Draco stared at the goblin, one elegantly arched eyebrow the only sign of consternation on his otherwise blank face. "I'd be grateful if you'd repeat that, please."
The goblin behind the large, ornate desk, smiled witheringly, an expression that didn't quite fit right on his small, squat features. "Your fortune, Mr. Malfoy, has increased by a quite a large amount in your absence, interest you know." Draco swept his eyes over the office; the instant he'd produced the key to his vault he'd been herded in here, meeting one of the goblins who apparently had been personally involved in his father's affairs.
"Interesting." drawled Draco, affecting the air of calm that he'd cultivated since a child. "It's all very interesting. But do hurry and just change it all for me, won't you?"
The goblin's expression didn't change, though his hands clenched together on the tabletop, annoyed by Draco's insolent attitude. "That's all being done right now for you, sir." A sneer appeared on Draco's face before a mask of cool composure slipped over it.
"Very well." Draco leaned back in his chair, the cool, calm exterior that he'd had to wear as a child easily slipped back on. He studiously admired the black shoes that adorned the end of his long, crossed legs trying to rid himself of the ridiculous, unsettling sensation that was gnawing at his stomach.
His father had probably sat in this chair. His father had probably scowled at this very goblin. His father's long fingers had probably wrapped around the ends of the mahogany armrests as easily as they had wrapped around his neck.
Draco leapt up, his exterior slipping for a moment, revealing a nauseous expression to the startled goblin. Trying to control his rapidly beating heart, Draco cursed himself for his weakness. And then flinched again as the familiar word had instantly been spoken in an inner voice that sounded so like his father. Noticing the goblin watching him warily, Draco frenziedly tried to take control of the situation the only way he knew how.
"How much longer is this going to take?" He growled, the scowl on his features causing the normally unflappable goblin to inch back. "You," he continued, the word dripping with disdain, "may like this pitiful room but I have places to be that are more suited to my person." Draco flinched inwardly at his words, his fathers voice echoing in his head, telling him that he should be a Malfoy and therefore cool, calm and composed in every occasion.
A ringing bell disturbed the beginning of the goblin's reply before three large bags appeared on top of the desks. Draco blinked rapidly, the appearance of objects out of thin air causing him a slight shock. "I suppose you would like to check it, sir?" the goblin asked, waving a hand over the green, snakeskin bags, appearing to have chosen to ignore Draco's outburst.
Draco stared at the goblin appraisingly and despite himself imagined what Lucius Malfoy would say in this situation. "Is there any reason why I should have to check these bags?" Draco asked smoothly, an eyebrow arching.
The goblin squirmed, his beady eyes not leaving Draco's cool grey. "Of course not." he replied, on the verge of sounding insulted.
Draco smiled blindingly, shocking the little goblin. "No problem then." he said sounding more like the Muggles he'd lived with than the Malfoy heir and with a flourish of his wand he disapparated along with the three bags of money back to the little hotel room ensconced in Muggle London.
*
Aimlessly wandering through Thomas Kerr's, an antique shop that Draco had thought reeked of taste and so was
perfectly suited to him, he allowed himself a small grin. He was back in the sort of world he belonged. Smoothly
navigating the polished furniture occupying the store, Draco ran a hand along a long, mahogany sideboard. The sudden
memory of the chair in the Gringott's office made Draco jerk his hand back roughly, dragging it through his hair as
he took a deep, shuddering breath.
He hadn't let the memory of his father affect him like this for years, Draco realised with a pang of disgust. The problem was that he hadn't been around anything or anybody in years that could conceivably remind Draco of him. That's all there is too it, Draco consoled himself, letting his gaze latch onto an antique grandfather clock in the corner. Once he was away from London again he'd be fine.
"Well if isn't Draco Malfoy." The acidic voice from behind him made Draco's heart resume it's frenzied beating and a suddenly icy feeling settled in his stomach as he prepared to face another reminder of his past. As he slowly span around Draco recalled how the last time he'd seen this boy he'd been sobbing over the broken body of his father.
