Of Inscrutable Conceit
Chapter Eight
Draco grimly walked the streets of Hogsmeade alone, not even bothering to mutter the spell to keep the misty rain off his robes. Yesterday's events had not quite sunk in yet. It was surreal. Pansy was not speaking to him. It wasn't an intentional vow of silence. She simply burst into tears whenever he walked into the same room as her, thereby making coherent speech a distant possibility. He tried at first to protest, to blame the vixen Weasley. Given his plan, though, such claims sounded weak. Besides, now that Weasley had made the opening gambit, he looked like the seducee. That simply was not on. Draco snarled as he turned a corner.
This morning was even worse. Again, Draco had walked in to a sobbing Pansy. The sight caused him a twinge of remorse. He usually found her petulant posing and preening tiresome. This display however seemed authentic. Pansy would never allow herself to be seen in the common room with red eyes and dishevelled hair. Draco frowned. Pansy was being silly--he should not indulge her. Draco was about to tell her so when Blaise walked in, a picture of gleaming ebon perfection.
"Draco, you've finally got me beat. I never though I would see the day. Nabbing Ginny Weasley! Prettiest girl in the school, excepting present company of course. And to think you snatched her out of Longbottom's green grasp. I suppose Potter is a remote third now, eh?" Blaise drawled, a malicious gleam in his eyes.
Pansy let out a low moan. Draco bared his teeth at Blaise. Blaise merely shrugged his shoulders before strolling out of the common room. What a bloody git.
Crabbe and Goyle walked into the common room, looking slightly baffled. They turned to Draco and then the still sobbing Pansy. Goyle began to pat Pansy awkwardly on her shoulder. Crabbe looked at Draco again, but Draco was too busy shooting rays of death into Blaise's back and could offer no guidance.
"We didn't mean to put money on Ginny. We thought we were spelling Pansy's name right and the bookies were just funning us," Goyle mumbled.
Crabbe punched Goyle in the arm, but it was too late. Pansy let out a second, louder wail as she swatted Goyle's hand away. Goyle and Crabbe both jumped up and scurried off. Draco winced. It was enough to make a man look into new underlings--unquestioning loyalty was of paramount importance, but a filter of some sort would be nice.
"Er, well, I'm off to Hogsmeade," Draco said loudly to no one in particular. "Some errands to run."
The only sound in the common room was Pansy's sobbing.
"So, well, ta."
Draco welcomed the grey drizzle. It matched his mood and took off the edge of his frustration. Besides, his plan had nearly reached frutition. He couldn't declare defeat just yet. He stopped in front of a nondescript building off the high street. He rang the bell and leaned against the door frame, plastering boredom upon his face. The door opened, revealing a clerk wearing an impeccably tailored robe.
"Ah, Master Malfoy, well come. Your order is waiting for you. Please, come in," the clerk said.
Draco nodded and followed the clerk into the shop. The shop oozed of galleons--the soothing, shifting colours of the walls, the refreshing scent in the air, the shiny baubles on display and the attractive yet non-obstrusive staff. Draco took in a deep lungful of the sweet air and felt slightly better.
"Would you like a pumpkin latte while you wait, Master Malfoy?" the clerk asked, extending a glass mug filled with the delicious brew capped with foamed milk.
Draco sighed as he leaned back, falling into a conveniently placed overstuffed armchair, accepting the mug with a languid hand. He sipped the coffee, relishing the tickle of the foam against his upper lip. Hogwarts could take some notes.
Soft music began to pipe through the store. Another clerk entered, bearing a white box on top of a silver tray. The clerk lowered the tray before Draco, lifting the top of the box. In the box lay a yellow rosebud.
Draco lifted the rose out of the box and examined it carefully. He pulled a strand of hair out of his pouch, examining the red gold against the yellow. He nodded and turned to the clerk.
"The colour seems about right, but is there any way to test it?" Draco asked, somewhat superflously. This mecca of materialism would cater to his every whim, especially considering how much he paid to realise his whim.
"Of course, Master Malfoy. Put the rose on and test it yourself," the clerk replied smoothly.
Draco tucked the rosebud behind his ear. The rose suddenly burst into bloom, its petals turning a deep tangerine. The clerk held up a mirror. Draco peered and compared the strand to the now blooming rose. He frowned. It didn't quite clash but it was rather ostentatious. Well, Weasley was a showy bird. It shouldn't be too much of a problem.
