Crawling

Chapter Three

It soon became imminent that Weasley and I were going to have two major problems. One: She was, quite possibly, the most irritating person that I had ever encountered. Two: Her decorating skills were positively brilliant.

Of course, on the surface, problem two appeared to not be a problem at all; because an impeccably decorated mansion was my chief concern…but issue one caused it to become such. You see, after the first day I desired nothing more than to fire Weasley. However, once the fruits of her labor became evident, dismissing her became an impossibility.

It was at this point when Weasley chose to disrupt my thoughts by barging into my private bed chambers.

"You're one sick fuck, Malfoy," she seethed before pulling her right arm back and releasing it full-force in the direction of my face.

Fortunately, I instinctively caught her wrist before she could impose any actual damage. "I would not try that again, Weasley. I am not Potter; I have no qualms with hitting back."

"I bet you wouldn't. Tell me right now why you have this, or I swear that I'll—"

"Have what?"

"This." She pulled out a photo of herself. Picture Weasel was walking back and forth in the lobby of the Ministry of Magic, in a pacing style.

"So basically you're angry with me because you have a picture of yourself? I would be upset as well; it is a horrid photo, but no need to go around attempting to maul people, Weasley."

"God, you're daft. I'm angry, Malfoy, because I found this in your bloody study! You have five seconds to explain to me what you were doing with it."

"As if I would willingly keep a picture of you in my home…"

"Well you seem to be quite the fan of pictures, Malfoy, as you have an entire stock of them."

"Would you control that temper of yours for two seconds and tell me what you are going on about?"

"Follow me," she fumed.

I reluctantly walked behind her as we went to my study, which was now minus the gold ceiling, and had a marble one in place of it. She silently pointed up above the fireplace, where my father's portrait was now vacant from.

"How did you get that down?"

"Standard charms, Malfoy."

Smug bitch. I had tried every spell and charm imaginable to get past the defenses of that portrait. I walked up to the wall and saw…a safe? The only reason that one would have to guard a safe so securely would be if they were keeping—

"Oh, get that greedy look off your face. I already opened it, there isn't money inside."

"You opened it?"

She shrugged. "Can I help it that I'm good in charms?"

"Open it again."

"It's now unlocked, sweetheart."

I glared at her, of course I knew that. "Do not, on any occasion, ever refer to me by that name again."

"No problem, honey."

This is why you do not hire Weasleys…

Nevertheless, I climbed up on the muggle ladder that she had placed in front of the fireplace, and pulled open the safe. It was filled with nothing but pictures. Thousands upon thousands of pictures. How utterly useless…

At least now I knew what Weasley was on about, this was quite strange. And she had found her picture in here…Father was clearly more insane than I thought, he willingly kept pictures of Weasley.

"Well?" she demanded impatiently.

"Well what? None of this is any business of yours." I climbed back down, "I suggest that you move onto another room for the time being, and if I find out that you have spoke of this to anyone—"

"Like I care that you have a stalker fetish with pictures. Just keep mine bloody well out of it."

"Leave, Weasley." She glared before trudging out of the room.

With her gone, I grabbed a stack of photos, and carried them over to my desk. I thumbed through them; I did not recognize hardly any of these people. A few I had seen around the Ministry, but apart from that…

What had Father been up to?

I took a few more pictures, and apparated over to Reverie Hall…I needed to speak to Grandfather.


I swiftly walked through the halls of the mansion until I reached Grandfather's room. I knocked lightly, before entering without given permission.

Seated in a chair by the window was my grandfather. Seated in his lap was Holly, his mistress. I must say, I hope that I have half as much…energy as Grandfather does when I am his age.

"Out, Holly," I ordered to the girl a year younger than myself.

She meekly left the room.

"Draco, my son, what brings you back so quickly?"

I wordlessly dropped the stack of pictures in his now vacant lap. He gave me a curious look before glancing at them.

"What are these?"

"These, apparently, belonged to Lucius. They were behind his portrait."

"The indestructible one?"

"The very same."

"Well done, Draco, I had thought that hideous thing would be there for all time. Voldemort himself put the defense spells on it, you know."

"Voldemort? Why?"

Grandfather chose not to answer. "So these are what Lucius was hiding…"

"There's thousands more."

