Two is company
Sunset. The fascinating mixture of golden, orange and bright violet colours, flirting with each other on the magnificent evening sky over London, was extraordinarily intriguing tonight. The few people on the streets who did bother to look up were caught momentarily by the sight, and felt the slightest twinge of pity for all the others who took nature's beauty for granted, without the merest appreciation.
A youngish couple was observing the subtle change of colour, the woman pointing out the lovely sight and carefully explaining to her partner why she found it so beautiful, and why sunsets had a most appealing affect on most people, and why it was nevertheless difficult to write an article about it, and why she considered most of her readers pitiful dungheads in general.
The man was nodding, occasionally massaging his neck. Now and then, he would open his mouth, but close it without having uttered a word, mistaking each short pause for breath of her for the end of her speech.
Finally, he succeeded in interrupting her. "Ah, Rita, indeed, that was really fascinating. However, I admit I'm getting slightly tired of walking through the town. So, maybe we should go somewhere... more comfortable?"
Inwardly, he was still not so sure about how far this would go, and the idea of making himself comfortable with Rita Skeeter had its pros and cons, but the opportunity was too good to miss. If he was successful in making her spill out her knowledge of the Ministry's Department for Mysteries or news of Potter, on top of smarting out Bellatrix, Lord Voldemort would be extremely pleased, and would reward him significantly.
In the spur of a moment, she had flung her left arm up and squeezed it in between his waist and elbow, before he could even offer his arm to her, and rested her hand elegantly on his right forearm, beaming up at him with what she was certainly considering a seductive expression.
"Oh, but of course, Lucius," she whispered confidentially, "why don't we go to my flat? What an extraordinary co-incidence that it's just a few steps from here."
He nodded politely and let her lead the way. He was slightly amused by that delighted smile of her, which he, being used to the occasional wishful look of strange women, took for anticipation and gratefulness she was bound to feel for having not only a fairly attractive and well-built bloke, but also a member of the finest wizarding families in Britain visiting her at home, promising much more.
A Malfoy in her bed, he thought in silent self-admiration, that was more than such a miserable journalist deserved. He would do her an incredible honour by that, although bed activities of any kind were only his last resort, but if necessary, he would go to some lengths in order to make her confide her secrets to him.
Rita at his side steered him determinedly into a narrow side street, heading for her flat. She was well aware of Malfoy's self-satisfied smile, and had almost – almost - a guilty conscience for using him. She knew that he had had five fire-whiskeys already, and would have a lot more, once in her flat, maybe mixed with some mild truth potion she needed for her job. Nothing like Veritaserum, of course, that would be terribly illegal, even for a journalist, nevertheless, her own fine brew was not quite ineffective either. Although it didn't force the drinker to reveal anything against their will - this would safe her from legal proceedings, if one of her interview partners would ever find out - it worked, as for spilling out secrets, very similar to alcohol. It made people less attentive, and more trusting. Even more so if the recipient had done her the favour of preparing his blood with an appropriate level of whiskey.
After all, if only half the rumours of his affiliations to You-Know-Who were true, it would suffice to assure the 'Daily Prophet' many more readers, and would give her own career a new kick-start. Only with serious stomach ache did she remember her last article, even though it had been perfectly up to her usual standards, no doubt. But – to work for the 'Quibbler'... - it was just too low and humiliating, and far beneath a highly qualified journalist like her, an embarrassment which had earned her more than one smirk and amused comment of her colleagues - untalented, insolent folk, devoid of any respect and consideration.
Fear of You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters - Malfoy for a start – was undeniably there, under the surface, Rita was neither stupid nor naive, but yet, she was a more than dedicated a reporter, had never wanted to be anything else, and the outlook of writing a story, revealing some of Malfoy's secrets and possibly his affiliations with You-Know-Who, mixed with the image of herself amidst her own colleagues, praising her and begging to tell them how she had succeeded, prevailed every other feeling.
And maybe she would even have an entertaining evening with that attractive bloke, who apparently, judging by the look on his face, couldn't believe he was being allowed to touch her gracious body, which he would undoubtedly appreciate.
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"Look, Lucius, there we are." She nodded casually to the house in front of them and started to rummage in her bag for the keys.
Malfoy closed his hands behind his back and let his glance wander up the building.
