CHAPTER 4 - Public Viewing
Draco walked into Gringott's dressed in black, formal dress robes, armed with all the confidence and arrogance of two and a half thousand years of absolute power, and prepared to take up the reins of his life and his Lordship. Goblins and customers alike scattered out of the way as he advanced purposefully, his face set impassive, power and danger surrounding him like an invisible cloud. He was the Lord of the Malfoy, the first and the oldest of the High Clan, and today he was flaunting it.
The Malfoy had returned. Let them all see.
The head goblin hurried over to meet him, bowing obsequiously, rubbing his hands together compulsively. "My Lord Malfoy, how good to see you! We have been eagerly awaiting your return," he hissed ingratiatingly. Draco looked at him expressionlessly. He couldn't abide bootlickers, but the head goblin of Gringott's, London was not someone to be easily dismissed.
"Thank you, Griphook," he said softly, inclining his head slightly. "I am glad to see you are so vigilant on my behalf."
"Oh, my Lord," Griphook said, "You are one of our oldest and most valued customers. We always take extra care to zealously guard your interests," he paused and smiled slyly, "and ours thereby." Draco and the goblin looked at each other in perfect understanding. The mask of obsequiousness was dropped, and Griphook's true personality shone through - and Draco knew it would have been a grievous mistake to underestimate him.
"Come," the goblin ordered, clapping his hands so that order returned to the foyer. "Let us discuss our mutual interests." He led Draco to his office, concealed behind an anonymous, undistinguished panel in the walls that swung open when Griphook waved his hand. Draco's respect for the goblin increased even further: wandless magic, and personal wards – his father had been right when he told him the goblins were dangerous. "Sit, please. Would you like some tea?" Griphook asked politely, indicating a tea set on a small side table.
Draco sat down politely in an exquisitely carved chair, arranging his robes around him with the skill of long practice as he settled. "Yes, please," he murmured politely, watching in detached amusement as the tea made itself, a small thread of magic animating the implements. He turned his gaze back to Griphook's as he accepted the cup that floated over to him, taking it gently and carefully out of the air. The goblin had sat down behind his desk, in the position of authority, as if to remind Draco that he was the head goblin of the main branch of Gringott's. Draco brought the cup up to his lips with his right hand, flaunting the ring that symbolized his authority, to remind the goblin of who he, too, was. A small, petty game, but a necessary one, between two players who had never met before and had yet to gain the other's measure.
Griphook's smile was slightly grim, but he spoke first. "So, my Lord Malfoy, what can I do for you?"
***************************************
When he emerged from the head goblin's office, Draco was most pleased with the way the business had gone. The Malfoy vault, all their investments, and another containing everything his mother had owned, had all come to him in due time after Lucius' and Narcissa's death on the same day, despite Ministry interference, and the goblins had been most zealous on his behalf, turning money into more money, and more again.
His father and uncle's financial wizardry had created an incredibly tangled web of investments and trusts, and his first act on coming back to England had been to learn how it worked, and then to find out the true extent of his estates and responsibilities, and now, today, he took control of it. All of it. Money wasn't an end, to him - it was a tool. There was no use having vaults overflowing with gold if he didn't do something with it - and traditionally, the Malfoy used their money to gain, buy and sell power, and to shape the world into what they wanted it to be.
Draco saw no reason to discontinue such an old and valued custom. The world had changed since Voldemort had been defeated for the last time. The Ministry had gained more and more power, and the influence of the High Clans, as people remembered how most of them had turned to the dark side, had diminished - oh, not completely, because the mindset of the wizarding world had always been slow to change, but certainly, Ministers had somehow gained in importance, in control, over Clan Lords. And Lords who had once held legitimate power were now better off buying Ministers and ruling through the shadows, rather than trying to enforce traditional rights.
It certainly couldn't help to have very strong strings attached to a few, influential people: take Arthur Weasley, for example, much as the thought of a Weasley holding any real power amused him. The man had a reputation for unflinching, if occasionally undiplomatic truth and honesty. He was trusted, he was held up as an example of what a politician should be, and most importantly, he was popular with the general public, if not with the aristocracy. He could be a very useful pawn. Now all he needed was a little bit of leverage...
His thoughts were interrupted when a man stormed up to him, planted himself right in front of his face, and drew himself up in outraged ire. His face was crimson and he was having trouble breathing, and he seemed to be in danger of keeling over from the force of his rage. Draco looked down at him with aristocratic distaste, his body language slightly taken aback, jaded eyes faintly surprised. With some difficulty, he recognised the man he had last seen in the littlest Weasel's bookshop. What had his name been? George? Gerard? Gerald. That was it. Gerald Tarrant. Now what the devil was he doing here now?
"You!" hissed Gerald melodramatically.
Draco blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You lying, whoring..." the man’s face reddened, "...bastard!"
