Draco's Other Delicate Condition

Chapter 01 - The Chink of Galleons the Tinkle of Tins

Mother," pleaded Draco. "I can't do it. You know what it is like out there. They are furious - they will murder me, I know they will."

"There is no choice Draco," Narcissa Malfoy stated simple fact. "Better murdered than shamed. There is no one else who can do this for our... your family name. If you do not do this, everything your father spent his life working for will have been for nothing. I will not allow you to stand by weak, while rabble reduce our family name - to shite."

"But Mother," Draco pleaded. "We know Father worked with... with his master. How can I go out there on that stage and tell the people that father ... the very wizard who had a hand in murdering the parents of those children...?"

"Stand up straight!" snapped Narcissa. She looked at Draco who near to twenty-one was maturing to a near match of his late father. "You will go out there now because our family name rides on your shoulders. " She took Draco's chin with both hands and lifted his face to hers. She kissed him soundly on the mouth then brusquely she pushed Draco towards the curtains. "Go! Show me you are even half the man your father was!"

Draco climbed up the steps and out onto the temporary outdoor platform. He stepped from behind the curtains and marching across the stage in a brisk manner.

Draco Malfoy never limped in his dreams.

His every step was dogged by vicious catcalls. The worse elements of the gathered crowd used their wands to propel rotten vegetables and fruit above Draco. The sodden moldy masses rained down on the young wizard and he tried to ignore it. His wand hand itched to draw and fire on the mob but he had been carefully coached to resist doing so.

"Lucius' spawn! Go back to prison where you belong!"

"DEATH EATER! DEATH EATER'S LEGACY!"

"Spoiled Brat-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," yelled one wag in the crowd and there was a roar of derisive laughter.

"PUREBLOOD FILTH!"

Draco's hand shook as he flipped his pale blonde fringe back; Ignoring the grievous insults He waved his wand with one swift motion and stood back as the curtain that hung over the doorway fluttered down, revealing a dedication plaque of shining brass that gleamed in the sunlight for all to read: Lucius Malfoy Memorial Orphanage.

'Hate monger,' the voices roared.

'Traitor,' shouted a lone voice.

More fetid filth rained down on Draco's head.

With a start, Draco woke, sitting up in bed, flaying his arms and scattering the bed linen. His heart pounded. He barely managed to not fall out of bed. Hands shaking he grabbed his naked crotch -a habit left from waking from his childhood nightmares that sometimes had caused him to wet himself. He hadn't wet himself since he was a boy, and he certainly wouldn't wet himself now, when he was 'entertaining' someone for the night. Unable to totally stop trembling, Draco flipped back the duvet. He sat admired the beauty lying by his side, bathed in moonlight that filtered through the east facing slender turret window. He appreciated the cosy feeling of the small turret bedroom he demanded for his own when he was a tiny and petulant child.

"Fucking nightmares," Draco growled softly. He had been plagued with nightmares the whole of his life. The nightmares were far more frightening when he was a young student at Hogwarts. But now in his middle age his nightmares were far more insidious because unlike his childhood dreams, the reoccurring dreams of his adulthood were repeats of actual events.

Draco sighed, pulled his wand from beneath his pillow and used it to summon a pouch from a trunk under one of the turret windows. When the small leather pouch reached him, he dug within it to remove a small meerschaum pipe. He stuffed it with desiccated leaves and the ground scales of a Ukrainian Ironbelly Dragon - most of the pipe ingredients were outlawed and/or illegal. Over the years Draco had learned the substance, when smoked, would allow him to sleep without the troubling dreams.

Draco sucked in the smoke and held his breath. As he held to the count of twenty, he recalled what happened next that day on the stage in Diagon Alley so many years ago.

The day he so often dreamt of remained fresh in his mind; the smell of the overripe vegetables he wiped from his head and shoulders. His hatred for the substantial crowd that only showed up for the chance to pelt him; unpopular both for being the son of a despised Death Eater and for having sat out the war in relative safety while souls thought more deserving gave their lives to the war effort.

Lying back against the soft bed linens, Draco shut his eyes and exhaled a long plume of smoke. He remembered his resentment of what his mother insisted was his sole duty, and how hard he fought to keep his face peaceful in the face of the crowd's vicious onslaught. As his mother had instructed him to, he had pointed to a reporter in the crowd.

"Mr. Malfoy," the reporter shouted to be heard above the booing and hissing. "Your father and several of his cohorts spent three years in old Azkaban prison. How can you have the balls to dedicate this orphanage to the very name of your father, Lucius Malfoy who we all know was -"

"S i l e n c e!" Draco had boomed so loudly that a Sonorus spell to project his voice over the shouts of the crowd would have been redundant. At that moment a rotten tomato hit him dead on, but with great dignity Draco wiped the overripe mess from his face.

"My father, Lucius Malfoy stood before the Wizengamot and was summarily cleared of all charges by the testimony of witnesses to the atrocities of He Who Must Still Not Be Named. My dear departed father was as much an innocent victim of the war as were the families of these orphans."

