Title: Painting an Oyster
Author: Tiny Q
E-Mail: one legged lesbian seagull hotmail com (Please add 3 underscores, one "at" sign, and a period)
Please Read: I have completely rewritten the first five chapters of this story. Why did I do this? Because frankly, they sucked. And they weren't making me happy, so I changed them. I am still not one hundred percent happy with them but if I didn't post them now I never will, and I have other stories I want to finish. But yes, because of this I am going to ask you to please reread these chapters, as they are completely different from what they were originally. As well, I would like to apologise for leaving all the old reviews up before I began to repost the chapters. I didn't think it would be fair to those of you who had favourited it, and honestly, I am too lazy to go through each review and try and delete them. I personally hate it when people do this, but I think I understand why they do this now. Well yes, I am going to stop rambling and let you read.
A/N: I am still not very happy with this chapter for I think there is too much information at one time, but I am not going to touch it anymore, lest I go insane. Well, not that I am not insane already... Uh yes, how about you just skip this part and continue on down to the story...
Disclaimer: I own nothing, with the exception of Sneazel and Ginny's new flat. So there.
Painting an Oyster
Chapter 1
When I'm Up (I Can't Get Down)
o-o-o
Soundtrack: "When I'm Up (I Can't Get Down)" by Great Big Sea
o-o-o
"Ginny, dear, are you sure you that this neighbourhood is a safe place to live? I could have sworn I saw some sketchy looking characters while we were moving your stuff in here."
That's my mother, Molly Weasley, for you. She is always looking for things to protect me from. Always. Actually, ever since I can remember she has been like this, most likely because I am her little baby girl. The fact that I manage to get myself in the most trouble, save for Ron, doesn't help much either.
It has never ceased to irritate me though, more so now than ever before. Well, I am twenty seven years old now. I can very well take care of myself. Though the fact that I keep turning up in the papers only seems to fuel my mother on. I keep telling her it is simply one of the bonuses of having the Minister for Magic as a father, but she doesn't care. She simply sees it as another reason to protect me, as she is trying to now.
"Don't worry Mrs. Weasley-"
"Molly," my mother corrected.
"Molly. I have lived in this area for the last few years and I have never had any problems, save for a poor transit system," he said, his perfect smile shinning down on my mother. She looked up at him, trying to detect a lie, as she often does with my brothers. "And if anything does happen, which I highly doubt, I live just down the hall so she will always have someone there for her."
Great, just when I am think that I have escaped the shelter of my brothers, he decides to step in and take their place. Will anyone ever realize that I am perfectly capable of living on my own? It certainly doesn't seem that way.
Now you might be wondering who this "he" is. Well, he is Zacharias Smith, my bestest friend. Back in Hogwarts I had absolutely despised him and his superiority complex, and my views hadn't changed until I encountered him a few years ago in a gay bar. Don't ask me what I was doing in said bar, for I don't really understand it myself. I saw him working behind the bar though, and after a few drinks on my part as well as a few questions, I discovered that he owned the place. The rest of the story is irrelevant. All you really need to know is that he is my very bestest friend, well besides Sneazel of course, and will now be my neighbour as well.
"See mum? No need to worry," I chummed in, trying to persuade my short, plump mother that all will be well. "And remember, that is why you and dad had that charm warden come in and set up all those security wards. I will be perfectly safe. You know I will be." I stared at my mother's unconvinced face and bit back a sigh. "And besides, Sneazel will be moving in with me as well. No one would dare try anything with him around."
Sneazel is my puppy, if you are wondering. My very large and protective puppy. No one can come near me when he sets his mind about keeping them away. My mother doesn't like Sneazel all that much. Sneazel has a tendency to tear apart her garden when we come over for a visit. He loves to go after the lawn gnomes you see.
"I know you have that thing moving in with you," my mother scowled. See? "But I wish you would have that boyfriend of yours moving in with you instead."
I froze at that. Now where did that come from? No, I know where that came from. My mother has this notion that if she can not protect me herself, then I need a man to protect me. Apparently she thinks that I have been protected by my brothers for so long that I require a male presence in my life to be happy, safe and wonderful. Actually, if experience proves correct, men seem to cause the opposite of all that when they are around me.
And really, I have been living on my own since I left Hogwarts, and I have not needed a man to take care of me for that entire span of nine years. I have a feeling that this is all coming up because my mother is beginning to think that I will never get married, that I won't produce her anymore grandchildren. I suppose at the rate I am going her fears do have some merit.
"Mother, you know I do not have a boyfriend anymore," I said slowly. She is trying to get me to yell, I know she is. I think it is one of the things she loves to do most with her children, other than coddle them, and that is yell at them. It's rather peculiar now that I think about it. "He hasn't been my boyfriend for a very long time now, you know that."
"But he was such a nice young man," she replied, her eyes going slightly misty. I glanced at Zach to see him rolling his eyes. He knows all to well that Samuel was anything but a "nice" young man. "So sweet and thoughtful..."
