Never Sleep With The Devil

Chapter One: Shopping And A Stranger

"Draco, darling, time to wake up!" Narcissa Malfoy's shrill voice rang into her son's bedroom from somewhere deep within the Manor. Moaning himself out of a deep, comfortable sleep, Draco cursed his mother's capability to have her nasally voice reach him no matter where he was.

"Bloody hell, Mother, it's five-thirty..." he muttered as he peered at his silver nightstand clock through hooded eyelids. Lying spread eagle atop his coal black silk sheets, Draco sleepily tried to remember why on earth his mother would wake him up this early--or in fact, be up this early herself. Even though she was family, and close family at that, Draco had no qualms chuckling to himself about the acute narcissism of Mummy dearest, and her need for fifteen hours of 'beauty rest'. Shaking all the befuddlement out of his head, the answer to the early morning conundrum hit him like a sack of Dungbombs.

He equally pale hair, removing it from his eyes, as he slid his feet into mink house shoes. Shuffling about his larger-than-needed bedroom, he washed his face with the warm water set out by one of the many Malfoy house-elves sometime earlier. Once refreshed somewhat, he proceeded to his wardrobe to vapidly finger through designer outfit upon designer outfit. As he settled with a forest green silk shirt/gray tweed pants number by Glenda & CO., shaking the fallen snow out of the folds ("Bloody portal to Narnia...need to board that up..."), his mother's voice could be heard ringing once again.

"Draco Malfoy, get down here this instant! Do NOT make me raise my voice again! And I do not CARE how long it takes you to do your hair!"

"Yes Mother! Down in a tick Mother! Go stuff your head in the rubbish tin, Mother," he muttered this last part annoyingly to himself. Almost to spite his mother, but more to make sure he looked presentable in public, Draco took another half-an-hour on slicking his blonde locks back so securely, a typhoon would not have budged them a centimetre.

Giving himself one last once-over, his stormy gray eyes scanning keenly for any flaws in his oh-so-suave Malfoy appearance, he smirked as he found nothing worth worrying about.

"Always the looker, I'd say." A seductive female voice purred from his looking glass.

"True...how very, very true..." He could not stop himself from winking cheekily at his mirror before leaving his bedroom to find Mother.

*****

"Five Death Eaters captured...Order is gaining strength...wankers, the lot of them! If I was in my prime health, I would show them how to serve the Dark Lord! Cruciatus Curses all round!" Lucius Malfoy, who was sitting at the head of the Malfoy's long mahogany dining room table reading The Daily Prophet, stood on wobbling feet at this proclamation, his right eye twitching and his left hand waving his serpent-tipped cane viciously back and forth. "Yes...if only the penguins weren't after me...then they'd suffer!"

Narcissa swooped down to her husband, and lightly pushed him back into his seat. "Yes, dear, the penguins. The house-elves are on the patrol, as you've requested..."

"Bloody well should be! I'm still the patriarch of this family, and it's high time you people started listening to me!" He began to wave his cane again, but Narcissa deftly caught it mid-swing and removed it from her not-so-well husband's grasp.

"Lucius, don't make me take this away from you. Now, here's your shredded wheat--why don't you read a happier section of the Prophet? Like the funny pages?"

"Harumph...funny pages...doesn't make me laugh, oh no...now those penguins...that's a funny lot..." Lucius incoherently muttered as he flipped through his paper, his spoon magically lifting squares of compacted fiber to his lips, his right eye still twitching away. It was to this scene that Draco entered the dining room.

"Morning, Mother," he said in a flat monotone, bending over at the waist to give Narcissa the customary kiss on the cheek, which was more of them just lightly grazing finely structured cheek bones. Draco peered down the table at Lucius. "Is Father...better today?"

