Malfoy Manor
When Draco finally arrived at the manor, he could barely keep himself from throwing up. He had always suffered from rather severe car sickness, especially on long trips like the one from Brighton to the country. It was one of the reasons he didn't return home for the weekends like Nott or Blaise usually did.
Dobbs, the manor’s majordomo, greeted him as he helped Draco out of the car. “Would you like any help with your bag, young master?” he asked. “And perhaps a glass of water as well?”
“Yes and no. I'll be fine,” Draco said, taking in a deep breath of the country air. “I feel better already. Have the Delacours arrived yet?”
“They have. Miss Fleur in particular has been waiting for your arrival. If I am to remember correctly, she and Lady Malfoy were in the parlour of the family wing.”
“Thank you, Dobbs.” He exchanged smiles with the older man and entered the manor. He headed straight for the parlour, allowing himself a detour to the bathroom to wash his face and return some of the colour back to his cheeks.
He had barely made it through the doors of the room before he was captured in the arms of his mother.
“Darling, you're here!” she said as she squeezed him tightly.
“Yes, Mother, I'm here,” Draco said and he let her pull away first and fuss about his appearance. He continued as she picked at his hair and clothes. “I believe I called you this morning.”
His mother laughed, resting her hands on his arms and her eyes finally met his. “Yes, yes, I remember. I'm sorry, darling. I've just missed you so much. You'd think I'd be used to you being away after six years of boarding, but I doubt I'll ever get used to not seeing your handsome face.” She pinched his cheek and though Draco pulled his face away, he could only smile at her.
“I missed you too, Mother,” he said. “Did you cut your hair?”
She practically beamed at that. “It was only a few centimetres but I thought it would freshen up my look a bit. Has it?”
“It absolutely has, Mother. You look stunning.”
“Oh, how did I get such a gentleman for a son?” Mother said, hugging him tightly once again and Draco laughed.
“That would be all your doing, Mother,” he said, patting her back and pulling away first this time. Before she could respond, he started again, “I heard from Dobbs that Fleur was in here with you?”
“Oh, yes! Fleur dear!” Mother called. “Draco’s arrived!”
“I see that, Aunty,” Fleur said and Draco spotted her past his mother’s shoulder.
Mother moved away from Draco so he could hug his cousin.
“Welcome, Draco,” Fleur said, smiling softly at him. “You're taller since the last time we saw each other. I can't believe I have to look up at ‘tit loup.”
Draco sighed at the pet name. “I never understood why you insist on calling me that. I'm only three years younger than you,” he said.
“It is hard to see you as anything else,” she said. “I don't think I am ready to retire the name yet.”
“I am eagerly waiting for the day you are.” Draco gently placed his hand on her back and led them to one of the sofas in the room to sit in.
Fleur laughed. “We have a lot to talk about, do we?”
Draco gave her a look. “It’s don’t, and exactly what do you mean by that?”
Instead of answering, Fleur glanced up at Mother and the two women exchanged a look that Draco knew could only mean trouble for him.
“Mother. . . ?” Draco asked, meeting her eyes once again.
“Oh! That must be your father calling me!” Mother exclaimed suddenly. “I will see the two of you at dinner! Have fun!”
“Wait, Mother!” Draco called, beginning to stand up but Fleur held his arm back as his mother hurried out of the room.
Draco sighed and sat back down. “Whatever you've conspired with my mother about, I will take no part in,” he said firmly, which only seemed to amuse his cousin.
“Aunty does nothing with it,” Fleur said and she paused for a moment as she realised her mistake. “I mean—”
“We can speak in French if you'd prefer,” Draco offered. He knew Fleur was much more comfortable conversing in her native tongue and his French was better than her English anyway.
“No, it's okay. I can only get better at English by speaking it,” she answered then traced back the conversation. “Your mother has nothing to do with it. I only was curious.”
“Curious about what?”
“I read in the newspaper back home some months in the past that you were in a relationship with a boy. . . Is it Marco Fling?”
“Ah, that.” Draco had exhausted all of the patience he had to discuss anything related to Flint months ago. “I don't have much to say about that. It was some time ago.”
“He was at the gala last year, was he? I remember his face. I thought you were close friends but I never thought for one that the two of you were dating. I did not even know you had a interest in men,” Fleur said. “How did Uncle react?”
Fleur’s expression already told Draco she wasn't expecting anything good, and she was entirely right to believe so. He remembered when the news first broke and Father had summoned him home from Brighton nearly immediately, only to ignore him for the next week.
Draco sighed and relaxed into the sofa, turning his head to meet Fleur’s sympathetic gaze. “We talked about it eventually. He wasn't happy,” he admitted and his cousin placed her hand on his shoulder. “We decided I wouldn't have any more intimate relationships until I've completed university. I’m not sure if it made it to the French papers but Father and I released a statement as well. To the public, I was 'experimenting’ and any person that claims otherwise will be sued for defamation. I barely managed to keep him from pursuing a case against Flint.”
“Oh, ‘tit loup,” Fleur cooed, gently swiping his hair from his forehead. “You loved him, didn't you?”
Draco wanted to scoff and deny ever feeling anything for that gormless prat, but sometimes, only in the very few moments he allowed himself to be caught by emotions, he thought too long about Marcus, and his chest burned hot from anger and betrayal and heartbreak and Draco was well aware that he could only have those feelings if at one point he'd cared for the boy.
He rested his head on the back of the sofa and let out a defeated breath. “It doesn't matter anymore. Everything's in the past now.”
