Malfoy's New Life 1 (Patreon)

Draco smiled as he checked his reflection in the mirror, wearing a nice Armani suit in the upscale shop at the center of London, wondering what his father would have said if he realized not only he was spending most of his time in the Muggle world, but actually embraced Muggle fashion.

Nothing good, he assumed, which was why he never mentioned that in his letters to his mother, or on one of his rare trips to meet them. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see them more, but after the war, his parents decided that getting away from Britain was a good idea.

Draco stayed in Britain. A part of it was because he didn’t want to interrupt his parents’ second honeymoon.

But, it was mostly because he was afraid that without him around to give occasional reminders to the media, Malfoy name would be vilified once more, not that they had a clean name to start with. Draco was aware that the only thing that truly saved their ass was her mother’s last-minute decision to help Potter hide his secret, allowing Potter to take down the Dark Lord.

Good riddance to that monster.

However, even with that last-minute save, ensuring the Malfoy name stayed alive and relevant was a challenge he had been handling for the last three years. The easier choice was to take a fitting pureblood bride, and see if he could put the dark faction back together, and push himself as some kind of moderate dark figure.

It was the plan his parents had supported, even going as far as checking whether Greengrasses were amenable to it.

It was tempting, but he eventually refused it. He knew that, the moment he had done that, they could probably establish a strong block in the Ministry, but that would be the extent of their achievement. The Malfoy' name would once again refer to Death Eaters.

Staying away from the dark coalition was the choice he made. Eventually, it would allow him to reinvent the Malfoy name.

Eventually…

Unfortunately, it came with stark consequences, the biggest being his effective banishment from his old social circle. His old friends, unhappy with the decision, effectively exiled him from the circle, and the light side wouldn’t have trusted immediately after the war.

… well, except Potter, who could be gullible, but Draco still had pride. He would rather die than beg Potter to be friends. He might be over their schoolyard rivalry, but becoming friends was out of question. Especially since it would mean spending time with Weasley.

For months after the war, he had stayed in the manor, alone, studying magic far deeper than he had ever done, but eventually, he had bored enough to do the unthinkable and visited the Muggle world.

He expected to find a bunch of dirty savages, because everything he had learned about muggles, he had learned from his father’s friends. He had learned they were not a reliable source of information since his sixth year, once he interacted with the Dark Lord enough to realize they were worshiping a madman, but even with that detail, the Muggle world truly shocked him.

One without magic, yet filled with its own strange kind of wonder. To his father’s credit, apparently, his information was not wrong, just … outdated by about a century or so.

The Muggle world was crowded, messy, but also fascinating and fun. Most of his time, when he wasn’t at the Ministry working, or when he wasn’t practicing magic, he spent in the Muggle world, exploring.

And, after three years, he was more comfortable in the Muggle world than the magical one. The magical side of Britain was small, insular, a village compared to the vast Muggle world.

A world that he could enjoy even without overtly using magic, because it worked on the other fundamental power of the universe.

Money.

“Is there a way I can help you, sir?” the saleswoman approached, wearing a sexy miniskirt and an inviting smile.

“Thanks, sweetie. That’s all for today,” he said, but he let her drag her hands along the seam of his pants, acting like he hadn’t noticed her slipping a small piece of paper into his pocket, no doubt with her number.

He counted the ladies as one of the greatest perks of the Muggle world. The Malfoy name might mean nothing in the Muggle world, but it actually made it easier to connect with them.

Apparently, excluding Pansy, the Malfoy name had been more of a hindrance than a help when it came to his popularity with the ladies, which had been a shocker. Apparently, his good looks and his wallet were far more useful than his family name.

He paid and left the shop, not tempted to use a Confundus like he would have when he first started visiting in the Muggle world. It would have been easier, but he had spent some time checking the Statue of Secrecy once he started visiting the Muggle world more.

The Ministry might be ineffective when it came to detecting wizards meddling with the Muggle world, but the ICW was a different story.

