Author's Note: IMPORTANT! READ THIS! Believe it or not, Vivian isn't an OC (Original Character!) but that's all I will say. I didn't create her, JK Rowling did; it is a tricky minor female character - who says only Draco operates under a "false name", anyway?
Chapter 2
(read Authors note first, IMPORTANT)
Late into the evening, the doorbell rang.
Rose was busy turning saucers and spoons right-side up in the kitchen, cleaning up after Lucius, and Lucius was upstairs sleeping already; therefore Draco had to run down a rather lengthy staircase, pass through the main hallway, enter the entrance hallway and then open the door.
Though it took a good two minutes from the doorbell to the door being opened, the doorbell-ringer was still there. When Draco opened the door, he saw the familiar face of his distant cousin, a man even taller than him. He stepped inside immediately, dragging a ten-year-old girl in by the hand.
"Good evening," His cousin said.
"George," Draco replied curtly, knowing what he was going to say next by heart, for it happened about twice weekly now.
"Can you watch Katie for me?"
The ten-year-old gave Draco a vicious look. Draco gave her an equally vicious look back. " Uh, alright," Draco said cautiously, "I hope this doesn't become too regular a thing?" It had started two months ago and increased exponentially by the week.
"I really am sorry, but I'm going through that... divorce..." He lowered his voice discreetly for the word, "and nobody else can watch her."
The only reason Draco was involved in this all in the first place was because Katie was an exhausting child, with an imagination and a curiosity drive that could shred anyone softer than iron to pieces. Draco was tough, cold, and distant, and he managed to survive Katie by engaging her in mindless tasks like sorting his papers or labeling folders with back-copies of almost all his stories. Katie usually found a way to worm into the hearts of family, friends, and babysitters alike, and then suck on them like a leech, getting them to buy her things – by way of guilt trips and crocodile tears – or taking her places – by the same way. Draco, having never liked children, was immune and she knew it.
"I hope it's all over soon," Draco didn't even disguise how he disliked the job.
After a pregnant silence, George let go of Katie's hand, knelt in front of her, and said, "You be good, princess, I'll pick you up tomorrow." Then, looking up at Draco, he added, "I have her suitcase in her pocket, just use your wand to get it out."
Draco nodded, " She's spending the night?"
"Sorry, really, I've got a summons to court very early tomorrow morning and it'll be easier if she just spent the night, rather than bring her so early in the morning."
"I see," Draco sighed, "I'll watch her."
"Thank you," George looked relieved, just as he was every single time Draco gave in. While Draco found George predictable, George didn't seem to realize that their exchanges were almost always worded the same. Very little changed, except here and there George or Draco would add in an odd sentence about the status of things, the weather, or some recent event.
"I'll be going then," George stepped out of the house and stood outside, holding the door open still, "Goodnight, Katie."
"Goodnight, Daddy," Katie said. Draco could swear he could hear a serpent hissing inside the disgusting child from inside.
The door closed and Draco turned and looked at Katie, "So, slumber party, huh? I'm beside myself." Draco couldn't help but complain. This was yet another pain in his behind. He had just pieced together a decent first paragraph but because of the interruption he lost inspiration anew.
"Where do I sleep?" She asked, "It's cold down here."
"There's at least a dozen guest bedrooms, this is a large manor," Draco replied. He found it most sensible to give her the bedroom across the hallway from his, in case she might start choking on the bile she spewed every time she talked. He just didn't like children.
"Can I pick one?"
"I already picked it." He couldn't help but thing the word "nose" during their little exchange. He smirked. He liked his sense of humor.
"Aw, no fair," Katie grimaced, "Where?"
"Across the hall from me. So if I hear you jumping on the bed, I'll get you," He said, half-joking, half-seriously.
Katie looked at him critically, "a white tie?"
"It goes well with the black shirt. I like the contrast," Draco remarked, then added, "Though I suppose fashion advice from someone wearing a pink dress and green tights is a little..."
"Everything else was dirty," Katie countered, "Mom doesn't live with us anymore and Dad keeps forgetting to clean or do laundry. And I don't have my wand yet."
"I see." Draco motioned for her to follow him. He took a few steps, then turned suddenly and asked, "Have you had dinner?"
"No."
"Neither have I. Let's stop and eat first."
"Can you cook?"
"I've got a wand."
"Oh."
They walked into the kitchen. Within five minutes, they both had a plate with a scoop of gravy-laden mashed potatoes, a chicken leg for Katie and a leg and wing for Draco, and a side of peas.
