Late Night at the Leaky Cauldron

Draco was sitting at a table at the near empty and dark leaky cauldron. The only other person who was there was the barmaid. In a way this suited his current mood, he was enjoying the peace and solitude, something he didn't really get back at the manor.

That was the main reason Draco was here, to get away from all that. Malfoy Manor had sort of become a base for the Death Eaters a while ago, and the continous visiting by other Death Eaters was infuriating. It didn't feel good, to always have his house full of strangers. Besides his house being occupied by people he didn't like, his relationship with Astoria was growing more and more strained, and with Scorpius and Rosalie at Hogwarts anyways, Draco had decided just to rent a room at the leaky cauldron.

Right now, he was just sipping a glass of wine, while reading the Daily Prophet for the recent news. There was some more crap about them trying to catch Shacklebolt, ha, the Daily Prophet these days had been polluted by lies. Starting to feel rather lonely, Draco put away the newspaper and sighed as he set papers he had got from work in front of him. He was starting to think about calling it a night, it was getting late.

It was late when Remy finally left the apothecary, grateful to be locking the door behind her and walking away for the night. It had been a dreadfully long day, and Remy could not be happier to be putting it behind her. After the delivery to Slug and Jiggers she had been forced to stay after closing to prep the ingredients for the potions which would be brewed tomorrow, hopefully by someone other than herself. It had taken her long enough to chop and puree the new deliveries without the use of magic; she dreaded to even think about how long it would take her to brew the many concoctions tomorrow if it came to that.

The chill of the night air quickened Remy’s pace as she made her way down the streets of Hogsmeade. Her breath was visible in front of her, and Remy jammed her hands deeper into the pocket of her leather bomber jacket, once again cursing herself for buying something so impractical. Wool would have been better, but Remy was an impulsive person; the jacket had fit so well and felt so soft that she couldn’t leave it in the store. And so, slightly colder than she would have liked to be, Remy pushed through the few stragglers who still lingered on the streets.

The cold and the length of the day prompted Remy to stop in at the Leaky Cauldron, not one of her usual haunts, but good for a glass of tequila when she needed it. As she pushed through the door of the bar, Remy shrugged out of her coat and hung it by the door leaving only a basic V-neck T-shirt and the jeans she had worn to work today. Nothing overtly impressive, but it didn’t look bad either.

Turning away from the coat rack, Remy surveyed the nearly empty bar. She knew it was after midnight, which explained why the bar was so vacant, save for one person sitting at the bar shuffling papers. As she got closer, Remy realized that the person sitting so alone in the dark was none other than Draco Malfoy.

Although they had never met, Remy was not unknowledgeable on the subject of Draco Malfoy. Having a passion for powerful people – or at least for using them – Remy knew plenty about the wealthiest and most influential people in the area, and the elder Mr. Malfoy certainly fell into that category. With wealth and a home that doubled as the death eaters’ headquarters, he was clearly a man of influence; an influence Remy would not mind capitalizing on.

In a non-chalant way, Remy approached the bar and took the stool one away from Draco. The bartender was quick to come over to her – she had charmed him long ago. Even though he had nothing to offer but speedy drinks, one never could tell when someone might come in handy – and she wasted no time in ordering a shot of Petron, followed by whiskey and water. The drinks were stacked in front of her, and after downing the shot Remy could feel the burn in her throat, the type of burn that reminded her she was alive. She set the shot glass back down on the bar and picked up the tumbler which held the whiskey and water before turning to Draco, speaking in a casual manner so as not to raise suspicion.

“Long night?” she asked, moderating her tone so as to sound both understanding and sincere. Men in Draco’s position were so often overlooked in their personalities in favour of their pocketbooks. Although Remy had no actual interest in his personality, she knew to play to what he needed, which wasn’t too far from what most men needed.

Draco sighed as he looked down at his papers without actually reading anything. Really, when one was not in the working mood, he would do anything but work. Reaching out, he drank some more wine, hoping it would keep him awake, but to no effect. He was deciding to just call it a night, but he did have a lot of work to do for the damn ministry. He continued to stare at the paper, before his eyes closed from tiredness. Before he jerked awake when he heard a woman speak to him.

Straightening up in his chair, he turned and looked at her. She was an attractive woman, without being overly pretty. In a room filled with people, one wouldn't really look at her twice, but she was good looking nonetheless. His eyes met hers, but then Draco looked away. He had always had problems with eye contact, and hers held his eyes for far too long.

"Yes, a lot of work to do, very little time," Draco said with a sigh. He gave her more attention then he would of, after all, here was someone to talk to, besides the bartender, and Draco didn't have anything else to do anyways. "Have we met before?" he asked curiously. She was definately familiar, he was almost certain he had seen her before, perhaps at the manor, but he wasn't sure.

