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Another slice of life from the Daoimear de Dan world.
The latest installment of the Daoimear de Dan tales in preparation for the *drumroll please* sequel, Inne Agus Inniu.
Malfoy Manor, England. May 2001
Draco Malfoy slumped into a worn leather armchair in his study and kicked his shoes off. The perpetually poised Monsieur Malfoy slouched and began picking at the arm of the chair. He sighed, and then he sighed again. Then he sighed a third time for good measure.
He wasn't sure what to make of it all and he had no idea how he was meant to break the news. How was he to tell the world that Draco Malfoy had been dumped? He scrawled a hasty note on a piece of Malfoy Magical Enterprises headed notepaper before summoning a House-Elf who duly took the note to be owled. Then Draco reminded himself that he was a Malfoy and Malfoys do not mope. Malfoys do not mope with bad posture. He got up out of the chair, paced up and down the room before then heading out of the room, down the hall and into the nursery.
Flynn Francois Malfoy lay fast asleep in his cot where Draco had left him only five minutes previously. Draco beamed briefly with pride: his son was an excellent sleeper and had always slept well through the night, unlike Kathleen Potter who apparently caused her parents no end of night-time grief. He smirked, temporarily forgetting that he was now friends with Harry Potter and therefore had no need to make himself feel superior. Well, he told himself sternly, you do need to feel superior at the moment even if the only thing you can find is baby fashions. His son was well dressed, he thought, smiling proudly again. At almost a year old, Flynn had beautiful soft blond hair and according Narcissa, looked just like Draco had at the same age. Draco smirked: he must have been a very handsome baby. Then the sighs returned. He slumped down into the chair beside his son's cot and leaned his head against the wall. Handsome baby or not, it didn't seem to have helped him now.
After about ten minutes of silent sitting, the House-Elf appeared in the nursery.
"Your guest is here, Sir," he said before disappearing again. After a moment, Harry Potter came into the nursery looking extremely concerned.
"What's the matter?" he asked. "I just got your owl."
"Fleur's gone."
"Gone?"
"Gone. Left. Absent. Departed. Vacated the premises," Draco said, waving a hand nonchalantly. Harry sat down opposite him.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes."
"You don't look all right."
"Well I am all right. I wasn't in love with Fleur any more than she was with me. We were two beautiful people who became attracted to each other, got married almost immediately, had a child and then got bored with each other."
"You sound like you've spent a while thinking about this."
"Not really," he lied.
"Talk to me, Draco."
"I thought I was."
"There's a reason you owled me. Talk to me. I can help."
"How? Hermione came back to you. Fleur isn't ever coming back. I don't want her to. You know, she doesn't even want to see Flynn."
"What? That's-"
"That's just Fleur. Whatever maternal instinct she had she sold for expensive shoes."
"Maybe it's all for the best," Harry said, groping for something, anything to say to Draco that might help.
"I'm sure it is."
"So why do you look suicidal?"
"No reason. Just a new look I'm trying out."
"Doesn't suit you."
"Well, the rich and handsome thing didn't work."
"That's it, isn't it? You've never been dumped before." Harry tried very hard not to laugh. Draco raised an eyebrow and didn't look amused.
"I am a Malfoy. We aren't dumped."
"Draco-"
"Don't Draco me. What are you doing here, anyway?"
Harry nearly laughed again but managed to push the laugh down his throat.
"Draco, you owled me not fifteen minutes ago asking me to come here."
"Did I?" Draco looked genuinely surprised.
"Yes. It seemed urgent."
"Oh. Sorry." Draco didn't sound remotely sorry, which wasn't surprising. Receiving an apology from Draco Malfoy was rather rarer than reading a truthful Rita Skeeter article.
"Why did you owl me?" Harry asked. Draco sighed again- it seemed to be becoming a habit.
"Because I didn't know who else to talk to. Because-"
"Because we're friends?" Harry asked. Draco looked as if he were choking on something unpleasant as he always did when confronted with the horrific truth that he and Potter were on friendly terms now.
"Something like that. And I didn't have anyone else."
"What about your mother? Sirius?"
"Off in Jamaica on holiday. Besides, I'd just get a big fat 'I told you so' and I can live without that."
"Neither of them would say that."
"Humph."
"They wouldn't. Not at first, anyway." Harry tried valiantly to inject some humour into the situation. He had never, ever seen Draco this... defeated. Not even during that first post-war party at the Ministry when everyone had snubbed the Malfoy boy. At least then Draco had shrugged his shoulders and at least pretended to not care.
"None of you ever liked her," Draco said. Harry went to say otherwise, but Draco waved his hand again. "I know you didn't. A lot of the time I didn't even like her."
"We tried, Draco."