"Peas?" Katie mumbled, dragging her fork through them.
"Eat them, they're good for you," Draco replied.
"What do they do?"
He didn't know. " Still, eat it."
They ate mostly in silence for a few minutes. Katie finally started up the conversation with the only thing she could come up with, "Is your Dad still all funny and stuff?"
Draco could feel his ears color in embarrassment, "He isn't..."
Katie looked at the kitchen counter, where yet again two saucers and spoons were laid out in the shape of a peculiar new-age sculpture. Draco hunched his back, he didn't even have to say it. Her smile grew thin and cruel, " I'll tell my friends about him."
"There's nothing to tell," Draco barked at her, then stood up, scooping his plate into the sink.
"I always wanted to get this one book I saw last time Dad and I went to Hogsmeade," Katie added, "about unicorns and dragons and mermaids."
He looked at her, eyebrows raised, "You can't be serious."
"I'll tell," She said in a sing-song voice.
Draco's eyes narrowed into razor-thin slits, "What store?"
&&&&&&&&&
The next morning, Draco found himself standing in line at a bookstore, purchasing a book, Katie swinging on his elbow and chattering in a lively tone about how she always wanted such a nice, expensive book. He scowled through most of her banter, his eyes looking at the spinning advertisements for books on the ceiling.
"Mr. Breeler!" He heard being called from somewhere behind him.
He kept his eyes averted to the ceiling for he recognized the voice and hoped to look at busy as possible. He shuffled Katie to his other hand, where he was holding the book, keeping his eyes transfixed on a moving advertisement of a witch showing the difference a pattern could make for someone of an apple versus pear body shape. He used his other hand to pull out his wallet. In one synchronized swoop, he looked down into his wallet, his hair fluttering slightly and falling into his eyes as he did so. It had grown out quite long now, feathering out just under his earlobes, a little longer at the nape of the neck. When he looked down a swoop of white-blonde hair would escape from behind his ear and shroud his face a little.
His hair was doing that at the moment, as he knew the voice was to the left, and he hoped the curtain of hair was enough to separate them.
"Mr. Breeler?" A hand tapped on his shoulder.
He looked up, his eyebrows knotted, "Yes?"
A pair of black lips smiled back into his face, "I didn't know you had a little girl! You're so young," she looked down at Katie.
If it isn't my greatest fan, Draco thought bitterly. "For God's sake, no, I don't have children, I don't really like children. This is just a little pest that managed to maneuver me, like a pawn, to buy her this book on unicorns and other critters of the like."
She laughed.
He hadn't realized he had said anything especially brilliant. He glanced down at his clothing of choice – black pants and a black turtleneck. She was probably salivating, thinking Draco was some sort of depressed artist. The truth was, Draco simply preferred black pants, and he had accumulated a wide range of shirts, ranging from a silver-and-green one he wore with Slytherin pride, to a few white ones of varying fanciness, to a few turtlenecks – two black, one red, one white – two black shirts, one fancy and one a typical button-down, and a black blazer and trench coat. There were also a few odd shirts or sweaters that he had gotten as gifts from people, which he set aside and never looked at. He considered his style as businessman-like, nothing unusual.
"What's your name?" The strange girl was asking Katie.
"Katie," Katie replied, with all her girlish charm, "What's yours?"
"Vivian," She responded, pursing her lips into a little black rosette, "Is he your brother, then?" Katie's blonde ponytail and clear blue eyes seemed to hint at a close relationship, but they were really distant cousins. The entire Malfoy line looked quite Germanic and Nordic, with their blonde hair and blue eyes and pale skin.
"He's my cousin," Katie's sweet voice cooed.
"How nice of him to buy you a book!" Vivian gave Draco a glowing smile, "I was wondering if you could help me with something. I wanted to ask after I found who you were before, but I hesitated. Now I know it's fate that we ran into each other again. I have to ask."
Draco resisted rolling his eyes. Fate – it meant nothing to him. Everything was chance, a gamble, nothing was truly meant to be. Above all, he didn't believe in love. It was just as much a game and a gamble as anything else. He asked, politely, "What would it be that you need help with?"
"I'd love to work for the Prophet."
Draco gave her a smile, which was rather generous, he felt, and said, "I have no influence on who gets hired or not. I didn't know you were a journalist too."
"Oh, I'm not, I'm a freelance writer," Vivian said excitedly, "Vivian Crowe? I've had my stories printed before. Maybe you've heard of me, too!"