Remy smiled lightly at Draco as he straightened in his chair at her words, his body language having changed visibly. Where he had been sluggish and slumping mere seconds before, the sound of her voice seemed to have perked his attention and pulled an invisible string at the top of his head, bringing him to the full height of someone who at all times other than the present, likely exuded the confidence that only money and power could bring.

A woman’s voice is a dangerous weapon, Remy mused silently, taking another sip of her drink while waiting for the man’s eyes to finish raking over her. It was common for men to take in a woman’s appearance before speaking. Remy didn’t mind the objectivity of the stares, but rather took it for what it was. She had done the same to many a man, looking for different things depending on her current needs. So instead of calling him out on his appraisal of her, Remy merely held her own and waited until his eyes met hers, at which point the evaluation came to a quick halt.

His answer was similar to that of many business men she had attempted – mostly successfully – to woo into her corner. Men in a bar alone at midnight were rarely inclined to talk about their work, mostly likely because this was their attempt at escape. Work was often a good subject for breaking the ice, though, because most of the men that interested Remy couldn’t speak for any length on many other subjects. Men who absorbed themselves in their work were often the richest – and the loneliest, making them obvious targets for Remy’s variety of need.

Remy did nothing but nod knowingly to Draco’s response, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. On the whole, men were not the talkative sort, especially at this time the night. Most preferred action to words, if you catch her drift, but there were a few necessary words that came first. In not responding to Draco’s initial answer, Remy was effectively leaving him alone with his thoughts, which in the silence between two people often came out into the open.

Her prediction proved correct when Draco’s thoughts eventually came out in the form of a question only moments later, the invitation she required to continue pursuing her goal without appearing forceful or needy. Remy had found out in honing her skills that appearances were far more important than intentions, for the former usually fooled and fried the biggest fish.

“I think I would have remembered meeting you,” Remy said with a coy smile, casually sliding over to the barstool next to his and closing the physical distance between them. Although Remy was perfectly aware of who she was talking to, letting him know that could be potentially fatal to her plans. Men in Malfoy’s position did not usually take well to women who approached them with prior knowledge of their social position; it gave them an obligation to act as society expected them to. If she was a stranger, she gave him the full ability to choose for himself what he would do and say, without the strains of expectation or pressure. It was this type of freedom that might allow Remy entrance into the mind - and perhaps elsewhere as well - of the powerful Draco Malfoy.

Draco watched as she closer to him, moving to the barstool next to his. She was complimenting him, while acting quite casual, still Draco knew quite well what she was doing. Well he thought he did anyways. "Right..." Draco said, flattered but not exactly knowing what to say. He wasn't exactly nervous, just rather tired after a long night. He turned back and finished his drink and gathered his papers, deciding to stop pretending that he would read them anytime soon. He would just tell Lestrange some lie on why he wasn't able to complete them, after all, though Lestrange was his boss - being the head of the Department of Mysteries, Draco was still higher in importance than him, mainly because of his father, Lucius, and his family name. The Malfoys were amongst the most important wizarding families after all. They were also completely pureblood, though this seemed to be mattering less these days. "What brings you here at this time of night?" Draco asked curiously. He wasn't always a nosy person really, but it was almost past 1 after all.

Remy could tell by Draco’s response that her words were having the desired effect. The monosyllabic response, the way his eyes darted away from her gaze. It was the look men got when they were getting the go boost they would never admit they wanted, but always did. Most people wouldn’t think that the powerful and influential Mr. Malfoy would need a confidence boost; why would someone in his position need any sort of validation?

But that is where Remy knew better. Remy knew that when it came to his job and his money and his high society lifestyle, Draco probably didn’t need flattery. He was probably told all too often how great he was at his job or how beautiful his house was. But in the midst of all that flattery for his lifestyle and his things, Draco and so many other powerful men often felt they were being lost. Their professional egos did not need stroking; it was their personal egos. A comment here and there about the way he looked or how funny she found him; these were the tricks of the trade Remy had designed to ensure she got what she wanted, in this situation and in so many others before it.

Remy followed Draco’s lead in taking another drag from her glass, watching as he stacked his papers and instead gave her his full attention. It was a sign that she was getting somewhere, which could not have pleased her more. Little victories might go unnoticed by most of the world, but Remy celebrated these tiny steps toward a goal. Patience was an essential trait for a con-woman, a woman with no power of her own.