That was when the mob went troll wild. There Draco stood, alone, attempting to whitewash the shame from his father's name, but the throngs knew better. Although it was common knowledge that the young heir did not wear the Dark Mark, the general wishes of the public was that the young man ought to have been left to rot in prison for his own petty offenses.

He never knew why he did what he did next. A motion from the corner of the stage caught his eye. Several of the children who were to inhabit the orphanage were standing backstage; playing gobstones and two or three of the brats squabbled. Draco waved an arm towards the children.

"Come here you lot," Draco remembered calling to them. "Come out, show yourselves."

Two of the older children, young wizards, were the first to trot onto the stage. Then, slowly, in trooped a small girl, then another, and a small boy with his finger up his nose. Finally all of the forty or so children, all under the age of ten, stood around Draco on the stage.

Draco drew a long drag on his pipe and began to laugh softly as he recalled how the children marched onto the platform, solemn as specters. He had to cover his mouth as his laugher triggered a short coughing spell. His lungs couldn't handle smoking as easily as when he was a young man.

The change in the audience's attitude had been instantaneous. The avalanche of rotten vegetables ceased. The nasty catcalls and hoots of derision were replaced with heartfelt sighs of pity for the tiniest victims of the long and harsh Wizard War. The sad little faces of the foundlings were frowning to the last child and each tot looked as beguiling, innocent and helpless as bedraggled kittens caught in a flood.

Draco inhaled another lungful of the blue tinted pipe smoke. He recalled that although his actions were not preplanned, he had began to act on instinct, gently scooping up the tiniest of the children; a witch of perhaps two or three years old with short blonde plaits, whose little pink thumb was firmly tucked into her rosebud mouth. Holding the child in his arms and crushing her pale cheek to his young cheek, Draco had slowly limped to the front of the podium as the photographer's cameras flashed. He stood looking at the child in his arms lovingly because he had pretended she was a sack of Galleons.

He grinned now. His little performance had worked to a tee. Inside of 24 hours wizard photos of himself holding the innocent child virtually flew around the wizarding world. There was hardly a wizarding home, office, school or town notice board around the world that didn't feature pinned, sellotaped and magically stuck pictures of 'that kind hearted Malfoy lad' offering succor to the orphaned baby girl.

'Cheapest advertising I ever enjoyed,' thought Draco as he pulled another pinch of the dried matter from the leather pouch.

What he had done next on that stage so long ago was even more brilliant; he had kissed the small girl's tender pink cheek and announced, "I will invest in all of our futures by investing in these children. The new Malfoy Foundation will see to it these tiny helpless ones are fed, clothed and educated. My family Foundation will find all of these children proper loving families and if need be will even provide those homes to the families!"

The applause had started up slowly at first and then gained strength as the audience responded to the wealthy young heir and all innocent waifs.

"Allow me to start the ball rolling by adopting this poor little witch as my ward." At the sight, a resounding and loud 'awwww' of delight rose from the gentled congregation. Draco asked the tot, "What is your name child?" The little girl shrugged, her limp blonde fringe drooped over her sleepy eyes. Her answer was inaudible to all except Draco. "This child is like many others from the war, she knows not her own name. Perhaps one of you might suggest a suitable name for this wee tyke?" He looked beseechingly out to the audience. The gathering was totally captivated by the sight of the child in Draco's strong arms. Name after name was called out.

"Ah! I fancy that name, it is wonderfully suitable. I believe it means 'the abandoned one," said Draco. "Let us see if the child fancies it. Here Little One, would you like being called 'Perdita'?"

The child then bashfully hid her face against Draco's robes. Draco could still hear the tumultuous cheering and applauding. The child was named. The cameras flashed. The Malfoy family name was again a name of great prestige.

'What a pretty picture the ragamuffin and I made,' thought Draco. 'Damn me but I still recall how the little wretch stank. Why couldn't I have picked up one of the housebroken brats?'

That was many years ago and with great disgust Draco wondered why after so many years he still frequently dreamt of the terrifying first half of that fateful event. Why dream over and over again of the evil mood of the crowd and the stink of the rotten vegetables and fruit? Why did he seldom dream of the cheers and praise he received when he took up Perdita, that tiny child in his arms and became her guardian?

Draco snorted and dumped his pipe on the bedside table. There was no accounting for dreams. What wouldn't he be willing to give up to enjoy a lifetime untroubled by dreams. Draco scratched his bare flanks and gave in to a hardy loud yawn. He flung himself on the body of the young woman by his side and cuddled up against her back. As he hoped, she woke.

"Oh Draco, the smoke stinks," complained the woman between wide yawns. "Nasty bad habit, why don't you quit?"

"You forget. I'm stinking rich. My smoking is not as much a bad habit as a rich wizard's eccentricity at best, a peccadillo at worst. Now, speaking of pecks, as long as we're awake, here's an idea for a spot of fun we can have." Draco reached around to rest his hands against the naked young breasts and proceeded to rub his swollen erection against the young woman's round bottom.

