Draco Malfoy (maligned_draco) wrote in that_day, @ 2012-01-13 22:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | draco malfoy, millicent bulstrode, week 01: aug 1-7 |
Wed, 4 August 2005 - Diagon Alley (eventually)
The view wasn’t much.
Well, that was being charitable.
The view was shite: rows and rows of shabby brick houses that rimmed a grey and meandering river on either side, with a chimney that had the nasty habit of being placed where it blocked the sun for several hours a day. That was what he saw from the broad bay window- the only one, in point of fact- that stood behind his desk. Draco was glad most days that he had chosen the layout of his office the way he did, otherwise he felt he might apparate to the top of the bloody chimney and throw himself from its zenith. Still, sometimes- like now- he would stand at the window, sipping his tea or coffee and reflecting on various things that wandered through his mind.
His gaze tracked, as it was wont to do, to a particular house in the middle of a couple of hundred that were practically identical, indistinguishable from their neighbours. But he would know it. He would always know it. It had housed one of the bravest, most cunning and most intelligent men he had ever had the honour to know. A thoughtful frown tugged at his mouth as the hand that wasn’t holding his cup aloft moved its fingers along the minutely chipped surface of the lip. He could feel the heat rising from his tea, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Leaning his forehead against the sun-warmed glass, Draco let a deep sigh leave him.
So many things had changed over the years.
He turned around and walked back to his desk, finally putting his cup back with its saucer, and sat down again. He had indulged in his momentary fit of reminiscence, but it was time to get some work done. His dicta-quill was hovering where he had left it, just over a stretch of scroll secured by two glass paperweights. He re-read a few lines to remember where he had stopped and then composed his thoughts again. Financials were such a bore, but they were necessary evils. And he was very used to necessary evils- even if he didn’t like them very much.
Draco’s office was a bastion of organization, the one place in the whole world that he felt he had the most control over. He knew where all of his books, papers and folios were, what they were, in what status they might be at the moment. His tiny island of calm, he would sometimes remark to himself, a place where he could go and not be on all the time. It could be exhausting. Another necessary evil, he supposed.
He was nearly done with the current financial report when he heard something flutter into his office. Draco looked up just in time to see a paper memo land on his desk and then unfold itself. He recognized the small, neat script at once and smiled in spite of himself. Before he could send a reply, there was a knock on the door and then it opened. “I couldn’t wait for your reply, Mr Malfoy,” his assistant said, smiling with a contriteness that he almost believed. “I do hope the answer is ‘yes’.”
Draco fought the urge to laugh, schooling it into a far more characteristic smirk. “Miss Nagai, I have a feeling that I would never remember to have lunch if I didn’t have you around.”
She answered with what was arguably the most adorable smirk of her own. “Yes, you would starve.”
Oh, but she was dreadfully distracting. He chuckled and stood once more, smoothing out his robes with a quick flick of his wand. Megumi- his assistant- never looked as though she had a single hair out of place, always polished and professional and absolutely gorgeous. And she played the part of his on-again-off-again Bird of the Week perfectly. Generally, though, she kept him sane. Like now, as she said, “Oh, Mr Bowles owled to say that Mrs Weasley is insisting on a more aggressive approach regarding the Channel Act. Shall I make a reply?”
Draco smiled to himself; he knew she knew exactly what he was going to say, but he knew she just wanted to hear him confirm it. “No, no. I spoke with Roderick myself yesterday. I have owls dispatched to a few… sympathetic parties. The Act shouldn’t see the light of day. And if it does? Well, this wouldn’t be the first time the Ministry got tied up with bureaucratic nonsense, to the detriment of said Act. Pity.”
They shared a conspiratorial smile, and then he crossed the room, slid his arm around her waist, and they apparated into Diagon Alley for a late lunch.