Draco shook his head, "Sorry, no. I don't really read other papers."
"I've been in a few books, too, short story anthologies. I guess you don't read much," She looked seriously disappointed.
"Next?" The teller at the counter called out.
"Sorry, that's me, I guess I'll be..." Draco was trying to part from her.
"Can you give this into the Prophet at least?" Vivian thrust out a sheet of paper to him. It was folded into quarters. He took it, and before he could once again insist that he had nothing to do with who was hired or not, she was off, waving goodbye to them, her silver bracelets shimmering. He watched her walk out of the store and down the street away from the bookstore.
"Why'd she call you Mr. Breeler?" Katie questioned.
"It's my pen name," Draco replied. He put the book on the counter and sighed as he handed over the money for it. "Take it," he thrust the book into her arms and then walked towards the door, expecting her to follow.
"Why do you have a pretend name?" She asked.
"Come on," Draco could see people looking up in interest, familiar with the name Brom Breeler. "So that I can have a private life," Draco said quickly, and pushed Katie out the door and onto the street. She shuffled the book from one hand to the next, examining it's front and back cover.
"Well?"
"Thanks," She squinted against the sun, for it was to his back, and she was trying to look at his face.
He nodded to himself, making a mental note to never have children, for any reason. The Malfoy line could die out with him, for all he cared. He didn't want any more manipulative devils in his home. He had enough to deal with in the work room.
&&&&&&&&&
After Katie had been picked up from the Malfoy's front porch, Draco sat at his desk and tried to piece together a story again. His eyes kept clouding over with sleep, but he already had a paragraph going. It was a dull topic, writing about how old grandmothers gather in the park and have been doing so since they were in their twenties, watching their children, then grandchildren, grow up, always meeting in the same place and knitting. It was supposed to be heart-warming, but Draco didn't do heart-warming. At most he did heart-room temperature. He couldn't write very convincingly; he didn't know how to make the reader care for the characters he wrote about. He didn't give a hoot about these four grannies, each with a foot in the grave. He swore softly, then cursed loudly, and soon was pacing his room pulling at his hair angrily.
"FUCK!" He shouted out the window at the empty street. The Malfoy mansion had a paved path of at least a mile from the front door to the front gate; winding across hilly terrain, dotted with trees, foliage and fancy flowers.
He sighed and sank into his chair again, agitated. His eyes scanned the last sentence, and he took his pencil and crossed it out. His pencil kept moving, his hand as if possessed, crossing out the entire paragraph. He continued scribbling until it looked like a giant tumbleweed, then a tornado, and finally it was just a sheen gray rectangle.
Rose paused in his doorway, "Did I hear you correctly, Mr. Malfoy?"
"Sorry." Rose often still scolded him as if he was a child. They had Rose for so many years now – she was hired by his father's parents when Lucius was still a teenager. Rose partially reared Lucius and she had a big hand in raising, or rather spoiling, Draco.
"A mouth like that doesn't belong on such a handsome face, dear," Rose came in and looked at the mess of papers strewn all over the room, "The muse has died?"
"I never had a muse to begin with," Draco cried out, "Luckily I don't have a deadline, but my career does. If I don't make this story work, I won't get any more stories."
"What're you writing about?"
"About those old ladies that hang out in the local park."
"Oh, those ladies," Rose nodded, for she had often chatted with them while pushing Draco around in a fancy stroller through the park, "Did something happen to them?" She looked alarmed, knowing the sorts of stories Draco dealt with.
"No, they're fine, better than fine for a bunch of old - - elders," Draco dodged calling them old farts, because Rose was their age, too.
"A new sort of assignment then?" Rose asked.
"I told you just a few days ago, Rose," Draco turned in his chair and faced her, troubled, "I told you I had to write one of those ridiculous morale-raising columns, something perky and happy."
"Did you?" She nodded to herself, "Must have slipped my mind."
A sinking feeling pulled on Draco's stomach and heart, until he could almost feel them in his intestines; Rose was getting old too. Just like all those grandmothers had a foot in the grave, so did she. Perhaps even both her feet now. Rose would die soon, and she was the only servant they had kept; the rest they had laid off because of the upcoming move.
Rose left the room as quietly as she had come.
Draco put his forehead against the cool surface of the desk and waited for the muse he never had to begin with. His mind couldn't do this, he couldn't make this assignment work. He didn't know anyone that was cheery enough to write the kind of piece he had to write.
Except Vivian.