"Draco," whinged the young woman not even bothering to open her eyes, "not again."

"Well this may be sod-all for you, but I have to recuperate some of the money I've showered upon you," said Draco. He was already sweating and making fairly unattractive guttural noises as he pounded his groin against the blonde.

"You never bother to romance me, or fiddle around a bit any more," said Perdita irritably as Draco labored. "It's just, up down, in out, wiggle, grunt, then smoke that damned pipe and it's off to sleep. Where did the romance go?" Her sarcasm went unchallenged.

"Hold it... nearly there," Draco shuddered, grunted loudly and then relaxing, gave a great long sigh. He uncurled from the girl, then sat up and reached for his pipe again. "What fucking romance? There was never any romance. Now shut up, you're beginning to annoy me." He relit his pipe and began to smoke, sending more blue smoke curling up into the air. "You know sometimes you make me feel I am older than Salazar's stonker. Why do I put up with you?" said Draco, giving Perdita's rump a slap.

"Because forbidden fruit is always the sweetest," said Perdita simply. Over the years she proved an intelligent girl. She was dead on in her comments about her guardian Draco, and in enough possession of her senses not to make a cross-reference to Narcissa Malfoy.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The following night was the social event of the summer season; the Malfoy Foundation Charity Gala. Tickets to the occasion were much sought after by everyone who was anyone, and those scoring tickets were swamped with invitations for notable events of the coming year - to hold a ticket to the annual Malfoy event was to have socially 'arrived'.

Draco Malfoy, who with his mother hosted the affair, was not in the main ballroom. He was in the East wing at the far end of the room that was larger than a Muggle aircraft hanger. He stood lazily chucking a pretty auburn haired girl under her chin. Early on he had picked her out as his target for the evening, or at least one of them, and escorted her away from the fuss and noise of the main ballroom.

"So my dear, what do you think of this house?" Draco's face was only inches from the girl's. He leaned forward, an arm on one side of the girl while on her other side he tapped his beloved platinum serpenthead cane against the wall.

"This is a house?" asked the astounded young woman. She was leaning back against the wall near a fireplace that she thought was large enough to insert her family's entire home. "You mean people live here? I thought this was a community center or a town hall."

"Are you saying this little dwelling isn't 'homey', said Draco feigning disappointment. He knew he was well within the girl's discomfort zone, she was squirming to move away from him but he had her blocked against the wall. Unless the young woman dropped to her knees and crawled through his legs, she was trapped - mind, not that he would mind if she did drop to her knees that would at least save time. "Yes this is someone's home. Didn't you know that? How did you manage to get invited to this affair and be unaware of its venue?"

"I... I... I wasn't exactly invited here," stammered the girl. "I was invited by my mates. A friend's writes at the Quibbler and got press passes," she paused so as to allow the blonde wizard a second or two to be thoroughly impressed with her score of the greatly desirable tickets. "My friend's mother is hoping to get an interview with..." the girl leaned forward and whispered. "With that filthy rich shite that lives here, you know, Draco Malfoy."

"Really?" said Draco laughing. He knew this young lady, like most youngsters seldom if ever bothered to pick up a newspaper or she would have recognized him in an instant. "Do you believe all the fuckage they write about that low life..."

There was a loud rude raspberry like noise and an ugly squat house elf disapparated. "Master-"

"One more word Hock," hissed Draco suddenly sounding quite dangerous, "and I'll kick your diminutive arse with a diminutive boot. Now go tell Mother... go tell Narcissa to hold onto her knickers and I will be along shortly. Do I make myself clear?"

The elf nodded and with another pop of elf magic and a blast of noise, he disappeared.

"My gods!" exclaimed the girl. "What... what was that hideous little creature? Why was he naked?"

"He wasn't naked. Didn't you see his handkerchief covering up his eensy elf bits? Surely you know what house elves are? They live here to serve the Malfoy family.

The girl's bright eyes widened and she gasped, "Are you one of the... oh no! Don't tell me you are Draco Malfoy?"

"Oh yes," said Draco, and he shut the girl up by favoring her with an unwanted kiss and placement of his hands where no gentleman should travel without invitation. The girl squealed and writhed uncomfortably against the wall. When finally Draco pulled away the girl was no longer squealing but she was obviously angry. Draco always appreciated the glow on an angry witch's cheeks, the topmost or lower pair of cheeks, either would suffice. He ran his cane down the girl's neck, over her bare shoulders. "Don't be foolish. Hang around until later. I can provide you with a little glittery accessory to properly finish off your pretty little red frock."

That the young woman wore Muggle clothing instead of robes was one of the things Draco found attractive about the pretty witch. The young were so daring in their dress. He smiled and stared unabashed at the long leg that showed in a slit down the side of the lady's frock.

'Being an oily shite is so fun,' thought Draco. 'I bet by the time I'm through with that innocent little twit, she apparate back to her little hovel and takes twenty five showers in a row. I'll teach the upstart where her place is.'

