of
LOVE
after
WAR
by Linwenilid
The seagulls cried their call down at the shore, gliding over the water like gleaming-white arrows. The sun glared down, sparkling the sea with lights that splashed and danced around the graceful swimmers as they gently moved from side to side. Draco observed how a group of women, most of them around his mother's age, made a show of recognising friends and being recognised – high society friends, he was sure -, and socialised on the sand, under colourful umbrellas and tinkling glasses of elegant cocktails. A couple of House Elves roved around them, filling glasses on demand and attending any of the women's needs.
The boy spotted his mother in the group, chatting and smiling in a way that brought a pleasant light to her features. It had done them good, he thought, to move out of Britain and into Italy's centre of business. Malfoy father had introduced himself as an investor in search of abroad ventures, and his gold had been well-received by several successful businessmen, always eager to extend their markets.
Draco couldn't complain. Leaning back comfortably on a beach chair at the French Riviera – obligatory vacationing spot, if they were to be acknowledged as true members of the Italian magical high society – he smiled, absentmindedly setting his glass on a nearby table, to which a solicitous House Elf moved, in order to refill his drink. He had done his own work, already, discreetly appraising his acquaintances, and weeding out the 'undesirables' while keeping close the ones with a worthy background or useful skill. It hadn't been that hard a job, he had to admit. They all were a group already, and all Draco had to do was to make his way in, prove himself worthy of them, and gain enough influence to be able to pick the ones he wanted to keep.
This train of thought took him back to la Scuola. La Scuola di Belle Arti Magico, in which his mother had signed him. He had had practically no say on it, seeing as how it was imperative for them to frequent the places where the most prominent members of the Italian magical society spent their time. Apparently, it was a long-living fad among the richest to send their kids to art school, as soon as they were done with high school – the largely preferred was Beauxbatons, but there was the odd Durmstrang here and there, as well as ex-Hogwarts students, although none of them would be interested in pursuing a pointless art carrier, unless they had some artistic ability themselves. Besides, the parents had stopped sending their children there when the smallest rumour of war in Britain had reached their ears, so there really wasn't anyone around to have lived the recently-ended war up close, nor to recognise the Malfoys doubtful activities from those days, which was an advantage to the whole family. So, an art school, or la Scuola, as all of them called the most important one, was the perfect place for Draco to start over.
At first, he thought he had no business going there. But his father had cleverly and firmly persuaded him that it was not about becoming an artist at all, but to be able to relate to the rich families' children as one of them, and maybe later, working in something related to be counted as a prosperous and useful member of society, and also, for a financial gain. Malfoy senior had mentioned in passing that, even if they still had enough gold to live the life they had been used to, the war in Britain and especially, the last large deposit in the Ministry accounts had, inevitably, burnt a hole in the family's gold bag, which was the reason why Lucius had gotten involved in business as soon as they got there.
Convinced by such solid arguments, Draco had attended la Scuola for a year already, after a few months of personal coaching in the Italian language, and now he was enjoying an earned vacation from the place where he, not only had had to get good grades the hard way – no Heads of House there to make his life easy –, but also, he had had to warm up to the high profiles and make his own way into the complex world of high society, if he was to thrive in this newfound life.
These thoughts in mind, and thinking that the most pleasant part of his work around his reputation was still not concluded, he rose from his chair and walked down to the beach, where he had spotted a few of his classmates. He didn't see his mother approaching, wand in her hand, and a bobbing umbrella flying over her for refreshing shadow, until she was a few steps away from him.
"Draco, dear, have you had a Sunblock Charm on yourself? Remember, your skin is very delicate."
"Yes, mother," he answered, smiling. "I'm over to talk to some schoolmates now," he said, and added, "are you enjoying yourself?"
"Oh, yes!" answered Narcissa. "Marietta has been telling us the funniest stories about her many trips to Asia, and she is a delight to hear," she answered, excitedly. Of course, Draco thought, if 'Marietta' didn't happen to be one of the richest widows from Italy, maybe they wouldn't be so keen on her stories.
