Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway to his flat, completely disgusted. His nose turned up and his mouth set in a grim line, he began to scour the room, throwing a large amount of the things he came across into the middle of the room.
He groaned as he reached the little ceramic angels that glittered in the sunlight and sang at sunset. He hated those damned things; they weren't even cute! And they sang like shrill trolls and tinkled merrily throughout the day. They just had to go.
Next the lace table runner that was not only pink, but also did not match any of the dark, sophisticated furniture he had painstakingly picked out to adorn his flat. He wadded it up with great satisfaction and threw it viciously into a box.
He tossed that ratty old pink-tinged blanket that was draped over his designer leather couch in after it.
His bookshelf was next. Frilly books about romance and children's tales, several by dimwitted idiots on House Elf rights and on other "misunderstood" magical creatures, all got chucked into another box. (He'd never admit it, but he blushed like a mad man when he found the one called 1,001 Moves to Make Him Moan; and he'd take it to the grave the fact that he wedged it behind a couple of his own books in order to provide the chance to take a peek at it later). Three cat-shaped bookends found themselves packed unceremoniously next to the stack of books.
There were four silver-gilded picture frames sporting cheesy pictures she'd forced him to partake in that he tossed happily down beside the angels. He was so sick of watching himself act foolishly over, and over, and over again.
He looked around his living room, pitching a purple porcelain box into the pile of stuff, along with a garish yellow vase that he absolutely hated.
He prowled down the hallway to the bathroom, yanking the scarlet and gold towels from the rack and throwing them into the doorway, along with that wretched pink loofa that hung from the water spout. He pitched out the citrus-scented shampoo, the lavender-smelling soap, the pink razor.
He grinned gleefully as he surveyed the bathroom, restocked with the old spice that he liked and the emerald green and silver towels hanging cheerfully from the towel bar. He nodded in approval as he added her toothbrush, make up, and perfume to the growing pile in his living room.
He tackled the home office next. A whole box of crystal paperweights, froufrou quills, another 2 picture frames of Potter and Weasel, a pad of pink paper, and a whole lot of paperwork that was just taking up space where it didn't belong.
The bedroom was next. He cleared out nearly a quarter of his closet, all pleated skirts and ruffled tops. Two full drawers of pants and sweatshirts and t-shirts. Silk sleepwear and satin panties with at least two dozen pairs of socks. He was horrified at the amount of clothing that had found its way into his room!
He glared viciously at the bed as well, taking great care to remove the gold-colored bed skirt and the half-dozen decorative pillows that served no purpose at all except to be a pain in the ass to take off and put back on.
But there was still something wrong with the whole thing. First her jewelry had to go, and another blasted book on the nightstand, and her damned medication. Still, something was off.
He narrowed his eyes at the bed and then took a flying leap onto it. He made sure the thing was thoroughly rumpled before he left it: the sheets were creased and the top sheet was balled up toward the footboard; the doublet was half-hanging off of the bed frame, and three of the four pillows he normally slept with were on the floor; the other was smashed between the mattress and the headboard.
Draco observed the mess with a great satisfaction. Now this was what a bachelor pad should look like.
He didn't know when it started, but he noticed himself whistling as he tossed several flower-shaped pot holders, a set of bird salt and pepper shakers, and another vase of violets and gardenias onto the pile of junk that was taking up the majority of his living room.
He threw a whole box of shoes onto the heap after a long fight with his hall closet and that was the end of it.
Draco assessed the damage with a perverse sense of pleasure. He was done with her taking over his apartment, and it was long past time for him to put his foot down. He would clearly be the winner this time.
He sighed happily and then threw himself down onto the couch, flipping on the television (which he could allow was a rather entertaining object) to watch one of those stupid reality shows that he liked to laugh at.
The only problem with the damned television, though, was that he forgot to bother to listen for the door, and he completely missed it. That is, until…
"What the devil have you done?"