A week later, Draco received an unexpected owl. He’d just begun packing his stuff up for his move when an unfamiliar tawny owl started scratching at his window. He hauled himself up from where he’d been sat cross-legged on the floor to let the owl in and was surprised to find an official Gringotts envelope. He hadn’t kept his own owl for a long time and since he didn’t have anything to give the tawny, it bit at his fingers and he yelped. He managed to shoo it back out of the window—trust the goblins to employ the nastiest owls possible.
He sat down at his kitchen table to open the letter, which seemed far thicker than any letter he’d ever received from Gringotts before. Gringotts never contacted anyone unless to inform them of an inheritance or an outstanding debt to be paid, neither of which applied to Draco. With a strange kind of eagerness, Draco tore apart the wax seal and began reading the almost indecipherable goblin script.
Dear Mr. Potter,
It has come to the bank’s attention that your loan application was prematurely denied. It appears that you do qualify for a business loan through Gringotts Goblin Bank Inc., and we extend our deepest for any inconvenience caused.
As a respected and loyal client of the bank, we would like to offer you a reduced interest rate as a gesture of goodwill.
It has also come to our attention that, owing to the War Reparations Act of 1998, the freezing of inheritance assets has ended after the statutory 10 years. Due to an oversight in our administration centre, it has come to our attention that vault number 726 should have been released as of 2nd May 2008. Once again, we offer our sincerest apologies and would like to reassure you that all parties involved have been dealt with accordingly as per the internal protocol of the bank.
Please do not hesitate to contact your nearest Gringotts bank with any enquiries you may have.
Yours Sincerely,
Lozk Gringott
Head Goblin of Gringotts Wizarding Bank
Draco was blown away. He knew the decision had been unfair, but once the goblins made their choice, no force on earth could usually sway them. Included in the envelope, were the deeds to the Malfoy property in France. Draco hadn’t realised that his father had already transferred ownership to Draco by the time of his arrest. Of course, Draco shouldn’t have been surprised—Lucius had always been ruthless and calculating when it came to the Malfoy Estate. Vault 726 was the vault his father had set up for him when he was a child. It was customary in pureblood families to do so as although Draco was already set to inherit the Estate as the sole heir, it was assumed that the money would be used to keep his bride until such time that it was necessary for him to take over.
That obviously hadn’t been applicable in Draco’s case.
Nevertheless, Draco had long since assumed that all of that had been taken by the Ministry during his trial. He had no idea he had any assets to be frozen at the time. This certainly changed his plans for his move to France.
Still, and call it his inner Slytherin cunning, he was sure this wasn’t a coincidence. Someone, maybe at the bank, maybe someone who knew something about Draco’s situation, wanted him to leave as soon as possible. Probably Harry, he thought when he went over their last conversation. There was nothing left to say between them, and although Harry knew nothing of his plans to move to Paris, Draco was sure he’d be more than happy to get Draco out of the way now that their somewhat tenuous arrangement was no longer necessary.
Chapter 10
In the fifth month of Draco’s not-deal with Hermione, he moved to the outskirts of Paris. It was a strange transition, because he hadn’t expected to be making trips back and forth between his rented flat and a bloody chateau. Perhaps he’d been a bit premature with his move, but he used the first month in France to get the family estate in a livable condition.
It took him the first five days to detangle the wards surrounding the chateau. His father had been careful to hold onto the less well known of the family properties, which was probably a wise decision as they’d be less traceable. Draco had never been to this one, and he could tell by the confused state of the wards that no one had been there in his parents’ lifetime either. As far as he could tell, the house didn’t recognise the Black blood in him and wouldn’t let him through. It wasn’t the end of the world, as he was still a Malfoy and he could reset the wards, but it was complicated and tiresome magic and he only had the strength to break through one ward a day.
It worked out quite well for him, as that meant he could spend his days searching the streets of wizarding Paris for a suitable lot for the apothecary he wanted to open and navigating his way around the city finding the best fresh markets and bakeries and coffee houses. Then, in the evenings, he’d apparate to the chateau and work on the wards. It was gruelling; Draco hadn’t done so much complex wandwork since the war, and he stumbled into bed in the early hours of the morning and fell straight to sleep. The physical exercise and the proper use of his magic was doing wonders for Draco’s anxiety, and he’d cut down on his potion doses from two a day to just one with his breakfast. He missed Teddy terribly, but he hoped his lack of encounters with Eltanin meant Teddy was settling in well at Hogwarts. Draco had infuriated his mother when he’d forgotten to owl her at all during his first term, so he did his best to understand.