"Please," I scoffed, cutting off what ever she had running through her head, thoughts of my wonderfully happy life with that prat. "He was controlling and condescending."
Samuel is a perfect example of what I was talking about before. He was the perfect gentleman at first, really he was. He made me feel all those wonderful happy feelings and put a smile on my face. But then things changed, and my ideas, that he had once encouraged, slowly became wrong and stupid. Eventually I couldn't take it anymore and got rid of him. But it is not simply him that I am complaining about; it's the several men who have ended up treating me in the same way. I don't know if it is something I am doing wrong personally or if I just attract the wrong type of blokes. Either way it has driven me to avoid dating. At least until I find a guy who doesn't fit their mould.
"I am sure that was just your imagination, Ginny," my mother responded reasonably, looking for all intents and purposes as though she was talking about the weather.
"And what is that supposed to mean?" I asked, trying to keep my voice civil, though I could feel my blood beginning to boil. I know that if I raise my voice it will only cause her to raise her voice in turn. The whole her enjoying it bit, you see. Eventually we will be shouting at each other on the tops of our lungs and will continue to do so until one of us storms off or another person intervenes. It is like this horrible snowball effect, and I am taking this analogy from a good friend of mine, where the stupid ball of snow keeps getting bigger and bigger until it crashes into something innocent. And the innocent something is usually someone's feelings.
"You just don't want to commit to anyone," she said simply.
I heard Zach snort and I shot him a dark look, grinding my teeth together in an attempt to not burst into a fit of yelling. "Mother," I said as evenly as I could. "I do not wish to discuss this right now."
"Fine," my mother replied, shaking her head and gathering up her things. "But it will be discussed sooner or later."
"Of course it will be," I replied, shooting another dark look at Zach who had a look on his face as though Christmas had arrived early, bringing with it a huge pile of everything he has ever wanted.
With a nod my mother took out her wand and Apparated away with a resounding crack. I stared at the spot where she had been standing. Sometimes I really wish that she wasn't my mother.
"So," Zach said slowly, plopping down on my couch, which was sitting in the middle of my living room, facing the fireplace. I glared at him then turned my glare towards the twenty or so big boxes that were scattered about the room. They have become this horrid trend about my new flat, scattering themselves across the kitchen, the bedroom, the hall and even the loo. My only condolence is that I didn't have to move them all by myself. No, that is what my six older brothers are for. Very handy for moving purposes really. One of their only good attributes.
Today was moving day, as I hope you have figured out. That is why my mother was over, she was dictating to everyone where the boxes should go, in order to maximize on space you see. My brothers are useless when it comes to thinking ahead, and if they had it their way they would pile all the boxes in front of the door and out in the hall when there is no more room in front of the door. My mother likes to correct this fault. For some reason she stayed longer than anyone else though. Much to my enjoyment, I can assure you.
"You have problems committing yourself, eh?"
"Shut up," I hissed, glaring at him as he smirked up at me. "It's not like you are any better, Mr. I Heart One Night Stands."
"Touché," he replied, his smirk splitting into a grin. "Perhaps that is why we get along so well." I cocked an eyebrow at this. I am certainly not known for the whole one night stand routine. "Neither of us wants to be truly attached to anyone so we use each other to keep others at bay."
"I suppose you're right about that," I agreed with a sigh, moving forward and dropping onto the couch next to him. I don't know how many times I have used him as a fake boyfriend. It seems to me that the number of times has recently begun to increase. Not the healthiest thing to be doing, now that I think about it...
"Of course I am right," he said haughtily, shifting in his seat slightly, presumably to accommodate for his overlarge ego. "I am always right."
"Of course you are," I said in a sweet and sugary voice. "And that is why you live the life that you do."
"Someone is cranky," he said in response, his voice not mirroring the mild expression on his face.
"Wouldn't you be cranky too if your mother has suddenly declared, in front of your bestest friend, that you have commitment problems?" I demanded, crossing my arms and glaring across the room at my fireplace. I know I shouldn't get so worked up about her, I mean, she acts like that all the time, as I said. But I just can't help but get worked up when there is an attack on my person. I like my life. Why should I have to change it because someone else doesn't approve of it?
"No," he said flippantly. "Because it's the truth."
"Well, you know what they say," I sighed, letting out a huge breath of air and closing my eyes. "Admitting that you have a problem is the first step towards solving it."
We slipped into silence, and I kept my eyes closed. You know, sometimes I think that is the most wonderful thing that you can have in a friendship: the ability to sit silently together and not feel obligated to always talk. Zach and I seem to have this concept mastered.
"I hope you are planning on taking time off to deal with all these boxes," he suddenly said, interrupting the silence that we had held. I opened my eyes and looked at him. I wonder where that idea came from. "Because if you haven't they are going to be sitting here until next Easter. And the last thing I need is for you to be hanging around in my flat all the time because you hate boxes." Ah, that's why.