Draco turned sharply and limped out of the room, gently flipping his serpenthead cane into the air and catching it. He would have apparated to his destination but he was in absolutely no hurry. He hated the Malfoy charity galas. The events seemed to be more and more frequent and the publicity was invaluable. His father had often told him you could catch more pixies with honey than with vinegar. The Malfoy Foundation donated hundreds of thousands of Galleons annually to noteworthy charities. The Foundation was the mainstay of most European wizarding charities and by Salazar; there was no easier or more efficient way to launder dirty Galleons.

Luck was not with Draco as he took a short cut across the courtyard, for he was immediately spotted by a jostling mob of reporters and guests who all had personal agendas they each wished for him to acknowledge.

The crowd of reporters stood amid the flowerbeds that twinkled with the exotic light of countless live imported Balinese Fairies. Looking over the mob, Draco lazily pointed to a reporter who had amused him by virtue of a pointed hat the reporter wore that bore the flashing words - THE MALFOY FAMILY - THE OLDEST AND THE BEST. The pro-pureblood homily reeked of dangerous wartime sentiments, but these days, the motto was now rather more campy than antagonizing. And anyway, there were not many surviving victims of Death Eaters to protest.

"Mr. Malfoy, how does it feel on a day like today, to realize your late father's dreams have all become a reality?"

What? Did the Dark Lord come back from the dead again and did all the mudbloods in Europe up and die and I wasn't informed?

Draco paused thoughtfully. "I feel at long last my dear father will rest easy. The institutions that bear his honored name still feed and clothe the unfortunate and ensure the memory of Lucius Malfoy will forever be associated with the many works of philanthropy that exemplified his life. If my father might have been with us here today," Draco paused, feigning an emotionally tight throat. "Father would have been as humbled by the pluck of the unfortunates we serve as am I."

Why doesn't my lying tongue just fall from my mouth?

The air rang with applause. Draco perused the crowd slowly and lazily pointed his cane at another reporter.

"Mr. Malfoy, there are those who claim your father was, just as he was convicted, a Death Eater and a trusted henchman of He Whose Name Must Still Not Be Named. Can you tell us is there any truth to that accusation?"

The blunt question was no sooner out of the reporter's mouth than angry mutterings began; a rumbling set squarely against the besmirching of the unjustly maligned patriarch Lucius Malfoy. Draco's nostrils flared but an instant but his polite smile was unwavering.

Quills poised the reporters in the crowd and the guests were anxious for the gentlewizard's reaction to the charges, charges which like evil, could be shunted aside but would not die. The reporter who voiced the question, immediately regretted his bravado and began to sweat under Draco's terrible gaze - and make no mistake; Draco's gaze was godawful.

You'll want to know that at near to forty years of age Draco was no longer the spare, pale, angelic looking, devilish boy who had attended Hogwarts so many years ago. He had matured to a near match of his late father's image. He was broad of shoulder and had a torso that exceeded even his father's legendary span of chest. Draco stood tall, athletically lean and fit; just as fit as he had been years ago at Hogwarts when he was 'Captain Draco Malfoy Sir' of the Slytherin Quidditch team. In short, Draco Malfoy was a stud; if a creature had eyes, Draco could turn them. And too his once 'pointed' face had grown strong of chin and showed off his pureblood breeding, which had worked entirely to his favor. There was no weakness whatever about Draco, at least what could be observed at the surface. Unlike some of his family's line, there was no insanity about Draco, only a single-minded pursuit of goals occasionally mistaken for madness. In short, Draco Malfoy was a splinter off the old wand.

"Utter nonsense," Draco waited a beat while the crowd tittered derisively at the expense of the unfortunate reporter. "My father was a humanitarian who dedicated his life to works of charity. He served many years on the Hogwarts School Board. He was a trusted advisor and committee member for the Ministry of Magic. Before his second unlawful arrest on trumped up charges my father worked tirelessly to offer council as a member of numerous Ministry committees - the Post War Reparation to Victims Committee, the Galleon Standards Committee and numerous others. My father was founder and financier of the Endangered Magical Species Trust. He donated generously to those and many other institutions I have not the time to mention. It is sad that my father had his detractors, as do all great men whose unselfish natures bring out self doubt among petty mindedness fools. Yes, there are those who I am sad to say would have loved nothing better than to besmirch the name of a noble humanitarian - my father."

'Yes, and after two years of maximum security imprisonment in New Azkaban I saw to it my father was acquitted and released to fleece his enemies, punish turncoats to his master and eventually die a peaceful death in the bosom of his family. Deal with THAT arsehole.'

"Mr. Malfoy!" the call bellowed above the voices of the crowd. A large burly wizard broke his way through the crowd, a pushing the reporters and guests aside as easily as if they were all as tiny as house elves.

"Ah! One of my people," said Malfoy apologetically. "There was an emergency brewing this morning in one of our continental charities. Please, the entertainment is starting in the main ballroom and be sure to indulge yourselves in some of the excellent food and drink in the Green Room. I must beg your pardon... excuse me... pardon me..." The crowd parted as Draco followed after the burly man, out of the courtyard and into a private room on the other side of the courtyard.

