Of Charcoal and Rose
By: ann no aku
General Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.
Chapter Four
Author's Notes: This is for Bella. To write this chapter, I am abandoning the SIMS (Superstar, mind you). This will be the last chapter before the epilogue. Enjoy! *sigh* It was a Michael! Damn . .I remember having changed the name to Michael (it was handwritten as Andrew) because actually there was a guy named Andrew whom liked me at the time. As for the spelling errors, I do not have a beta and I was in a bit of a rush. Sorry! My SIMS are doing well, even though I cheat (only money codes, my SIMS like to live in luxury). In this chapter, Snape is going to be in for a big surprise.
*******************************
Claudia awoke about twelve hours after her encounter with the strange school professor feeling refreshed, but still very alone. She removed her clothes and entered the bathroom adjacent to her bedroom. It was hard to pass the mirror without taking notice of her countless contusions. They littered her body like grey freckles. Her eye was still swollen (which was to be expected), but there was no mark from the blunt punch she had received earlier. She turned on the water in the shower and stepped inside carefully as though the water might hurt her. Steam began to create a film over the mirrors. As Claudia started her ritual of shampooing her hair, a curious sensation overwhelmed her. Something that felt very much like fingers grazed her mouth. Her jaw line tingled as did her neck and back. The ghost's caresses ceased at her ankles. She flashed her eyes open, and for a brief moment, saw a pair of sad black pools.
Later in the week, Ms. Wallace received a telephone call from a local art curator at the London Art Gallery. He requested to see her work for he had heard much about it from a gentleman whom was very fond of her artistry and the Charity Art Auctions. The curator said he was looking for some new paintings to hang in his museum. Claudia then felt glad that she had a sudden creative streak which refused to leave her. It permitted her to create (what she felt) were her most emotional works. The paintings she made up until the day before her meeting with George Padgett five weeks later evoked a sense of passion any potential onlooker could almost taste.
She rang up a taxi to drive her to the restaurant where she was to meet the curator. "Ms. Wallace?" the host greeted, "Please follow me." He had taken her coat and led her to George's table then proceeded to take out her chair for her.
"Thank you," she acknowledged. "Good evening, Mr. Padgett," she said. "It is an honor to meet you."
"Marvelous night, isn't it?" He smiled and found himself appreciating her appearance. Ms. Wallace looked professional and very attractive. He did not think he'd have a hard time working with her. "Nice to meet you too, dear." George kissed her cheek and opened up his menu. "My treat," he offered.
They shared in polite conversation while drinking some wine and later moved onto business until the entrees arrived. The cuisine was exquisite as well as the comforting mood from the atmosphere. Mr. Padgett finished his second glass of wine rather quickly. "Ms. Wallace, when I had fist seen your artwork, I was amazed that anyone could capture such a look on a face. As I see you, I realize it is your face and I am surprised such a young woman as yourself wears a look of vulnerability and passion in this world. Women of your age, no offense, especially here in London, fear showing weakness. You show your true self on canvas."
"Thank you, Mr. Padgett. Would you like to see my other art work as well? I had brought quite a few prints of my recent projects."
"Yes please!" he chuckled. "This man," he pointed a chubby finger at a figure with long black hair, "You use him a lot."
"Yes, he, uh, is like the hero."
"You tell a story! Fascinating." His eyes danced a long the prints. "In this painting, I really like this one, you-it is you, right?—are with the 'hero' still someone seems to be jealous."
"He's watching," she clarified.
"Yes. You don't use him again, either." He took a small bite from his plate. "Why?"
"I do not like him. See his eyes?"
"Snake eyes," George agreed. "It's brilliant work. You use realism with a mix of Rococo style. The faces are always the first thing I notice, then the eyes. You focus a lot on the eyes." He was silent as he considered her works for a while longer. "I shall call you sometime next week with my answer. Might I borrow your prints?"
"Of course, Mr. Padgett." She hadn't expected a man like him to accept right away, but she still had been hoping on a quicker response.
"It's been a pleasure, Ms. Wallace." He patted her hand, excusing her from the table.
"Thank you, Mr. Padgett. Have a wonderful evening."
"You, too, Love. Be sure to have one of the employees see you to a taxi. It's been dangerous to walk around this area alone at night," he cautioned.
"The culprits have not been caught?" Claudia inquired, reaching for her portfolio.
"Not yet. The police say it is just a bunch of crazy teenagers."
"But people have started missing; some even found dead! I dare not think it is a teenage cult."
"Just be careful. I wouldn't want a potential artist to wind up vanished," he winked at her.
"Of course not." Claudia smiled and was extremely pleased with how her dinner meeting ended. So enthused, in fact, that even the disturbing news hardly had her worried about her own personal safety. She left the restaurant alone and waited on the dark street. Then it began to rain.
Mumbling obscenities under breath, Claudia turned around to re-enter the restaurant when she bumped into someone. "E-Excuse me," she apologized and looked up to see whom it was.
"Ah, good evening." The man's voice was cold and hard.
"Y-You," she blurted.
"You remember me? How surprising!" His face twisted into a sly grin. "You'll catch cold if you stay out in the rain." His towering form lead her against a brick wall. "Would you like to have a drink with me?" He ran a hand along her cheek.
"S-Sorry. I really need to get home." She tried to push past him, but his cane stopped her.
"Tsk, tsk. You shouldn't run off, Miss." His gloved hand reached into his pocket and pulled out a white cloth. "The fun's only beginning." Malfoy covered her mouth with the cloth and held her squirming body. He had drenched the fabric in a very potent sleeping draught, one that would last twenty four hours.
When the spell took her over and she fell in his arms, Lucius pulled out a black hood and tied it over her face. He then diapparated to his mansion and tossed the damned know-it-all Muggle in the dungeon, but not before binding her arms and wrists together and fitting a scarf over her mouth. Capturing her had been easy and predictable. He was going to have quite a bit of fun the following night.
Sorry it took so long to load, but I had actually lost this story somewhere in my house between moves! Thanks for the wait!