"I booked the rest of the week off to deal with them," I replied darkly. This time off was coming out of my vacation time. I have been planning on going to Italy some time next year and because of this time off the trip is going to be shorter than I had hoped it would be. Oh well, I suppose I shouldn't complain when I get paid to move into my new flat. A new flat where I will no longer have to listen to Candice whine about my paint thinner being too smelly, my canvases being too large and inconvenient to store, or that the eyes in my paintings scare her. I still have to giggle at that one.
Candice was my old roommate of two years. She was a "wonderful" person to live with as I hope you can tell. Actually, I don't know how I managed to live with her for as long as I did. But I don't have to worry about her any more. She went on a trip with a couple of her friends to Canada a few months back and apparently she fell in love with some Canadian bloke. They got married last month actually, over here in England for some reason. Well, regardless of her newfound marital bliss, I had to find a new flat because I couldn't afford our old one on my own. Thus why today was moving day.
"I just have to go in on Friday for a meeting. They want to go over the expansion plans. Again."
I don't need to groan my displeasure about that aspect of my life anymore; Zach knows exactly how much I despise those meetings. All we ever do is argue over how high the light switches should be set, or which colour marble we should use, or where the exhibits should go. It's taken us a good six months to get to where we are, and we are finally ready to begin construction. This should be the very last meeting before it all begins, an all systems go sort of check over. Lady Malfoy is sending one of her people in, which is even more thrilling because they are usually such tight asses.
And yes, I did just say Lady Malfoy. I work in an art gallery. Actually I've been there for a good five years now. I got a part time job there when I was going through art school and never really left, and now I have the job of discovering new artists with new art to host. Funny how that works, eh? We began to have some severe money issues about two years ago, not that they hadn't been present before, but the economy had been in a recession so things had become a bit worse. That was when Lady Malfoy stepped in. She came forward with the money and the enthusiasm to bring the gallery away from the brink of bankruptcy, after having bought the establishment of course.
I had been completely against the idea of a Malfoy owning our lovely gallery; I would have rather let it go bankrupt than let one of them get their filthy hands on it. Thankfully no one listened to me, as few do, and now the gallery is more popular than ever before. We are bringing in artists now that we only used to dream about hosting. I hate to say it, but the Malfoy actually did some good. No, she did a lot of good. And the expansion is sort of a permanent mark of this goodness.
"So you will be spending the next two days battling with boxes?" Zach asked my sceptically. I felt my hair shift as he took a chunk of it into his fingers and brought it towards himself. I don't know what his fascination is with my hair, but for some reason he always insist on touching it. He says it is because it is soft, but I am beginning to have my doubts. "Why does that sound sketchy to me?" He paused for a moment in what I knew was mock thought. "Maybe it's because I know that as soon as you find your paints all boxes will be dutifully ignored."
I cracked an eye open and looked at him with a slight pout. "That's why they're at your flat, remember?" I asked, crossing my arms. It was the only way for me to get anything done really. If I don't really want to do something, I won't. I will find all sorts of odd reasons to stop doing it or I will begin to finish projects I haven't touched in years. That is why I thought it would be safer to keep the worst of the distractions at his place. That way I might actually be able to unpack things I will actually need. Like underwear.
"How can I forget after the stink you made about giving them to me," he hissed, tugging at the hair that was in his hands. I scowled at him.
"But they're precious to me, Zachypoo," I said. "You know that."
"How can I forget?" he grumbled, turning his eyes away and staring at my collection of boxes. He has a very strong profile. It's one of the things that I have always found most attractive about him. And one of the things that always makes me want to paint him. He gets irritated when I try to get him to sit down long enough for me to do it though.
So, have you figured out what I do yet, other than work in an art gallery that is? Hopefully you have deduced that it involves painting and paint. If you haven't I think I am going to become worried. I am a freelance painter and illustrator for Muggles and Waizards alike. It doesn't bring in much money, since there isn't much of a demand at the moment, so that is why I still work at the gallery.
You might be wondering now how I came into possession of this career. To be honest, I am not quite sure. I always used to doodle on my notes in school, and one day I just decided that I wanted to make doodling what I do for the rest of my life. So, as soon as I was done at Hogwarts I enrolled in an art school, just outside of London, and began a three year program. I don't think I have ever had so much fun in my life.
Somewhere along the line I began to do commissions and eventually turned it into a career, painting images for children's books, painting portraits, and anything else that would present itself. I wish that I could only do that for the rest of my life, but it doesn't pay the bills, nor does it allow for a very social lifestyle. Well, it should, except I like to hermatize myself when I paint, thus eliminating my social life.
"And just so you know, I refuse to help you with anything to do with your belongings," Zach declared, still playing with my hair. I'm not surprised by this declaration. Last time I roped him into helping me he almost got killed by falling boxes with sharp pointy objects in them. I am not expanding on that story, sorry. Needless to say though, he has vowed never to help me move again.
