Not Dead Yet

1991 December

"You look ravishing, mon petit chaton."

The seventy something-year-old vampire-wizard leaned over to his shorter companion with predatory eyes. His maroon-lined masked did little to hide the less than innocent look in his eyes as they undressed her with amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Why do I put up with you?" Alana let out a breath as the brown-haired deviant continue to examine her in the manner a starving man would eye a meat roast - or a sack of blood.

"Come now, love. Don't look so put out. You were the one who promised me a favour if I supplied your potions." Charon's voice crooned in a honeyed voice. She felt it entirely unfair to the human species that the blood-drinker had the eternal youth of a Greek turned at twenty-eight. Was it not enough that the man had retained his human charms, his wizarding magic and his appetite for physical activities? He was probably a walking STD at this point.

"I thought I'd be killing someone, not accompanying you to a bloody party. At Yule no less! You could have at least given me more than a four-hour warning!" She hissed at the male as she shoved his obnoxiously attractive face out of her periphery. His chiselled features fell into a petulant pout at her reluctance.

"It's hardly my fault my intended partner had a heart attack while doing the horizontal tango. Veela these days! No stamina whatsoever." He sniffed in disdain before smoothing his tailored suit into submission.

Alana begrudgingly admitted she could have worse things to look at while being dragged into a den of vampires and their unsuspecting human business partners. Charon Beaulieu was a stunning specimen of manhood even if he was her least favourite client to deal with. He was eccentric even by her standards with a habit of requesting the strangest payments for his services. Fortunately for him, he was an incredibly skilled potions master and she was not an omnipotent potions mistress. She needed him to do what she couldn't which was admittedly a lot considering the breadth of the potion-making field. If rumours were correct, he was just as shady as her as well with fingers in the metaphorical pies of both the human and the magical drug trade. Didn't make him any less of an arse.

"Perhaps, I should stop underestimating my own prowess in bed and find a more robust partner. Is it not convenient that I shall be surrounded by robust partners aplenty this evening? I hear Camille will be here as well," The man giggled conspiratorially. "I'll be damned if I don't get a peek at those divine legs at least once before the night's end." She thought she was drool at the edge of his mouth, but it might have just been a bit of venom.

"Better not let her hear you say that or she'll remove all three of your legs," Alana smiled peacefully at the image her words invoked. She supposed that the night wouldn't be an entire waste. It would, at the very least, be excellent practice for the Malfoy Yule ball. Charon shivered slightly before brushing off the hit-witch's comment.

"I see you have found your sense of humour again, Alana. Shall we go then?" Alana rested her hand on the man's offered arm and grinned beneath her own matching mask. It was a grin that promised both death and chaos on the beholder.

Alana Vincent. It was a name known only amongst those few she had worked legally for in Britain and those who she had under contracted silence. Charon was, regretfully, one of the latter. Using the name in Spain was a careful decision on her part. There had been safety in using only Sparrow's identity and keeping her registered name anonymous. Unfortunately, no safety net could last forever. If she wanted to survive Britain's political field, she would either need to be too valuable to lose or too dangerous to threaten. A nobody could only climb so far in the political ladder on their own merit. As Lilith would say, "It is never what you know that limits you, it is who you know."

"By the way, where did you get my sizes for the dress?" She asked absentmindedly. She was mildly appreciative of the maroon colouring and lack of daring cut-lines she had thought he would be eager to add. Perhaps, he had finally realised she was fifteen and had zero curves to showcase. Ha! In what universe would such a thing be possible?

"Your Aunt offered them. Lovely woman Lilith."

And there went any hope of her ever feeling comfortable in a dress again.

As it was, the party wasn't anything unusual for the vampire community. The Alvarez twins were known for their superfluous spending and spontaneous parties. As Charon had explained, they were the Marie Antoinette's of the upper echelons of vampire society – hated by the elder, conservative leaders but blissfully exploited by the younger, wealthy entrepreneurs. The twins knew everyone who was anyone and received certain privileges with their maintenance of a social network that didn't rely on every other vampire throwing parties once a month. Lazy but efficient.

Charon was not a negligent guest and made a beeline for the hosts straight after entering. The two vampires were naturally surrounded by their clique of admirers. They were lovely creatures, related certainly, but it was evident they were not identical twins. The taller of the pair was a sharp-eyed young woman with a blond bob cut and sharp features. The second was her brown-haired brother with a softer but no less attentive gaze directed towards their guests. Both of their faces broke into matching grins when they saw Charon.

