was getting on his last raw, bloody nerve. He cocked his arm back to dispense of irritating thing, snarled as the cord jerked the tiny speaker out of his ear, and smiled as it shattered satisfyingly on the pavement a few meters away.

Even more satisfying than the splintering finale of myriad pieces of plastic tinkling across concrete was watching the lights in the office building at the end of the car park finally go out. Draco waited until the man in the dark, pinstriped, silk suit turned around to close the door, sticking a small piece of metal into what he had discovered in the past couple days was the Muggle equivalent of a Locking Charm. He didn't give the man an opportunity to finish his task, however.

"Imperio," he whispered while aiming his wand.

The man stiffened immediately, frozen with his hand still on the metal locking device. Walking directly up behind the suit, Draco prodded the point of his wand at the man's spine.

Go back inside, Draco thought and smiled as the man's wrist twisted in the other direction, releasing the lock. The man removed and pocketed the piece of metal, reopened the door, and stopped just inside, nearly causing Draco to walk into his back. Silently, Draco cursed himself for the minor faux pas.

You want to go to your office, Draco suggested, following as the man took the cue and began walking again.

Draco had been watching the man for two days now. What had initially drawn Draco's attention was the wallet full of British bank notes the man had pulled out to pay for an Evening Standard from a seller on a street corner. The man had been too absorbed in the front page news to notice Draco feigning interest over a cluster of blossoms at a flower vendor a few paces away, or Draco rapidly becoming disinterested as he strolled passed, or Draco casually falling in step behind him.

The man had willingly given Draco all the notes in his wallet, as subtly suggested through a briefly spelled Imperio, in the quiet space between the dual entrance doors to a high-priced Japanese restaurant. The poor bloke had continued on in, none the wiser, and Draco had exited, much the richer. He'd pocketed the wad of notes, knowing that he had acquired more than his desired quota for the evening.

He had contemplated Apparating back to the manor for the evening, but the hustle of London's streets was infinitely less suffocating than the heavy weight of responsibility and depression his life had become. Draco had hesitated at the corner on which the restaurant stood, pondering the course his evening would take, when the suit pushed angrily out of the restaurant, talking into a small, rectangular box that he held to one ear with meaty fingers.

"No, Sam. I don't know what happened. I tell you, it was full when I bought the bloody Standard." He stopped talking, paced the corner quite close to where Draco was standing, and began talking again into what obviously was a communication device. "Never mind. I'll order takeaway and pay for it out of petty cash. I'm heading back to the office."

Draco's ears had perked up at the mention of cash. There was more cash? It was certainly worth following the man back to the office if it would end up being lucrative.

When they had reached the man's office, Draco following at some distance to avoid being noticed, he had discovered the man worked for a firm of solicitors. This could only mean more money. A couple of his father's friends had been solicitors, and they certainly made a fair number of Galleons.

He had decided it would be worthwhile to keep an eye on the man's office and had spent two days undercover, Disillusioned, watching the comings and goings of the employees and their clients. A few clients' wallets were suggested empty in the duration; a good opportunity was never wasted.

Thus, the location of 'petty cash' had been discerned, and as it turned out, it wasn't so petty after all.

On one of his many Disillusioned wanderings through the firm, he had found an antique safe in a room that was kept locked at all times ... until someone needed to enter it. He had noticed an occasional employee entering the room with heavy bags and leaving empty handed, and once he had overheard the receptionist request some 'petty cash' and followed the designated, key-entrusted employee into the locked room.

He had squeezed behind the portly woman, careful not to disrupt his Disillusioned status, and had watched as she spun the dial this way and that, pulled down the large wooden handle, and opened the heavy iron door with some considerable strength behind it. Draco had to wedge himself against the wall to avoid being discovered and found he had the perfect vantage point to see the contents of the safe.

Yes, it had definitely been worth following the man and spending two days staking out the place.

The pinstriped suit paused outside his office to turn the handle of the door. That wasn't the door Draco wanted him to open, however. He stopped the man with a thought.

Not that door. Draco turned his head and looked at the door the safe lay behind, which effectively turned his Imperioed victim's attention in the same direction. Open this door.

The man turned on his heel and walked slowly to the door, fishing another metal unlocking device out of his pocket in the few steps it took to reach the door. Fitting it into the small slot above the handle, he released the lock, swung the door open, and waited.

Draco prodded the man inside at wand-point. Go inside and unlock the safe.

Without hesitation, the man did as was suggested, as if the very thought had generated from his own will. The numbers of the dial blurred one way, then the other, stopping only long enough to lock in the sequence. The handle was pulled downward. And then, suddenly, the great riches of the safe were laid bare in front of Draco's eyes. Great bundles of secured 20-pound and 50-pound notes just asking to be freed from their prison.

It was beautiful. He nearly shed a tear.

Grabbing a burlap bag from a pile on the floor, Draco placed it in the man's hand and wordlessly ordered him to fill it. When that bag was full, he placed another in the man's hand, and so on until the safe was empty of its 'petty cash.'

Sure, it was Muggle currency, but it was a minor inconvenience. A Polyjuiced trip now and then to Gringotts would solve that problem. After all, he wouldn't want to draw attention to the fact that the Malfoys had suddenly become self-sufficient, now would he?