A cooler, less amused glance now. "I beg your pardon?" He stiffened, and his voice chilled slightly.
"I don't know what she thinks she saw in you!" The man was lost in his outrage.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." Colder now. His accent was crisper, more clipped, and his face had frozen.
"Liar! Womaniser! Vile seducer of innocents! You don't even remember her, do you? The innocent flower you ruined!"
Draco looked past the man to the security that was coming up quickly behind him, anxious to quash the disturbance. There was nothing less conducive to business than a nasty scene. "No," Draco said, voice icy. "I don't have the slightest clue."
Gerald's eyes bulged. His face went an alarming hue, and he quivered in the force of his rage. "My fiancée," he snarled. "Ginevra Weasley. You seduced her! You ruined her! And then you walked away." He struggled as the security guards took hold of his arms. "You'll pay for your sins, Malfoy!" He shouted hysterically. "You'll pay! You'll pay for everything!!!"
They dragged him to the door and threw him out. Griphook silently, grimly came up to Draco, standing until he relaxed his icy, frozen stance and looked at him. "He will no longer bother you, my Lord," he said, his voice laced with steel. "He was an employee here once, but no longer." His face was just as set as Draco's. "And he will not find employment anywhere else in Britain, if I have my way."
Draco inclined his head, once. "So be it." He turned as if to walk away. "Oh, and Griphook?" he looked back to the head goblin. "He was engaged to marry the youngest Weasley?"
Griphook nodded, his eyes glinting with malicious amusement. "I understand she jilted him, swearing Blood Oath she would rather marry you, sir, than him."
For a moment, Draco's eyes lit with laughter. And then just as quickly it was gone, replaced with their usual impassivity, and perhaps the added spark of calculation. His gaze shifted, looking out the window to where Tallant, tossed out in the street, had been helped up by an unlikely saviour, in the form of the former Pansy Parkinson. Wordlessly, Griphook by his side, he watched as they walked off together, arm in arm, heads close together as if they were plotting...
***********************************
The first indication she had that anything was wrong was just after ten, when two customers came into her bookshop more interested in her than in buying books. The two women were notorious gossips, and they interrogated her not very subtly on her engagement, and her relationship with Draco Malfoy. More came after that, even more blatant, if that were possible, and by one o'clock she felt as if she had been put through the wringer, and had developed a horrifying suspicion about what was really going on.
It was confirmed when the door chimes rang, announcing the arrival of the man himself.
Malfoy.
She wasn't surprised to see him, not after what she had endured that day. In his turn, he didn't seem surprised by her accusing glare, but instead looked insufferably amused. Once again, her temper erupted, but this time she had the brains to keep silent. She wanted to know what was going on, and he was the only one who could tell her. She would hold on to her temper if it killed her.
"Hello Ginevra," he said in that rich, aristocratic drawl of his. Somehow it never failed to rub her the wrong way.
She scowled. "Malfoy. What's going on?"
He smiled. "Apparently, you're determined to marry me, Ginevra. I've heard," he dropped his voice to a purr and came closer, almost stalking her, "that you even swore Blood Oath on it..."
She swore. "I didn't mean it that way."
He raised an eyebrow. "No? Then in what way did you mean it?"
"I said I'd rather marry you than Gerald." She glared at him and pointedly moved away, putting the counter between them.
"That's not what I heard," he murmured, coming up against the counter and leaning over it. "I heard, from Mr. Tarrant himself, that I seduced and abandoned you, and that you swore to get me back..."
She gasped and physically recoiled. "What?!!"
He smiled cruelly. "Yes, Ginevra, that was my first thought as well. However," he lifted a finger, "I'm afraid that the word has spread too far and too fast - the deputy Minister's daughter and the Clan Lord, the Weasley and the Malfoy – so fast that there's no hope of denying it and being believed."
She looked at him for a long, long time, and then acknowledged the truth of what he said. None of her curious customers believed her when she denied it - the only people who probably would believe her were her family and close friends, and they weren't here now, to throw their influence into quashing the rumours. Malfoy himself, for all his social power, had admitted that he couldn't stop them, so what chance did she have? She sighed. "What do we do?"
He looked at her with blank, calculating eyes, and she suddenly became wary of him, of what he could do to her; what did the rumours matter? They could hurt her reputation, harm her business, but on the other hand, Malfoy was by far the more dangerous. She opened her mouth to say, let's forget about it, just let the rumours run their course, when he suddenly grinned, an expression of good humour that lit up and animated his entire face, changing handsome features into blinding beauty, causing her to choke on whatever she was going to say.
"Well, Ginevra, there is one thing we can do," he said, still smiling.
She eyed him warily. "What's that?"
He came closer and captured a stray lock of her hair, falling past her cheekbone, and tugged on it playfully, his fingers brushing her face in passing. She shivered. "We can give them something to really talk about..."