"It's merely empathic, Master Malfoy, so you'll only be able to tell the strength of the emotion. The more orange the rose, the more positive the emotion is, but it's not quite exact," the clerk continued, with an apologetic half-smile. "It would take another six months for us to craft a more exact rose, but as I understand, you are working under strict time constraints. You will be seeing some interesting variations of yellow and orange, however. Do not feel cheated simply because you have two colours. You will learn to gauge their range."
Draco grimaced slightly. He didn't want the clerk to know how pleased he was. Keep them jumping, he'd always said.
"You'll have to prick yourself on the rose's thorns. It will be attuned to you. And it will have a particular affinity to the young lady once you offer it to her. We would recommend that you share the bloom with only one young lady. They're rather sensitive and become somewhat off-kilter if they're exposed to too many people."
"This is what I paid all those galleons for?" he demanded.
The clerk shrugged his shoulders, still flashing his apologetic half-smile.
"Their empathy is a double-ended wand, Master Malfoy. Sensitivity comes at a price. As I was saying, the rose will also grow thorns if the young lady thinks of another besides yourself. These are psychic thorns, so she won't actually cut and bleed, but she will feel as if she has," the clerk said. "We had to dig for that spell. It's rather old-fashioned and has fallen out of vogue."
The clerk just barely managed to keep his amusement out of his voice.
"We Malfoys are an old-fashioned clan," Draco said, making a note to complain to the manager.
Draco pulled the rose off and the orange hue fled from the petals until only the edges were tinged with apricot, the petals returning to their pale yellow, furling again into a bud.
"Is there anything else you would like to see today, Master Malfoy?" the clerk asked.
Draco nodded. "Your jewelery. There are a few things I would like to pick up."
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Draco tapped his toe impatiently. She was late. He had told her to be at The Three Broomsticks by 3 o'clock. He swirled his pint of butterbeer, too agitated to drink. There were a sizable number of Hogwarts students—all witnesses to his opening move. He smiled into his pint and took a sip. He could drink to that.
Ginny sauntered into the pub, Looney Lovegood trailing behind her. Draco tried not to wince. Why was she wearing brown and orange? She looked like a bloody scarecrow. The jumper had a giant B on it and the corduroy skirt had seen better days. And Looney. Draco bared his teeth. Whippet? He would show her whippet.
Ginny sat at the bar, next to Draco.
"Two butterbeers, please," Ginny said.
"Hello, Weasley," Draco drawled.
Looney blinked.
"Lovegood," he added curtly.
"I just want you to know there's no hard feelings for Quidditch yesterday. It's like they say—all's fair in love and Quidditch," Draco said, showing all of his teeth.
Ginny narrowed her eyes. Draco's smile grew wider. This was going to be so much fun!
"I certainly don't have any hard feelings, Malfoy," she said slowly. "It was a good match."
"And to prove that there are no hard feelings, I've brought a token," Draco said, revealing the white box from the folds of his robe, holding it in front of her.
Ginny stiffened. Looney stared at Draco, her eyes popping so much that Draco feared they would fall to the floor. Draco just managed to keep the sneer off his face.
"It won't bite, Weasley," Draco said.
It's not like he was lying. The rose would just prick every now and then. Ginny stared at the box, not moving.
"It's rude not to receive a gift, Weasley," Draco said, relishing her discomfort.
Ginny glared at him.
"Very well, I will do the honours then," Draco said with an angelic beam.
He opened the box and removed the rose. Looney let out a small gasp. Ginny began looking around the pub nervously. Before she could step away, Draco grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer, tucking the rose behind her ear.
"It's meant to be worn, Weasley. There are no hard feelings, you see. In fact, you might say my feelings are rather…soft," he said in dulcet tones.
Looney's jaw seemed to have hit the floor. Ginny, however, wore a look that reminded him of baby deer and drowned kittens. The rose turned a deep, deep orange—so deep, it was nearly the colour of Weasley's hair. This was more like it.
"Of course, there isn't any pressure. Take as long as you need," Draco said, raising Ginny's hand, allowing his lips to brush gently against it.
With a flourish, he released her hand and walked out of the pub. Draco managed to refrain from skipping until he was on the high street.