"Damn it Crabbe! Where fuck were you? You ought to have rescued me before the first reporter opened his ignorant mouth." Draco had little tolerance for a botched job. "Your Christmas bonus is looking less substantial by the day." He and Crabbe cut through a hall of the East wing, passed through French doors into a private room that featured a glassed in arboretum stocked with exotic magical plants from around the world. The moonflowers were in bloom.

"Malfoy," said Crabbe, good-natured as always. He shut the French doors and drew the curtains. "I was a little late. Had to drop your little goddaughters off at a little sleep over at the Notts tonight. May I have a drink Gov'ner?" Crabbe pointed over to Draco's side bar.

"Right. Drink. Pour me a Dragon Skinner while you're at it. Use the good stuff," Draco was not yet placated. "You drink the crap - uh, the specialties I keep special for the help."

"Right generous you are Gov'ner," said Crabbe, unperturbed. He poured two drinks.

Draco seated himself at an ancient mahogany desk and adjusted a pillow under the portion of his rear that was missing a bum cheek. As if often did when he was annoyed, the missing half of Draco's buttocks, his 'phantom' bum, ached him something fierce. "I pour my heart into our fucking charities! My solicitors, Bedlam, Twist and Eyre Associates see to every minute detail, every comfort for piss poor layabouts that suckle from the fat tits of the Malfoy Foundation centers all over the wizarding world - even the berks with impure blood! I am the very soul of benevolence! Orphans I care for wipe the shite from their ikle bums with lavender scented silken loo parchment. And in the eyes of the fucking press is THAT good enough? FUCK no! Not for those petty, base minded bastards!"

"Here Gov'ner," said Crabbe, placing a drink in front of Malfoy. "You're only hurting yourself mate," he said, seeing how Draco was near cross-eyed with the pain in his missing rump. Crabbe seated himself and swirled his gillywater and tonic. "Don't you want to know how things went down this yesterday?"

"Dry up Crabbe," said Draco downing his drink in one gulp. "How did it go?"

Ignoring Draco's irritable contradiction, Crabbe grinned. "Like grease through a goose's arse. Now't amiss sir. They caved in to your demands just like you said they would. You are considerably richer than you were this time yesterday. Eight hundred thousand pieces of goblin gold is now setting all pretty like in the Urals. And the best news is the official Ukrainian Ironbelly Dragon survey pulled off by Department of International Magical Cooperation and the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures turned up not one bleeding dragon this here past year.

"Excellent," said Draco, calmer now he knew he was notably richer. "How many Ironbellies are there really roaming around out there eating up the peasantry and donating their scales to my little enterprises?"

Crabbe rolled his eyes heavenward. "Oh... after this year's harvesting, oh...say two or three hundred of those bloody great Ironbellies left alive. Give or take a dozen."

Draco broke into a large grin. "Lovely. The Ukrainian Ironbellies will be declared extinct any time now. And since the beasts are extinct my operatives cannot be prosecuted for trafficking in freshly ground Ironbelly scales since the creatures 'do not exist'. Yes, sweet. Crabbe, have another drink, my private stock."

"Oh, thank you Gov'ner. I believe I will." He poured out each another round.

Draco's pale grey eyes twinkled. "You know Crabbe, I am once again filled anew with admiration for the marvelous job your old ball and chain Messalina did to improve your brain. Goyle's too. Say, you'll pardon my hatred for the fucking, atrocious, dreadful and appalling harpy you have the misfortune to call your wife?" Draco happily flipped his serpenthead cane into the air.

Crabbe's face continued to look peaceful, but he spoke warningly. "Gov'ner, I will thank you to cease your endless offensive comments about either of my beloved spouses, least I forget you are my employer and I pound you into little mound of mushy peas." He raised his glass to Malfoy. "No offense sir."

"Oh right, no offense taken," said Draco equally pleasant. "Tell me, are my godsons enjoying their summer holidays?" He took a genuine interest in his godsons, Crabbe's biological sons.

"As you know our boys are just home from their fifth and sixth years at Hogwarts. Our young Brutus is doing well; a nick off the old cauldron that one. You recall he is a Prefect and a sure touch for Head Boy next year." Crabbe took great pride in his family, so it seemed at first unusual that his eyes now dropped to the carpet and his smile faded. "Oh, and well, our Rupert is fine too; of course."

With embarrassment, Draco pretended to examine his manicured nails. "Rupert, he is well enough then?"

"Yes, just fine," said Crabbe. He, as Draco, did not believe he would ever live down the humiliation of his youngest boy's placement in Hufflepuff.

It seemed a good time to tweak the subject a bit. "And how is the 'little man'?" Draco asked sarcastically. "Your so-called 'husband'."