"I know," I replied, sighing slightly. "That's why my brothers were here."
"Oh, so you are blaming the beasts' presence on me now, are you?" he sneered, tugging on my hair again. I opened my eyes and glared at him, hoping to convey the idea that I think he should grow up.
Zach doesn't like my brothers. None of them. It gets to be rather annoying at times, but he's rather good at acting as though he doesn't hate them enough to hex them all. Most of the time. I am not quite sure why he hates them all so much, but I am sure he has his reasons. Though I think that if I ever figure out why Zacharias does all of what he does, figure out the reason behind the madness, I will go crazy. Well, crazier than I am now at least.
"No," I said slowly. "They volunteered." Well, that isn't exactly true as I did have to more or less threaten them into volunteering. Not that Zach needs to know that though. "And how could I refuse free labour?"
"Easy," he replied, the cushion under my head shifting as he moved his head. "You say no."
"Har har," I said dryly. "And move all these blasted boxes on my own? No thank you."
I hate boxes. I am not quite sure why I do, but all I know is that I do. It is probably because I usually end up getting more paper cuts and blood blisters than anything else when dealing with them. I would much prefer plastic bins, but I am simply too poor, or cheap rather, to go and buy a shwack load of plastic Rubbermaids. Don't mind me; I just like to complain about things. A lot.
"But at least you will finally have a flat of your own," he said, shifting slightly once more to look at me. There was a slight smile on his face. It always catches me off guard when he turns like this, not in physical movement, but when he becomes all sweet and concerned like. I am so used to the snarky side of Zach that I forget that he has a compassionate side. Oh, I know that it is in him, I am just not used to seeing it. I think I would be worried if I saw it all the time. "Just think of how much room you will have to expand into."
"Yah," I said with a nod and a sigh. That is one of the worst things about me: my ability to expand into an area. I'm horrible. At first it seems like I have far too much room, but give me a month and I will no longer have enough. I don't even know where all the new stuff comes from.
That is one of the main reasons why I got this flat, well, other than to escape Candice, or that I couldn't afford to stay in my old flat. Let's just say then, that it is one of the nice bonuses of this flat then. The large amount of room I will have all to myself to do what ever I want with. It has this enormous sitting room which is more than big enough to house my couch, my stereo, my work table and my easels – all comfortably.
I am actually quite surprised that it was going for as cheap as it was. The other rooms in here are a bit on the small side, but still, it was a steal. Now that I think about it though, it might be because the large window that faces north has an absolutely lovely view of the waste treatment plant across the bay. It doesn't bother me, but I am sure others would be bothered by it. I think that the toxic fumes can be rather inspiring at times, how the clouds of filth gather in the air and seem to take on a life of their own. No, I am not crazy. I'm just an artist. We are supposed to find beauty in odd places.
"And everything will be just wonderful once I pick up Sneazel from the vet," I said with another sigh, beginning to grin once more as I watched Zach's face sour. Sneazel had a run in with a Runespore a few days ago and has been at the vet ever since. My poor baby.
"I still don't get why they are letting you keep that beast in here," Zach hissed and I rolled my eyes, still grinning slightly at his face.
"He's not a beast," I amended. Zach has never liked my puppy. Ever. I think it has something to do with them both being male or something like that. But then, I am by no means an expert on the interactions between males of different species, so I shouldn't comment. All I really know is that the two don't care much for each other. Sneazel always sulks around in my bedroom until he leaves, or seeks revenge on him by drooling in his shoes. Or both. Funny yet not.
"Yes he is," he grumbled, coiling my hair around his fingers as though that would make everything alright again. I shook my head. I will once again state that I never want to understand what goes on in his head, lest I go insane. There are just too many things that set him off at the oddest times and if I were able to predict them I would be able predict everything. My pitiful human brain could not handle the stress, even with the aide of magic. Thus the insanity bit.
"Oh come on, Zachypoo," I cooed, nudging him with my elbow. "Just think: I live three doors down from you now. And Sneazel has his igloo so he won't bother you and everything will be just fine." I paused in mock thought. "It has to be, now that I think about it. You will see me everyday. Just think about how lucky you are!"
"Can't wait," he grumbled, but when I looked at him this time he was grinning that handsome little grin of his. I sometimes wonder if we would ever be anything more than friends if he was straight. I usually end up with this odd mental image that I will not taint your mind with. A mental image I can blame my heart and over active imagination on.
"I'll paint you a picture," I said in a childish way. I even did the whole raise the shoulders bit and everything, though the motion was lost due to the fact that we were both sitting on the couch and staring at the fireplace.
"Just what I need," he snarled, waving the hand with my hair clasped in it about. "Another piece of your work that I have to put up since it is my duty as bestest friend." He then flicked my hair into my face. I scowled at him, letting out a cat hiss.
