She couldn't believe her parents had actually put her up to this. The Malfoys! Of all the families she could have gained the attention of, it had to be the Malfoys - and at the beginning of the school year no less.

Matilda adjusted her grip on her basket of drawing supplies, feeling the sweat beginning to collect beneath the thin fabric of her gloves. It was the first day of classes and she hadn't even had time to get fully settled into her routine before she was called upon to meet her client in one of the chambers the professors allowed her to use when she needed to have space for her work. While not all of the professors exactly agreed that she should be able to borrow one of the rooms in this way, enough of them respected her talent enough to hold their tongue - portrait artists were quite difficult to come by nowadays. It was a dying art, really, with the quick rise of photography in more recent years.

Still, the very first day of classes? They were in their sixth year for cripe's sake. They had just finished the grueling work of taking their OWLs, which she had somehow managed to pass even with her abysmal marks in Herbology. This was more than a little demanding, but her mother made it very clear that they were to be very, very respectful towards Lucius Malfoy or any of the Malfoys for that matter. Her mother had been a confusing combination of excited and anxious when she'd given Matilda the news as she boarded the Hogwarts express just a couple of days ago.

The news had only caused dread to trickle into Matilda's stomach and pool there like some kind of thick, sticky puddle, where it had hardened and sat like a stone ever since. There was no avoiding doing this commission, and her sixth year in Hogwarts was going to be more challenging than even the previous year as they all prepared to take their N.E.W.T. exams the following year - which would mean twice the work. So she supposed it was best to just start, and get this commission over with.

Several students passed her in the hall, a combination of students from all houses alike as they milled the halls, either gossiping or with their noses in books or jostling each other, laughing. Some of her fellow Hufflepuffs waved or greeted her in passing, but there weren't many she could actually call her friends. Some of them eyed her warily, as well as most students from other houses, especially the first years. She knew the rumors that had been spread about her, and her family during her time in Hogwarts.

A group of boys in black and blue robes mocked surprise in her direction and one of them called out, "Hey Matilda! I'm surprised they let you back in this year after you killed that mandrake in Herbology!"

Matilda only raised her brows at him, fighting back the embarrassed blush that threatened to redden her cheeks and said nothing as she moved along. She had killed a mandrake. It had been one of the biggest embarrassments of her entire school career, and wasn't even sure anyone else before her had managed it under the close supervision of Professor Sprout. But there was no point in bringing it up now, and there was no point in responding to the now cackling boys that passed her. It wouldn't change the fact that she would never ever be able to pass that class due to the nature of her "family curse".

She had always been skeptical to believe it truly even was a curse, but the other students seemed to. Something to do with her grandmother very severely pissing off some well known wizarding family. Supposedly her grandmother had been cursed and it was meant to skip generations, but Matilda was more keen to believe that she just really, really wasn't good with plants. There were even muggles that were like that - unable to keep even a simple house plant alive, no matter what they do. Even if it were true, what a stupid curse it was to kill any plant you touch - she supposed it could have been an ironic prank perhaps in reference to her family name.

Her guts twisted as she approached the chamber door that she usually used to do her work. Most times she was working with a photo or a reference of whomever she was painting, with a description of what their personalities were like - a necessary thing for her to have so she could give the portrait literal motion, and life. This time, she was working with a live subject. More than that, she was working with one of the most cruel subjects in the school, and that scared her more than anything else about this job.

Not because he could be mean towards her specifically, that much she could handle. It was more because that cruelty could affect the movement and life that was brought to the portrait. These portraits were a literal representation of the people she painted, they moved like them, made expressions like them, behaved the same way. And Matilda had always been particularly keen at reading people, reading their emotions, their thoughts, their motivations and it had helped translate those things into her paintings. But when faced with someone particularly mean, she was unsure of what to expect. She very much doubted Lucius would appreciate a portrait of his only son sneering at everyone in their dining hall.

Matilda opened the door, silently hoping that he hadn't arrived already, but her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach when she saw that she was so very wrong. Because lounging by the large, brightly lit window was a young man with pointed, angular features and smooth, icy blonde hair. The subject of her commission.

Draco Malfoy.

Matilda tried to smile, tried to make the expression sincere, but she could feel the strain on her face and instantly knew she looked more like she might be grimacing at him. She quickly stopped. Malfoy looked down his nose at her and raised an eyebrow, his eyes full of contempt. He looked for all the world like some dark, icy prince of a far away kingdom, right down to how the corner of his lip curled only slightly as he peered at her.

She'd heard plenty about Draco Malfoy. Knew of his talent in cruelty, in snobbery, his biases towards his own house and his pompous attitude. She'd even shared a few classes with him before, but tried very hard to not pay much attention to him. She was sure he'd been too self absorbed to even notice someone like her. So they hadn't exactly met before, but she knew very well how much he looked down upon those in Hufflepuff.

"So you're the portrait girl." Malfoy said unimpressed, looking her up and down skeptically.

Matilda pressed her lips into a tight smile, resenting his assessing gaze as she nodded. "I am. My name is Matilda."

She moved to settle the basket of drawing supplies on a nearby table, but she could still feel his eyes on her. She heard his voice from over her shoulder, "And your surname?"

She rolled her eyes while her back was turned to him, her hands quickly pulling out sheets of drawing parchment, charcoals, and pencils. She answered, sounding less enthusiastic than a moment before, "Oleander."

"So you are from one of the old wizarding families then." Malfoy said, sounding relieved, "And both of your parents are wizards as well?"

Matilda removed her black and yellow robes, revealing her school uniform vest and skirt beneath. But she didn't dare remove the thin, balack palm gloves from her hands. She turned towards him as she rolled up her sleeves, "Does that matter?"

Malfoy's expression twisted in disbelief at her response, and she noticed his shoulders tense, "Of course it matters. I would be hard pressed to believe that my parents would actually pay for services provided by some half-blooded peasant."

This was going to be a very, very long session.

"Well, I suppose you'll be pleased to know that I'm nothing of the sort." Matilda shot back, sounding entirely too calm for the thundering, furious heart in her chest.

The absolute audacity of this boy. Some of the most talented students in this school were what he claimed to be "half-blooded peasants". A few of them never even knew about anything to do with magic before they got their letters. Sure, she was the product of a full-blooded, old line of wizards but she would never find herself discriminating against people based on stupid things like bloodline, or status, or class. She took a silent, steadying breath. She had a job to do. There was no point in getting him riled up.

Malfoy seemed to relax a little, leaning more onto the windowsill on the wall across from her, "Good. I wouldn't have dared to allow a person like that to paint my image anyway. Unfortunate that you have to be a Hufflepuff, though."

It was going to be a very, very long year Matilda decided - knowing full well that portraits like these took a lot of time when she actually had free time. Now she didn't.

She hefted a stool towards an empty spot on the floor, refusing to meet his eyes or bother with a response to that particularly nasty comment. She whirled in his direction, beginning to twist her short wavy hair into a golden tuft of a ponytail on the back of her head. Small locks escaped the ponytail as usual, curling by her full cheeks but it was enough to at least get the hair out of her eyes.

"Please have a seat so we can begin."

—-

Authors note: This story wont be nearly as intense as my previous one. Chapters will be much shorter. :) its meant to be for fun, but I hope yall enjoy it anyway. I'm gonna aim to update every week.