An antique silver book-turning knife slowly sliced through the gap in the kraft paper envelope, revealing a hastily folded piece of parchment inside.
Draco put down the handle with its intricate silver pattern, eagerly pulled out the letter inside, and unfolded it to read.
Draco,
I was glad to receive your letter. No, I do not need any help right now. Ron's phone call infuriated Uncle Vernon—he has never liked the way wizards use Muggle objects—and he forbade me from speaking to you by phone any more.
Besides, Uncle Vernon forbids Hedwig from delivering letters, and she is going stir-crazy. I can only give this letter to your eagle owl. I cannot write much; if he sees such a conspicuous messenger, he will probably fly into a rage and board up my windows.
P.S. Sirius plans to pick me up at the Black ancestral house on my birthday. Will you come to visit me?
P.P.S., the big bag of syrup fruit tarts you sent was absolutely delicious, thank you!
Harry
Looks like next time I shall have to find a less conspicuous owl to deliver the post.
Draco finished reading the letter and poured some owl feed for the eagle owl that stood dignifiedly by the window. She sniffed it, let out a satisfied chirp, and began to peck at the food slowly.
Sirius Black did not immediately go to pick up his godson and bring him home for a family reunion.
How bizarre! What did he go to do?
Draco stared thoughtfully at the few lines on the letter, his fingers unconsciously tapping on the window frame.
The sound attracted the attention of the eagle owl, who tilted her head and looked at Draco with a puzzled expression, seemingly unsure whether she should continue eating.
"Joan, this is none of your business. Eat," Draco said gently, turning and sitting back in the wooden Windsor chair.
It makes sense. Sirius Black is going to take over the Black family's considerable wealth—the treasures in the vault, the properties in various places, the various investments in the wizarding world, and perhaps some unknown hidden wealth… all of these require going through the proper procedures.
As for the Black ancestral house, it is probably in such a dilapidated and rotten state that it would take some time to clean and tidy it up before Harry could move in.
What was his house-elf's name again? Kreacher?
Draco drifted off into thought for a while, until Joan finished eating and hopped over to peck his fingers, pulling him back to reality. The eagle owl was in a good mood; it tilted its head, glanced at him, spun around, and flew out the window into the lush green garden.
Like Joan, Draco often spent time in the garden.
It was a separate garden connected to the kitchen, planted with several oak trees and a large patch of roses. He even found some of the Malfoy Manor varieties there, which gave him a sense of familiarity.
The garden was part of the sanatorium suite, where Draco was staying temporarily.
Lucius and Narcissa, as always, were wilful and reckless, taking advantage of the summer holidays to enjoy themselves in South America, neglecting their own son. As a result, Draco was kicked out to his grandfather's place by these "runaway parents," where he was given a suite in a nursing home next to Abraxas.
The suite was adequate—from a holiday perspective. In the words of the smiling receptionist at the door, "Here, there is a sitting room, bedroom, study, garden, kitchen, and bathroom—everything a wizard needs for their holiday."
From the perspective of an ordinary wizarding tourist, this was indeed a comfortable place to whilst away the time. The pale yellow walls of the suite complemented the dark brown solid wood furniture, echoing the pastoral scenery outside the window.
The room featured elements of traditional English architecture, such as intricate carvings and decorations, as well as the modern charm of herringbone flooring. Several potted broad-leaved green plants were placed in the corner, creating an elegant yet vibrant atmosphere.
The owners of this nursing home also had a good sense of humour. This was because Draco discovered an old-fashioned rotary dial telephone, the kind only Muggles use, on his desk in the study.
What an unexpected bonus! The number on the coaster seems to have finally come in handy.
Unfortunately, Draco had not yet found a suitable reason to try the Muggle phone. Besides, he was busy replying to letters—earlier that day, he had received a letter from George saying they had developed a miracle cure for acne.
"We have already tried it on Ron's face, and it works brilliantly!" George wrote.
Draco chuckled softly.