"I see. I shall keep these, and will be by the Manor later in the week to view the rest. You are dismissed, Draco."

I nodded to him and disapparated. I do not think that I have had one conference with Grandfather that has lasted more than fifteen minutes…

I sighed heavily once back in the study; I now required something else entirely to place on the wall. It wouldn't do to have a large metal safe sticking out above the fireplace. I climbed up on the ladder, closed the safe, and then went to find Weasley.

She was in the Room of Youth; also known as a playroom of sorts for the Malfoy heir. Horrid place…

"Weasley, find a new portrait to place over the safe."

She looked surprised, "I get to pick?"

"Tasteful and classy, Weasley. Nothing trashy…I know that it's hard for you to resist, but do make an attempt."

She seemed so thrilled at the prospect of free reign on the portrait, that she took no heed to the insult. "I know just the thing…give me five minutes!"

She sprinted across the hall to the fireplace in my study and flooed to God knows where.

Within a few minutes she was running back across, "I have been searching for the perfect place to use this painting. Of course, I wanted to put it in my own home, but I didn't feel right doing so. But you'll have no qualms about it."

I nearly had to take a step back from her. She was almost…friendly. It was rather frightening, really. I must remember to never give her free reign on paintings again.

Nevertheless, I followed her to the study, which now held a disturbing sort of work of art—if it can indeed be called that.

"What the hell is that?"

"This," she beamed, "is only one of the greatest artworks of the twentieth century. Though, technically, it belongs to the nineteenth century, but it was painted towards the end, and was never fully appreciated until—"

"You're babbling, Weasley."

"Oh, right. Anyway, Malfoy, this is 'The Scream' by Edvard Munch. Is it not the most magnificent thing?"

"Magnificent? Hardly. I would call it disconcerting, but not magnificent."

"Malfoy, this is one of the most famous pieces of art in the world; do you know how many art collectors would give their right arm to have it in their possession?"

I tilted my head and looked at it again. It was still strange looking. But if it was as popular as she said it was… "Fine, it can stay."


It was creeping nearer to the third day. Weasley was irritating me more than she had been, for she was cutting it close on her one stipulation: Make the deadline. Honestly, it is not a difficult concept.

As I prepared to go inform Weasley of this, Charles appeared, as he is often prone to do.

"My apologies for the interruption, you grace," he amended before I had the opportunity to scold him. "I have been seeking you to inform you of the arrival of American business guests."

"They're here?" I said quickly, experiencing the rarity of being surprised.

"Yes, your grace."

"Take them to the study…I'll be there in a moment."

I went to the last room that Weasley was working on, the Room of Youth. It took less than a second to see that she wasn't done.

"My guests have arrived," I announced to her, though I am not sure why. It's no business of hers.

"I thought that they weren't supposed to come until tomorrow?" She actually appeared to be worried about this.

"Well they came early. I'm meeting with them in the study, I'll keep them in there for one hour, at which time I will return to you, and I expect this room to be completed."

"An hour?"

"Yes, Weasley. One hour, sixty minutes, three thousand six hundred seconds; whichever way you want to phrase it that is all the time that you have. Understood?"

She nodded mutely, but looked piqued all the same. As long as I didn't come back to a room featuring a circus theme though, I couldn't care less if she was hacked off.


I took a breath before I entered the study. This was it, the moment that I had been waiting for and counting on for years. Everything in my life had been leading up to this one decision, and I was determined to thrive.

Standing in the middle of my study, facing the fireplace, were three men, each with his arm wrapped the back of his own attractive blonde.

"Gentlemen," I greeted coolly, "ladies. I welcome you to my home."

"Glad to be here, Malfoy," the man in the middle said jovially. "I hope that you don't mind that we're here a bit early. Or that we brought the gals with us, when they heard that we were coming to England they just couldn't stay at home."

"Not at all, your presence has been long-awaited."

He nodded and took a step towards me, the blonde in tow. "I'm Timothy Donaldson, we spoke previously on several occasions via Floo Network," he said with an outreached hand. "And this is my wife, Lorie."

I shook his hand out of etiquette; I truly dislike the act of handshaking as most people are rather free and disgusting with their hands. I nodded to his wife, and then moved on to the next couple.