"Bienvenidos*, Charon!" The brother was quick to draw Charon into a friendly hug. "Who is your young friend?"

Alana went into cardiac arrest as she was kissed on either cheek by the vampire. He was very… friendly. As soon as the shock had worn off, she found herself faced with the curious eyes of both vampires and humans.

"¿Cómo te llamas?*" The words came out in rapid Spanish and Alana found her bearings just long enough to don a more comfortable smile.

"Alana Vincent. Encantada de conocerle*," She responded. She was inwardly relieved when the man's eyes lit up in p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e. She was never completely sure whether she was about butcher a foreign language or not. The man, Francisco as he soon introduced himself, had an unusually noticeable soft spot for Charon. His sister, Maria, also shared his enthusiasm towards the younger (despite his older appearance) male. She couldn't decipher the possible reasoning behind their apparent fascination with him. The only logical conclusion she could find was that they were insane.

Charon conversed with the siblings for the next half hour while Alana mentally numbered the nearest possible exits to make herself more comfortable. Just as she reached number twenty, an unsuspecting window with a nearby chair prime for smashing glass, she was invited to dance by a nearby courtier. For once, she was glad for Marius' insistence that only uncultured swine had difficulty following a pattern of steps. Had he not been such a prick about it, she wouldn't be so proficient at ballroom dancing. She couldn't say the same for her partner, a human man who lacked both the speed and grace of her usual partner. It was fortunate that she was able to make up for the man's ineptitude. It also helped that Charon cut in before she gave in to the urge to use the man's fibula to smash the window instead of a chair.

"Having fun?" The man asked with a cheerful smile. Her faux smile was immediately ruined as she glared daggers into his head.

"Yes, watching you talk is so entertaining." Her words dripped with sarcasm. Charon had the good sense to look sorry as he sped up the dance's pace.

"Do you not like the sound of my voice?" He pouted.

"Nowhere near as much as you do, Charon."

"Ah! So cruel! That hurts me right here you know," He patted his c.h.e.s.t where his heart would be then made a face of horror. He patted himself searchingly with wide, terrified eyes. "Oh! I almost forgot… My heart doesn't actually work," He finished with a shrug.

"Har, har, har. Very funny."

"All jokes aside, I'll introduce you to everyone if you want some entertainment, but the real party doesn't begin until the after-party."

Alana g.r.o.a.n.e.d. "You said it finishes at 10 pm. I do actually have a life, you know, people to see, things to do, portkeys to operate."

"And here I was hoping you'd be up for some more nocturnal activities. Camille didn't even turn up to the preparty. Such a disappointment," The man sighed wistfully.

"I'm sure your dead heart can take it."

"At least consider it. You'd have the chance to make some valuable, long-lasting connections."

The witch twitched at the thought. "I'll consider it." His answering grin made her want to roll her eyes.

Charon did keep to his words and introduced her to several influential guests. There was a substantial amount of flirting involved in the introductions made. She suspected Charon's presence lowered whatever inhibitions people had about her age as she received a number of suggestive looks herself. She was willing to ignore the looks, however, for some new contacts. The most notable was an illegal arms dealer/smuggler by the name of Jomana. To her surprise, the woman was human and very much aware of the magical world. She operated between Southern Europe and Northern Africa and earned quite the profit from it. Wizards were rather arrogant if they thought the international Statute of Secrecy and a few vows from muggleborns would keep muggles out of the loop indefinitely. Indeed, the law was rather redundant in the face of an intelligent muggle with connections to an independent magical community like that of the vampires. Of course, she would be bankrupt and dead if she snitched. You really have to appreciate the business minds of vampires.

A good three-quarters of the guests had departed by the time it hit 10 pm. Alana was rather dejected to see Jomana leave. The woman was decent company and had some rather interesting sniper rifles for sale that had her mouth unashamedly watering. The Steyr Scharfschutzengewehr 69, or SSG 69 was a magnificent Austrian sniper rifle. 650 mm barrel, 0.5 MOA accuracy... Furthermore, with a few adjustments to the design, the issue of ergonomics had been solved. Is this what love at first sight feels like?

"Staying for the after-party, mi amigo?" Francisco manifested beside her with the terrifying silence most vampires displayed. The humans had all cleared, so he deemed it safe to show off.

