Chapter Six
His eyes were staring so intently at the ceiling of his four-poster bed he could almost feel them drilling a hole into the material. He blinked and looked around his room for the thirtieth time that night, as he lay there in his bed. He'd have to say goodbye to this room. The room he had grown up in. Draco felt like he was letting go slowly of everything that he had felt was forever as a boy. His father would always be proud and strong. His mother would always be sensible and distant. He would always have a razor-sharp list of insults, and his friends that he played with in his hand like cards. He'd live in his room until he got married, and then he'd have a family, that was his plan. He would have a son and a daughter, he had decided, and he'd spoil them rotten, just as he had been spoiled rotten by his parents. They indulged his every whim, and though he was disciplined and raised quite strictly by them, he had everything he could dream of. They would always be rich, he felt. That, at least, wouldn't change – the Malfoy family was not going to run out of money anytime soon.
He closed his eyes, staring at the darkness of his eyelids, his heart sinking yet again at the barrage of thoughts flowing through his mind.
A soft hoot startled him fully awake again, as he had almost dozed off, his eyes closed. Draco felt a little peeved at first, but then noticed that it wasn't a letter from his mother, but a letter from his boss. He opened it and read feverishly,
We have received the copy of your story that you have submitted –
Vivian's story! He felt like throwing up, he was nervous to see if her story met the quality that Brom Breeler stories held. He hadn't even proofread it, for the deadline was so soon on the story he had no time, he barely got his owl to arrive at the Daily Prophet office building on time.
- and are pleased to announce that it has made the front cover. Congratulations, Breeler, keep it up.
He sighed in relief and tossed the letter into the air and let it flutter like a dead bird onto his covers. He didn't feel like sleeping nude tonight, which was unusual. He had instead put on a warm set of pajamas that he had gotten as a gift from his father a year or two ago; Lucius always found it unusual that Draco liked to sleep the way he did, and he was trying to encourage him to try something new.
They were soft, flannel-like, and black with silver lining. He curled up in the corner of his bed and tried to fall asleep, to lull himself with the comfort of the pajamas and the soft smell of Lucius' cologne still on them, two years later. Lucius sprayed clothing he gave as a gift with his cologne, convinced that since he liked them, and convinced that his taste in cologne was impeccable, everyone else would enjoy it too. Draco felt it had too sharp a smell, and that it didn't fit him, but tonight he breathed it in like fresh air.
He sat up. He was too awake.
He could hear Lucius tossing in his sleep, babbling, from down the hall.
Draco suddenly wished Katie was staying the night. She would have probably stayed up late, reading in the moonlight, or drawing; he would have stopped in and checked on her, to do something, rather than lying in bed awake.
He ran his fingers through his hair once, then once again, gathering it behind his ears, then looking down at his feet, letting it tumble free, and then repeating it. It amused him for a while, but he caught himself and stopped. I'm going insane, he thought unhappily.
Narcissa arrived that Wednesday as promised. Draco opened the door, and felt an unusual urge to hug her, but he didn't. Narcissa walked straight past him, giving him a pat on the cheek and a kind hello, then put down her suitcase on the floor and looked at him, excitedly, "We got the house. Plus, we have a buyer for this one."
"Why didn't you write? I waited for your reply."
"Oh? Did you write? I must have stashed it away somewhere and forgot to read it," she said apologetically, "How is Lucius?"
"Completely out of it."
"Don't say that," she said sharply, "it isn't his choice. He... he has a condition now. We have to take care of him."
"Or at least, I , you haven't been home," he didn't intend to be mean to her, but the second he said it he felt how hurtful it was.
"I didn't abandon you two, if that's what you're getting at," Narcissa snapped back, "I was looking for a proper place to live, this place ... I just don't feel like being here, it's getting too drafty and old."
Too full of memories, Draco interpreted. "I'm sorry," he said, inadequately.
Narcissa sighed and looked around the house critically, "Lucky for you, the new house is just a few streets away. It's a beautiful home. You can still walk to your café if you'd like, or just teleport yourself. You do know how, don't you?"
"Of course," Draco had passed all his classes with high marks, something he was always proud of. He realized what she had just said all of a sudden – he wouldn't get away from Vivian, after all.
"What is it?" She asked.
"Nothing," Draco waved the thought away with a hand gesture, "I'm fine."
"Well, start packing, we're leaving tomorrow."
"What!"
"Don't tell me it will take you more than an evening to pack your things," Narcissa said critically. Draco could see in her eyes how happy she was about this move; he hadn't seen her like this since he graduated Hogwarts. He didn't want to part with his home so abruptly, even though he had over two weeks of time to get used to the idea that he was moving; he didn't want to hurt his mother either so he told her,
"I can... it's just so sudden."
