Oh my goodness I am so so so sorry for being a crappy updater. I posted the last chapter right before my exam period, so I lost a lot of motivation because of that, and I was also on holiday during the summer and so have been trying to write as much as possible. I finished this today, so I wanted to update as soon as possible! I really hope you like this chapter, its my longest yet!
Astoria stood outside Draco Malfoy's house, if you could call it that, holding in a gasp that would prolong itself on her lips until Malfoy finally called from the car.
"Are you actually going to help me at all, or are you just going to stand about wasting your pay-cheque?"
Blinking and nodding, before realising he couldn't actually see her, she went over to him and slowly helped the blonde out of the car and into the wheelchair.
Stepping through the doors of the somewhat intimidating house could be named as one of the most terrifying moments of Astoria's life, not only due to the fact it was so unimaginably huge, but also because the housekeeper almost immediately made her way over to the two, rushing out past the confused PA. Astoria turned to the woman, Mary, who was only a few years older than herself. She had known the small woman since Astoria had started working for Malfoy, but the former had never kept in contact, much to Astoria's dismay.
"I can't take it anymore. I simply can't." She sounded desperate, yet her words were spoken with great finality. Her wispy, dirty blonde hair was messy, as if she had been pulling at it repeatedly in stress.
"I wish you luck, sweetheart. You're going to need it." And with that, the blonde turned away from the two and ran to the street, hailing a taxi with only her suitcase and, what Astoria could safely say was, her dignity.
Draco cleared his throat, obviously desiring more attention than he was getting. "Who was that, then?" Astoria sighed, "Your housekeeper, sir. She just left."
"Left? Ridiculous. When will she be back?"
Astoria shut the door behind her as she pushed the blonde through the hall towards the stairway. "She won't be coming back, Mr Malfoy. She quit."
A small silence followed. "Ah. Well… Why? I paid her well!"
"As far as I'm aware, Mr Malfoy, you've forgotten to pay her two months in a row. She left, correct me if I'm wrong, because she couldn't stand working for you any longer."
Another silence followed. Malfoy didn't answer her statement.
As Astoria helped the man up the stairs, a difficult task considering the fact the he weighed a great deal more than her, and the fact that he was in a wheelchair as well, a thought struck her. Now that the housekeeper's gone, who will do her job? Is Malfoy not worried about that? Wait a second-
"I hope you're aware that, now that no one is here to do the housekeeping, it will be your new job to keep this house in order?" Fucking Brilliant.
"Of course, Mr Malfoy."
His bedroom was grand, much like the rest of his house. However, there were a few differences. The walls of his bedroom were a crisp duck-egg blue, as opposed to the gentle cream of the rest of the rooms she had seen. The furniture in the bedroom was older, and slightly mismatched, as if he had accumulated antiques and knick-knacks over the years and perhaps had no appropriate place to put them. Astoria considered for a moment whether or not he perhaps chose to place these vintage oddities in the bedroom because he preferred his guests not to see them (he seemed like the type to be too proud to show interest in anything unfashionable), or maybe because they were that much more personal to him, that he preferred to keep them in a less public room. Another difference she noticed was the sudden change in the subjects shown in the photographs that were previewed around the surfaces. In the living room, hallway and the along the long, winding staircase, the photos framed across the walls were images of Malfoy shaking hands with business partners, heads of important companies and other banks, photos of him accepting awards and giving speeches. Yet somehow, the photos displayed around his room were so much more… personal. There was a picture of his graduation from University, standing proudly next to his parents. Astoria noticed- with a somewhat undesired annoyance- that the good looks were definitely genetic. Near to that was a picture of what was, undoubtedly, his prom. The girl standing next to him had a smirk stretching across her face, she obviously had beaten several girls to be standing next to him- she had an arguably pretty face (arguably meaning that her nose was ever-so-slightly too upturned to be considered 'cute') which was framed by jet-black hair cut into a short bob. Her round, grey-green eyes held almost as much love for being noticed as Malfoy's did, and she had a half-perfect figure held in a posture that clearly read 'I'm better than you'. Draco Malfoy had hardly changed since he was a teenager- the same white-blonde hair and piercing ice-grey eyes, and a slim, lightly-muscled body covered in a perfectly fitted grey-blue suit which looked like it cost more than her life's worth. Ergh. Rich People.
Going to the wardrobe, grand and considerably bigger than her car, she eventually managed to find pyjamas for Malfoy. Then, as the saying goes, came the tricky part. Taking off and replacing the man's clothes would prove to be hard enough, simply considering his injuries. However, if you then considered the man's… personality, so to speak, the situation suddenly becomes a great deal more frustrating.
"Please, sir, it won't take a moment!"
"Bugger off, there is no way I am letting you shamelessly strip me!"
"Shamelessly?! Let me make one thing clear, Mr Malfoy, sir. This is the last thing I want to be doing with my Friday evening!" Not to mention that I'd feel pretty damn ashamed if anyone saw me like this.
"I am perfectly capable of dressing myself, thank you very much! My hand is still okay- I am not about to lose my independence to you."