Draco walked into Gringott's dressed in black, formal dress robes, armed with all the confidence and arrogance of two and a half thousand years of absolute power, and prepared to take up the reins of his life and his Lordship. Goblins and customers alike scattered out of the way as he advanced purposefully, his face set impassive, power and danger surrounding him like an invisible cloud. He was the Lord of the Malfoy, the first and the oldest of the High Clan, and today he was flaunting it.
The Malfoy had returned. Let them all see.
The head goblin hurried over to meet him, bowing obsequiously, rubbing his hands together compulsively. "My Lord Malfoy, how good to see you! We have been eagerly awaiting your return," he hissed ingratiatingly. Draco looked at him expressionlessly. He couldn't abide bootlickers, but the head goblin of Gringott's, London was not someone to be easily dismissed.
"Thank you, Griphook," he said softly, inclining his head slightly. "I am glad to see you are so vigilant on my behalf."
"Oh, my Lord," Griphook said, "You are one of our oldest and most valued customers. We always take extra care to zealously guard your interests," he paused and smiled slyly, "and ours thereby." Draco and the goblin looked at each other in perfect understanding. The mask of obsequiousness was dropped, and Griphook's true personality shone through - and Draco knew it would have been a grievous mistake to underestimate him.
"Come," the goblin ordered, clapping his hands so that order returned to the foyer. "Let us discuss our mutual interests." He led Draco to his office, concealed behind an anonymous, undistinguished panel in the walls that swung open when Griphook waved his hand. Draco's respect for the goblin increased even further: wandless magic, and personal wards – his father had been right when he told him the goblins were dangerous. "Sit, please. Would you like some tea?" Griphook asked politely, indicating a tea set on a small side table.
Draco sat down politely in an exquisitely carved chair, arranging his robes around him with the skill of long practice as he settled. "Yes, please," he murmured politely, watching in detached amusement as the tea made itself, a small thread of magic animating the implements. He turned his gaze back to Griphook's as he accepted the cup that floated over to him, taking it gently and carefully out of the air. The goblin had sat down behind his desk, in the position of authority, as if to remind Draco that he was the head goblin of the main branch of Gringott's. Draco brought the cup up to his lips with his right hand, flaunting the ring that symbolized his authority, to remind the goblin of who he, too, was. A small, petty game, but a necessary one, between two players who had never met before and had yet to gain the other's measure.
Griphook's smile was slightly grim, but he spoke first. "So, my Lord Malfoy, what can I do for you?"
***************************************
When he emerged from the head goblin's office, Draco was most pleased with the way the business had gone. The Malfoy vault, all their investments, and another containing everything his mother had owned, had all come to him in due time after Lucius' and Narcissa's death on the same day, despite Ministry interference, and the goblins had been most zealous on his behalf, turning money into more money, and more again.
His father and uncle's financial wizardry had created an incredibly tangled web of investments and trusts, and his first act on coming back to England had been to learn how it worked, and then to find out the true extent of his estates and responsibilities, and now, today, he took control of it. All of it. Money wasn't an end, to him - it was a tool. There was no use having vaults overflowing with gold if he didn't do something with it - and traditionally, the Malfoy used their money to gain, buy and sell power, and to shape the world into what they wanted it to be.
Draco saw no reason to discontinue such an old and valued custom. The world had changed since Voldemort had been defeated for the last time. The Ministry had gained more and more power, and the influence of the High Clans, as people remembered how most of them had turned to the dark side, had diminished - oh, not completely, because the mindset of the wizarding world had always been slow to change, but certainly, Ministers had somehow gained in importance, in control, over Clan Lords. And Lords who had once held legitimate power were now better off buying Ministers and ruling through the shadows, rather than trying to enforce traditional rights.
It certainly couldn't help to have very strong strings attached to a few, influential people: take Arthur Weasley, for example, much as the thought of a Weasley holding any real power amused him. The man had a reputation for unflinching, if occasionally undiplomatic truth and honesty. He was trusted, he was held up as an example of what a politician should be, and most importantly, he was popular with the general public, if not with the aristocracy. He could be a very useful pawn. Now all he needed was a little bit of leverage...
His thoughts were interrupted when a man stormed up to him, planted himself right in front of his face, and drew himself up in outraged ire. His face was crimson and he was having trouble breathing, and he seemed to be in danger of keeling over from the force of his rage. Draco looked down at him with aristocratic distaste, his body language slightly taken aback, jaded eyes faintly surprised. With some difficulty, he recognised the man he had last seen in the littlest Weasel's bookshop. What had his name been? George? Gerard? Gerald. That was it. Gerald Tarrant. Now what the devil was he doing here now?
"You!" hissed Gerald melodramatically.
Draco blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You lying, whoring..." the man’s face reddened, "...bastard!"