Today he wasn’t going to the chateau until later in the evening, so he had some time to himself during the day. He had no more listings to check out since he’d looked all around the area and not seen anything which had caught his eye. He wondered, briefly, if any shop would be what he wanted. He’d seen over two dozen places so far and they all seemed to lack the necessary atmosphere he wanted. He pulled out the file he’d made of all the potential places for his apothecary and perused the ones he’d already dismissed. There had been one quaint little place, on la Rue Saint Julien le Pauvre which was just around the corner from Draco’s favourite quirky bookshop on la Rue de la B?cherie. He’d hesitated because the store would be very close to some of the muggle hotels which lined the Seine. It was so close to the beautiful church of Saint Julien and from the street corner he’d have a view of Notre- Dame and he wondered why he’d been so hesitant before, maybe it was because he was scared of creating too many roots here.
He decided he’d make the trip over, without the letting agent, so he could see the place more objectively, imagine what it might be like to approach as a customer rather than an owner. He didn’t make it far however, since the heavens opened and forced Draco back inside. He could do that another day he supposed—it wasn’t worth wading through such heavy rain. Instead, he spent most of the day tuck up under a blanket with a book he’d bought at said bookshop. He knew he would have to go out to the chateau later, so he figured he may as well let this trip slide in the hopes the rain would clear later.
The Autumn was perishing in Paris. Draco grabbed the thick woolen cloak he’d last used as part of his disguise in that strange London clinic. He jumped as he heard a clatter and he looked down to find the bottle of pills Harry had been given when they’d gone. That was strange, he could’ve sworn he’d checked them in as evidence. He looked at the bottle and noticed some of them were missing, which were probably the ones he’d had sent to the lab for testing. He slipped them back into his robe pocket and made a mental note to owl them to the Ministry the next day after he’d bought himself a new night flying friend. He’d finally decided he had enough money to bother investing in a new owl.
He glanced at his watch and realised he was going to be late. Last night he’d finally managed to break through the last ward and would be stepping inside the chateau for the first time. He’d asked Pansy to accompany him in case he came across anything untoward. He tugged his cloak further around himself as the chill of the evening stung his cheeks. He’d started a new routine since he’d moved which meant he walked down to the nearest park before apparating to his chosen destination, to get some fresh air in his lungs on days he was stuck indoors. He’d found an interesting article in a French journal de psychologie et sciences de la vie which said physical exercise was good for mental health issues. He’d also been testing out his circulation potion against the new weather conditions. A tingling in his palms and a slight pain in his right wrist told him the formula wasn’t quite right yet.
Pansy, to his surprise, looked positively thrilled to see him as he arrived outside the chateau. He supposed that was more likely to do with the bitter cold than her enthusiasm over seeing him. He was even more surprised to find she hadn’t come alone.
‘Well, well, look who we have here!’ Draco said as he approached his old friend.
‘Surprise.’ Blaise greeted him with a smirk and they hugged. In a very manly way of course. All about those macho hugs.
‘Men.’ Pansy said with a roll of her eyes, but Draco knew she didn’t mean it because she’d failed to conceal her amused smile. She picked at her bright red fingernails as she waited.
‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘I’ve just finished Paris fashion week and I’m hanging around for a while, catching up with old faces, trying to wrangle some collab deals for next season. You know the score.’ Blaise went into modelling after Hogwarts and had taken the muggle fashion industry by storm with his cleverly tailored clothes which really were one-size-fits-all. Of course, that was because they were all charmed to adjust to the individual’s body shape, but the muggles didn’t know that. He was particularly popular among plus size and maternity demographics, because his clothes adapted with their owners. Draco was convinced that muggles couldn’t be quite that stupid, but maybe he wasn’t appreciative enough of how vain some people could be. Yes, the irony of that statement wasn’t lost on him.
‘I see. Well, seeing as you’ve decided to grace us with you ever stunning presence, welcome to my slightly-rundown, fixer-upper abode!’ Draco said cheerfully. France really was doing wonders for him.
As Draco unlocked the wrought-iron gates, Blaise all but ran up the long driveway, whilst Pansy hung back, gripping Draco’s sleeve tightly.