"Blaise." He said coolly appraising the man stood before him, subconsciously comparing him to the boy he'd once known. Well, he wasn't sobbing. In fact, the composed mask of the man's features was a rival for Draco's in it's utter blankness. An impeccable Muggle suit couldn't conceal the aura of power that surrounded him even more palpable in this little Muggle store away from the hum of magic that permeated the air throughout the wizarding world. Clear blue eyes regarded Draco, cold in their calculating, searching gaze. A gaze that, if Draco remembered correctly, often saw far more than he would have liked.
"Draco." Blaise replied in turn, removing his gaze from Draco to stalk over to admire the sideboard. "So you're back in London?"
"Just passing through." Draco followed him over to the sideboard giving the impression to anyone passing by that they were just looking at the furniture. "Can't say I expected to see you here, in a Muggle shop no less."
Blaise barked a short, sharp laugh. "Could say the exact same thing about you," he hesitated for a moment, "my wife likes some of their pieces." Draco glanced quickly at him and saw his shoulders tense at the admission.
"Very true." conceded Draco, referring to Blaise's first statement. He waited a moment, to see if any more information would be forthcoming and then leaned closer to the other man. "It's been a long time, Blaise. I mean the last time I saw you…"
"I'd just killed my father." The words were said calmly but Draco knew the other man well enough to notice the thinly veiled anger lurking just beneath them. Blaise turned to him, blue eyes that were now stormy fixing on his. "Really, Draco, I don't think patricide is a topic either of us want to discuss, is it?"
They stared at each other for a moment, waiting to see who would look away first. Their eyes dropped away together, both knowing the rules of the game too well and knowing that they were far too well evenly matched. Draco skimmed his hand over the dark mahogany. "So your wife likes this store, Blaise?"
Blaise eyed him warily. "Yes." He replied, letting a hint of distrust seep into his words.
"So you won't be telling anyone about my presence here will you, Blaise?" Draco was both disturbed and pleasantly surprised at how easily the skill of giving subtle threats had returned to him.
Blaise suddenly grinned and dropped his elbows onto the furniture in front of him. "I'm in a Muggle store, Draco." He said, the tone of his voice sounding like he found something incredible funny.
"Yes, Blaise. I had noticed that. What with me being stood right next to you and all." Draco, replied irritated.
"And my wife likes this store." Blaise continued, as though Draco hadn't spoken.
"Yes, I got that. Oh and congratulations by the way. Is she pretty?" This time Blaise shot him an irritated look before he continued.
"And I'm wearing a Muggle suit."
"And I'm sure it feels Fairy Soft against your skin but Blaise, what the hell…"
"And all the money in my wallet is Muggle and my wife is a Muggle and where have you been, Draco Malfoy?"
"What?" Draco gaped, caught up in the implications of what Blaise had been saying. "I've been around." He spluttered, annoyed at himself for losing his footing in a game he'd thought he'd been winning.
Blaise looked at him for a moment, appraisingly, in much the same way that Draco imagined he had looked at Blaise. "Who would I tell, Draco?"
His voice was softer now, even though he was moving away from Draco, heading for the exit. "Who could I tell that would care that the traitor, the hero," he said the word with a sneer, "has returned."
"If I'm a hero, then so are you." Draco sneered back. Blaise stopped and tucked his hands in the pockets of his perfectly pressed trousers.
"Yes, we're all heroes." He turned a melancholy expression on Draco who backed away at the unexpected emotion. "And yet we can't even live our lives. Because the people who we stood by for all our childhoods, the people who raised us," and Draco was rocked by a flash of his mother's betrayed expression, "they all want us dead. Why?" Blaise cocked his head, considering. "Because we picked a different side. But the mark on my arm still itches and my wife still asks me why I ever got such an ugly tattoo and sometimes I still mutter 'Accio' without meaning to. And sometimes I remember that I killed my father, just like my best friend did his."
Blaise was halfway out the door when he turned back, delivered Draco a mocking smile and called out over the shop. "So who would I tell?"