Astoria had been about to tell Malfoy exactly where he could stick his 'still okay' hand, when the doorbell rang.
Jesus Christ, could he possibly acquire a more in-your-face doorbell chime?
She quickly moved down the long staircase, nearly running to the door. Pasting a smile onto her face, she pulled open the door, but the smile soon fell.
The girl was blonde, but she was such a glowing shade of blonde that Astoria almost had to consider for a moment whether or not that was the girl's natural hair colour. It was also curled to such a high extent that the brunette once again was forced to consider whether it naturally fell in that state. Her makeup looked as if the girl had tried to go for the 'oh-don't-be-silly-sweetie-I'm-not-wearing-any-makeup-oh-my-goodness-you-do-flatter-me' look, but had in fact ended up with a sort of 'what-are-you-talking-about-I'm-not-a-prostitute-but-I'd-be-happy-to-oblige' look. Looking her up and down, Astoria noticed that the same effect had been achieved with her chosen outfit. It hardly left much to the imagination, and Astoria thought with a smirk that she'd have to leave the entire display to Malfoy's.
She had never met the girl, but she'd seen enough pictures and heard enough rumours to get a pretty good idea.
"What do you want, Lavender?"
She looked somewhat taken-aback. "How did you know my name?"
"Lucky guess. Malfoy isn't able to see you right now, he's a little…tied up, at the moment."
"Why's that?" It was a normal enough request, but due to Astoria's resentment of Lavender's tone, she became agitated.
"Oh, nothing major. He just got himself into a car crash last week and lost his eyesight. No biggie." Astoria had been expecting a more… animated reaction from Lavender, to say the least.
"Oh… So… Who're you then? His girlfriend?" Astoria rolled her eyes.
"Miss Brown, if I were Malfoy's girlfriend, and knew who you were, don't you think I would have taken it upon myself to slap you a little earlier, perhaps?"
The blonde girl snorted, an almost pleasant sound compared to the shrill whine of her normal voice.
Astoria, in all honesty, would absolutely love to give the woman in front of her a good slap around the face, but didn't want to risk a lawsuit for messing up her makeup. However, she took great joy in smiling sweetly at Lavender, slowly shutting the door and saying:
"Your services won't be required any longer, Miss Brown."
Astoria walked back upstairs, her body now distorted into an exhausted slump. She stopped only outside Malfoy's bedroom, frowning at the noises coming from it.
"Fuck- come on… damn thing… Now, where's my shirt…"
Snickering, Astoria slowly opened the door, only to find Malfoy, his t-shirt half stuck over his head, struggling to get the sleeve over his cast.
"Shit… you can do this, Draco…!" He, in all honestly, wasn't helping himself whatsoever.
"Do you… erm, need some help, sir?" The man cried out slightly in surprise, but regained himself quickly.
"N-no, thank you. I'll be fine. I just seem to have, um… hit a slight speed bump." Chuckling, Astoria walked over to him, tugging at the troublesome sleeve and pulling the t-shirt off. Then, she quickly helped him into the cotton pyjama shirt- he was still arguing despite obviously finding it far easier being assisted.
Pulling off his trousers proved to be much easier, as they were only a loose pair of tracksuit bottoms that Astoria deemed appropriate for him to wear out of hospital. Astoria could hardly care about the fact that he wasn't wearing any underwear, she merely found it as an advantage, due to the fact it meant there were far less items of clothing to pull over his bad leg. The blonde continued to grumble as his pyjama bottoms were pulled on, making a comment about 'control freaks' and 'overbearing women'.
After managing to wrestle the blonde into his (unnecessarily large) bed, Astoria decided that the best option would be to sit down, read a book, and mourn the loss of whatever social life that she had left.
Why is it so dark?
Why can't I see?
Am I dreaming?
Is this a nightmare?
I think my eyes are open… I-I'm sure of it…
Please don't let today be real…
I want to go home
Draco Malfoy cried out, his heart thumping. Shit… It wasn't a nightmare, was it? I might as well be dead, Jesus… Oh god, I'll be a failure. I won't be able to work again, I'm doomed to live in poverty… They'll take away my house, my clothes, my belongings… They've already got my car, written it off… What am I going to do…?
He felt hot tears roll down his cheeks as he moved a hand up to clutch at his hair.
This is it.
The end of my life.
It was around 6 o'clock in the morning when Astoria was awoken by Malfoy's cries. Running into the room, she found the man attempting to curl into a make-shift blanket cocoon, his main drawback being his injured arm and leg. Sighing, Astoria walked over to him and sat on the side of the bed. There was a sharp intake of breath from under the mound of blankets before a gentle trembling shook the bed slightly.
"Sir?" Astoria pulled the blankets away from the man's face, preferring to reduce the possibility of Malfoy suffocating himself.
His hair was sticking in all directions, and there were dark circles under his puffy, red eyes. There were wet patches on her cheeks and, for the first time in a week, she felt genuinely sorry for him. Astoria moved her hand to gently stroke his hair and felt him flinch slightly.
This isn't going to be easy… Astoria sighed. In all honesty, she couldn't blame the poor sod, she would have had a mental breakdown far earlier than this if she was in his shoes.
