Meeting Lucius
Draco tossed away the tattered silk glove that had been his Portkey and looked around. He was standing at the entrance to a once-grand but now somewhat shabby-looking townhouse. He stifled a laugh. This was once an infamous Wizarding brothel, catering to purebloods mostly, and those with money enough to stand with them without being sneered at too much.
He Summoned the glove back and searched it for clues as to who had sent it. He had thought surely it was from Lucius himself, just recently freed from Azkaban once and for all thanks to Potter's campaigning, but now he wasn't so sure. Why would...?
The sound of laughter from one of the front rooms drew Draco's attention to the house. Perhaps it wasn't as run down as it seemed. Perhaps that was just some form of Disillusion. Draco went up the steps and pushed open the door.
Just inside the vestibule a winsome young wizard wearing nothing but a few strategically charmed scarves greeted him. "Mr. Malfoy! You're expected. Allow me to take your robes?"
Draco slipped out of his outer robes but went no further.
"Your host insists upon a cocktail as well," the wizard said, as he sent the robes to hang themselves with a flick of his wand and then Summoned a glass and cocktail shaker with another. He poured into the glass and handed it to Draco, who tried to think of some polite way to refuse.
Before he could, the cheeky greeter had stuck a finger into the liquid and tasted it himself. "I guarantee you it's not poison," he said, smacking his lips.
"But--" Draco started to say, only to find the wizard's finger on his lips, as if to hush him.
"No arguments. Your host is right through here." The wizard gestured to the doorway to a private salon.
Draco made sure his wand was in his sleeve as he set a hand onto the knob, trying very hard not to lick his lips. The most potent potions would have just seeped straight through his skin anyway, if that had been the intent. Was that what was making his heart pound? Or was it merely the anticipation of whom he might find when he opened the door?
He Summoned the glove back and searched it for clues as to who had sent it. He had thought surely it was from Lucius himself, just recently freed from Azkaban once and for all thanks to Potter's campaigning, but now he wasn't so sure. Why would...?
The sound of laughter from one of the front rooms drew Draco's attention to the house. Perhaps it wasn't as run down as it seemed. Perhaps that was just some form of Disillusion. Draco went up the steps and pushed open the door.
Just inside the vestibule a winsome young wizard wearing nothing but a few strategically charmed scarves greeted him. "Mr. Malfoy! You're expected. Allow me to take your robes?"
Draco slipped out of his outer robes but went no further.
"Your host insists upon a cocktail as well," the wizard said, as he sent the robes to hang themselves with a flick of his wand and then Summoned a glass and cocktail shaker with another. He poured into the glass and handed it to Draco, who tried to think of some polite way to refuse.
Before he could, the cheeky greeter had stuck a finger into the liquid and tasted it himself. "I guarantee you it's not poison," he said, smacking his lips.
"But--" Draco started to say, only to find the wizard's finger on his lips, as if to hush him.
"No arguments. Your host is right through here." The wizard gestured to the doorway to a private salon.
Draco made sure his wand was in his sleeve as he set a hand onto the knob, trying very hard not to lick his lips. The most potent potions would have just seeped straight through his skin anyway, if that had been the intent. Was that what was making his heart pound? Or was it merely the anticipation of whom he might find when he opened the door?