Rita's house was quite big and had several storeys, probably over ten. So she couldn't be too poor, he realised with appreciation, he only wondered why the house had so many windows and balconies.
"Very impressive", he muttered, "I trust you have enough personell to keep everything in order. Must be very money-consuming." The last remark, of course, had been a compliment, from one wealthy person to another."
He was caught by surprise when Rita laughed shrilly. "Well, I have no house-elf, if that's what you were implying. – But my flat is not big, quite cosy actually. There are some larger flats, of course, many families live here. Or could..." she shrugged her shoulders, and finally retrieved her key-bundle.
"You share a house?" Malfoy said, astounded, "you mean you live with other people?"
She laughed again, taking his true astonishment for teasing. "What's up, Lucius?" she teased him, mistaking his ignorance for irony, "scared of the neighbours?" Her expression grew thoughtful when she continued. "Don't worry, astonishingly, I don't have any." She gave a soft shrug and turned right, leading him on a narrow corridor, which led to her flat. "Although I've never understood why, the rents are not too expensive around here. No vermin, either. Not anymore. - So..., hmm, dunno..."
Reluctantly, he followed her inside. Possibly it had been her last statement about the vermin, more than the fact the she had people living in her house, that had caused a nasty twinge of foreboding stinging in his stomach. Closely observing the clean, but dreadfully humble abode, Malfoy walked after Rita up two flight of stairs, and then right into a narrow corridor. Finally, Rita gave a short look around and came to a halt.
"It's here." she whispered in front of her door, and picked a small key in her bundle, while Malfoy gave the humbly furnished corridor a most disparaging look behind her back.
She unlocked the door and led the way into the small apartment. Hesitating, he followed. Once inside, he was hardly able to swallow the appropriate remark, and closed the door behind him in silence.
The flat was rather small, and the corridor seemed to suffocate him. He followed her into the kitchen, which was clean and tidy, but incredibly small. Malfoy furrowed his eyebrows. It was disgusting. For a small moment, he seriously considered to turn on his heels and leave this abode, which was a blatant insult to eyes and taste of every true Malfoy.
Rita threw her cloak over the chair and waited for his. "Err, do you like it?" she inquired, slightly uncertain of his attitude.
Malfoy made a quick decision. He granted her a friendly, appreciating smile and nodded. "Oh, but of course, why should anyone not ... like it?"
She shrugged her shoulders and added confidentially. "It's not much, but it' s home."
He tried to nod more convincingly and pointed out: "I think it's...it's, Ah ..., lovely."
Elegantly, he handed her his cloak and stood uncertainly in the frame of the kitchen door. The room seemed to be built for less than one person, and, only with Rita rummaging inside, it was already over-crowded, at least to his eyes.
Rita smiled at him encouragingly, a twinge of nervousness flushing through her face. "Err, want a tea?" she asked him. "I've got Earl Grey, Peppermint, oh, look, there's Strawberry-Vanilla..."
He shook his head, smiling. There was also a mild smile on her face when she closed the cupboard door and walked towards him with slender moves, until she came to a halt half a metre in front of him.
She inclined her head and spoke softly and ambiguously. "Hungry?"
"It depends." He whispered. "But not for anything you could make in the kitchen, really."
Rita looked up at him, leaned a little closer and stroked with her index down his chest, which was amazingly enjoyable to the touch, even if he was – still – dressed. She placed her hand on his white silk shirt and moved it gently down over his waist, until it reached one of the fine, silver buttons. It slipped through the space between two buttons and was suddenly under his shirt, eager to explore his soft, muscular chest.
Malfoy cleared his throat. She looked in his eyes with a flirting expression, waiting for an appreciative remark of him. Surely, she had got him on the right way.
"Rita," he began in a casual, quiet voice, "are you sure we should stay here in the door frame? I assume you have a living-room, maybe we should use it?"
That was not the request she had expected. Still, she didn't reveal her astonishment and mild indignation. Instead, she was trying to wriggle her hand out from under his shirt, which seemed much more difficult than to let it slip under it, given the two reluctant buttons, which seemed to be blocking her way out.
"May I help?" he said in mock politeness and opened one of the buttons.
"Thanks.", she said in true embarrassment and pulled her hand out.