After a few minutes of stroking the man's hair, he slowly relaxed against her hand, his sobbing turning slowly into a gentle, broken whimper. The trembling ceased ever so slightly, and the breathing slowed to a regular pace.
Sighing, Astoria hoped that this meant the blonde had fallen asleep again, but when she woke up was met with a hand gripping her wrist. She turned to Malfoy and frowned.
His eyes were still red, and the areas around them still slightly swollen from crying, but his expression showed something… deeper. He seemed drowsy, but somewhat more serious. He reminded Astoria of the 'Intellectual' drunk people who you sometimes find at parties who seem so incredibly sober and aware of their surroundings, you wouldn't believe they were drunk if you had not previously seen them down a whole bottle of vodka in one go. Despite the fact the he wasn't staring directly at her, she still felt as if his piercing grey eyes were staring into her soul.
"Why… are you being so nice to me?" Astoria frowned, hardly able to answer the question. This was because
a) the question was an extremely un-Malfoy thing to ask
b) she didn't quite know why she was being so nice to him either
c) it was too early in the morning to be answering questions so it took her a moment to understand what he had said
She paused for a little longer, but soon stood up straight and sighed.
"Because I'm hoping you'll be nice in return."
As soon as she felt the hand loosen around her wrist, she quickly left the room. After she had closed the door and was back in her own temporary bed, she stared sadly at the ceiling.
He won't remember a thing in the morning.
She was right. Astoria couldn't say she was surprised, to say the least, but it didn't stop her from feeling a little bit disappointed that the older man had not remembered her comforting him the previous night.
Helping him change was certainly a chore (once again, she wasn't really surprised), but she managed to get it over and done with quicker due to the man's slight grogginess.
The next day went by seemingly without incident, if you took out the several arguments, the 3 broken plates, and Astoria having to clean the food that she had oh-so-graciously cooked off the walls.
It could be quite easily said from this that Draco Malfoy was, ironically, not one to be looked after. He refused point—blank to listen to Astoria, no matter how reasonable she was being.
"Please, sir. You need to eat something, the doctor says you can't take any painkillers without getting some nutrition first!"
"I said no, Arianna! Jesus Christ, learn your place!"
Astoria stopped, her breath hitching.
Don't lose it, don't lose it… Placing the soup bowl she had been holding down, she slowly grabbed her phone and walked out of the room.
Draco struggled with the wheelchair, but he could still handle it alone… Maybe.
Apologies were not something Draco was used to giving, and today was certainly not going to be his first day giving one.
Shit… Now I'm hungry. Fucking brilliant. It took a few tries but, with determination and quite a few clumsy crashes into walls and various pieces of furniture, he eventually made it out from the kitchen and into the hall.
His micro-celebration was cut short, however, when he heard a voice coming from what he could gauge was the study. Attempting not to make much noise, Draco followed the sound of the voice, until he eventually came to the realisation that the only person it could be was his PA.
"Honestly, Neville, I don't know how I'm going to handle this much longer… It's only been a day and I feel so… sick of it. I mean, yeah, I was sick of him anyway, but living with him is like living with Hitler! He just doesn't care about anyone who tries to help him."
Draco felt something like a stab to his chest, yet he could only register it as something that hurt so much more.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I thought there was a chance of him changing as well, but it seems like that idea's out the window. …" Another stab.
"He's a prat, I get that, but does he have to make it so blaringly obvious that he is? He could at least try to hide it. …" And another.
"God, even Hannah said that? Good lord, if your wife is calling him names like that, it's amazing the Leaky Cauldron doesn't start a revolt against him, all in order to protect their beloved landlady's husband and co-workers." She chuckled, and Draco could almost feel the metaphorical blood dripping down his abdomen.
"Yeah, Hermione hates him too, I think that's one of her and Ron's main reasons for getting married- to just live together and complain about Malfoy… Well he did bully her in secondary school… something about the fact that she didn't come from a rich, upper class family… I know, she's far smarter than the blonde prick… Probably why Ron hates him even more… Yeah, he made his life a misery as well… Didn't Malfoy make jokes about Ron being poor for, like, years before he got made CEO?"
Unable to listen to anymore, Draco pulled himself from the doorway and slowly rolled back into the kitchen. He listened to the muffled sound of the PA's voice speak for a few more minutes before silence befell the house once more.
"Mr Malfoy? Are you okay, you look like death…" He jumped, having not heard her walk in.
"Hm? Ah, yes. I- I'm fine. Don't feel well." His voice sounded odd, hoarse, as if it wasn't his anymore.
"And whose fault is that?" the girl sighed, sounding exasperated, "hang on, sir, I'll get you the soup and pain killers."
As Draco listened to her prepare his meal, he felt a slight twinge of something in his heart that he had never felt before. He tried to pinpoint it, to recognise it, but upon failure simply pushed it to the back of his mind, hoping it wouldn't be felt again.
What did you think? Was it worth the 4-month wait? Please tell me your opinions, I love getting reviews from you guys and I really am struggling with motivation for this fic.
Susie x