"I am sorry to say that I'm still undecided. I have a full schedule tomorrow." She smiled apologetically and took another sip of her champagnes. The fancy stuff tasted like shit.

The vampire grinned and nodded knowingly. "You will not get much sleep should you stay for the s.e.x party."

She paused halfway to her glass and blinked. "Come again?"

"Charon is always such a p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e to have at these events," The vampire continued uninhibited. "My sister does not care much for such activities but his potions always keep her entertained."

"Would you excuse me, Francisco." Alana's grip which had been steadily tightening on her glass seemed to suddenly go slack as she set the drink aside. A look of extreme jubilance descended upon her face as she strolled across the function room.

"It truly pains me to see you frown so much, Cherie. I would much rather see you m.o.a.ning in pure bliss," Charon purred while his hand slid lower to stroke the t.h.i.g.h of the man seated beside him. A hand was placed upon his shoulder and he turned with a devilish smile to see who wanted to join in on the fun.

"I see you've already started making those valuable, long-lasting connections… Charon." The pure innocence in the light voice felt like ice-cold water being tipped on his head. His head twisted mechanically to face Alana.

"Ah, Alana, so… nice… to see you…" He laughed nervously at the angelically smiling witch and attempted to tactfully manoeuvre himself away from her hand. If possible, the witch smiled even more. Sensing the atmosphere, his man cushion stepped away with an apologetic smile and Alana shamelessly slid onto Charon's l.a.p.

"Sorry, I didn't know you had already arranged to go first," The vampire mumbled embarrassed.

"It's no problem, there's plenty of him to go around. I could remove his arm for you if you want?" Alana smiled while Charon looked noxious. He could practically see the demonic aura surrounding the girl and was morbidly wondering if this was how he would end. Being carved up by a child. The cold blade being stealthily traced around his manhood suggested that yes, the witch was going to murder him.

"Ha haha! No, it's fine. I'll wait for my turn." Charon whimpered at the loss of aid. The back view of a vampire had never looked so attractive before.

"Eep!" He squealed as the blade pressed down, but the sound was cut off by a hand on his mouth. She was still SMILING! He prayed that whichever deity responsible for sending the hellcat would have mercy on his pitiful self.

"We're friends aren't we, Charon?" The man nodded vigorously. "I don't like being played for a fool," She chided. "It makes me very," she pressed the blade lower, "Irritable." He was breathing hard with a pleading look in his eyes. The blade was pressed with extreme precision and coated in magic that would cut through his skin, vampire or not. Alana's eyes were steel against his own. "Don't disappoint me again, Charon. I may not kill you, but I can certainly reduce your p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e in living." She shifted off him and he breathed a sigh of relief. He was somehow certain that her leaving had more to do with the hard on her actions were giving him than any d.e.s.i.r.e to keep him alive.

Alana grimaced as she left. The sound of m.o.a.ning was a backdrop that she did not need. Merlin, she needed some normal friends. Maybe that was asking for too much. She needed some not-completely-insane friends. There, the key to life: low expectations.

…

Bienvenidos * Welcome

¿Cómo te llamas? * What is your name?

Encantada de conocerle * Pleased to meet you

…

1991 December

Petyr Gillen spared a faux smile to the brunette to his left and her more influential husband before raking his hazel eyes over the party's occupants. The Lord Malfoy was as lavish as ever, sparing no expense to aid his wife's yearly mission of outdoing every other social event of the year. The room was covered in a thin layer of magical ice that branched over strategically placed trees. He had long since learned to expect the extravagance and paid no mind to the fact that the ice was neither slippery nor cold under his boots.

His lack of enthusiasm - or perhaps it was respect – had allowed a humouring smile to grace his relaxed features when he greeted his hosts. They were as resplendently dressed as always in layers of white and ice blue. He imagined it must have been quite the ego stroke to see so many in the same colours, the colours of their house's coat of arms. For his part, he was dressed in a long black coat with open sleeves and a fur trim. His gold undertunic and the grey-silver frost pattern of his undercoat were revealed by the open sleeves. He felt the dress appropriately comfortable for politicking in without being as ridiculously expensive as his spoon-fed peers.

"Master Gillen, I don't suppose you've heard the news of young Draco Malfoy's choice of Mentor, have you? Being out of the country as you have," The unfaithful wife attempted to entice the man into further conversation. She knew she had been successful when the black-haired man returned his gaze to her with unhidden interest. The greying hair at his temples seemed to only add to his natural charm.