Apparently, they had a real taskforce hunting wizards interacting with the Muggle world in a structural way, involving themselves with finance, crime, or military, leaving the Ministries to deal with the usual pranks. It meant they were dedicated to catching anyone committing high-profile crimes, moving a large amount of money, or otherwise making a visible impact.

Draco chose an easier way.

He was lucky that most wizards that interacted with the Muggle world were idiots with no imagination, never truly exploring what was possible to achieve. Occasionally, some idiots decided that robbing a bank with magic was the smartest thing.

Draco had decided to build an empire using one of the weakest charms. Reparo.

All he needed was to open a small, exclusive shop, specializing in restoring antiques and historical artifacts, charging an arm and a leg for it. Occasionally, he also acquired damaged artifacts himself, restored and sold them, netting him anywhere between high five figures to low seven figures.

That, combined with hiring a famous but cranky old Muggle restorer who had moved from Italy to act as a front, solved most of his problems.

Ironically, the challenge had been to learn how to cast Reparo underpowered, fixing the issues while leaving the ravages of time untouched. A completely pristine artifact was worthless.

“Now, what to do tonight,” he muttered himself, driving, which he had started to prefer to apparating. Not as much as flying, but the roar of the engine while he drove at full speed had its unique taste.

Unfortunately, his enjoyment of driving didn’t solve his destination. He had to visit the ministry. There was yet another gala, celebrating another unimportant milestone of the new government.

He wasn’t surprised to see that, with each passing year, Kingsley’s actions were turning similar to Fudge’s . Politics had a way of dirtying people.

“Hopefully, it won’t go too badly,” he said.

After three years, he was no longer a pariah, but he wasn’t exactly at the forefront of the social scene either. No, that honor belonged to the so-called Golden Trio. Potter would be at the center, wearing dress robes he clearly hadn't chosen for himself.

Though, Potter was bearable in small doses. Weasley, not so much. Draco had never liked the gangly redhead, and being a war hero did nothing to Weasley’s ego. Being put on a chocolate frog card gave Weasley a mistaken understanding of his own importance, which he was happy to lord over Draco whenever they encountered.

He was surprised when Granger ended up being the most tolerable of the three.

He just hoped he could slip away before the encounter. Dealing with Weasley was annoying. Not because he was afraid of him, as Weasley always had an overblown sense of his abilities, but he was aware that the moment he started conflicting with him, the rumors of him being a dark wizard would return to the surface.

With that, he drove to the house he had purchased in Muggle London, and from there, he apparated to Malfoy Manor, changing into his bulky dress robes.

Hopefully, it won’t be as bad as he feared.

&&&

Four hours later, Draco was driving once again, but this time, his hands were tight on the wheel. The ball had been very annoying. Not only had he the displeasure of meeting with Nott and Zabini, who did their best to prove their relevancy to politics by insulting him, but even Weasley had become part of the argument.

It was annoying to listen to the poor insults Weasley believed to be wit while Zabini and Nott were on the other side, while Weasley’s posse laughed at everything he said. Weasley was unable to distinquish between genuine laughter and the reaction of his sycophants among the auror trainees.

It was difficult to believe that Weasley, of all people, had a cult of personality. Even Potter didn’t have one, though it had more to do with Potter never entertaining them.

He needed a drink, which was why driving toward an upscale Muggle club called the Mystique, once again dressed in Muggle clothes, though this time a casual blazer and slacks combo.

When he parked, the valet appeared at the side of the car as if he was summoned by magic, but then wealth always had it. And, a Bentley S2 from 1960, restored to perfection, shouted wealth.

He might be spending time in the Muggle world, but that didn’t prevent him from doing so with class.

He wasn’t a Weasley.

“Mr. M, welcome,” the bouncer said happily as he pulled the velvet rope, much to the protest of the people waiting at the door, but he didn’t care. “How’s your evening?”

