If succubi truly existed in this world, then the one standing before him had to be their distant cousin.
Draco's gaze swept the hall. Dignity had been thrown to the wind.
They weren't the strongest in magical power, perhaps, but politically? Titans. And maybe that was why they allowed themselves such luxuries.
The charm of a Veela... it was exactly as described in the books, Draco mused, mentally nodding while keeping his Occlumency shield steady. Not even for a second did he let it drop. He had no intention of getting caught in the crossfire of pheromones and magic.
He knew better. Many of the smirking geezers nearby were using Occlumency or similar mental barriers, but that didn't stop them from enjoying the show. Their eyes gleamed and their lips curled, clearly still affected.
His attention shifted again, this time to the second center of the storm: Fleur Delacour. Silver-blonde hair like moonlight on water, and dark blue eyes that seemed carved from ice.
She was aware of the attention. That much was obvious.
Unbothered by the waves of lust thrown her way, Fleur seemed to bask in it, just a little. Draco noticed the faintest smirk tug at her lips, only to vanish a breath later.
She lacks control, Draco mused, his gaze indifferent. Unlike her mother.
It wasn't a judgment. Merely an observation. The girl was still young, barely brushed by the cruel truths of the world. Naïve, untouched, with fire in her heart but no discipline to wield it. That rawness had its own allure.
Yet even that budding beauty couldn't hold a candle to the woman beside her.
His eyes drifted back, unapologetically. The mother carried herself like a queen aware of her throne. Regal. Effortless. Completely unbothered by the silent hunger in every pair of eyes that followed her curves. She wore that elegance like a second skin. Graceful. Composed. Maddeningly out of reach.
A woman who knew exactly what she was and didn't need to flaunt it.
But Draco's attention had already shifted. His eyes were no longer on her; they had moved to Lucius.
He was deep in conversation with a few foreign dignitaries, likely heads of French magical families. Draco recognized some of the faces, though not many.
Lucius appeared composed, as always. But Draco could tell with just one glance—something was off. The smile gave it away.
Lucius Malfoy did not smile. Not unless he had already won. Not unless everything was under control.
And right now, that smile looked forced. Tight. Political.
He's losing ground in the negotiations, Draco realized.
Maybe the Malfoy name had fallen farther than he'd assumed. True political power, after all, often revealed itself abroad. Alliances couldn't simply be bought, and reputation carried weight beyond wealth or bloodline.
Draco frowned. This was bad.
He didn't like the situation one bit. The influence of his family—their power—was something he needed. Not now, but in the future. He had plans. Long-term strategies. Carefully constructed contingencies.
One of his most pragmatic plans was simple: eliminate Lucius and Narcissa. Whether the moment he came of age or even earlier, it didn't matter. Once they were out of the picture, he would ascend as the Head of House Malfoy.
That status was crucial. It marked the beginning of his true political journey.
And status was a kind of power. Quiet. Subtle. Deeply influential. Being the head of a Noble House came with privileges, access, and legal loopholes others could only dream of. Draco had no intention of losing that advantage, especially when it would serve him so well in the long term.
It seems I have to speed up my progress.
His gaze turned cold as he kept watching Lucius. His eyes occasionally flickered toward Narcissa, who was also trying to make her presence known among another group.
If I don't... He paused, expression darkening.
Even the leftovers will be destroyed.
Draco wasn't foolish enough to think Voldemort's return would be clean, quick, or painless. No, it would be chaos. Blood. Betrayal. Burning gold. He knew Lucius. Knew the man's pride. His need to be important in every room.
The moment Voldemort returned, Lucius would offer wealth and influence like a desperate merchant trying to buy relevance. He'd throw galleons at every raid, every bribe, every black-robed meeting in the dark.
Draco almost sneered. Lucius really was a fool. With how arrogant Voldemort was, did he seriously believe the Dark Lord wouldn't hold a grudge? Especially against those who didn't lift a finger to bring him back. And most of all, against Lucius, whose incompetence had led to the destruction of one of his Horcruxes.
If it were him in Voldemort's place, Draco would've razed Malfoy Manor to the ground and made Lucius watch it burn. That was the kind of message people understood.
Lucius was blinking at him now. Two quick blinks and a subtle hand gesture. Draco recognized the code.
Lovely. Time to leave.
He turned slightly. Narcissa was already walking away, having noticed it before him. Of course she did.
Just brilliant. The party hadn't even properly started and they were already leaving. And here he was, foolishly thinking he might actually enjoy himself tonight.
Draco's gaze drifted back to the group of men Lucius had been talking to minutes ago. They were still grinning like wolves who'd sniffed out blood.
They had toyed with Lucius's pride.
Draco immediately turned his attention back to the group he had been conversing with, even as his gaze continued to sweep across the hall. Being the heir of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight did carry a certain allure, especially among foreigners, even if it lacked the power and glory of the past.
"Apologies for leaving so suddenly," he said politely, "but it seems my father requires me."
"It's alright, Draco. We understand," one of the men replied with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. There was a mocking undertone beneath the polite words.
Draco, however, chose to rise above the provocation. With a calm nod, he excused himself and followed Lucius out of the hall.
"He's smarter than the reports suggested," Fleur murmured, watching the young Malfoy disappear through the doors.
Her mother, Apolline, gave a thoughtful nod. "Yes, but that's not all. His mind-shielding is impressive. Better than most. He even outranks you in that regard."
She noticed how he protected himself from her charm. Ofcourse many other did too but no one of his age.
"I haven't even used my Veela charm yet," Fleur countered with a frown. She didn't believe someone his age could stay composed if she truly let it loose. Especially someone so young. So inexperienced.
"I wouldn't be so sure," Apolline replied, not dismissively, but with the calm weight of experience. Being a half-breed had its advantages. Her senses were more refined than others even her daughter gives her experience. She could tell.
That boy was not as simple as he appeared.
"You may have the power, Fleur," she added. "But you still lack experience."
Fleur's eyes narrowed. She didn't find Draco particularly difficult to handle, but if her mother saw something more in him, then he was definitely worth her attention.
"I'll keep an eye on him," she decided.
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