"Oh? I suppose not. Willing to enlighten me, dear?" The unmissable Dublin accent left her breathless.

"I hear he announced a fellow Hogwarts fourth year, not two months after knowing her," She kept her voice low. Her rather obese husband shifted uneasily at his wife's gossiping. Gillen smiled and this time it was genuine. The young Malfoy always did know how to stir up trouble for his father. He still recalled when the boy had unintentionally interrupted a business meeting and inadvertently caused a deal to fall from Lucius' hands into his own l.a.p. The Lord had looked physically ill when he had thanked him. Needless to say, he was very interested in how this turn of events would play out. A sixth-year mentor would have been acceptable, he supposed, but a fourth-year was simply ridiculous. He knew Lord Malfoy would be fuming and likely attempting to remove his problem.

"A most interesting situation Lord Malfoy has been put in, but come, friends, let us not speak ill of our hosts."

…

Alana's gloved hands grazed the white embroidery running across the shoulders of her dark grey evening gown. Otavio had insisted the dress fit her well and she could only hope his fashion sense hadn't been irreparably damaged by virtual immortality. The vampire had proved himself invaluable during the past week. He seemed to have the same appreciation for loyalty that drove Marius to lend himself to her service. That was to say, she was sure of his sincerity. The contract of silence on her identity was also of considerable help in fostering trust between the witch and vampire.

She gave one last glance to her dress which appeared to have had its hemline dipped in the snow with its frost-like embroidery. It would do. The witch donned a white coat with grey fur trim and stepped into the fireplace beside her. She dearly hated transport by floo. As she dropped the handful of transport powder, the flames at her feet roared to life.

"Malfoy Manor," she called and was s.u.c.k.e.d through the pipe-like nightmare that was Britain's floo network.

She stepped out into a tidy foyer and was pleased to note that all her limbs were still attached. As if portkeys weren't terrifying enough, she'd heard stories of people getting lost in the floo network. Her black hair was mercifully untouched in its curly, braided updo. She did not linger in the foyer and instead pushed open the nearby door. The sound of music was sufficient to guide her to the party and she was relieved to say that purebloods were not so uppity so as to have a herald at the door. The celebration was in full swing when she entered. She was not late, mind you, it was more a case of others arriving earlier. The invitation tended to give different times so that the foyer wasn't overwhelmed by guests.

The witch slinked across the floor with the grace of a feline in search of their prey. There were clear cliques amongst the invited, but the Malfoys were not difficult to find. Lord Malfoy looked like a vicious King of Ice with his frosted crown while Lady Malfoy appeared his benevolent Queen. It seemed a case of good-cop bad-cop though the roles were reversed in her case. It had to be said, however, that the daring v-cut of Mrs Malfoy's dress certainly warmed her character significantly.

"Lord Malfoy. Lady Malfoy," She greeted the pair with a curtsey of polite depth. Lady Malfoy who she had not seen since their first encounter had a cold look in her eyes that did not bode well for the young witch. Alana supposed having your son enter into a Promisso Crueto without your consent would put anyone in a foul mood.

"Miss Vincent," Lord Malfoy greeted. All three could feel the stumble of multiple conversations as eavesdroppers took a breath. Alana would have laughed had it not been inappropriate. "We welcome you into our home. I hope this Yuletide has found you in good health and company."

"I thank you, Lord Malfoy, and hope the same for you and your house."

"Please, enjoy the festivities."

Just like that, it was over, and Alana was blissfully free to hunt down Draco.

If only it were that simple.

As the witch took her leave, she found herself swiftly drawn into a conversation when a woman purposely bumped into her. It was certainly one way to introduce yourself without having a mutual acquaintance.

"My apologies. I can't seem to find my balance this evening." The woman was average looking with bourbon hair and mint leaves for eyes. Her skin was a smooth brown that gave way to fine features and an inquisitive nose. She appeared to be in her early twenties but could have been much older considering how wizard ageing seemed to slow as one reached their thirties.

"It is quite alright, mademoiselle. It is not often that one has the p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e of bumping into a beautiful lady such as yourself." The words left her mouth before she could fully process them. She hadn't realised she had such a smooth tongue. It must have been Greyson's influence or, Merlin forbid she pick up his habits, Charon's company. The startled woman graced her with a coquettish smile before dipping into a courtesy.

