Draco had been restless ever since the attack on Pansy at the apothecary. He knew that she wouldn't go back until she felt safe there, and that her brother was more than capable of making sure it was a safe place for her, but he still felt that he hadn't done enough. Or rather, the part of him that took satisfaction from having control over whether an enemy lived or died, from ending a life when it was necessary, was completely unsatisfied. If Pansy hadn't killed her attacker, Draco would have gone after him and brought him down, ensuring that he lived long enough to wish that he'd been left to Pansy's mercy. She was infinitely more merciful than Draco.
And, as he'd said to Fletcher, he would have allowed Pansy's brother to have a part in it too. He knew Fletcher well enough, though not exceedingly well, to know that he cared about his sister. Knew, in fact, that he had vouched for Pansy to be off the potion, which Draco would have done if it wasn't already taken care of. Fletcher was probably the only person that he would consider worth working with when it came to Pansy's safety.
Not that they were necessarily going to accomplish anything in that regard, today. Draco did intend to talk to Fletcher about it, but he'd also prepared a little something to make them both feel better - or at least to make him feel better, and he suspected that Fletcher would like it, too. If he was anything like Draco when it came to this sort of thing.
But it wasn't Draco that answered the door, it was his elf. She bowed low to the guest to the Manor, ears touching the ground. "Master Parkinson," she squeaked. "Master Draco is waiting for Master Parkinson in the dungeons. Dipsy will lead the way."