"I know. More than I would've done. Uppity, snobby, cold..." Draco trailed off, too depressed even to snipe at Fleur.
"Well, at least you've got Flynn."
"Yes, fantastic. I'm a twenty-one year old single father. This is not how I imagined my life ending up."
"A lot of stuff isn't how we imagined it. I mean, witness us standing in a room together talking and sharing instead of cursing and hexing."
"Who would've thought it? My reputation is ruined, thanks to you."
"Only from a certain point of view, Draco."
"My point of view."
"You're insufferable, Malfoy," Harry said, beginning to get a little irritated. "You owl me because you're obviously upset, then you pretend you didn't. You want my help but you won't ask for it, let alone accept it."
"How can you help?" Draco snapped. Harry noticed that Draco was rubbing the tip of his nose and remembered Narcissa saying something about him doing that when very upset or aggravated in some manner.
"Sit down, Draco. I'll get you a cup of coffee."
"Make it more Irish than Paddy McGinty's goat."
"No."
"Worth a try."
***
A few minutes later, Harry and Draco were sat together in the expansive Malfoy Manor kitchen. Draco looked rather out of place in his own kitchen, and Harry realised that with his cadre of House-Elves, Draco didn't need to enter very often.
"How's the business going, Draco?" Harry asked in a now-desperate attempt to get a conversation started.
"All right."
"If you're going to just mope and give me one word answers, I will go home."
"I won't stop you."
"No, but you want me to be here, don't you?"
"Not really."
"You're a terrible liar, Draco."
"So sue me."
Harry looked at him strangely. That was an awfully Mugglish word for him to use.
"Have you been watching that television Maura got you?"
Draco's face flushed rather pink.
"Perhaps."
Harry couldn't suppress the grin that spread across his face.
"I know what you're thinking, Potter. What would everyone say if they knew that a Malfoy was a big fan of Eastenders?"
"You like Eastenders?"
"Yes. I tried to watch that other one..."
"Coronation Street?"
"That one, yeah. But they have ridiculous Northern accents like Longbottom. Couldn't stand it."
"Hermione still watches that, and Dean Thomas was telling me in Diagon Alley the other day how he bought a television so he could watch football. Ron was jealous that we don't have anything similar in the wizard world for Quidditch."
Draco was silent. Then suddenly, he sprang out of his chair.
"That's it!" he cried. "The thing I've been looking for!"
"Thing?"
"I've been searching my brain for something to kick start Malfoy Magical Enterprises and this is it!" Fleur was completely forgotten as Draco began searching for a piece of parchment to write on. "I can't find anything in here!"
Harry watched as Draco shot out of the kitchen. He drained his cup and followed. He found Draco scribbling furiously at his desk.
"Draco... care to explain?"
"Television!"
"Television?"
"We don't have anything like it, but it's one of the few half-decent things the Muggles have come up with. Imagine the possibilities: live Quidditch coverage in your living room, wizard soap operas..." Draco trailed off and stared off into space for a moment.
"A lot of magical people have television, Draco," Harry reminded him.
"I'm not talking about just getting television, I'm talking about all-magical channels..." he paused to scribble some more. "But it wouldn't just be television, it would be magic."
"How so?"
"I don't know... I'll get Development on it."
"You have a Development department?" Harry asked. Draco scoffed.
"Of course I do! How else does one get anything developed?"
"Good point."
Draco suddenly remembered his previous mood and his face fell again.
"Look," said Harry. "Why don't I take Flynn home with me? You can concentrate on this or... whatever you'd like. Have some time on your own."
"Harry, I know you think I can't ask for help, but you don't need to do that. You have the twins to look after."
"It's really-"
"It's all right." Draco smiled fairly unconvincingly at him. "I'll be fine. We'll be fine."
"OK. Do you want me to... spread the word? So you don't have to break the news?"
"I think... Yes. Please."
"I will. I'll see you soon, all right?"
"If you like."
"I'd better head home now."
"All right," Draco paused awkwardly. "Thank you Harry."
"You're welcome. Can I Floo from here?"
"Yeah. Powder's on the mantelpiece."
"Bye," Harry shot him a bright smile before heading into the fire.
***
Harry was true to his word, and within about two hours, Draco had owls arriving from across the country from various people. Maura arrived via the fireplace demanding to know if he was all right. Molly Weasley arrived with a casserole for him and instructions to contact her if he needed anything. Eventually, he bit the bullet and contacted his mother in Jamaica to break the news.
There were no 'I told you so's'. The news only became public when Fleur officially filed for divorce at the Ministry. Molly insisted he and Flynn come over for Sunday lunch while Narcissa and Sirius cut short their holiday and arrived home on the Monday. By the end of the first week, Draco decided that he was almost enjoying his new life on his own. By the end of the second week he was so delighted by the amount of money he was sure he'd make on his magical televisions that Fleur was nothing but a distant memory.