"No, dear, I'm afraid not. Azkaban did something awful to him, and I think it's going to be awhile before your father's in his right mind again." As she said this, a splash of milk and "Aha! Gotcha you Antarctic monstrosity!" was heard from the opposite end of the room. Narcissa shook her pretty head, "Probably will send for the St. Mungo's doctor once you're on your way. Which reminds me!" She clapped her hands together, stood up, and crossed over to the black marble fireplace. Lifting a sack off the elaborately carved mantle piece, she dropped it into Draco's outstretched hands, causing him to sag under the weight. "I took the liberty of having one of the house-elves go to Gringotts this morning and take out the usual amount. Five hundred Galleons should be enough?" Draco nodded with a painful expression, then, with a "Sweet Merlin!", collapsed into a heap on the Persian rug.

Narcissa smiled, showing off rows of perfectly white teeth, oblivious to the fact that her son was suffocated under the weight of their immense fortune. "Now, this is going to be your money for the entire term, so no blowing it on fancy hair creams and Quidditch supplies! Hans, your usual driver, will be here to pick you up in a quarter of an hour to take you to Knockturn Alley. I'll have a house-elf prepare your clothes and things and send them by owl to The Spinning Wheel before nightfall. Vincent and Gregory will meet you there, as always. Have you got all that?"

Draco wheezed from the floor. "Yes, Mother..."

"Good!" Narcissa averted her blue eyes to the floor. "What in Merlin's name are you doing down there?"

"Enjoying...the view..." Draco let out a rush of air as he finally pushed the sack of Galleons off his abdomen. His mother tutted disapprovingly, removed her wand from the folds of her flowing sky blue dressing gown, and swiftly placed a Shrinking Spell on the money.

"There, I assume it's manageable now?" Draco tossed the now tiny bag into the air and caught it with ease, nodding his approval. "Honestly, darling, when are you going to beef up? Your grandfather, Brutus Malfoy, could juggle one-thousand Galleons when he was one-hundred and twenty and you, not even sixteen yet..."

"Ooo, look at the time! Must run! See you winter holiday, Mother!" Shoving the sack into his pocket next to his wand, he escaped the dining room before Narcissa could berate him more on the strength of wizards' past. Finely toned was all right by him. Besides, strength of the mind was more important...

"Good bye, Father!" Draco turned and waved before leaving entirely.

"Voldemort will place The Killing Curse upon all of your brethren, penguin scum!" was all he got in reply.

Yes, strength of mind was much more important.

*****

"The Spinning Wheel, sah," Hans said rather stuffily as he pulled the shiny black Rolls Royce in front of a dilapidated building situated on a dark, dank London street. Well, as dark as a street could be at seven o'clock in the morning.

Draco exited the car and peered up at the swinging sign for the inn. The foreboding sight of a simple wheel, and the comatose body of a young girl underneath it caused him to shake his head, oddly amused at the macabre scene. He stuck his hands into his pockets, absentmindedly whistling a nonsense tune as Hans pulled his heavy trunks from the boot of the expensive vehicle. As the spindly man wiped the sweat from his wrinkled brow and almost broke his fragile back lifting Draco's luggage, two familiar grunts sounded from the entrance to the inn.

"Ah, Crabbe, Goyle...Mother said you would meet me here," Draco walked around the car to his cronies. He was about to make some snide comment as a proper Malfoy greeting, but he was taken aback when Crabbe took a step out of the shadow of The Spinning Wheel. "Sweet Merlin, Crabbe! Wha...how...where's the rest of you? Sell your fat for spare Sickles so you could keep up your pumpkin pastry habit?"

Crabbe was no longer the round, plump boy that Draco knew. Slim and trim, he grunted, apparently his only mean for expressing emotion. "Atkins."

"I see...bread's the devil and all that. Well, it's your life," Draco slapped him on the shoulder and grinned. "Now, I see that Hans has done a splendid job stacking my trunks...why don't you two lugs carry them upstairs to our room, hmm?"

Again, the two grunted. Leaning over, in one swift motion Crabbe and Goyle lifted the heavy cases and started heading for the door. With a flick of his wrist, Draco gave a wave to his driver.