"You know you love them."
o-o-o
"Oh Draco, Dear," she cooed, placing her teacup back on its saucer. "It's so wonderful to have you back in the Manor."
I stared at her. Perhaps old age was getting to her already. There is a history of insanity running through the Black Family tree. It never used to be out in the open, actually, it used to be quite the secret, but after Aunt Bella was done her run, well, let's just say things are no longer as secret as they should be. Now, if it has continued its course... "Mother, I was here last week."
"Oh, I know dear," she replied daintily, smiling that smile of hers. The one I have a very hard time saying no to. "But it has seemed much longer than that."
I let out a snort. That's my mother for you. She is always doing so many things lately that even I, who has a hand in over half a dozen major projects, not to mention the smaller ones, would be overwhelmed by all that she does. The way she plans her days, fills them up with so much to do, must make her days seem long and the weeks even longer. I have been working on her to take a vacation, all the exertion can't be good for her anymore, but she will hear none of it. Not that Narcissa Malfoy was ever very good at doing what she was told. Father could contest to that.
"I still think you should take a bit of a break mother," I said with a sigh, knowing that I was going to be shot down regardless of what I think. I always advise her to take a break, every Friday afternoon that we have our weekly tea, in fact. "Just for a week. Perhaps a nice trip down to the islands."
"Why are you always insisting that I should take a break, Draco?" my mother demanded, the coldness that she can bring forth surfacing in an instant. When I was a child that look always made me shiver and obey whatever she had to say. Now, however, I know much better and am not so easily quelled. "Do you think that I am incapable of handling what I have on my tablet?"
"Of course not," I replied, setting down the teacup that had been in my hand. "I know very well that you are more than capable of handling all that you take on. It's just that I am worried that you are running yourself down." Again, I added mentally.
It is something that my mother loves to do. When she is upset about something she will begin to do as many things as possible in an attempt to distract herself, ultimately running herself ragged. When I was younger it would to be to redecorate, or to take up new hobbies that would have her in a room all day. It wasn't until father had been sent to Azkaban that things had gotten really bad.
When father had been arrested, everything under his name became open to investigation. All of the estates, the artefacts and heirlooms, the money, and anything else my father had acquired over the years, were inspected by Ministry officials. It lasted for months until finally, after they had confiscated everything they deemed "dark", they returned what was left to my mother and myself. And she had instantly begun to take in all the fragments and bring them back together. I had been scared, after a time, that I was going to lose a second parent, for I knew she was doing nothing besides working like her life depended on it. Eventually she managed to gain a hold of herself. Then father had died and the cycle had started all over again. I don't know what is ailing her this time. I don't dare to ask.
I watched as my mother's coldness slipped slightly, as though she was remembering who she was talking to. "I know you are concerned for my health, Draco," she said, her voice a lot less cold than before. "But there is nothing to worry about. I have everything perfectly under control." There was the finality in her voice that warned that the subject was now closed. Father never figured out what it meant, and if he had, then he was a hell of a lot more sadistic than I ever gave him credit for.
"Yes mother," I replied, nodding my head.
"Why don't you ever call me 'mum' like I ask?" she said.
This is a topic that she brings up almost as often as I bring up her vacation. It's near impossible for me to think of her by any other name than mother. Father had never allowed me to address her in any other way. Ever. Something that ingrained doesn't leave that easily. I know I sound like I am whipped, but that is just the way it is. Perhaps some day I will manage it, but until that day she will still only be mother.
"I'm working on it," I replied, looking towards my tea cup that was resting on the table instead of her blue eyes. I cleared my throat slightly. "So what is it exactly that you want me to do today?" I asked, changing the subject.
"Just go in and go over the plans and blueprints," she replied. "Make sure that the roof won't be caving in or anything like that."
"I am sure that with the people you have hired, it will," I sneered in response, trying hard to keep the contempt from my voice. I suppose you are wondering why there is contempt in my voice, well, that requires a bit of explanation.
When my father was arrested, and the Ministry were done with their bit, all that was left went back to my mother and me, as I mentioned before. It all should have gone under my name, as is law with the Malfoy family, but I was too young at the time so everything fell under the responsibility of my mother until such a time that I chose to accept what was rightfully mine.
I can tell you this, the thought of having all that wealth, all under my name, not my father's name, was daunting. I remember strutting around for weeks, feeling as though I was the king of the world. Luckily that didn't last for too long. No, the war took care of that and I realized what it was that my father really did to obtain all that wealth as he ruthlessly fought his battles for the Dark Lord. Somewhere in my brain it clicked that all that wealth, all the possessions and property that were now under my name, came about through his ruthlessness. The thought made me physically sick.