"Oh, our 'Greggors' is brilliant Draco," said Crabbe; he was never down for long. "I told you how our Messalina has Greggors on an exercise program? Well, doesn't our Greggors look bloody fucking marvelous! And don't his muscles go on for days?" Never one to understand Draco's degree of discomfort over his threesome- Goyle/Crabbe/Zabini - marriage, Crabbe gave Draco a nod and a wink. "Don't mind telling you my Messalina and Greggors keep me middle leg happier than a kettle of boy and girl pixies in the springtime."

Draco fought his disgust at Crabbe's blatant bisexuality and again changed the focus of the conversation.

"And how are my goddaughters?"

"Cute as Tadfoal's ear our girls are," bragged Crabbe. The young girls were biological children of Crabbe's husband, Goyle.

"Ask for their dear Godfather Malfoy each and every day those little ones do," Crabbe's deep voice hinted at mischief as he leaned forward. "So Malfoy, how is your remaining - buttock?"

Although neither wizard was a dog, Crabbe could see Draco's hair rising up like the hackles of an Alsatian at a cat show. Draco opened his mouth, most likely in preparation to make Crabbe's job redundant, but there was a colossal loud crack just then that rattled the windows.

"Uh... sir, must be going now," said Crabbe, his face going pale and he disapparated on the spot. Considering how slow Crabbe's intelligence seemed at Hogwarts, he had grown up to display an impressive capacity for continued mental growth - a direct side effect of his wife Messalina.

Now it never failed to amaze Draco how for such a petite witch Perdita had the loudest disapparation crack of any witch or wizard of his acquaintance. That fact was doubly annoying because the most he ever was able to drum up with his own apparation was dull thud like a dropped cooking pot - not the sort of crack that demanded attention or respect. Despite consultation with leading experts, Draco was unable to alter the noise of his apparation to any sizable degree. His apparation crack was still rather unimpressive.

Back to topic though, Draco knew there was to be hell to pay because just as he had lied to his mother about showing up in a timely fashion, he also stood up his ward, Perdita. The young lady was left to fend for herself with the scandal hungry reporters; yet another in a string of Draco's unforgivable breaching of her trust. Draco correctly accessed it was retribution time. Rubbing his brow in anticipation of a migraine he looked up to see the livid, fuming witch. She was an enchanting sight, standing there in a glittering gown woven of the ultra lightweight undercoat of yearling chimera pups, shot through with gossamer gold made of ground-up wings of Nairobi Occamy. She angrily stamped her stiletto-heeled slippers.

"Hello Little One," said Draco innocently. "So... those reporters must have kept you occupied for quite some time, hum?"

"You did it again," shouted Perdita, hoping that Draco was nursing a hangover so her shouting would provide maximum pain to Draco for her efforts. "You know how I hate being rounded on by reporters. You foul, vicious, evil little cockroach..."

'Perdy - that is not even original,' thought Draco. 'Perhaps it is time we ended this relationship. And if you can avoid turning this into an unseemly row there are some lovely parting gifts for you.'

"...and worse Draco, you do such things to me on purpose, deliberately to torment me! Why? So it will be easier for you to keep me at a distance? Do you truly want me to hate you?" She marched over to Draco's desk and tempestuously gave his shot glass a blow that sent it sailing across the room to soil the draperies.

Temper my tiny sweet, you will insist on blowing off the parting gifts then? Pity. A 10 carat ruby pendant would do justice for that lovely long nip-able neck of yours.

With a dramatic sigh, Draco stood and walked to the front of his desk. He leaned gingerly back against it, folding his muscular arms.

"What you are on about Perdita? Haven't I been good to you? I took you in, more or less. Sent you to attend that artsy fartsy little girl's academy in Switzerland where you lived better than any princess. And when you were old enough, I allowed you to decide you wished to attend Beauxbaton."

Perdita proved only too willing to discuss her past. "When I was very little, I didn't really understand who you were. You were a picture hanging in my wardrobe - a wizard whom I was told provided me with all my privileges, all my lovely things. Many a morning I sat stroking my pet unicorn in my private gardens outside of my room, wondering who the generous wizard might be and wondered why a wizard, neither mother or father to me, should care about a little witch so very far away? Then," Perdita turned her face from Draco, "when I was five or six years old, you began to send me one or two posts each year. I was the envy of my classmates whenever one of your giant eagles arrived bearing my precious post," sputtered Perdita, her anger being pushed aside by old feeling of abandonment.

"I visited you annual from the time you were a nappy-pissing tot," said Draco, unimpressed, as usual, by Perdita's tale.

"Yes, once a year," said Perdita. "The visits were always over so quickly I believe I was at least seven before I realized that the wizard whose lap I sat on for the Christmas photos was the same wizard in the picture that hung in my wardrobe. Christmas photos - taken so everyone could see what wonderful care you took of your little waif."

"I am a busy, busy wizard Perdy," said Draco unapologetically. "Time is Galleons. And you fail, as always to mention I saw a great deal of you your last year at Beauxbaton. I got permission from the Headmistress at that expensive institution to treat you to weekends on the Riviera, in the Caribbean, Maui, the Hamptons."