*
The End.
Malfoy Manor, England. May 2001
Draco Malfoy slumped into a worn leather armchair in his study and kicked his shoes off. The perpetually poised Monsieur Malfoy slouched and began picking at the arm of the chair. He sighed, and then he sighed again. Then he sighed a third time for good measure.
He wasn't sure what to make of it all and he had no idea how he was meant to break the news. How was he to tell the world that Draco Malfoy had been dumped? He scrawled a hasty note on a piece of Malfoy Magical Enterprises headed notepaper before summoning a House-Elf who duly took the note to be owled. Then Draco reminded himself that he was a Malfoy and Malfoys do not mope. Malfoys do not mope with bad posture. He got up out of the chair, paced up and down the room before then heading out of the room, down the hall and into the nursery.
Flynn Francois Malfoy lay fast asleep in his cot where Draco had left him only five minutes previously. Draco beamed briefly with pride: his son was an excellent sleeper and had always slept well through the night, unlike Kathleen Potter who apparently caused her parents no end of night-time grief. He smirked, temporarily forgetting that he was now friends with Harry Potter and therefore had no need to make himself feel superior. Well, he told himself sternly, you do need to feel superior at the moment even if the only thing you can find is baby fashions. His son was well dressed, he thought, smiling proudly again. At almost a year old, Flynn had beautiful soft blond hair and according Narcissa, looked just like Draco had at the same age. Draco smirked: he must have been a very handsome baby. Then the sighs returned. He slumped down into the chair beside his son's cot and leaned his head against the wall. Handsome baby or not, it didn't seem to have helped him now.
After about ten minutes of silent sitting, the House-Elf appeared in the nursery.
"Your guest is here, Sir," he said before disappearing again. After a moment, Harry Potter came into the nursery looking extremely concerned.
"What's the matter?" he asked. "I just got your owl."
"Fleur's gone."
"Gone?"
"Gone. Left. Absent. Departed. Vacated the premises," Draco said, waving a hand nonchalantly. Harry sat down opposite him.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes."
"You don't look all right."
"Well I am all right. I wasn't in love with Fleur any more than she was with me. We were two beautiful people who became attracted to each other, got married almost immediately, had a child and then got bored with each other."
"You sound like you've spent a while thinking about this."
"Not really," he lied.
"Talk to me, Draco."
"I thought I was."
"There's a reason you owled me. Talk to me. I can help."
"How? Hermione came back to you. Fleur isn't ever coming back. I don't want her to. You know, she doesn't even want to see Flynn."
"What? That's-"
"That's just Fleur. Whatever maternal instinct she had she sold for expensive shoes."
"Maybe it's all for the best," Harry said, groping for something, anything to say to Draco that might help.
"I'm sure it is."
"So why do you look suicidal?"
"No reason. Just a new look I'm trying out."
"Doesn't suit you."
"Well, the rich and handsome thing didn't work."
"That's it, isn't it? You've never been dumped before." Harry tried very hard not to laugh. Draco raised an eyebrow and didn't look amused.
"I am a Malfoy. We aren't dumped."
"Draco-"
"Don't Draco me. What are you doing here, anyway?"
Harry nearly laughed again but managed to push the laugh down his throat.
"Draco, you owled me not fifteen minutes ago asking me to come here."
"Did I?" Draco looked genuinely surprised.
"Yes. It seemed urgent."
"Oh. Sorry." Draco didn't sound remotely sorry, which wasn't surprising. Receiving an apology from Draco Malfoy was rather rarer than reading a truthful Rita Skeeter article.
"Why did you owl me?" Harry asked. Draco sighed again- it seemed to be becoming a habit.
"Because I didn't know who else to talk to. Because-"
"Because we're friends?" Harry asked. Draco looked as if he were choking on something unpleasant as he always did when confronted with the horrific truth that he and Potter were on friendly terms now.
"Something like that. And I didn't have anyone else."
"What about your mother? Sirius?"
"Off in Jamaica on holiday. Besides, I'd just get a big fat 'I told you so' and I can live without that."
"Neither of them would say that."
"Humph."
"They wouldn't. Not at first, anyway." Harry tried valiantly to inject some humour into the situation. He had never, ever seen Draco this... defeated. Not even during that first post-war party at the Ministry when everyone had snubbed the Malfoy boy. At least then Draco had shrugged his shoulders and at least pretended to not care.
"None of you ever liked her," Draco said. Harry went to say otherwise, but Draco waved his hand again. "I know you didn't. A lot of the time I didn't even like her."
"We tried, Draco."
"I know. More than I would've done. Uppity, snobby, cold..." Draco trailed off, too depressed even to snipe at Fleur.
"Well, at least you've got Flynn."