I'm not going to go into how it happened, for it is a rather gruesome story, but all you really need to know is that my father died a week before the war ended. My world changed then, more than I thought it ever could. Everything I had known as a child was either taken away or it was radically changed by the victors of the war, mainly Potter and his gang. The worst part was, was that three weeks later I would be of age and I could claim everything that was rightfully mine. Yet I couldn't do it.
As soon as I graduated I left England. I didn't know where I was going, how long I was going to be gone, or what I was going to do. I had no idea why I was really leaving, no real concrete idea anyways. All I really had was a thought that I did not want to become like my father, did not want to be pulled down by my father's estate as his father's had pulled him down. In short I left England, leaving my mother to deal with the estate by herself.
I still feel guilty about it; though the selfish part of me will never give up the five years I stayed away. She threw everything she had into the estate, nurturing it back to the way it was. Unlike my father though, she didn't become ruthless and cut corners on her morals to do it. I found out later, as I didn't have much contact with anyone here while I was away, that she had spent most of her efforts in the arts. She took what was left and wove it into property and shares all concerning art galleries, or theatres, or schools. I think on some level it was her way to contribute back to society after all that my father had taken from it.
"Don't be like that, Draco," my mother told me, a scowl on her pretty face.
"I am not being like anything," I replied stubbornly. I know I am being exactly like that, but I need to continue with my explanation before you can understand why. The answers all lie in my five years spent away from England.
I travelled at first, going from Denmark to Sweden, to the Netherlands and Germany, to where ever else stuck my fancy. There was no real order to where I went. I would stay for a few weeks, even months, seeing if anything about the nation felt right. Nothing did, though I did have a hell of a time testing out the cultures and everything they had to offer. It is a pity that Hogwarts didn't have more exchange programs going when I went to school.
It wasn't until I landed in France that things changed. I had gone there to see if the few cousins I have were still worth knowing. I never really found out for it was at that time that I fell in love. But not with a woman, and no, not with a man either. I fell in love with architecture.
It was by complete accident really. It's almost corny now that I think about it, but I had gone into a small cafe and spotted someone scribbling furiously in a book. For some reason I found myself curious enough to look at what he was doing. He was drawing plan for a building, not a very unique one, it was rather plain to be frank, but the way simple lines could covey so much, show how to create something concrete and real out of lines fascinated me.
I think I scared the man who had been working so industriously. I found out, eventually, that he had lost his hearing while fighting a war for some Muggles. He wasn't a Muggle himself, but he had been a Wizarding missionary at the time. Long story, I am not going into it either. All you really need to know is that some how I became the man's apprentice, and for the next few years I tired to discover everything I could about architecture. Everything, even items from Muggle texts.
I never felt so passionate about anything in my life. I found it even more engaging than a round of Insult the Potter. I was in awe that I had finally found something that I actually enjoyed doing with no strings attached, as strings had been attached to my enjoyment of Quiddtich.
You really don't need to know all the details though, so I won't be telling them to you. I came back to England four years ago and took the estate under my name. I did, after all, have the direction to do something worthwhile with it. This may sound cruel and selfish where my mother is concerned, but it was far from. We created a contract, one that allowed her half of the estate, to do with as she pleased. I was not going to take from her what she had worked so hard to achieve. I could not do that to anyone, not anymore, not after I had finally discovered how rewarding it is to have something you truly care about.
So why the sneering then, I suppose you are wondering. Well, I have established quite a well known company specializing in drafting and architecture. And I am not going to be modest, we're good. We're damned good. Yet my mother did not hire me or my company to design an extension for one of her galleries, no, she had to go and hire my rival. She had to go and hire the one man I can't stand, well, with the exception of Potter.
She claimed that she was trying to avoid cries of nepotism from the press, which I suppose makes sense, but it still makes me mad. There are several other companies in the MEU, why did she have to go to him? And then to have me look over his work afterwards? I mentally shook my head. I shouldn't be thinking this way. This is my mother, the only family I have left. But sometimes the things she does simply infuriate me.
It took me a moment for me to realize that she was staring at me, her piercing blue eyes seeming to look right through me, picking out exactly what is annoying me. She didn't say anything though. She never does. It's one of her policies to leave things alone until someone brings them up. Never stops her from meddling behind the scenes though.
"Come now," my mother said, a smile gracing her lips. I could tell that she was trying to infuse happiness into her voice and expression. That's one of the first things I noticed about her when I came back, how she acts happy. Well, not that she is always acting, a lot of the times she really is happy and does not need to act; which was something unheard of when I was younger. She is acting now though, in an attempt to distract me from my issue with her. "Tell me, how are things going with that nice blonde girl that you are seeing?"
"Blonde girl?" I asked, frowning slightly in confusion. For the life of me I cannot remember introducing any woman to my mother since The Cheating Bitch.
"The one you were with when Severus and I bumped into you that one night," she explained, her smile drooping slightly. "She seemed like such a nice girl."