"Yes, after reached the age of seventeen I was of a great deal of interest to you all right," Perdita spat. "You saw quite a lot of me."

Oh by Merlyn, yes - tits to arse you were sex on a stick.

"You aren't going to stand there and make believe that I was the one who made the first move on you, are you?" said Draco. "You were so needy. 'Oh Draco, please love me! Don't leave me here alone at school! Take me away with you!' Damn me, but you were pathetic. And I was only out to make you happy. I gave you what you wanted. By Merlyn girl, I provided richly for you. And now here you stand, a young lady to be reckoned with. A lady of means in your own right and alas, I am sated with you. I fear there is little more we can do for each other."

"What?" said Perdita, taken aback by the sudden information. "What? So this is it? You are done with me. Two years and your newest girlie-toy is no longer of interest? Well. Yes. I suppose by your standards we are nearly an old married couple and I am now one of your used up 'hags'.

Once, when you were pissed, you actually spoke to me of marriage, children. I loved you once," said Perdita sorrowfully. "But then by Merlyn's wand, I GREW UP!" Perdita steeled herself for Draco's potential outburst, "I... now... now I hate you." Contrary to Perdita's expectations, Draco took her assessment of their rocky relationship calmly for he already knew the truth of her words.

"Now Perdy," Draco nearly purred. "Don't make a fuss. Yes, our little times together are regrettably come to an end because you are all grown. I grant you a remarkable favor; you needn't spend all the rest of your days thanking me for the thousands of kindnesses to you. Nor shall you need to ponder how you might pay me back for all the Galleons I showered on you - you could live ten lifetimes and never earn enough to pay me back. So, it is that I hereby set you free." Draco smirked, wiggling his fingers upward in imitation of a butterfly's erratic movements. "Fly free Little One! Go forth - flourish."

Slowly ever stunned by Draco's callousness, Perdita approached Draco. "You are quite a piece of work. " Her words were not a complement.

Ignoring Perdita's comment, Draco pulled Perdita into his arms, enjoying the feel of her young breasts pressed against his chest. He reached around her slim waist, his hands cupped, slowly gliding downward over the sheer material that glimmered on her rump. Gently his fingers probed the material, softly rubbing the base of her arse cleavage between her thighs.

"Perdy, now you cannot say overall we did not have a spot of 'fun', eh? I relieved you of that annoying virginity were probably fretting over, and really, didn't I keep you stupefyingly-stupendously-within-an-inch-of-your-life-orgasmically-satisfied, Miss 'Oh Do Me Again Drake-poo'?" He sucked in her ear lobe into his mouth and sucked on the pink flesh as though it were a sweet.

Although Draco's tongue was warm on her ear, Perdita shivered. "Draco, you have no trouble satisfying a girl when and if you bloody well feel like it, that much I can attest to; but you have no heart. In that way I was told you are just like your father was, a heartless bastard..." Perdita gasped but it was too late to recall the words. Draco bit down on her ear lobe and his gentle caresses quickly became a vicious grip. Perdita flinched and whimpered with pain.

"Haven't I warned you to never speak of my father, my mother, with anything except the greatest of respect?"

"Yes," whimpered Perdita, nodding frantically. "I'm sorry."

"I am sorry who?" Draco said in a tight, even voice.

"I'm sorry Sir."

"As you ought to be," said Draco relenting. He released his grip on the girl and folded his arms over his chest. In her final act of regret, Perdita reached out to touch his hand, but Draco leaned back against his desk and turned his head out of spite.

Slytherin trained by Draco himself and utterly heedless of any repercussions, Perdita took Draco's chin and jerked his head around so she could stare into her former guardian's darkening grey eyes. She took a several steps backwards. "So this is where it ends then."

BRAVO! And the lovely lady wins the ruby pendent, a set of dragon skin luggage and a year's free lodging at the resorts of her choice!

But Draco knew the show was not quite over just yet. He had lived through dozens upon dozens of such scenes as his cast off girlfriends reared up like fractious fillies to deliver their parting shots. Really, the ending scenes were a vital part of the entire entertainment package Draco drew from his former girlfriends.

"Tell me," a sly smile twitched the corner of Perdita's red lips, "you did love someone once didn't you? You loved that witch you speak of in your sleep "The witch you sing out to - when you're having it off - 'Petals'. At least I assume your old flame was a witch."

Draco's eyes grew darker yet. No girlfriend had ever dared to mention that sometimes in a passion he was apt to shout out that one name out of the maelstrom of witches in his past. He sometimes wondered if his girlfriends assumed he had some sort of bizarre flower fetish? And how dare the brat comment on his sexual preferences. There were only those few wizards he experimented with back at Hogwarts, some memorable, all annoying in the fights over who was to bottom but that was neither here nor there. Ultimately someone would be sorry for her impudent remarks.