“Love alwaysmatters, Draco,” Fleur said, switching to the more poetic language. “Much more than you know. He broke your heart and if you don't deal with that, you will break someone else's.”
Draco didn't want to think of that someone else.
Quite fortunately, he was saved from answering when an audible rumble rose from his stomach. He took it as his saving grace and sat up. “I know I've missed dinner, but is there anything to eat?”
Fleur clearly disapproved of his attempt to change the subject but to Draco's relief, she smiled as if their conversation prior hadn't taken place and stood up. “It must be a long day for you, cousin. Let us find something for that stomach of yours.”
~*~*~
“Draco. Dobbs informed me of your arrival,” Father said. “Have a seat.” He motioned to the armchair a couple of metres away from his desk.
Draco obliged and once he was seated, his father looked up from his work for a moment to examine him.
“You look well. Have you eaten?”
“Yes. The chef was kind enough to leave me a plate in the fridge.”
“Very well. Your studies?”
“Good. I'm second in our set behind Granger, as per usual,” Draco replied.
“Excellent. Have you seen your mother yet?”
“I have. She should be with Aunty Apolline now.”
Father seemed satisfied with Draco’s answers and he returned to his work. “Then what is on your mind?”
Draco had been meaning to ask Father about the Potters for a while but thought the matter was inappropriate to bring up with the gala so close. However, it was the night before anyway. Everything should have been finalised by now, and since his father had explicitly asked. . .
“Do you know anything about the Potters?”
Although Draco could tell Father recognised the name, he didn't seem startled by Draco’s mention of it.
“Of course. The Potter family was among the most respected of the English aristocratic families, perhaps nearly as respected as the Malfoys, which is surprising, considering they were relatively new money at the time. Why do you ask?”
Draco didn't quite know how to react to that information. The thought of Harry, with his messy hair and semi-permanent look of confusion, being on par with his family was one that he could not properly comprehend.
“Draco?” His father was looking at him now.
Draco blinked and shook his head slightly. “Sorry. . . Father, before I answer that, could you tell me more about them?”
Father gave him a look before turning his chair so he was properly facing Draco. “All right. I'll entertain your curiosity. It's rare we have a moment to talk like this.”
Draco glanced at the open folder and papers on his father's desk. “Are you sure you're not too busy?” he asked. He didn't want to be the reason his father didn't finish any of his allotted work for the night.
Father smiled slightly and it revealed some of the fatigue they were all experiencing from the time of year. “This will be the least busy I will be for the next several months so we might as well take advantage.”
When his father put it like that, Draco could hardly find reason to argue.
“Now, the Potters,” Father continued. “I believe they gained their wealth from inventions and the like and became known in the noble sphere by rubbing elbows with actual aristocratic families like the Blacks. It really was a genius tactic.”
That surprised Draco even more. Not only was Harry of notable social status but his family had a history with Draco’s as well.
“Now if they'd just married into a noble family, their standing wouldn't have been so fickle,” Father finished.
“Did something happen then? Is that why I've never heard of them before?” Draco asked, although he was certain he knew the answer.
Father commiserated, nodding in reply. “Quite unfortunately, the Potter I went to school with — James was his name — was killed along with his wife in a home invasion by some lowly burglars. It's a shame, though I suppose people will do anything to get their hands on a little wealth.”
Draco didn't think anyone in his family was in a position to judge others when it came to money, but also — Harry’s father had attended Brighton?
Things were finally starting to make sense to Draco. Harry didn't receive a scholarship because he was some kid ridden with bad luck. Although that was quite the interesting piece, he hardly thought the press was worth the ordeal for the school. It was completely different, however, if Harry was a legacy child who had been orphaned by his father who also schooled at Brighton. It was still a pity scholarship, but it was one that had less risk and greater return.
“All right. I believe I've answered all your questions, son. Would you grace me with the reason you've been so inquisitive?” Father asked, taking a moment to tuck some of his hair behind his ears. “How did you find out about the Potters in the first place?”
Draco pressed his lips together. Did his father already know about Harry going to Brighton? It didn't even seem like he knew Harry existed. “Well, you said you knew James Potter, right? Did he have a son before he died?”
His father raised his eyebrows. “Did he? He may very well have. I can't say I liked Potter enough to keep in touch.”
“Father, I think I go to school with his son, Harry. He's in my year.”
Father's eyes widened. “Is he now? When did this happen?”
“He enrolled a week into the school year on a scholarship. I've actually been assigned to help him be more reliable in the public eye.”
There was a newfound energy on his father's face along with a twinkle in his eye. “Dumbledore, that decrepit bumbling fool. I haven't been giving him enough credit,” Father said, his voice oddly pleased. “Tell me, Draco, can we expect Potter’s attendance tomorrow?”
“Ah, yes. He's Pansy’s date, which is why I had Andrew come by the school,” Draco answered.
“Excellent,” Father said. He got up out of his chair and walked over to Draco, placing his hand on his shoulder and intently locking eyes with him. “You must stay acquainted with Potter.”
“Why?”
“You don't need to worry about that. Not yet.” Father said. “We just need Potter close to the Malfoys. Can I trust you to accomplish that?”
Draco was accustomed to being kept in the dark about his father's bright ideas. He would find out eventually.
He stood so his father wasn't looking down at him, though Draco still had some centimetres to grow before he was as tall as his Father, “Yes, Father,” he said.
“Good.” Father smiled at him again. “I have to return to my work but you should go to bed soon. You need to be well-rested for tomorrow. I'll see you in the morning, all right?”
Draco nodded and his father turned him toward the door and shooed him out of his office, shutting the door behind him.