He smiled, nevertheless. Their change of life had definitely done his mother good. He had never seen her so happy.
"I'll be seeing you, then, mother," he smiled and left, to meet his friends.
"Look who braved the sun to join us," a tanned, black-haired youngster about his own age greeted him, and clicked his fingers to a passing waiter. The young wizard nodded and scurried to get a drink to the newcomer. Draco smirked as he sat with them.
"Not everyone's like you, Giovanni," he answered, jerking his head lightly, "some of us don't crave every bit of sunlight we can get," he added, a clear reference to the boy's deep tan. The rest of boys chuckled slightly, celebrating the joke.
"Funny that," said another, "considering how pale you are, perhaps you should crave more sun, Draco."
The boy chuckled. "I get enough sun, thanks, Vito," and added, "and before you all start sounding like my mother, let's change subject. Plans for fun, anyone?"
"You bet," Giovanni said at once. "I know this club, very exclusive, to which all the Beauxbatons' girls go in the summer," he smirked, as the other boys nodded appreciatively. "And, of course, there's music and drinks, too," he winked with a hint of malice.
"And girls," interjected Vito, "don't forget the girls." He sipped his drink noisily. "Good man, Gio. I haven't had any in a while."
"I wonder why," piped another boy, sarcastically, as half of Vito's drink spilled down his freckled chest. All of them laughed.
Draco laughed as well, sipping his own drink. At least he didn't spill, he thought, as a group of girls in small bathing suits and large hats entered the bar, tittering and chatting as they sat on a nearby table. The boys' attention went quickly towards them, trying to be casual on their observations but failing miserably. The girls weren't any better at it, increasingly giggling and blushing every time they caught a glance from the boys' table.
"Mmm, I hope the girls are that good at that spot of yours, Gio," said a boy to a generally approving audience. Draco spotted a black-haired girl with beautiful blue eyes, and thought that he'd be pleased if he could approach her in the dimly lit club, after both of them had had a few drinks and the music had turned slow.
"Hey, why don't we invite them?" suggested one of them. "We could start working towards tonight already," he added with a knowing look.
"Good idea," Draco nodded, and clicked his fingers to call a waiter. "A round of soft drinks for the ladies, on us," he said, and the wizard nodded and left.
"Drinks?" asked Vito. "Why are you wasting our money on them?"
Giovanni rolled his eyes. "Clearly, you don't know the first thing about strategy," he said, and nodded at Draco. "Good plan, man."
"Thanks," he answered and aimed a surreptitious glance at the black-haired girl.
But as she returned the look, another young man came between them and spoke to her. She nodded and rose from her chair, waving goodbye to her friends with a delicate hand motion.
"Oh, I know him," Gio said, "and so, she must be the Romanetti daughter, at Beauxbatons."
"Romanetti?" asked Draco, and added, "I think my father has business with hers, then," he recalled, remembering his father mentioning that surname from time to time. The line of her well-formed body against a white, flapping beach robe remained with him long after she was gone.
"Business or not, here I go," said Gio, and rose from his chair towards the remaining girls. They had received their drinks – soft pink with glittery green-and-gold little umbrellas on top – and after giggling madly for quite a while, they had all turned to look at the boys with huge grins.
But the black-haired girl was no longer there. Draco had thought it so sure a venture to get her, and, in a stroke of bad luck, she had gone away before his offering came.
Giovanni had been successful in his, and the girls joined them shortly after. Draco was as charming as usual with them, trying to erase the memory of the absent girl with their presence, which was exuberant and attractive on its own, and should have been enough for him to forget about the one that had just left.
But later – and he never told anyone this – he dreamt of her, in the middle of the beach and approaching him, with a smile, her white beach robe flying off her beautiful body and leaving all the extension of her softly tanned skin to the enjoyment of his eyes.