Ah, that girl. Caroline, was it? I'm not quite sure anymore. After a while that all seem to meld into one. One horribly simplistic, greedy, needy, whimpering, dull and rather dense conglomerate of beautiful woman. Nope, haven't seen her in weeks. Thank the gods. If there are any.
"We broke up," I said flatly. Well, it was sort of the truth, seeing as we were never really dating in the first place.
"Oh," my mother replied. I watched as a frown began to furrow its way onto her beautiful face, the implications of the date settling into her mind. "You are beginning to worry me Draco. Ever since you broke up with Jocelyn-"
"I don't want to talk about this," I cut her off. And really, I don't. I don't ever want to talk about it, or think about it, or have anything to do with it ever again. I know it is wishful thinking.
"Fine," my mother said, her frown turning into more of a scowl once more. "But just remember this: when your father was your age we had already had you, not to mention that we had been married for two years."
"I am not my father," I said in the same tone as before. I am not my father; I will never be my father. No one else seems to think this though, much to my aggravation.
"A fact I am all too aware of," she sighed, and I could have sworn a flash of sadness was in her eyes.
I didn't stay too much longer after that. When ever the subject of The Cheating Bitch comes up the conversations don't usually take on a friendly tone anymore. Not that our earlier conversations of today seemed to be all that friendly. It's not usually like that, honest. Perhaps it's just a bad time of the month, if you catch my meaning. I had an excuse to leave early today though, and that is why I find myself walking down the halls of one of her art galleries, trying to ignore the eyes that are following me from their frames.
A set of heavy doors lay before me, and I pushed them open without a second thought. My eyes swept over the room, taking in the dozen or so people who were present within it. All were seated, with the exception of one, who was scratching away at a chalk board with some of the worst penmanship I have ever seen. It was like a five year old had possessed the woman. But I suppose I am being too harsh in saying that. I am sure a five year old could keep their lines straighter than that.
The chatter, which had obviously stopped when I entered, picked up once more as I took a seat at the table. No one bothered introducing themselves to me, which once again makes me wonder why my mother puts up with such individuals.
With noting to do but wait apparently, I found myself looking around the room. The ceiling was vaulted and was decorated in a simple yet interesting enough design. Not something I myself would go for, but then, it wasn't my building. My eyes traveled down, away from the roof, skimming over the people seated at the table. They are your usual stereotypical artsy types; the kinds who seem to think that they have to express themselves through their radical appearance. My eyes continued to wander until they fell on the woman still scribbling away at the black board with her atrocious writing.
She was a red head with a rather average frame. She seemed to be on the tall side, but nothing exceedingly out of the ordinary. She wasn't the type that I usually find myself going after, but her rear end was rather worthy of appreciation. So, having nothing better to do, I appreciated it.
That lasted all of two minutes before the doors opened once more and a man stepped into the room. He was an older man, dressed in suit and tie. By the way he held himself I assumed that he had to be the manager, a Mister John Walters, if my memory serves me properly. He smiled as his eyes looked around the room until they settled on me.
"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, I am glad to see that you got here alright," the older man said, approaching me. I rose from my seat and shook his hand as he introduced himself and I to him. "Lady Malfoy told us that we should be expecting you." I simply nodded to this and reclaimed my seat. I then watched as he headed towards the head of the table and took a seat of his own, talking to those that were sitting beside him.
"Well, seeing as we are all here," the old man said, causing the red head to turn around. As I watched her movement I felt something spasm inside my chest. I have no idea what it was about, but whatever it had been went away the instant I realized that the woman was scowling at me. Now that is uncalled for, don't you think? I don't even know who she is and she is already scowling at me. She looks familiar for some reason though, but I can't quite figure out from where. "Ms. Weasley, why don't you take it away?"
Weasley. Weasley? She's a Weasley? I looked at her again. Red hair, pale skin, too many freckles. How could she not be a Weasley? I mentally scowled. It figures, a lovely ass such as that and it resides on a Weasley. Just my luck. Well, there go all thoughts that could have lead to something more. Nothing will ever happen between a Weasley and me. Nothing.
"Certainly," she replied, her scowl instantly turning into a smile as she looked at her manager. I resisted the urge to snort, always the suck up that one was. Just like how she used to suck up to Potter back at school. I think that had been one of the most infuriating things about her back in Hogwarts, her devotion to Potter. Her devotion to tormenting me could rank a bit higher though. Not that I didn't fight back. I am a Malfoy after all.
"Well, here are the plans as they stand," the Weasley said, taking out her wand and using it to charm a semitransparent version of the gallery to appear. With another wave it zoomed in on the wing that was to be added. There were little words and images of paintings and sculptures scattered across the floors and walls. I had to raise an eyebrow at that one. Not many people can do that, and I should know seeing as I am in the industry. "Nothing has been changed from our last meeting except for the idea that Jane had to move the light switches a little lower to accommodate for George." She glanced at me then said, "He's our janitor, has been for twenty years."