“Can’t complain, Carl,” he said with a smile as he shook his hand, and when he pulled his hand back, he was fifty pounds poorer. He kept a pleasant smile on his face.

That had been one of the things he had actively worked to change about himself. He realized too late that the way he acted to prove his superiority came from a place of weakness, a habit he slowly dropped once he settled into his skin. And, in turn, he learned that, sometimes a well-placed smile worked far better than threats using his family name.

Live and learn.

“Should I arrange a private booth, sir?”

“Thanks, Carl. I’m in the mood for some dancing. The bar would do.”

“Happy hunting, sir,” Carl said, winking. Draco nodded. He had been visiting this club for the last three months, but Carl had seen him leave the club with barely dressed ladies too many times to doubt how the night would end.

The club was dim, loud, and already filled with people since it was past midnight. In London, the nightlife started early and continued until the first light.

He approached the bar, took an empty seat. He had barely settled before the bartender approached with a glass, neat scotch. “Your favorite, Mr. M,” the bartender said happily.

Draco nodded with a soft smile, took a sip, and turned to watch the dancing people. The first pass was to search for potential threats, a habit he had cultivated back at Hogwarts. The Slytherin common room had always been a dangerous place.

The crowd wasn’t as chaotic as it would get in an hour or so, but it was still sufficiently crowded. He searched the crowd, trying to see if there was a beautiful woman who was giving the signal of being open to his approach.

His eyes caught several ladies, but none of them had been beautiful enough to make themselves his primary target. He turned his attention on the tables in the open, only for his eyes to widen.

He had just seen someone shocking, so much so that he had to check twice before he could be confident that his eyes weren’t tricking him.

Hermione Granger.

“Interesting,” he muttered. “So that’s why you weren’t a part of the ball tonight, leaving your fiancee alone.”

He was surprised to see her here, even if she was a Muggleborn. For one, he didn’t believe that Granger was the kind of woman who spent time in expensive clubs after midnight. But then, she was sitting among half a dozen scantily clad women, looking uncomfortable while they happily drank. She was most likely there out of obligation.

However, that surprise was nothing compared to how she was dressed. She wore a cute top with a hint of cleavage, as well as a skirt and heels. Her outfit was modest compared to the rest of her party, who were wearing tiny black dresses, but it was still the most revealing thing he had seen Granger wear.

It was revealing enough to shift his opinion about her. He had always categorized Granger as a mousy, annoying girl with a bossy streak, but never in his life, he expected her robes to hide such a wonder underneath.

He hummed. The smart thing was to pay for his drink and stay away. His standing in the magical world was improving, but not enough to handle if Granger decided to target him. He should continue to follow the path of self-erasure, but instead, he found himself gesturing to the bartender.

He was getting fed up with always hiding.

“Send a bottle to that table,” he said. He didn’t need to say it was about Granger, as she would react.

Once the bottle arrived at their table, the girls of the bachelorette party turned, most showing obvious interest, but Granger’s reaction was the most obvious. She literally flinched, and gasped in shock.

It also meant that the rest of her party had noticed, and immediately started questioning her. Draco had no idea what was being said, but he had interacted with bachelorette parties enough to get the general gist of it.

They were questioning Granger about his identity, and she couldn’t give a straight answer, which would make them make outrageous guesses. The last part was apparent from the blush that was creeping on Hermione’s neck.

It took five minutes for her to extricate herself from the table and walk toward him, her expression a mixture of suspicion and shame. However, Draco didn’t miss that Granger was already thumbing her skirt.

A hidden thigh holster. Interesting.

"Malfoy," she said flatly as she stood in front of him, not so much a greeting as a challenge. "Are you following me?"

“Nice to see you as well, Granger?” he said, smirking; her tense attitude amusing him. “I assure you, it’s just a coincidence. You’re the one visiting my favorite club.”

Granger scoffed. “Really. You’re in a Muggle club, just by coincidence. Like you would ever spend any time in the Muggle world.”