"I know, but change is good sometimes," Narcissa said quietly, "And I don't want the neighbors to find out about Lucius. Our new home is quite a walk from the other houses nearby, actually; it's at least five minutes, there's a dirt road leading up to the mansion, through a nice garden; it's the biggest house in the neighborhood."
"Sounds lovely," he managed to say.
Rose walked into the room, and she and Narcissa exchanged salutations. Draco left the room, a little stupefied, and went up the staircase and sat not in his bedroom, but in the guest bedroom that Katie slept in. He could still see his childhood books on her desk, the one about dinosaurs open and lying face-down – the spine will break, can't she use a bookmark? – and then laid down on the bed.
He closed his eyes and fell asleep instantly, and when he woke up it was late at night. Nobody had disturbed his sleep. He scurried to his room and tossed his belongings into his suitcase, then used a shrinking spell to get his bed and desk into it as well. He made the suitcase miniature, put it in his pants pocket – choosing to wear the clothes he slept in the next day.
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He stood in front of his new home, gaping at it with some awe. It was indeed a spectacular Victorian masterpiece; the garden was superb and tastefully done; the dirt road was romantic and the house had a cheerful atmosphere to it, but also a vibe of Gothic, which he had to admit to liking. When he stepped into the home, leading his father in, he could smell the home and realized he liked it immediately – it smelled of fresh wood from the hardwood floors, which were polished until they were nearly mirrors. The home was huge, the kitchen was large and spacey, and there was a room with a fireplace, to his delight.
Draco left his father with Narcissa and roamed about on his own. There was a large room that was two stories high, which he decided would be the library. The ceiling of the room was domed and covered with paintings of angels and demons. There were intricate carvings in the wooden banisters on the grand staircase, as well as in the corners of rooms and along the floorboards and walls.
He knew which room would be his at once; he could see Narcissa smiling when she saw it the first time, knowing he would love it. There was a large walk-in closet, a large window that jutted out of the side of the home like a small, closed-in balcony, where he could sit and peer out at the orchard behind the home and write stories for the paper, or just meditate and reflect on his day.
He spent the day unpacking and setting up the various rooms. Narcissa spent the day following Lucius around, who was like a cat whose whiskers had been chopped off; he couldn't find his way around, and looked absolutely terrified and confused.
When night came, Draco slept on the carpeted floor of the window in his room, covered with a fleece blanket, wearing nothing but the pants of the pajamas Lucius gave him. Before he fell asleep, however, he had stared out at the sky, watching out for constellations he recognized, and observing the full moon.
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Despite his uneasiness about running into Vivian, Draco went to the café again. He ordered his usual coffee and was almost done with it before he saw Vivian. She walked in, and he was shocked to see she had dyed her hair electric blue and cut it to her shoulders. When she saw him over her shoulder, she rushed over and sat down beside him.
"Like it?" She moved her head around, as if modeling for him.
"It's a little shocking," He said finally. Shocking didn't begin to describe it. It was a very volatile shade of blue, one he wouldn't consider wearing even as a tie or slacks, not to mention as a hair color. If someone had eyes that color, they'd be a complete freak of nature, not to mention hair...
"I bet you'd never dye your hair. If I could, I'd make it black," she said.
"Why? Trying to make me look even more depressing?"
"No, it'd really stand out, you're so pale. I'm jealous. I'm fair too, but I've got freckles."
"You can't really tell," Draco said kindly. He was in a good mood after seeing how fitting the new home was. He wasn't even disturbed by her presence. She saw his good mood and asked him at once what was going on.
He didn't want to tell her, so he said, "I'm just having a good week."
"Because you haven't seen me all week long?" She asked.
"Not only that."
"Why do you dislike me?"
"Do you really want to know?"
"Sure, why not."
"You're everything I don't want to be. You're ... I don't know, peppy and completely off the wall; random, crazy, way too kind; a total basket case, a fashion disaster... I could go on and on. And you're manipulative. You get under my skin in a way that I don't like, it feels as annoying as when I have dirt under my fingernails, or like a mosquito bite that is scratched until it's the size of a coin, and then itches insanely. You mess with people's minds."
"I don't!" She protested, "I motivate them. I point out that their lives could be better."
"My life is fine, thank you," He said, "I didn't need any extra motivation."
"I've observed you before, you know," Vivian told him, "You come to this café often. I'm surprised you never noticed me."
"You blend in with the tiles," Draco responded, tapping on the black tiles.