"Yes, fantastic. I'm a twenty-one year old single father. This is not how I imagined my life ending up."
"A lot of stuff isn't how we imagined it. I mean, witness us standing in a room together talking and sharing instead of cursing and hexing."
"Who would've thought it? My reputation is ruined, thanks to you."
"Only from a certain point of view, Draco."
"My point of view."
"You're insufferable, Malfoy," Harry said, beginning to get a little irritated. "You owl me because you're obviously upset, then you pretend you didn't. You want my help but you won't ask for it, let alone accept it."
"How can you help?" Draco snapped. Harry noticed that Draco was rubbing the tip of his nose and remembered Narcissa saying something about him doing that when very upset or aggravated in some manner.
"Sit down, Draco. I'll get you a cup of coffee."
"Make it more Irish than Paddy McGinty's goat."
"No."
"Worth a try."
***
A few minutes later, Harry and Draco were sat together in the expansive Malfoy Manor kitchen. Draco looked rather out of place in his own kitchen, and Harry realised that with his cadre of House-Elves, Draco didn't need to enter very often.
"How's the business going, Draco?" Harry asked in a now-desperate attempt to get a conversation started.
"All right."
"If you're going to just mope and give me one word answers, I will go home."
"I won't stop you."
"No, but you want me to be here, don't you?"
"Not really."
"You're a terrible liar, Draco."
"So sue me."
Harry looked at him strangely. That was an awfully Mugglish word for him to use.
"Have you been watching that television Maura got you?"
Draco's face flushed rather pink.
"Perhaps."
Harry couldn't suppress the grin that spread across his face.
"I know what you're thinking, Potter. What would everyone say if they knew that a Malfoy was a big fan of Eastenders?"
"You like Eastenders?"
"Yes. I tried to watch that other one..."
"Coronation Street?"
"That one, yeah. But they have ridiculous Northern accents like Longbottom. Couldn't stand it."
"Hermione still watches that, and Dean Thomas was telling me in Diagon Alley the other day how he bought a television so he could watch football. Ron was jealous that we don't have anything similar in the wizard world for Quidditch."
Draco was silent. Then suddenly, he sprang out of his chair.
"That's it!" he cried. "The thing I've been looking for!"
"Thing?"
"I've been searching my brain for something to kick start Malfoy Magical Enterprises and this is it!" Fleur was completely forgotten as Draco began searching for a piece of parchment to write on. "I can't find anything in here!"
Harry watched as Draco shot out of the kitchen. He drained his cup and followed. He found Draco scribbling furiously at his desk.
"Draco... care to explain?"
"Television!"
"Television?"
"We don't have anything like it, but it's one of the few half-decent things the Muggles have come up with. Imagine the possibilities: live Quidditch coverage in your living room, wizard soap operas..." Draco trailed off and stared off into space for a moment.
"A lot of magical people have television, Draco," Harry reminded him.
"I'm not talking about just getting television, I'm talking about all-magical channels..." he paused to scribble some more. "But it wouldn't just be television, it would be magic."
"How so?"
"I don't know... I'll get Development on it."
"You have a Development department?" Harry asked. Draco scoffed.
"Of course I do! How else does one get anything developed?"
"Good point."
Draco suddenly remembered his previous mood and his face fell again.
"Look," said Harry. "Why don't I take Flynn home with me? You can concentrate on this or... whatever you'd like. Have some time on your own."
"Harry, I know you think I can't ask for help, but you don't need to do that. You have the twins to look after."
"It's really-"
"It's all right." Draco smiled fairly unconvincingly at him. "I'll be fine. We'll be fine."
"OK. Do you want me to... spread the word? So you don't have to break the news?"
"I think... Yes. Please."
"I will. I'll see you soon, all right?"
"If you like."
"I'd better head home now."
"All right," Draco paused awkwardly. "Thank you Harry."
"You're welcome. Can I Floo from here?"
"Yeah. Powder's on the mantelpiece."
"Bye," Harry shot him a bright smile before heading into the fire.
***
Harry was true to his word, and within about two hours, Draco had owls arriving from across the country from various people. Maura arrived via the fireplace demanding to know if he was all right. Molly Weasley arrived with a casserole for him and instructions to contact her if he needed anything. Eventually, he bit the bullet and contacted his mother in Jamaica to break the news.
There were no 'I told you so's'. The news only became public when Fleur officially filed for divorce at the Ministry. Molly insisted he and Flynn come over for Sunday lunch while Narcissa and Sirius cut short their holiday and arrived home on the Monday. By the end of the first week, Draco decided that he was almost enjoying his new life on his own. By the end of the second week he was so delighted by the amount of money he was sure he'd make on his magical televisions that Fleur was nothing but a distant memory.
*
The End.
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