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Chapter 29 — A Most Unusual Summer Job
In a hidden cellar beneath Malfoy Manor, a boy of eleven or twelve hovered anxiously over a simmering cauldron. He held his breath, refusing to blink, as if the slightest flutter of air would undo hours of work. The square worktable around him was cluttered with strange roots, gleaming vials, and delicate instruments. The potion inside the cauldron bubbled softly, releasing a fragrance so sweet it almost made him light-headed.
Then, suddenly, the bubbling ceased. The faint gold liquid shifted, deepening into a brilliant molten gold.
Draco Malfoy let out the breath he'd been holding. He had done it.
He had finally brewed Felix Felicis.
It was his first successful attempt after a long string of frustrating failures.
The cellar beneath Hogsmeade had been too crude for such a delicate potion—Felix Felicis demanded a nearly sterile environment. A single speck of dust could ruin a batch. In that shabby underground room, dust was an unavoidable reality. And being so close to Hogwarts had kept him on edge; he never managed to immerse himself completely, always half-expecting some professor to check on him. Some ingredients he'd used back then had even been too weak—Hogwarts was a school, not a professional apothecary. For safety reasons, they stocked herbs of lower potency.
All those limitations had dragged down his earlier attempts.
But things were different now.
He had Lucius's private laboratory—constructed for dark magic research and outfitted with the best equipment gold could buy. He had rare ingredients acquired at painful expense. And he had several failures' worth of experience behind him.
And one more thing.
Draco's gaze drifted to the most eye-catching bottle on the table. More than half of its crimson liquid was gone. His heart twinged.
Dragon blood—the extorted haul from last time.
Dragons were legendary creatures, symbols of raw power. Some tales claimed that bathing in dragon blood granted immortality. Though, judging by this world's dragons, that particular legend was clearly exaggerated—if dragon blood really granted immortality, Voldemort wouldn't have bothered with Horcruxes.
Still, even without mythic properties, dragon blood was priceless in alchemy and advanced potioneering. Besides Dumbledore's famous "Twelve Uses of Dragon's Blood", rarer texts noted that dragon blood increases the success rate of Felix Felicis and accelerates brewing time, its potent life force and magic strengthening the potion's structure.
"A life-saving treasure," Draco murmured as he carefully decanted the shimmering golden Felix Felicis into a small vial. Not a single drop was wasted. He corked it tightly and slipped it into his pocket.
"Luck is a kind of strength too."
A biased saying, perhaps, but not entirely wrong. Fate could be cruel, and some people were simply born walking under falling pianos.
Felix Felicis wasn't omnipotent—no amount of liquid luck would let an ordinary wizard escape Voldemort. But if Dumbledore, at his peak, took even a sip before dueling the Dark Lord… the outcome might be a very different story.
"So in the end, everything still depends on my own abilities." Draco evaluated his potion calmly. The stronger he became, the more effective Felix Felicis would be.
As for side effects? Those were for idiots who drank it like pumpkin juice. Draco only ever planned to use it in emergencies; abusing it was out of the question.
"It's already midsummer," he calculated with a frown. He hadn't gone out at all during break. Aside from brewing Felix Felicis, he'd continued his usual studies. And the dragon blood had performed better than expected—its potency had been compressed for years.
"It's time to contact Pansy. Technically, I finished the holiday assignment early."
He gathered and cleaned every last instrument before leaving the cellar. But when he returned to his bedroom, he found a letter lying on his desk. Opening it, Draco couldn't decide whether to laugh or sigh.
Pansy had gone to France with her parents. Her letter read:
"You haven't written to me in weeks, so I've decided to abandon you. France is lovely—full of beautiful girls, I'm sure—but you won't see any of them. Of course, out of pity, I suppose I'll bring you back a gift or two. You should be grateful."
A doodled grimace sat beside the text. Draco could picture her expression perfectly.
"So I'm completely on my own now?" he muttered.