"Ha, ha." She said sharply, then added, "I'd see you, you always looked so dour and depressed. I just had to get to know you, figure out what you're all about. I had no idea you were Brom Breeler."
"Yeah, well..."
"I could leave you alone completely if you want. Tell me and I will, I don't like being a pest," Vivian told him.
Catching him off guard again, his politeness button went off and he told her, lamely, " you don't, I mean... I don't mind that much, it's just – you don't understand, our personalities clash too much. All we do is argue when we meet."
"Nah, we debate," She said.
"Whatever it is, it's unnerving too."
"You're a control-freak. I can see it in everything you did do, and still do. The way you always get the same paper at the same time, and read it in the same order, and drink the same coffee. You wear the same few outfits, you sit in the same exact chair each time you come here."
"If not for people like me, society would fall apart."
"Not true, if there were no nice, happy, caring people like me society would fall apart too."
"So let's keep society alive without clashing against each other, huh?" He leaned forwards on the table, giving her a severe look.
She kissed his nose.
He leaned back, absolutely horrified at first, then confused, "Wha- - what do you think you're doing?" A blush ran across his face, "Are you insane?"
Vivian grinned, " Yes."
"What the fuck," he asked aloud, "is your problem?"
"You've never kissed a girl."
"Sod off, that's not your business," He realized he had given away that he had, in fact, not kissed a girl. However, he added quickly, to defend his honor, "I bet you kiss everything, to make up for it. Trees, little children, people's asses."
"No, not really," She grinned, "Wow, I love this. You are completely opposite of me. If you were to lean forwards and kiss my nose, I'd be completely thrown off track too, but you wouldn't because you don't think to shock people like I do. So you react to what I do absolutely predictably, because you're such a control-freak, and you hate when things get chaotic. And I love things to get silly and unusual and surprising, if life stops surprising you, you might as well die right there; I would anyway, rather than have the same sort of day every day until I die," she babbled, as she always seemed to do when things got too stressful or heated up.
"Wow, all that from watching me drink coffee every morning, huh?" He asked bitterly, his mood souring by the minute.
"Don't take it so hard," She said gently, "I do try to push your buttons a little, but don't tell me you don't go home and wonder sometimes about what I say."
He didn't reply.
"I wonder about you too, you know. When I get home."
"Why? Why me? Why'd you have to attach yourself to me?"
"Since you intrigued me. You're the most orderly, mean, distant person I've ever met. But you're also brilliant, and you write the best damn newspaper articles I've ever read, and I fancied you through those stories. I was let down when I found out you were kind of a tosspot, but I like you even more now, this way. It's a challenge."
"You fancy me?" He was taking things one at a time, while she was throwing handfuls of new information at him.
"No, no, not like that, I envied your talent. I'm a writer too. See?" She flapped a notebook around in front of his face.
He pushed it away, " You're bizarre, and I should have left the café five minutes ago, this is absolutely beyond a doubt complete lunacy on your part."
"I see you as more insane than me."
"Because I don't do crazy things, right?"
"You don't risk anything. You don't have strong feelings about anything, except maybe your family pride, and your hate for Mudbloods. Don't look so shocked, I know that's what you call them in your mind."
He frowned and stood up, "I'm not having this conversation any longer."
"Wait," She pulled on his shirt.
"Let go," He sighed, completely out of the mood for forcing a girl off of him. " I think you're obsessed with me, you're a stalker and a spy, and a real pain in the neck that sticks her nose where it doesn't belong, and good day," he yanked his shirt from her hands and began to leave.
She followed him, " Can I just say one more thing, in my defense?"
"What?" He asked.
"You're really cute when you blush. I was just curious, don't blame me," She smiled cheerfully, patted his back, and said, "Be nice and get me a job interview, huh? I'll leave you alone then."
"I'll do it first thing tomorrow morning. I've had enough of this." He didn't even want to begin to think what all this cute-when-you-blush nonsense was about.
"You're so fun though," Vivian called after him as he walked out the door.
He walked home even more pissed off than last time. He touched his nose about two streets down from the café and couldn't fathom why she was pursuing him so much other than to mess with him and his mind, and maybe because she liked him, fancied him even. She was a freak of nature to him though, something that he couldn't file away in an orderly manner, because he couldn't see any way to fit her in his life; she jutted out like a sore thumb from the firmness and security of his life.
Lacking control, being constantly on guard, constantly teased and played with and then left hanging on the edge was taking its toll. He hated to admit it, but something about her fascinated him, too, and he hated that part of himself like he hated her, because against his permission she had laid the egg of curiosity and disorder in him and it was ready to hatch.