II
“You look like hell,” Zabini said as he looked over him and poured him a drink.
“Cheers to you too,” he said and added ‘tosser’ under his breath.
Zabini laughed and poured him another shot of fire whiskey.
It’d been another week of dead ends. He was losing his patience. Or his touch. Draco couldn’t decide which. The ministry held his balls so tight he felt like he was constantly in a vice grip. If he could complete this one bloody assignment, he might earn his freedom. Surely delivering their golden girl would bring him the reprieve he was desperate for.
“Hi, doll.”
Pansy squeezed his shoulder and kissed his cheek as she passed with a tray of drinks.
“Anything else from Carrow?” he asked.
“Nothing new here,” Zabini said.
Draco studied him.
“He hasn’t reported to work in nearly two weeks.”
Blaise stared at him over the bar. They’d been friends for years. Grew up in the same bassinet practically. But his expression remained void of emotion.
“I gave you my word I wouldn’t,” he said.
Draco nodded. He believed his friend.
“But that wife of yours…”
Zabini cracked off with another booming laugh. He watched his wife deliver drinks to the patrons around the bar. Her black skirt was short and tight. Zabini’s eyes hungrily tracked her as she made her rounds. Draco swallowed back another shot before pushing off against the bar.
“I’ll see you around.”
“Give your arm a rest tonight,” Zabini called after him. “Find a nice bird to take home to that icy manor of yours.”
Draco offered him a crude gesture before exiting the club.
***
Sweat poured from his face as he jolted himself awake. Her screams pierced his mind. They shattered his control. His hands shook as he fumbled around his nightstand for a dreamless drought. Empty glass clanged noisily to the ground around him. He cursed and grabbed his wand.
“Lumos.”
A soft blue light ignited from the tip of his wand as he looked over the small table. They were all empty. He cursed and let his head rest against the pillow. He’d kicked his blankets off and felt the chill of the manor settle around him, clinging to his sweaty torso.
Sleep evaded him the rest of the night. At dawn, he finally relented, rose from his bed, and went downstairs for coffee and the Prophet. He knew there wasn’t much truth left to the Prophet, but read for any hint of her. Sightings, whisperings, anything pointing him toward the elusive golden girl. He set aside the paper and picked up the sleek magazine featuring a cover story on transmutations of exotic metals within the mines of Africa.
Lovegood’s rag had actually done a nice job of picking up the facts since she’s taken over the Quibbler. There were fewer mad rants on obscure magical creatures and more poignant takes on the state of the failing ministry and the insane financial crisis the wizarding UK was facing. Lovegood had always had a flair for the downright truthful nature of things. The Quibbler didn’t mince words. She’d been threatened with various depositions but somehow remained untouchable. He’d love to know how she did it.
He scanned through and found himself smirking over another story. Longbottom stood grinning, ear-to-ear, clutching a dozen baby mandrakes as he was named Hogwarts’ new Herbology professor. Draco could only imagine the chaos the poor bloke would endure under the ruthless taunting of those teens. Good for him, though. Pursuing his passion. Free of the past. He was finally moving forward. It seemed he and Lovegood had both found a reprieve from their past.
At nine sharp, Kippy popped into the dining hall and cleared Draco’s plates and coffee. He sighed to himself and headed over to Nott’s. He’d need more dreamless tonics to survive the rest of the week.
“Well, if it isn’t everyone’s favorite prat,” Nott teased as Draco entered his shop. “It’s been what, three days? Miss me already?”
“How’d you guess?”
Nott winked at him and disappeared into the back.
Draco paced the shelves as he waited for his order. Few people on this earth could brew a potion as close to perfect as Nott did. His business was booming. He’d become a staple fixture in wizarding households. He held a prime location in Diagon Alley too. Good real estate and an even better product.
The door chimed as another patron entered, and Draco rounded the next row of shelves. He could see the long blonde strands of hair curtaining down the back of the witch at the counter.
“Liked your piece on Alchemy in Africa, Lovegood,” he said as he approached the counter. “Smart reporting.”
The witch at the counter turned, and Draco was instantly made aware that it was not Luna before him but a witch he didn’t recognize.
“Not Lovegood.”
“No,” Nott said, entering from the back. “Though I wager this one would love good.”
Draco shot him a glare, to which he returned with a mischievous wink.
“My mistake,” Draco said.
“It was a good article,” the woman agreed with a thick American accent.
“American?” Draco’s surprise wasn’t well-masked.
She didn’t respond. Instead, she gave Nott an impatient look.
“None yet, love.”
She let loose an audible exhale and turned to leave.
“I’d be happy to entertain you in other ways,” Theo called out after her.
Her silky hair swished behind her as she left, leaving a familiar scent lingering behind. Nott looked after her in a lust-induced fog.
“It’s probably for the best,” he sighed. “I’d probably come at the very sight of her naked.”
“Didn’t realize you had a thing for Lovegood,” Draco said.
Nott barked a laugh.
“Hell, neither did I. Perhaps I’ll call old Luny up, get my rocks off.”