The question Draco had asked did not surprise Remy, and it came just as she had set her tumbler down on the bar. The dark-haired woman tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear and smiled down at the glass, running her index finger around the slightly damp rim of the glass while turning her eyes and attention back to the man beside her.

“My ‘day’ job doesn’t always stick to its promises,” Remy answered with a smirk, quite obviously making note of the fact that it was hardly ‘day’ right now.

“And there aren’t many businesses open until this hour. Besides, Tom here slings a mean whiskey and water,” Remy added with a smile in the direction of the bartender. With a sidelong glance at Draco’s glass, Remy noticed that his wine was nearly gone, and if she was going to make headway in this conversation, it would need to last longer than the remaining liquid would. Turning back briefly to the bartender, Remy inclined her head toward his glass in an unspoken gesture, and a moment later Tom lifted the bottle of red wine and refilled Draco’s glass.

“And what about you? What brings you to the Leaky Cauldron?” Remy inquired with a smile, intentionally not making a big deal out of adding to Draco’s glass. It was likely he hadn’t even noticed the unspoken conversation between Remy and the bartender, and if he had, he likely didn’t know the reasoning behind it, “A man like you doesn’t seem the type that is lonely for long.”

And I am an excellent cure for loneliness, Remy added mentally, though this was betrayed in no more than a coy smile to her conversation partner.

Draco nodded to her reply as to why she had come to the Leaky Cauldron so late. She seemed to be telling the truth, after all why wouldn't she? The Leaky Cauldron was a place which people went to even at this time of night, though it was especially quiet today. He didn't ponder on it, as he didn't really care. The woman was company now, and perhaps for the rest of the night as well. One of Draco's flaws was that he was careless, he did things he would later regret. He did feel rather sorry after cheating on Astoria, but did it again and again. Besides not being an extremely loyal or noble person, their relationship had been strained for several years now, and they barely saw each other anymore.

And at this time of night, having drank several glasses of wine, Draco didn't quite care of being careful or not. "I'm staying at a room here, I usually stay at the Leaky Cauldron quite frequently," he replied to her question. "As to why I am here so late... I was having a drink, and a chat with Tom. I also had to get some work done, but that didn't happen," he added, running a hand through his white-blonde hair.

He watched as Tom refilled his glass, although he hadn't asked him too. Still, Draco didn't mind, one more glass wouldn't hurt. He took another sip before focusing on his conversation partner again, he had just noticed that he didn't know her name. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

The newly full glass that Tom had placed in front of Draco did not prompt any questions, reaffirming to Remy that she was treading as carefully as the situation required. It was a delicate balancing act, manipulation. It involved just the right amount of sociability, while not overstepping any social boundaries. Remy herself didn’t much care for social norms or requirements, but in order to fit in with humanity as a whole she had to at least understand and pretend to follow them. It seemed that her attempts to move herself closer to Draco were working, for he answered her question without hesitation, and the wine in his glass went just as easily past his lips.

Remy raised an eyebrow at Draco’s response, mimicking the emotion of surprise. One who did not know the inner workings of the Malfoy family would likely be surprised to find a man dressed in such finery staying at the Leaky Cauldron. Draco was not blatant about his wealth, but Remy had learned long ago to pick up on the more subtle signs: finer fabrics, better cuts, nearly always clean shaven. These small hints of wealth could easily translate into large bank accounts, lavish homes, and something for Remy as well.

“It’s too late for work now,” Remy responded somewhat flirtatiously, toying with the line between new acquaintances and potential company for the duration of the night. Knowing that Draco had a room at the leaky cauldron opened up many doors, for crimes of convenience were always so much easier to accomplish than those which required planning. If she played her cards right, it would be all too easy to get herself invited to stay the night, thereby not having to pay for a room of her own and simultaneously working her way into the tight-knit circle of the Malfoys. Sure, they would never acknowledge her in public nor invite her over for dinner, but men paid their mistresses well, whether in gifts, favours, or straight galleons. And that was all Remy was looking for.

Remy took a sip out of the tumbler in front of her on the bar before knocking back all that was left in it. She knew that in order to keep Draco drinking, she would need to do a bit of it herself. Remy did not need the convincing of intoxication to bring herself to do what others might consider unthinkable; a lack of conscience makes everything easier. But Draco, married as he was, might need a little bit of help to make the decision which would be most personally beneficial for Remy.

Without hesitation, Remy ordered another whiskey and water. Tom didn’t even need her verbal confirmation of the drink, for Remy was a whiskey girl through and through. The shot of tequila initially had been a break from her usual order, but the whiskey was comfortable. She took a sip as soon as the glass hit her hand, turning her green eyes back to Draco only when he prompted her with question.