"Right, let me show you my living-room, then," she continued, already unabashed and patted his chest lovingly. "Just that way. You go first, okay?"
He passed a broom cupboard and strode a few steps through a disorderly cubby-hole, with dirt and waste scattered on the floor, silently wondering why those rooms should be situated that centrally in the flat.
An ugly twinge of foreboding clutched his stomach when he realised that there was no further door which led in the living room. No door. Nowhere. If it had been hidden, she would have told him, wouldn't she. And sure enough... "Lucius, where are you going? Just sit down. – Or, wait a second, I'll just clean that away. Uh, sorry."
Malfoy flung himself around and caught the slightest glimpse of humorous embarrassment in the flat tenant's face. His mouth fell open, without him noticing, watching Skeeter collecting clothes, paper handkerchiefs and some strange looking wrappings of something, possibly food. Despite his unwillingness and his every cell protesting against the realisation, it couldn't be helped. At least in Skeeter's universe, this room was actually meant for living in – and, more threatening to him, hosting guests.
He pressed his back against the wall, uncertain what to do, and hardly able to wipe the look of disgust off his face.
"Normally, it doesn't look that way, you know?" Skeeter muttered, smiling at him, while balancing a heap of dirty and less dirty worn garments through the room. Finally, she stopped in front of the large cabinet. "Would you mind?" she asked him, nodding at one of the cabinet's doors.
"What?" he said hoarsly, feeling slightly sick.
"Could you just open the door, please? I'll have to do the washing later. I'll simply put it here, there's still some space down there on the left."
Reluctantly and nearly choking, he stepped to her side, carefully avoiding the things on the floor he had considered mere waste just a precious minute before. In front of the cabinet, he knew for sure that he didn't want to know its contents. But it couldn't be helped.
Elegantly, he took a step sideways and was just about to touch the door-grip with his fingertips, when he changed his mind and drew his wand to do it. When the door was opening, he looked inconspicuously the other way, while Rita threw her bundle inside.
Beaming, she clapped her hands together and pressed the door shut. "Okay, now it's just some dishes I forgot to clean up yesterday."
And the month before, Malfoy assumed, silently.
"Really sorry about that, but I didn't expect any guests tonight, you know?" she explained over her shoulder.
Malfoy nodded, as understanding as he was able to. "Obviously."
Rita gave an apologetic shrug, drew her wand and made some small and large plates, several pieces of silver cutlery with a rose pattern, a large cardboard container, two jugs, six mugs and ten glasses and an assortment of dirty jars and empty bottles fly up in the air, meekly following her in the kitchen.
Malfoy just stood there, his hands planted in his hips, staring after her in disbelief. His Malfoy instinct warned him of inhaling the very air in this horrible place. Nevertheless, he took a deep breath and pressed his eyes shut.
Any problems with carrying out my instructions, Lucius? Again?
Again, Malfoy shook his head. He had to go through with this. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, and his glance fell on the large cabinet in front of him.
Carefully, he wrapped his clean white handkerchief around his index, took a step nearer to the cabinet and strode with his dressed finger elegantly, yet slightly snobbishly, along the top, half out of habit, half to confirm his assumptions and foreboding. And sure enough, it was there. The thing he found most disgusting of all possibly disgusting things in a household. Dust. The sign of extreme disorderliness. The obvious reminder of the owner's sins of neglect. The unmistakable call for any voluntary or involuntary guest to leave in protest. And, as he had expected, there was it. A whole load of it. In two huge swirling clouds, the thick, powdery substance swept down from the top, seemed to hover in front of his nose for a moment, and then forced its way through his mouth and nose, down his airpipe and lungs.
Seriously annoyed, he stepped back, coughing discreetly while doubling over and patting his chest to force the substance back out. No, this was not mere disorderliness. Disorderliness was not to fold one's shirt correctly and put them neatly on top of each other, sorting them by colour, tissue, collar size and by the occasions to wear them, obviously. Disorderliness was to put a soup plate on the heap for the flat plates in the kitchen cupboard, or, in an extreme version, sorting it to the wrong dish set. But this... he had never seen anything like this. For the first time in his life, he cursed himself for contacting the Dark Lord, which would oblige him to stay. However, it was a hard task to pull himself together.
"I'll be right ba-hack." Rita assured him in a light-hearted sing-song from out of the kitchen, adding insult to injury.