"Nor do I often have the good fortune to bump into such a charming young woman. My name is Tatiana Clive. Might I have the p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e of knowing yours?" Credit had to be given for the woman's acting skills. Unfortunately, she was an amateur compared to the like of Lilith Bathery.

"Pretty words, Ms Clive. My name is Alana Vincent," She offered a good-natured smile to the woman and returned the curtsey with a nod of acknowledgement. The woman had, after all, just bumped into her. It wouldn't do for her to bow.

"How lovely it is to meet you, Miss Vincent. Are you, perhaps, a student of Hogwarts? I don't believe I have seen you at a Malfoy function before?"

"Indeed, I am a Ravenclaw. However, I was privately taught until last year so I have never before had the joy of an invitation. Lady Malfoy has exceeded my expectations with her skill. The decoration is simply marvellous." Alana was quick to offer the woman her arm. It was both a polite gesture to the woman with a 'lack of balance' and a means of claiming control of the conversation. "And you, Ms Clive? If I am not mistaken, I do believe your house deals in Sumerian stone imports from Iraq." She offered her hand to the woman and upon her acceptance of it, drew her into a waltz.

"My uncle often takes me along to these events. Otherwise, I would be working in the Ministry until the early hours of the morning." The woman laughed as she was whirled around by her partner. She had not intended to divulge so much information, but the fresh meat was unexpectedly well-mannered.

"Ah, a fellow workaholic then? May I ask what ensnares your passion so? I should hate to have to vie for your attention in the future." The smirk accompanying her words made her seem far older than she was, and Tatiana was momentarily lost to the girl's liquid gold eyes.

"I work for the Department of Mysteries," She responded before she came back to her senses. She drew back slightly in horror at her behaviour. What sort of grown woman swooned before a fifteen-year-old?! The young witch did not seem to be offended by her actions which gave her a sigh of relief before she was once again questioning why such a thing should concern her. Who was getting information on who exactly? Before she could resume her dalliance with the criminally agreeable youth, the pair was interrupted.

"Ms Clive, I do not believe I have greeted you this evening," smiled an impeccably dressed Petyr Gillen. The man was unusually bereft of an entourage and housing a smooth smile. Tatiana started under the man's attentions. He was a lower-class noble much like herself but there were rumours that the Minister of Magic was considering offering him a formal lordship and seat in Wizengamot. Had the Minister not been in Lucius Malfoy's back pocket, it likely would have already happened.

"Master Gillen," She greeted the well-known man. He had a mastery in Charms which really said everything you needed to know about his character. He had owned one of the leading broom manufacturing companies in Europe despite having no obvious interest in the sport. Unbeknownst to her, he also had a large number of Brothels under his ownership. He never could resist a profitable business venture. Tatiana knew she was outclassed and cursed her luck. She was hoping she'd have more time to gather more on Miss Vincent before the sharks came out to play. Reluctantly, she opted for a graceful retreat while she still had her family fortune to her name.

"Miss Vincent, this is Master Gillen of Malahide. Master Gillen, might I introduce my recent acquaintance, Miss Alana Vincent."

"A p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e," The man smiled pleasantly.

"Likewise," Alana returned with an equally charming smile.

"I trust you are both enjoying yourselves this evening?"

"Quite," Tatiana replied. "If you'll excuse me, Master Gillen, Miss Vincent, I require the restroom." Alana watched her exit with mild curiosity. The man obviously intimidated her and it was easy to see why considering the undertones of his smile.

"Might I have this dance, Miss Vincent?" The man inquired. He didn't seem the dancing type but she acquiesced. It was a good choice of activity if one wished to not have their conversation interrupted. They finished a few turns about the room before he spoke.

"Do you often dance, Miss Vincent?"

Oh, wasn't he clever? Alana stirred from her slumber. He wanted to know if she'd attended a political party before.

"Only when I find a suitable partner," She replied slyly. He dipped her as he turned.

"Should I feel privileged then to meet your standards?"

"I should hope it to be more of a p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e than a privilege, sir. Good company is terribly difficult to come by these days."

"I would have to agree. I have heard you come from abroad. Is such fine company easier to find outside of Britain?"

"I would think you would know better than I, Master Gillen. Do you not own a substantial number of overseas trade deals?"