He took a sip of hot tea, pondered for a moment, picked up a white eagle feather quill, and hastily wrote on the parchment:
"The progress on the acne treatment is satisfactory. We should also start considering stocking up on those magical hair and cosmetics products. We probably need to send out another survey to see what products the witches need.
It is no use keeping yourself cooped up at home thinking about this. Ask your female friends, your sisters, your mother, even your girlfriend. They will all be our customers... Figure out what will make them willingly empty their wallets..."
For some reason, he suddenly thought of a certain little girl. Her thick, unruly curly hair looked exceptionally lively when tied up; that hair had become so bright, smooth, and radiant at the Yule Ball during the Triwizard Tournament—she must have used a hair smoothing serum back then.
But it only happened once. Draco pursed his lips, trying to understand why the girl had given up on taking care of herself.
Perhaps it is because styling one's hair takes a lot of time. A pragmatist like her would probably prefer to save time to read her book or busy applying ink to her face with a quill.
"...Of course, it would be even better if we could improve upon the product. We hope that our product will greatly shorten the time witches spend applying cosmetics, making it convenient, fast, and effective." He added this sentence.
It is not that I reckon her curly hair is unattractive. She looks lovely like this.
Draco was unaware that he was smiling. He was busy adding his flamboyant name to the bottom of the letter.
The magical tea set provided in the suite automatically refilled with black tea, a wisp of steam rising from it. He stared at the cup of tea in a daze for a moment, then pulled out a blank parchment and wrote in flowing strokes:
Ron,
Stop calling Harry. If you want to send him a letter, send a clever, quiet owl in the middle of the night, so his Muggle relatives do not find out.
Draco
He called Joan back to the garden and handed her two letters. "Go find Ron, and his brother George or Fred. Be careful."
Joan rubbed her beak against his hand, then flapped her wings and flew out of the large window. In no time, she became a tiny dot in the sky.
"Dobby," Draco said to the other end of the empty room, "go and deliver something to your idol, Harry Potter."
With a snap, Dobby, the house-elf, appeared in the room. He clenched his fists as if some birthday wish had come true, his bulging green eyes widened, and his mouth stretched almost to his ears.
"My great, noble, and admirable little master, Dobby, Dobby is so happy!" he squealed as he jumped and skipped, startling a sparrow that had just landed in front of the window.
"Where did you learn all these words? Quiet, Dobby," Draco said impatiently. His head was buzzing from Dobby's loud voice.
Dobby's voice abruptly stopped, as if he had been choked. The little elf, though no longer speaking, continued to shake his head and sway in place, secretly pleased.
Draco sighed, rubbing his temple with his left hand, and quickly scribbled on the parchment with his right: "Yes, I would love to visit you and Sirius. I have sent Dobby the house-elf to deliver this letter in place of an owl, so that it will not be discovered by the Muggles. It can be invisible. If you suddenly find this letter on your table, do not panic."
He handed the letter to Dobby and instructed him: "Go invisibly, and do not let anyone see you. Do not use any magic, so as not to cause trouble for Harry. Take the syrup fruit pie and chocolate cake from the kitchen table to Harry. Come back immediately after delivering them, and do not linger."
He had to keep Dobby under a whole host of rules. The chap was powerful and usually quite rational; however, when it came to Harry, he would get carried away and sometimes act like he was clever. Draco still vividly remembered last year's "Rogue Bludger incident."
Dobby nodded happily, his pointed ears fluttering back and forth as his big head shook. The little elf deftly picked up the two large packages and vanished into thin air.
The room finally gained the peace it had longed for.
Draco frowned, his gaze sweeping over the small pile of unopened letters on the desk.
Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Marcus Flint, Derian Pucey, Peregrine Derrick, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle… and several Muggle estate agents and investment managers…
He let out a soft sigh. Replying is such a hassle.
However, there were more important things to do right now.
He placed the quill in a porcelain white ink bottle, shook his hand, picked up a gold-wrapped gift box from the table, and walked out of his room.