A cooler, less amused glance now. "I beg your pardon?" He stiffened, and his voice chilled slightly.
"I don't know what she thinks she saw in you!" The man was lost in his outrage.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." Colder now. His accent was crisper, more clipped, and his face had frozen.
"Liar! Womaniser! Vile seducer of innocents! You don't even remember her, do you? The innocent flower you ruined!"
Draco looked past the man to the security that was coming up quickly behind him, anxious to quash the disturbance. There was nothing less conducive to business than a nasty scene. "No," Draco said, voice icy. "I don't have the slightest clue."
Gerald's eyes bulged. His face went an alarming hue, and he quivered in the force of his rage. "My fiancée," he snarled. "Ginevra Weasley. You seduced her! You ruined her! And then you walked away." He struggled as the security guards took hold of his arms. "You'll pay for your sins, Malfoy!" He shouted hysterically. "You'll pay! You'll pay for everything!!!"
They dragged him to the door and threw him out. Griphook silently, grimly came up to Draco, standing until he relaxed his icy, frozen stance and looked at him. "He will no longer bother you, my Lord," he said, his voice laced with steel. "He was an employee here once, but no longer." His face was just as set as Draco's. "And he will not find employment anywhere else in Britain, if I have my way."
Draco inclined his head, once. "So be it." He turned as if to walk away. "Oh, and Griphook?" he looked back to the head goblin. "He was engaged to marry the youngest Weasley?"
Griphook nodded, his eyes glinting with malicious amusement. "I understand she jilted him, swearing Blood Oath she would rather marry you, sir, than him."
For a moment, Draco's eyes lit with laughter. And then just as quickly it was gone, replaced with their usual impassivity, and perhaps the added spark of calculation. His gaze shifted, looking out the window to where Tallant, tossed out in the street, had been helped up by an unlikely saviour, in the form of the former Pansy Parkinson. Wordlessly, Griphook by his side, he watched as they walked off together, arm in arm, heads close together as if they were plotting...
***********************************
The first indication she had that anything was wrong was just after ten, when two customers came into her bookshop more interested in her than in buying books. The two women were notorious gossips, and they interrogated her not very subtly on her engagement, and her relationship with Draco Malfoy. More came after that, even more blatant, if that were possible, and by one o'clock she felt as if she had been put through the wringer, and had developed a horrifying suspicion about what was really going on.
It was confirmed when the door chimes rang, announcing the arrival of the man himself.
Malfoy.
She wasn't surprised to see him, not after what she had endured that day. In his turn, he didn't seem surprised by her accusing glare, but instead looked insufferably amused. Once again, her temper erupted, but this time she had the brains to keep silent. She wanted to know what was going on, and he was the only one who could tell her. She would hold on to her temper if it killed her.
"Hello Ginevra," he said in that rich, aristocratic drawl of his. Somehow it never failed to rub her the wrong way.
She scowled. "Malfoy. What's going on?"
He smiled. "Apparently, you're determined to marry me, Ginevra. I've heard," he dropped his voice to a purr and came closer, almost stalking her, "that you even swore Blood Oath on it..."
She swore. "I didn't mean it that way."
He raised an eyebrow. "No? Then in what way did you mean it?"
"I said I'd rather marry you than Gerald." She glared at him and pointedly moved away, putting the counter between them.
"That's not what I heard," he murmured, coming up against the counter and leaning over it. "I heard, from Mr. Tarrant himself, that I seduced and abandoned you, and that you swore to get me back..."
She gasped and physically recoiled. "What?!!"
He smiled cruelly. "Yes, Ginevra, that was my first thought as well. However," he lifted a finger, "I'm afraid that the word has spread too far and too fast - the deputy Minister's daughter and the Clan Lord, the Weasley and the Malfoy – so fast that there's no hope of denying it and being believed."
She looked at him for a long, long time, and then acknowledged the truth of what he said. None of her curious customers believed her when she denied it - the only people who probably would believe her were her family and close friends, and they weren't here now, to throw their influence into quashing the rumours. Malfoy himself, for all his social power, had admitted that he couldn't stop them, so what chance did she have? She sighed. "What do we do?"
He looked at her with blank, calculating eyes, and she suddenly became wary of him, of what he could do to her; what did the rumours matter? They could hurt her reputation, harm her business, but on the other hand, Malfoy was by far the more dangerous. She opened her mouth to say, let's forget about it, just let the rumours run their course, when he suddenly grinned, an expression of good humour that lit up and animated his entire face, changing handsome features into blinding beauty, causing her to choke on whatever she was going to say.
"Well, Ginevra, there is one thing we can do," he said, still smiling.
She eyed him warily. "What's that?"
He came closer and captured a stray lock of her hair, falling past her cheekbone, and tugged on it playfully, his fingers brushing her face in passing. She shivered. "We can give them something to really talk about..."
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