"Jonathon Bates," the frighteningly tall man said lowly without a trace of a smile. He jerked his head in the direction of his blonde, "my wife, Cady."

The third man appeared apprehensive, but not altogether unfriendly. "Marquis Bolander."

The woman beside him grinned up at me, "You'll have to forgive Marc, he lacks manners, such as introducing his wife. I'm Jacqueline, but feel free to call me Jackie."

"A pleasure," I said, a little put off by her abrasiveness. Women of high breeding would never have the gall to cross their husband such.

"So, Malfoy," Donaldson said, the clear spokesmen of the group, "we couldn't help but notice your painting."

I knew that painting was a mistake.

"Yes," Jacqueline continued, "I consider myself quite the art lover, and I have been almost obsessively following the story of the missing Munch…and here's it's been all along. So how'd you do it?"

"Pardon?" what was she on about?

"The painting," she repeated with confusion, "don't act as though you don't know that it's stolen."

Weasley stole a painting? Now that is interesting… "Ah, yes. I'm afraid that I do not view the taking of paintings from muggles to be stealing."

"Edvard Munch was a muggle," she said angrily, "wouldn't you agree that his masterpiece deserves to be among his own people?"

"Not especially, no."

She unwittingly continued all the same, "The most brilliant artists that have ever lived have been muggles, you know; Picasso, Da Vinci, Van Gough…the only artist the Wizarding Community has to claim is Michelangelo, and I find his works to be lacking."

"Jacqueline," Bates snapped finally, "no one wishes to hear your views on something as petty as art."

Her eyes found the floor, and she said no more.

"Please excuse Jackie," Davidson said after a moment, "she's our resident liberal."

"Of course. Shall you wish to be shown to your rooms before we begin our business, gentlemen?"

Davidson made clear eye contact with Bolander and nodded decisively. "If your man could take the ladies to their respective rooms, we would prefer to start immediately."

"As you wish. Charles," he stepped out from the hallway, "show Mrs. Davidson, Mrs. Bates, and Mrs. Bolander to their rooms at once."

When the women had gone, I gestured for the men to take rest upon the davenports that Weasley had set up.

"You understand, Malfoy," Davidson began, "that we care not of the questionable activities which lead to your attainment of 'The Scream'. Personally, I find it commendable to see the lengths that a man will go to in order to obtain the object of his desire."

Perhaps the painting was not a horrid thing after all. I extensively knew of each mans history; legality was of little importance in their self-acclaimed circle of superiority. Each descended from the longest pureblooded lines in America; they were wealthy, powerful, and ruthless.

The three families had been interconnected for countless generations, and had formed something of a mob…though nothing quite as dramatic as muggle versions of gangs. They simply preferred to keep it within the three families, and if the Malfoy name were to added to the prosperous chain, it would be the beginning of a monumental union.

"Malfoy," Bolander said after silence had ensued, "are you married?"

"No," I quickly answered.

I did not miss the look that passed between the three of them.

"Still clinging to bachelorhood, eh, Malfoy?" Davidson said in a joking tone.

"I suppose you could view it in that manner."

He cleared his throat and lost the smile. "Coincidentally, we all have found that we…Well, we frankly enjoy dealing with men of family. We have discovered that they are of a more mature nature, and it keeps things friendly between everyone. The men do business, the wives go shopping, and the kids play together."

Fuck. They wanted responsibility…I had to gain entrance into their world, there was no possibility of my failure. And if that meant that I had to lie…well, lying has never really bothered me anyway.

"I have a fiancé," I said expressionlessly.

"Congratulations," Davidson said immediately. "Who is the lucky girl?"

"She's here, actually."

"How wonderful! You sly dog, you've had her stashed away from us. Well come now, bring her in so that we may meet her."

I stood, "She would be delighted to make your acquaintance. If you will excuse me for a moment, gentlemen…"

I left the room and went back to the Youth Room. "Weasley," I called upon opening the door.

She looked beyond frazzled. "It has not been an hour!"

"That is not actually what I wanted to talk to you about…"


A/N—Hey, this is finally getting somewhere, lol. I promise that it won't turn cheesy. I have plans for this to be somewhat dark, but I usually end up slipping humor in everything, as that is my personality. Umm…yeah, I'm rambling, so I'll just shut-up now.

I will try to get the next chapter out soon, please review!!!