"Hans, ole boy, see you at winter term. Don't have a heart attack before then, or Father will fire you."

"Yes, sah. Have a good term, sah."

The car pulled away from The Spinning Wheel as Draco turned around and followed his new appointed busboys into the inn. He didn't want them mussing his trunks without his keen supervision.

*****

As the sun reached its highest point in the pristine sky over Knockturn Alley (a pristine sky that which was not enjoyed by the consumers in said Alley; the trademark overhanging gloom prevented such), a certain blonde boy's temper was reaching its maximum height as well.

"For Merlin's sake, man! When I say I want two litres of virgin blood, I mean two litres! And none of this watered down drek either; I'm a bloody Malfoy! My great-grandfather's pissed more gold than you will ever see!" Draco slammed his fist down unto the blackened wood counter and stared steely eyed at the vendor of Ye Olde Hyde-Away, Knockturn Alley's finest (and darkest) apothecary. The warty, pox-marked, greasy haired lump of a vendor, however, was not deterred.

"Uh-uh, no way. Not fer all the shiny Galleons in Gringotts! Virgin blood's bin outlawed; too many witches--and wizards apparently--usin' it fer beautifin' purposes; girls by the loads started sleepin' wit anybody so they wasn't drained! An' you should know all that, bein' a Malfoy and all. Now, git out of me shop!"

Not to be denied such an important, yet despicable, part of his daily "refreshing", Draco decided to take a friendlier approach to get what he so desperately wanted. "Sir..." He looked at the grubby little tag shoved unceremoniously into the grubby little man's lapel and forced a winning smile. "Winston...may I call you Winny? Yes, Winny...I'm what you'd call a reasonable man." He chuckled as a poker player might when holding all the cards; behind him, Crabbe laughed at Goyle for getting his head stuck inside a barrel of cockroach eyes. But Draco was entirely separated from that as he flipped a Galleon into the air and slammed it flat against the counter with his finely moisturized palm. "I will be completely civil to you if I get what I want, and you don't give me a reason not to be civil." He leaned in as close as he could; Winston's rancid breath escaping through mossy teeth almost caused him to wretch. Lifting his wand menacingly in front of Winston's face with one hand, and dumping out a large sum of money with the other, Draco said with a forceful, mocking voice, "Do you git me drift, Winny?"

All right, so much for "friendlier" approach.

Sputtering incoherently from either imminent pain or the stack of wealth in front of him, Winston took a feeble step back, removed a shifty looking black key from a ring hanging off his robes, and managed a shaky smile. "Paper or plastic, Master Malfoy?"

"Finest black velvet, if you don't mind Winny," Draco said airly, looking down at his manicured nails as he slipped his wand back into his pocket. "And don't give me that look, now that we're doing oh-so well. I know that you have special bags for your more 'compromising' items of purchase. Just because I'm young doesn't mean I'm daft. Now hurry yourself, Winny, I've got a load more shopping to do."

As the bulbous man skulked his way to a dark, hidden store closet in the back of his shop, Draco let out a suffering sigh. Yes, Father--if he was in his right mind--would be proud of how he handled this transaction, but he was bored of shoving around useless bags of dung like Winston and the like. Even Harry Potter; Draco cringed outwardly at the very thought of his name; was beginning to lose his entertainment value. The ass was just too righteous for his own good! Draco needed something crueler, something sinister, something that felt as if it had a larger purpose, something deadly...

His pensive thoughts were shattered simultaneously with the shattering of a gigantic glass bell jar behind him.

"Bloody Merlin!" Draco whipped around. "Crabbe! Goyle! What the hell..."

The two dunces stood dripping in what appeared to be a glowing blue goo, as fifty or so eyeballs rolled about the floor. Rolling his own eyes, Draco whipped his wand around, muttering Reparo! and Evanesco! in an perturbed manner, knowing that if so much as a whisper of an owl feather was heard from his use of magic, the Ministry would lose their major financial backer and old Corny would hate that. When you were as rich--and as 'generous'--as the Malfoys, rules so tedious did not apply.