‘He didn’t lie about fashion week,’ she said quietly, ‘but he’s really worried there’s something in this house. Don’t underestimate how much he cares about you. We’ve seen you go through a lot and we just want you to be happy.’ Draco felt like she was saying a thousand things all at once without really saying anything at all and he appreciated that about his ex- Slytherin friends. They always knew what to say without making a big deal about it.
He offered Pansy his arm and they strode up the driveway after Blaise who’d already disappeared into the distance. Draco could see that tall conifers had once lined the gravelled path and he thought he might replace them. They weren’t strictly needed with the wards already in place, but they’d look mightily impressive.
Inside, the chateau was much as Draco had expected it. The hallway was almost completely white marble with a wide central staircase complete with gilded gold handrails. As he glanced around, the whole place screamed grandeur, but years of neglect had taken its toll. The giant crystal chandelier had fallen from the ceiling at some point, leaving a gaping hole in the ornate ceiling mouldings and a scattering of jewels across the floor that were so dusty they probably wouldn’t even glint should they be exposed to sunlight.
There were giant gold picture frames hanging from nearly every wall, each and every one abandoned by its inhabitants. Draco couldn’t blame them, this wasn’t exactly an enjoyable sight to behold. Blaise twittered on about the potential of the place and the intelligence of the architecture whilst Pansy, like Draco, remained mostly silent. Draco would have thought that this place had been abandoned in a hurry, had it not been for the meticulously placed dust covers on the remaining items of antique furniture. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense to Draco, most wizards would have cast household stasis charms on a place like this, to make it look like no one had ever left, and if they’d abandoned it in a hurry they certainly wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of covering the furniture. Draco wondered if perhaps it had been left deliberately this way, but why?
He left Pansy and Blaise on the balcony of the first-floor parlour and explored the rest of the chateau alone. After taking a few wrong turns and getting lost, he eventually found what could only be described as the master suite, although it took up almost a whole floor. Draco was drawn immediately to the floor-to-ceiling white shutters—he could just imagine himself waking up in this room and drawing them slowly, letting the whole room flood with bright sunlight—
‘Master prefers this room to all others.’ Draco jumped half out of his skin and let out a rather undignified squawk. He wheeled around to find a craggy old house elf so decrepit, he made Kreacher look lively.
‘Who are you?’ Draco asked. It was a stupid question though, since he could already figure it out.
‘Spungen, sir. I welcome you back to Chateau des Boucliers.’ The elf bowed so low his long, hooked nose touched the floor.
‘Castle of Shields? Interesting. Thank you, Spungen.’ Draco said formally.
‘Master is the last heir of the Malfoy family and the Noble House of Black, but he does not bear either name. Spungen was woken from his sleep upon Master’s arrival.’ Spungen declared. House elf magic was always tied to the magic of the family they served, it was one of the ways the family trees updated with every descendent.
‘Yes,’ Draco said tightly. ‘The Malfoy line ends with me.’ He had never much cared about being the end of his family line, not after he saw what obsession with blood purity and magical families could do, but he had to admit that it was sad that a place as beautiful as this didn’t have a family to own it. He could of course marry again and start his own family, but the magic in houses such as this thrived on the blood of those who built it. ‘Spungen?’ Draco asked.
‘Yes, Master?’
‘Was this house owned by the Blacks or by the Malfoys?’
‘The Malfoys, Master. Spungen can feel the house will accept an heir from the Noble House of Black, should Master know the correct procedures.’ Spungen shot Draco a scarily knowing look for a house elf addressing his master. ‘Spungen will prepare the chateau now.’ With a crack Spungen was gone.
‘There you are!’ Pansy exclaimed a moment later when she finally caught up with Draco.
‘Were you talking to someone? I heard voices.’ She looked around as if expecting someone to jump out from behind the armoire.
‘House elf.’ He said casually. ‘Apparently I disrupted his sleep.’
‘Only one?’ Pansy said, her nose wrinkling and her face twisting in distain. ‘I thought you were supposed to be posh Draco.’ He snorted an undignified laugh and followed her as she strutted out of the room.
‘Hey Pansy,’ he said as they descended the stairs together, ‘how would you and Blaise like to put your heads together on an interior design project once I’ve got this place up and running?’ Pansy turned a huge grin on him.
‘Draco, darling, I thought you’d never ask.’