~ o ~

Narcissa leaned against a high wooden stool, stirring the cauldron in front of her. Fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight.... Where is that boy? He makes me do all the dirty work while he's off drowning himself in Firewhisky, no doubt. Draco's absences had become more frequent over the past couple weeks, and he always returned smelling like alcohol. She had no idea where he was procuring the funds for his newfound drinking habit, but after sparing a brief moment or two dwelling on it, she found that it really didn't matter to her as long as he wasn't touching the scant amount of cash they kept in the manor.

Likewise, she hadn't really cared too much at first when Draco had told her Hermione Granger was pregnant. She had been peripherally aware that Draco had been growing increasingly angry, but had not known that he had been planning any sort of revenge. The fact that the woman was pregnant meant nothing to her until he let her know what he had in mind. When Draco had asked for her help in this plan of his, she had readily complied and set to brew an abortifacient to rid the Mudblood of her offspring. Having a goal to work towards had brought her back to life, made life worth living again...not only as her husband's caregiver.

Of course, what they were about to do would not bring Lucius back, but Draco had given her another ray of hope: the Granger-trollop had procured two hard-to-come-by texts, which...rumor had it...documented cases similar to Lucius's. Whether or not any had been cured and how exactly it could be accomplished remained to be seen. It wasn't guaranteed, but it was more than they'd had before, and whatever it took to help Lucius was worth it.

Her poor, poor Lucius. She stirred the cauldron more vigorously...Sixty-nine, seventy, seventy-one...careful to calm down before tossing in some wormwood so that none of the potion would splash onto her robes. Calm...yes, she had to calm down.

The more she had thought about it in the past few days, the angrier she had become. She was angry at everything and everyone, as though Draco's attitude had been contagious. She was even angry at Lucius...for he was essentially at fault for what had happened...but she wanted the opportunity to let him know, to wail and rant at him, and then to ferociously make up with him. Even though logic told her that Hermione Granger had no control over her actions that fateful day, Narcissa was even angry with the Mudblood for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It would feel good to make someone pay for the condition of her husband.

The door to the laboratory banged open, and Draco came in, smelling like fresh evening rain and, predictably, of Firewhisky. He came over and kissed his mother's cheek perfunctorily and peered over her shoulder into the cauldron.

"Nearly finished?" he asked, unburdening himself of several heavy bags, lumping them heavily onto the floor.

"Yes, and I'd be much farther along if you'd been here to help," she replied acidly.

Draco patted his mother's shoulder. It used to irritate him that she always got short of temper when under stress. Lately, however, he had taken to prompting little fits of pique on purpose, overjoyed that she had begun speaking to him again and was no longer a waking version of his father.

"Don't fret, Mother. I'll take over."

He gently pried her anger-tight fingers from the wooden spoon and continued where she left off. All too happy to relinquish control, Narcissa reached back to pull the elastic out of her hair, letting it fall about her shoulders and running two tired hands through the limp strands.

"So you'll go tomorrow then?" she asked, kneading her stiff neck.

She knew that her next task would be to get her hands dirty in the kitchen. She cursed the fact that they had to sell the last house-elf the previous month. She detested menial work, be it stirring a cauldron or...like she was expected to do now...bake. She only hoped that she remembered how. The last time she had done anything domestic was the summer before she married Lucius when they were still wooing each other and she had wanted to impress him.

"Yes, Mother. As soon as I'm finished here, you can add it to the muffins. You did decide on muffins, didn't you?" He looked up briefly to add the final ingredient.

"Yes, they're kinder on a pregnant woman's stomach than anything else. Though I suppose that won't matter...." Narcissa's voice trailed off.

"Not having second thoughts, are you, Mother?" Draco asked, ice-cold, as he turned off the heat to the cauldron and turned around. "Because if you are, I can very well do this alone."

Narcissa straightened up at her son's threat. She knew he didn't need her, but she wanted to do this. She had to do this ... for Lucius. "No. No, I'm not having second thoughts. I was just remembering when I was pregnant with you ... how proud Lucius was to be having a son."

He gave his mother an even, critical look. "Well, if that's all it is," he said dismissively.

"Yes, that's all it is." Now it was her turn to be angry. "Who do you think has been slaving over a hot cauldron for the past three hours? If I had been having second thoughts, I would have dumped the entire contents out and been at your father's side...where I am needed."

His features softened, which had the effect of calming his mother down, letting her know that he most certainly deserved the tongue-lashing. He walked over to her and took both of her hands in his.

"You are needed right here, by me," he stressed. "I need you. I need Father too. That is why I do what I do."

"Which is what? Drinking Firewhisky at the local pub?" she stabbed with her voice, aiming for any soft spot she could.

"Hardly. Take a look." He pointed at the several burlap bags he had deposited on the floor.

"What's this?" she asked, unsure of whether she wanted to touch the rough, dingy fabric.

In answer, Draco led her over and opened one of the bags, allowing the stacks of Muggle notes fall out across the tile. He looked up at his mother. "This is what I have been doing every night for the past two weeks: securing our future."

Narcissa eyed the Muggle money at first with derision, then with hunger. They would be able to afford to live once again. Perhaps not up to the same standards she was once used to, but definitely well enough to buy back some of the things they had sold. They might even be able to buy back their house-elf.

Suddenly, she felt very much like baking. With the first smile in months forming a crease on her face, she levitated the cauldron and headed up the stairs, Draco following closely behind.