After the mess was cleared away and Draco had given his two lackeys a good verbal thrashing, Winston returned with a plush sack. The clinking of glass inside the sack insured him that the vendor had gotten him what he demanded. Still, he pulled the vials out to make sure; Lucius had not raised a naïve moron. Grinning toothily, the red liquid reflected demonically in his gray eyes before he returned the vials to their dark confinement. "Very nice, Winny, very nice. Now, as I promised..."

With a swift sweep of his hand, Draco pushed toward Winston half of the Galleons on the counter, using a second sweep to slide the rest back into the sack his mother had given him.

"'Ey, there, you! You promised me..."

"Tut, tut, don't act so shocked, Winny! You should've been more agreeable, and I dare say, a bit quicker with the merchandise. Maybe next time, dear chap. Maybe next time." He waved patronizingly to the fuming salesman as he tucked his money back into his pocket, took a firm hold of the velvet sack, and turned his back to leave with Crabbe and Goyle following. The groaning of the ancient door masked the sound of Winston's muttering curses toward Draco's retreating frame.

Striding confidently, swinging his bag of virginal beauty products, Draco failed to notice the fact that his path was not exactly clear of obstacles. That is, until he tripped and fell face first unto the cobblestone.

"Devil's bane!" Draco moaned, not wanting to lift his cheek from the cool stone for he knew he would then have to face the pain from the fall. However, he lifted himself up off the ground with another moan, rubbing his elbow tenderly. Looking behind himself for what he tripped on, he saw another person; a girl, in fact; she was sprawled, dazed, on her side, cursing something awful. Next to her, his velvet sack lay.

"Sweet Merlin!" His voice was filled with concern unlike a Malfoy's. "Are you all right? Please be all right!"

As he leaned down, the girl rolled over and stared up at him. "Yes, yes I'm..." But when he picked up the velvet sack and ignored her completely, she just chuckled to herself and pulled herself up to a sitting position. "Ah, now that's more like it."

Draco, precious sack cradled like a baby in his arms, peered at the ground again, as if surprised to see someone sitting in his shadow. "Who the hell are you?"

"A bleeding pothole, that's all. Don't mind me...oh wait! Maybe if you did, I wouldn't be bruised down one side of my body." The stranger drawled venomously, standing up to face the boy eye-to-eye. "An apology would be acceptable right about...now."

Looking the girl up and down as if sizing up the situation, he could not help smirking at a curve here or there. Hell, she'd be downright pretty if she didn't look about ready to rip my bloody eyes out. Nonchalantly, he said, "What were you doing down there in the first place, sweet cheeks?"

The slap across the face surprised him. But not as much as what she said next.

"Should've expected disgusting, insulting charm from a Malfoy," she spat, her dark blue eyes flashing with contempt. Her thick brown hair slid in front of her face as she swiftly leaned over to pick up her fallen wand and handbag, then slid back out of her face as she stood up, shook her head with what could have been taken as pity, and began to walk down the stretch of the alley.

Draco's curiosity at how this stranger knew his surname was bubbling.

"Who are you?" he shouted at her back.

No answer.

"C'mon, who are you? What were you doing down there?"

Silence.

"...I'm, so, sor, sorry for tripping on you. Now answer me!"

At that last attempt, the girl turned about face and uttered two words.

"Acromantula fangs." With that, she disappeared into the crowd mulling between Knockturn and Diagon Alley.

Leaving Draco Malfoy more perplexed than before.

******

"Very good...for you first time...yes, very well done..."

"You mean, I wasn't...I mean, do you think I met what was requested of me?"

"Yes, yes, dear, you played your pawn expertly. Now, as every great chess player does, you must wait and see if your opponent swallows your bait...patience...that's the key..."

"Well, if you ask me..."

"Yes?"

"...I hope the prat chokes on the bleeding hook..."