"Feel free and make yourself comfortable."
His eyes narrowed dangerously, displaying open disgust and loathing. His lips were a thin line, and every cell in his body refused to sit anywhere here. If anything, the remark had sounded remotely funny. Like an extremely bad joke.
How much he hated that voice. Already.
He shook his head slightly. He was positive that if his house-elf would ever leave such a mess, he would... he w...
Suddenly, Malfoy clenched his teeth. Potter! Even here he was reminded of the fact that he hadn't any house-elf anymore to inflict punishments on. He was in the same state as Skeeter, his thoughts trailed off. But no, he would never be. However, thinking of the little interfering brat helped to go through with this. News about Potter would definitely reward him for this ordeal.
With a nauseated feeling, he went over to the piece of furniture that was most resembling a couch, carefully climbing over a cushion that stuck on the floor.
He assured himself that the cause for this disgusting scene was still in the kitchen, before he drew his own wand and aimed it at bright blue couch that was shaped like a big 'S', and sported thousands of little red and yellow roses which, he noticed surprised, actually smelled. Of roses. Which was of course very handy in a household like hers. He muttered a brief, but very effective spell that would disinfect the furniture and clean it of any pests. He did the same with the carpet and the dolphin-shaped coffee-table, that hadn't even been visible before, thickly covered under the dishes and laundry.
Finally, ignoring the very essence of Malfoy style and attitude, he sat.
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After endless minutes of mental agony, he flinched when all of a sudden, Rita appeared in the door, leaning seductively against the frame. She had changed her dress, and was now wearing a light, fashionable dress of fine silk. The colours changed magically from a brighter to a darker blue, then green, and back to blue. It looked like she was wearing pure water, a waterfall, more precisely, in fact, with some more imagination, you could almost sea the ocean flowing down her stunning, flawless body. Now and then, the occasional white wave was rising and fell back in the water with a silent splash.
Rita was well aware of her impression on Malfoy and granted him a knowing smile, throwing her hair over her shoulder. She was wearing it open. He couldn't believe the difference this little change of outfit caused. Long, reddish, full hair was flowing in never-ending waves down her chest and back, adding to the already appealing affect of the dress.
He swallowed and blinked, when he stood up.
"Well, Lucius," she said with a low, flirting voice, playing with her necklace of white and blue pearls.. "I thought I should make myself a little more comfortable."
He merely smiled at her when she approached him with slow, well-aimed steps, which not even the cushion on the floor could disturb.
She only stopped a few inches in front of him and looked up in his eyes. "You look stunning, Rita." he muttered.
"Thanks, Lucius." she whispered and moved her lips more closely to his. "I'm quite surprised, too – about you, I mean..." Her voice was hardly audible, but loud enough for the distance.
He felt her hands gently encircling his waist and leaned slightly forwards to kiss her. In the spur of a moment, she had pulled back her head and smiled at him innocently. "Sorry 'bout the mess, but I promise my sleeping chamber is perfectly tidy. Only in case I'll show you around of course."
He said nothing, but merely tried to read her expression correctly. He would have to adapt to the speed she preferred, but he couldn't deny that he was – beneath his well-set composure – thrilled by her stance and appearance, and by the way she was playing with him. His own play of course would involve some information gathering, while her only aim was obviously just to exploit his handsome, well-built body.
"One more drink, first, Lucius. – Before we chat I mean." She summoned a small tray with some bottles and two fine hand-made glasses and set it down on the coffee-table, before she sat on the couch.
He gave a soft chuckle and shrugged in mock indifference. "Sure."
Malfoy took a seat next to her and realised with amusement that she shortened the distance between them, offering him a glass.
He took it, while observing her crossing her beautiful legs, allowing the light dress slip over her knees.
"What must I do to make you show me around, Rita?" he asked her playfully.
Who knew, this might become an enjoyable evening after all.
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Author's notes: First of all, hpmaniac3241, you are my first ever reviewer, and such a friendly and encouraging first review means a lot to me. THANKS:-)
This story will have approximately another 2 (maybe 3) chapters, and I was hoping to post the whole story before HP 6, but time flies, doesn't it?
Anyway, I hope you enjoy my story, and wish everyone much fun with Harry Potter and the Halfblood Prince. Just one more day !