Draco smirked, not bothered by her acrid tone. It wasn’t undeserved. “How about a bet,” he still said.

“A bet?” she asked, surprised. “About what?”

“If I prove that your accusation is false and I visited this club before, you are going to sit with me at the bar, and we’ll share a few drinks. I don’t have a date, and I need to be entertained.”

“Shocker,” she insulted. Usually, it would have annoyed him, but tonight he was amused. Maybe because they were in the Muggle world, which was supposed to be her domain, yet Granger was the one who felt unsettled.

“Does that mean you’re already scared?” he said, smirking. After spending years opposing the Golden Trio, he had long learned that while Granger loved to act like a misplaced Ravenclaw, at her core, she was still a Gryffindor, brash and impulsive.

“Never,” she said. “Fine, we have a deal. How are you going to prove it?”

“Easy,” Draco said, and waved at the bartender. “Marcus, give me one of my usuals, and for my friend, what was that surprise coctail you had made for me last week?”

“Averna Cobbler. As you wish, Mr. M,” the bartender said, and when Draco raised his fist, he happily bumped fists before he busied himself.

He turned to Granger, who was gaping in shock. “Sufficient?” he asked.

“How?” she asked.

“This is the hottest new club in London, Granger. Naturally, whenever I’m in the mood for a drink, I come here. You can’t expect me to drink in dinky pubs.”

She looked even more surprised. “I mean. How are you this familiar with Muggle London. Or Muggle World, in general.”

He shrugged. “Because I spend most of my time after the war here? It’s either that, or spend my time locked in my mansion, alone.” He didn’t forget to give a flash of vulnerability while saying the last part, exaggerating what he was feeling somewhat. After all, if the loneliness was really that bad, he would have moved away with the rest of his family.

“But, the Muggle world … you.”

He shrugged. “Fair. I had been dismissive of it, mostly because it was reliant on the stories my grandfather told us … who lived in mid eighties.”

“That’s not too far away,” she said. “Merely fifteen years ago.”

Draco smirked. “Not 1980s, Granger. 1880s. Apparently, the Muggle world had transformed greatly since then. It’s downright pleasant.”

Her eyes widened. “I see.” She paused for a while. “How long has it been since you started spending time?”

“Since the war ended, and we ended as pariahs for both sides,” he responded. “It was occasional visits at the beginning, but recently, I’m spending more in London than back at the manor.”

Something shifted behind her eyes. Not trust, but sympathy. Draco hid his amused expression. It was amusing just how easily a few words changed her opinion. She had forgotten that she was dealing with a Slytherin.

A real one, matured with adversity, no longer a school kid acting out for his father’s attention.

"That's not what I expected you to say. Why the change?"

"Well, the war had been proof enough that everything I had believed was wrong. I always believed purity of blood, but what does that matter when the three strongest wizards had been half-bloods. Potter, Dumbledore, and even Riddle," he said, careful not to call Riddle the Dark Lord out of habit. “I’m stubborn, not an idiot.”

Her eyes brightened, but she still pushed. Not a surprise considering her personality. “And, the Muggle world.”

“Well, once you realize the Muggle world is not some kind of toxic wasteland filled with opportunistic Muggles looking to steal my magic, I started to explore, and I liked what I saw. I mean, the musicals alone… well, except the creepy one about the cats.”

“Cats the Musical is amazing!” Granger responded with outrage.

That didn’t surprise Draco in the slightest. Granger had always been obsessed with that little orange monster that she claimed to be a cat. It was why he insulted the musical, even though he found it quite entertaining. More importantly, Granger loved to argue, and a Muggle musical was the safest topic to anger her.

“Really? It doesn’t even have a plot,” he responded.

“That’s part of the charm…” she responded, which triggered a long, heated talk.

Draco played along, amused. When he left the gala, frustrated, he wasn’t imagining that he would end up discussing the merits of Muggle musicals with Granger.

It was not how he expected his night to go, but he wasn’t complaining…