"True, I suppose. It is a shame I do not find the time to travel as often as I should." "I confess, I find myself rather curious. How is it that a fifteen-year-old with no British background came to be of such close acquaintance with the Malfoys?"

"A mutual acquaintance of course. How is it that a minor-lord with such…unique taste in business came to be interested in someone of such unremarkable background as me?"

"I was curious as to whether you'd be worth the effort to invest in." She laughed at that. She was certain by now that the man had no love for the Lord Malfoy and was looking to cause trouble. They were on the same spectrum politically, but business was another story entirely and it was clear where his priorities were.

"I should hate to impose on your generosity when it may not be returned," She told him with an impish grin.

"A shame." He finished the dance and departed without any fanfare. She hoped she hadn't made an enemy, but the man seemed to have nothing but passing curiosity towards her.

"Alana."

Alana grinned

"I am most pleased you could come," Draco smiled eagerly while scanning her dress for any obvious faults. "You look well," He appraised and tucked her offered hand into the crook of his elbow. "Have you been introduced to anyone yet? I was talking to Nott before or I would have found you sooner."

"I've danced with Ms Tatiana Clive and Master Petyr Gillen already," She responded. Draco's eyebrows shot up in surprise, though whether it was because of the number of dances or her partners, she couldn't tell. Likely the latter.

"I see. Well, I'm sure we can remedy that."

The two made their rounds about the room. It was a relatively long guest list and she was surprised to note that a great many guests were adversaries of some sort of the Malfoy family. Lord Frostbite certainly enjoyed rubbing his wealth in people's faces. Both her and Draco had put a great deal of thought into how they would go about the introductions and she was extremely pleased to see everything go as planned. She had long since become proficient in acting older than she looked having dealt with those older than her on a daily basis. An easy confidence and a near-tangible charisma was exuding from her. She made herself appear sufficiently intelligent to pass the basic standards but didn't push too hard. Her connections were another matter entirely. It would be easy to find out from any Slytherin that she knew people, so she didn't dare hide it. She did, however, make it very clear that she was for hire.

Pfft! Loyalty! What loyalty? Draco was under her protection and tutelage, but she was free to do whatever she pleased during her free time. She was a contractor for Merlin's sake! The primary reason she was significant was because of her neutrality in all things. She was uninhibited, completely bereft of political ties and willing to offer her services to the highest bidder. There were many types of Mentors and there was no strict guideline on what they were required to do. Lord Malfoy wanted political protection. Draco wanted someone willing to challenge him. Mrs Malfoy… Morgana knows what that woman wanted. So long as she had influence, she could protect Draco. So long as she didn't blatantly move against him publicly, he had no room for complaint. The best protection for Draco in this instance was her distance from the rest of his family. The blood oath she had taken ensured that much.

The two were like Bonnie and Clyde with unnatural chemistry that kept them gravitating about each other. It was almost terrifying how quickly grown wizards were drawn into orbit. If Draco was the squirming bait on a hook, a fat, juicy, filthy-rich pureblood heir ripe for taking, then she was the line and sinker, a sharp-tongued witch reeling them in without them realising she was running circles around them. There were, naturally, exceptions to this rule. A certain Snape who was probably blackmailed into attending avoided the two altogether. Then there were sharp ones like Master Gillen, the Lords and Ladies who had been playing for longer than she'd been breathing. She was tactfully respectful of those dangerous ones. It wouldn't do to get a contract for her own head.

By the end of the day, she was proud to say that most of the weak-willed, sycophants were eating out of the palm of her hand. There seemed to be a unanimous agreement that anyone that politically inclined had to be worth knowing. It was a good thing Britain wasn't at war with anyone or they probably would have thought her a spy. Draco was glowing like a pregnant woman throughout the entire evening. He'd even gone so far as to reintroduce her to his friends just because he was a Malfoy and he could.

Daphne Greengrass was eying her in the same manner her mother had when she'd greeted the Lady. It was the 'Name your price and I will buy your soul' look. Unfortunately for them, she'd already sold her soul to Death so they'd have to get in line. In all honesty, she'd found Lady Greengrass a very agreeable woman. Between herself and her husband, it was clear why they had gone unchallenged as the pro-neutral section of parliament. The power couple were as potent as the Malfoys and their heirs were just as mindful. She was never more aware of the amount of work she'd have to do on Draco. Slow and steady. They'd get there eventually.