“Remy,” she answered, lowering the glass from her lips and licking the amber liquid off her top lip. The gesture was meant to be suggestive, but in a way that avoided detection. Men were likely to notice and respond to it, but without realizing to what they owed their newfound pleasure. A handshake was customary here, so Remy extended her long, bony fingers toward Draco, repeating herself by way of a formal introduction.

“My name is Remy. And I think I am equally in the dark as to your name,” she added, keeping up the charade of not knowing to whom she was speaking. She had intentionally left off her last name, but it really wouldn’t have hurt to provide it. Remy kept a low profile, and most people she met – even her employer – did not know her last name or history. People knew only what Remy told them, and most of that was lies.

“Would you care to enlighten me?” she half-purred, looking up at Draco from beneath her eyelashes, though making sure to keep her vixen tendencies in check. She did not know yet what type of woman Draco most needed, and until she did she would have to toe the line between harridan and innocent.

"Mhm... I don't really plan on working more tonight though," Draco replied. He was still rather oblivious to her flirting with him, after all, he was tired, and not as sharp as usual. Blame that on the alchohol he had consumed. Draco wasn't ever a very heavy drinker, alchohol dulled the brain, but he was just being a bit careless now. He drank another gulp of wine from the glass infront of him before turning to Remy again.

As she gave him her name, she also gave a slight suggestive gesture that Draco noticed. Not being totally clueless, Draco did understand where Remy was going with this, but he wouldn't really resist. After all, it would be nice to escape all the stress on him lately.

"Remy... Nice name," he replied quietly. All women liked compliments after all. In the state his mind was in, he didn't notice she didn't give him her surname. Extending his arm, he shook her hand with little hesitation, though he let go rather quickly. "My name is Draco. Draco Malfoy. I am sure you've heard of me," he said, with a hint of pride in his tone. The malfoy family were one of the most famous in the Wizarding World. Notorious, but famous. And this was something Draco took pride in. Really, he was surprised that Remy didn't know who he was just from his looks.

Remy watched as more of the crimson liquid from Draco’s glass slipped past his thin, pale lips. Draco’s skin was startlingly pale, much like the rest of the Malfoys. Combined with the white-blonde hair, it was almost a blinding kind of pale, but the men of the family usually managed to pull off the look. It was the money that did it, really. Money made anything look good, at least to Remy.

Following his lead and still playing the part, Remy lifted her glass to her lips once more, though she let only the tiniest bit of liquid into her mouth. She needed the whiskey to last until her plans had been set fully into motion. Though Draco didn’t seem to have a problem with drinking himself, Remy didn’t want him to suddenly grow a conscience because he thought her incapacitated. If Draco was afraid of taking advantage of someone because she had been drinking, it might foil what she had been trying to do for the last half hour. With that in mind, Remy was careful to temper the amount of whiskey she drank in this sip and the next, leaving most of it left in her glass when she returned the tumbler to the bar.

Remy smiled when he complimented her name, also pleased that he did not make a fuss over the intentional exemption of her surname. It seemed that the alcohol was working its magic on Draco, who to Remy seemed like a suggestible man to begin with. It was a coy smile that danced across her lips, bringing up her cheekbones just slightly to reveal the splattering of freckles across them. Summers outside baling hay and plowing fields had given her a permanent set of the brown dots, but she did not curse them. They gave her a certain element of “girl next door” to her look, which helped dull any ones expectations that she might be a minx.

Appearances are everything… Remy recited, a personal mantra that allowed her to be as devious and conniving as she had successfully been in the past, and was being now as well.

“But of course I have heard of you!” Remy exclaimed when Draco provided his name, mocking surprise at his name, continuing to pretend that she hadn’t known all along who he was. Surprise was one of the more difficult emotions to feign, Remy had found, because it was often more subtle than the others. Wide doe eyes and a slightly ajar mouth would do it, though, and so this was the face Remy made before faking laughter at her own “foolishness”, letting the laugher die only as she began to speak.

“Who hasn’t heard of Draco Malfoy?” Remy intoned, playing to the pride she had heard in his voice. Men in Draco’s position were often full of pride and self-worth, which were attributes Remy found easy to exploit. People who thought highly of themselves often expected others to feel the same way, and it was all too easy for Remy to stroke his ego – and perhaps eventually other things as well – to get what she wanted.

“I guess I just didn’t realize I was in such illustrious company,” she flirted, intentionally allowing her bare arm to brush against Draco’s hand as she reached for her glass once more, watching him from over the rim as she tilted it back against her lips, her eyes wide and coquettish. If things were going as smoothly as Remy felt they were, it would only be a matter of time now before Draco invited her upstairs.