"And he's always complaining about how all of the light switches are too high up for him," a mousy looking woman with longish brown hair added. I raised an eyebrow at her. "He's a little on the short side." I nodded at that, not really caring. What do I care about their janitor? It is my mother's establishment after all. I am just the stand-in for the moment.
"Personally, all I am really concerned about now is whether the Odd Nerdrum exhibit should be on the third floor instead of the second." Several people nodded at this then she began to grin, looking to the old man. "Or would you rather have it on the first?" she asked him, an irritating twinkle forming in her eyes.
"You know I would," he replied in a voice husky with age. "But we can battle that out once we are in a position to put the exhibits up." She nodded at this, and smiled back at him. I couldn't resist the urge to roll my eyes. This was supposed to be so important that I had to drop everything this afternoon to attend? No one saw, except her.
"And how about you, Malfoy," she said coldly, looking at me pointedly. "See anything that doesn't meet your approval, as that is why you are obviously here, right? To muck things up?" The other people in the room turned and stared at me, waiting for a reaction. I ignored them and sneered at her. Well, I was about to show her, if that was the way she wanted to play.
"As a matter of fact, Weasley," I drawled, leaning back in my chair. "I would recommend putting several more pillars in place on the main floor, especially if you are planning on putting sculptures on the second. You won't have enough of a support structure to keep everything up once people are milling about." I felt my lip curl. Only Hudson would be stupid enough to not realize that. But then, he is always more concerned with appearances rather than safety and practicality.
She scowled at me, but she remained silent. The others in the room burst into speech, muttering and shouting about how I was right and that they should have thought of it before, how their contractor should have thought of it before.
"Thank you, Mr, Malfoy," the old man said, nodding his approval. "Is there anything else that we have overlooked?"
I shook my head. "Nothing that I can see at the moment." I glanced at the model. "I will need to go over it in more detail to be sure though."
"Of course, of course," he replied, looking around at his staff. "Ginny will show you where all the blueprints are being kept." I glanced at Weasley to see that her face had gone rather white.
Honestly, I don't know why she is reacting like this. I mean sure, I am a Malfoy and she is a Weasley and we do have this whole feud going on, but a sneer is all it takes to keep it going. She doesn't need to over react like this. It isn't as if I have done anything to her in the eleven years that I haven't seen her. Perhaps I leave more of an impression than I first gave myself credit for...
"Does anyone else have anything they want to say?" Walters asked, looking around once more. When no one replied he stood up. "Well then, have a wonderful weekend everyone." Similar things were said back to him, and the odd mishmash of people made there way out, leaving me alone with the Weasley. I smirked at her. Well, what else can I do? Well, I can think of plenty of things, but I am not going to get into them at the moment.
"Save it," she hissed, turning away from me as she began to violently shove books and things into a rather ghastly looking side bag. I watched with relative amusement. It seems to me that this woman is a little off her rocker. "And stop looking at my ass, Malfoy."
"Well, hello to you too, Weasley," I responded, frowning at her slightly. I didn't even look at her ass this time. For very long at least. "Haven't seen you in what, eleven years? And all you can say to me is 'stop looking at my ass'?"
"If you weren't such a pig then I wouldn't have had to," she hissed in response, and I couldn't help but frown. Yes, this woman is definitely unhinged. Perhaps what she has is contagious. In that case I should probably be getting away from her as quickly as possible. She dropped her now closed bag onto the table with a clunck and used her wand to banish her fancy charm work away. "But at least some things stay constant."
"Like your idiocy?" I couldn't help myself. She had just opened that one up so nicely. How could I not accept an invitation like that?
"Screw off," she snapped swinging the strap of her bag onto her shoulder. Her hands then came to rest on her hips and she scowled down on me. I looked up at her impassively. This is becoming a very bizarre situation. But then, I think I am beginning to remember exactly why I enjoyed tormenting this girl in response to her attempts to torment me. She always got railed up so easily. Apparently some things really do stay constant.
And for some reason, it intrigues me.
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Works Cited:
o- "It is like this horrible snowball effect... where the stupid ball of snow keeps getting bigger and bigger until it crashes into something innocent." – This is Lallie's analogy. She created it to explain bad fan fiction.
o- Odd Nerdrum – This is an artist whose art has recently inspired a whole series of my own pieces. He has some very disturbing work, with a style that seems far too old to be painted today. I love it though, and I recommend that you check some of his stuff out.
o- "Hermatize" – Another one of Lallie's wonderful terms. It means to make oneself a hermit, a practice that she has down to an art. I wish I could hermatize as well as she can. :p
o-o-o
A/N: Well, there you go. Draco now has a career and an actual character instead of being Yay! I'm Bah Draco! But yes, hopefully you liked this chapter more, as I like it much more myself. I am hoping it is more realistic as well. Anyhoo, please tell me what you think, it would be muchly appreciated. So, in the words of Ed the Sock, is it smash or trash?