Having survived another round and now willing to risk all now, Perdita continued. "I finally surprised you Draco." The look in Draco's face so teetered on the edge of control that Perdita wisely backed a few steps. The girl was set now on her near masochistic path. Like a wolf she sensed weakness and took her last chance to hurt Draco as he had so often hurt her.

"So a witch once managed to get to you," said Perdita keeping an eye on Draco's wand hand. "I scarcely can believe it - a witch has left her marks upon you. A witch you perhaps still love, that you cannot forget?"

"Now then, is that any of your business Little One?" Draco had a particular soft spot for Perdita. If he had been his father and a witch had given such cheek, the witch would be severed and tidily packed up in tiny burlap bundles to be carted off to the forest to give the local Thestrals a late night treat. "Do you think you are the only one who is hurt? Used?"

The girl gasped in amazement. "Excuse me? You hurt? Used? You, horrible, selfish, uncaring-" What was the point? Perdita's eyes sparkled in her fury. "I take my leave of you."

"So you thought this through?" said Draco now bored and wanting the unpleasant exit interview at an end.

"I have taken a small room in Diagon Alley, at one of the older inns. I'll send for my things. The inn isn't fancy, but I'm sure it is far grander than I ever would have stayed at prior had you not entered my life."

"Took a room behind my back did you? So I have taught you a useful lesson or two in stealth."

In Diagon Alley? Not Paris? Brussels? Stockholm? By the gods I love a thrifty witch. Note to self: She should do nicely on about half the trust money she believes is in her name at Gringotts.

Perdita hazarded a few more comments. "Tell me, the witch you managed to love. Why did you toss her aside? Did you imagine that witches who loved you, and whom you loved back would fall from the sky just because you had so many Galleons lining your pockets? Because you wished it so? You ditched the wrong witch, didn't you?"

"Take care to guard your words Little One," said Draco through clenched teeth.

"No, I'm sure I'm right. Here. Let me leave you with a bit of advice Mr. Draco Malfoy. You find yourself the witch who once managed to stir up that shriveled raisin you call a heart. What do you have to lose? Here you stand; a grown wizard still living in his old bedroom, in this drafty mansion with his dear old mother. No love in his life, few accomplishments of his own to speak of, not even any children, illegitimate or otherwise. A grown wizard living in the shadow of his accomplished dead father."

Draco pulled his wand, and his deep voice boomed; "NOW YOU HAVE PISSED ME OFF!"

Perdita apparated to a thunderous crack, just as the red light from Draco's wand whizzed through the space she had occupied milliseconds earlier.

"Fucking hag-in-training," snarled Draco, loudly, furiously, the spittle flying from his lips. On top of everything else he missed a perfectly good opportunity to put the young woman over his knee for a sound spanking. "NO PARTING GIFTS!"

Flinging down his wand, Draco limped back around his desk and resettled on his cushion. His 'phantom' arse ached fearlessly.

All of us at one time or the other have small moments when a thought, not even a great thought, causes us to deviate from a formerly chosen path; just enough of defection from our usual path to send us off on a brand new broomstick ride. Yes, rather like when I took a twenty page Epilogue and on a whim turned it into a full-blown Schnoogle. Anyway, Draco Malfoy, who always believed one loveless relationship was as good as another, experienced a mental shift; a mere tweak as it was.

He sat for a long time, mulling over Perdita's nasty accusations. Mind, Draco was not the sort of wizard who paid mind too much of anything said by witches, especially ones he was tossing aside. He considered witches, most of them, to be inferiors and as such they were to be tolerated and/or ignored. Nonetheless, Draco recalled his Lucius father saying, as Lucius often did,

'Son, witches are like empty tins. If one strings up enough tins and they rattle about in a breeze, eventually they will play a passable tune.'

Perhaps Perdita had just tinkled out such a tune? There had been one witch Draco had loved and perhaps he still loved her. Draco was not altogether sure. He sat forward, grabbed a quill and quickly scratched out a short letter on fine parchment. He knew where 'that' witch was. He would always pretend he did not, but he always knew where she was, although not always what she was up to. When the letter was complete, he read and reread the letter. He tore it up and wrote a second. By the time he finished the note there was a pile of crumpled parchment on the floor a house elf could have skied down.

"HOCK," Draco bellowed.

With a little 'poof' that sounded much like a troll's fart, the little elf appeared, and bent into a deep bow. "Yes my most noble Master, my liege, my..."

"Shut the fuck up you fawning little turd," said Draco as he put his wax seal to the folded missive. "Take this to the mews and send it off for me immediately. Use one of mother's lady's owls, not one of father's old double-headed eagles." Draco's directive was completely unnecessary, as the elf would no sooner approach one of the family eagles than clip off his own fingers and save an eagle the bother.

"Yes master," said Hock, and just before he left he said, "Begging your pardon but Master's mother is letting the reporter wizards look at baby pictures - the ones with you Master, setting naked and all your little pink boy baby business showing." With that, the elf poofed again and was gone.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" snarled Draco. He wasted no time and apparated to his mother's side. When the Galleons were on the line, Narcissa always knew how to get her son's attention.