Narcissa and Lucius both had their own work. House-elves and staff didn't count. In a sense, yes—he was alone.
"Well, then I can move that plan forward. No point waiting."
He pulled out a yellowed sheet of parchment from beneath his desk. Two densely written lines were marked: one checked off, the other circled—the next task on his list.
"Evil capitalists should experience the struggles of the proletariat… time for re-education." He snorted at himself and read quietly for a while. When he finally looked up, the sky had started turning gold with sunset. A few large owls glided toward the manor, wings beating the warm air.
Dinner time.
The family gathered as usual.
"Sweetheart, why do you always come up with these strange ideas?" Narcissa asked, bewildered.
"My child, if you wish, I can arrange a placement for you at the Ministry," Lucius offered, sipping his tea. "But the goblins at Gringotts aren't easy to deal with."
"I want proper training. If I go to the Ministry, everyone will be an acquaintance of yours. How is that training?" Draco said seriously—utter nonsense, but delivered with such poise it sounded reasonable.
Lucius frowned but relented. "Fine. I don't know the goblins well, but tomorrow I'll take you to Diagon Alley. If they won't have you, you come home or you come with me to the Ministry."
"Our child is so ambitious." Narcissa dabbed the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief, moved.
Lucius spent the rest of the meal explaining the history of goblin rebellions and the tense wizard–goblin relationship.
The next morning, Draco and Lucius arrived in Diagon Alley through the Floo Network.
The cobbled street bustled with life. Hawkers shouted loudly, desperate to sell clearly fake items—someone was even attempting to pass off a "phoenix egg," though it had a hole in the shell. Wizards haggled so fiercely their faces reddened and their wands twitched.
Passing Slug & Jiggers Apothecary, both Malfoys instinctively covered their noses—the stench of spoiled herbs and rotten eggs wafted all the way to the street.
By contrast, Flourish and Blotts was nearly empty. Only a few customers browsed half-heartedly. The staff looked bored stiff. In a few days, the chaos of Gilderoy Lockhart's signing would fix that.
Soon, the great white building of Gringotts rose before them.
"Remember, even if you're here to train, Malfoys do not perform low manual labor," Lucius reminded as they approached. "If they ask you to stand guard in the vault rooms, we turn around and go home."
"Please, Father. Even if I wanted to guard a vault, the goblins wouldn't let me. Do you think I could take on a dragon?" Draco replied dryly.
"I believe so," Lucius said with complete confidence.
They ascended the marble steps and passed the goblin guards, who bowed stiffly.
The silver inner doors bore their familiar inscription:
Enter, stranger, but take heed…
Past the warning, they stepped into the vast marble hall. Goblins scribbled in ledgers, weighed coins, examined gemstones.
One goblin with a shiny bald head and pointed ears approached.
"Lucius, it's been some time. Your boy's got quite the imagination—wanting to work here of all places."
"That won't be a problem," Lucius said coolly.
"And what exactly can he do? Gringotts doesn't take useless staff, even if I'm friendly with your father." The goblin sniffed, then added, "I am Ringpull. Mr. Ringpull, if you please."
Draco smiled politely. "I've memorized the multiplication tables."
"This only proves you can count," Ringpull said, unimpressed. "Our clerks can do that—with extra time."
Draco stepped toward a goblin doing calculations. One glance at the ledger was enough.
"On the fifth line, the last figure is off by a decimal point, sir."
The goblin blinked, then scrambled to adjust the number, shielding the page as if hiding a shameful secret.
For someone who had once studied finance, wizarding bookkeeping was full of holes.
"Lucius, your son is remarkable," Ringpull admitted. "Wizards are usually hopeless with logic. He appears to be an exception."
"Of course," Lucius said, pride unmistakable.
"Well then—welcome to Gringotts, Mr. Draco. May your holiday be… productive."
Ringpull extended a small hand, and Draco had to bend down to shake it.
And so, Draco Malfoy's very unconventional summer job began.