Nothing belongs to me.
XVI: Seeking Peace
Draco Malfoy made a mental note to fire somebody as he sauntered into the department.
Everywhere he looked, there were the same cubicles and too familiar offices. This was not in the job description.
"Mr. M-Malfoy!" squeaked a mousy looking wizard, emerging suddenly from behind his cubicle. "I –!"
"Not now, Thomas."
"Timothy, sir, but sir – !"
"Really? Can't you see I'm busy playing messenger because obviously somebody doesn't appreciate their job enough to actually do it? And if perhaps you did, you'd – ."
"I understand completely, sir!" gasped the small wizard, scurrying back to his cubicle.
Delivering messages was not something any respectable owner of any company he knew would be doing. He would have to do away with this paid vacation.
Draco growled, just hoping he could find this Weasley girl's office before anyone else saw him.
And just as he expressed this desire, he found it: an average sized office, near the end of the hall.
He didn't knock (Draco scoffed at the idea.) and instead pushed the door open.
"Weasley, the Armenian president had just requested that you owl him the latest Thunderstruck models." He looked up.
"What the hell do you think you're doing Weasley?"
She sat, Indian style, on top of her desk, her pumps retired on the floor. Her hair cascaded down her back in dark red waves, bun forgotten. Her eyes were closed, and she had her arms raised above her head in a weird sort of salute.
"Seeking peace." she breathed, her eyes still very much closed.
Draco didn't know whether to laugh or to back away slowly. He cleared his throat, summoning several scrolls of parchment. "I suggest that if you value your job here, you'd 'seek peace' during your break. Now get to work."