He didn't need to see the look of shock on his face. He knew it was there. Pulling himself together, he decided to focus on damage control.
The situation left him feeling decidedly uncomfortable. The small witch seated in front of his desk was rather high on the list of people he would have preferred to not see his shortcoming. He preferred to keep the fact that he was seeking assistance as quiet as possible, which was why he'd asked Edwina to conduct the interview process.
Mentally, he hexed himself for not specifying that Weasleys were not to be considered on the list of candidates, but then, how was he to know that a Weasley would happen to specialize in this particular type of work?
He waved a hand carelessly in the girl's direction, deciding that the best action was to get rid of her as quickly as possible. “Well, now that we have this established, I suppose you may go, Weasley. ”
He looked down, hoping that his dismissal of her was final, and reached for the top parchment in his stack of work. Hearing her rise from her chair, for which he assumed would be her departure, he decided to add a warning for good measure.
“Just remember that you've signed a confidentiality agreement so, as much as you'd like to have a good laugh at me with your oaf of a brother, I'm afraid you can't.”
He glanced up, but was surprised to she that she wasn't moving toward the door. In fact, to her credit, Weasley appeared far from upset by his abrupt dismissal of her. Instead, she was now standing before his desk, looking at him squarely in the eye.
“Malfoy, I would never laugh at you over hiring me.”
“Hmmph,” he said, slumping back in his chair. “Anyway, it's not my problem, Weasley.” He then attempted to ignore her by turning back to the paper on his desk.
However, the girl didn't leave. Instead, he became acutely aware that she had leaned toward him, her palms resting squarely on the polished mahogany of his desktop. He stared at her hands for a long moment, thinking it bold for a Weasley to attempt to intimidate him like that.
“Let's get one thing straight, Malfoy. I don't need this contract. In fact, I nearly walked out during the interview because it seemed that it this might conflict with my other obligations.”
He didn't look up, instead turning back to his parchment. “Well, then we seem to be in agreement. Goodbye, Weasley.”
“Not yet,” she said, forcefully enough to draw his attention away from the paperwork on his desk. “You want to show up the others, including Harry, in the Quidditch Tournament, and you know that I'm the best person to help you do that.”
The witch was nearly impossible to ignore, despite the fact that he was trying his utmost best to do so. Nevertheless, he made a valiant attempt to hide the fact that she'd attacked the one subject that was particularly close to his ego. “And why is that?” he asked, looking up at her with a pained expression, although he dearly hoped that she would interpret it as disdain.
“Because you're going to want to prove to me that you have the self control to get fit. You're going to need someone who's willing to push you and not be intimidated by your position.”
“There are plenty of others in your field, Weasley. I'm sure Mrs. Harris has found several other suitable candidates.”
Unfortunately, Mrs. Harris had not yet left the room, and was currently standing by the door, shaking her head at him in a negative manner. He silently damned the woman for being so much like his mother. He waved at her to leave, and she complied, but he didn't miss the small smile that graced her lips. Damn the woman. She found this amusing.
He placed his quill down and looked up at the Weasley.
“Explain.”
“When I walked in here, I hardly recognized you.”
He glared in response.
“Now, that's the Draco I remember!” she said, pointing at him, her expression brightening to an irritatingly cheerful level. “You were angry, pushy, an outright prat, and you were confident in yourself!”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Weasley,” he grumbled. “I happen to be president of my own corporation, thankyouverymuch. I think I have enough confidence.”
She leaned in, her face uncomfortably close. “But, you cringed at the idea of a Weasley knowing that you let yourself get a bit out of shape. You're avoiding going out with your friend, Goyle. And,” she declared with a triumphant smirk, “you are practically hiding from me behind that big desk of yours.”
He merely stared at her in response, dumbfounded.
She took his stunned silence as an opportunity to continue. “You have a confidence problem, Malfoy, and, if you don't address it directly, it will rule you until the day you die. Best start by dealing with me, because, at the very least, I've signed the confidentiality agreement.”
He raised an eyebrow, afraid of letting the witch know that she was right. He'd been hiding for the past few years behind his desk, where he was quite safely hidden from the world, the bulk of his social interaction being primarily with underlings who feared for their jobs.
Feeling more than slightly cornered, since he really had had enough of hearing her itemize his shortcomings, he decided to make an attempt to turn the conversation back to her. “Fine. If you are so smart, what's your motivation to help me succeed?”
“As your assistant recognized quite accurately, I like a challenge.”
He looked at her sceptically. “I'd hardly be a challenge, Weasley.”
She narrowed her gaze, almost playfully. “Then, prove it to me.”
He considered saying that he really didn't need her help, but, the fact that his assistant had actually brought her in here for an interview left him without much of an argument.
“I could probably beat Potter right now in the Quidditch tournament, without any help whatsoever from you or anyone else. I'm simply looking to refine my skills.”
She looked at him in amusement, which annoyed him greatly. “Excellent. We'll get started on that tonight, then,” she said, with a cheerful smile.
“What?” he yelped, his voice accidentally rising to a rather undignified squeak.
“You did tell Mrs. Harris that you had plans with me tonight. So, let's go. I'm supposed to get you in top form for Quidditch, and there's no better time to start than now.”
“I did not say...”
She placed a hand directly on his, effectively distracting him from completing his last statement. He stared down at her fingers and found himself wondering how one so small could have so much of a commanding presence. He found that he was rather impressed, until he reminded himself that the witch touching him happened to be a Weasley.
He looked from her hand, then up into her cheerful hazel eyes and opened his mouth to complete his last sentence.
“You want to beat Harry, don't you?” she said, once again cutting off his statement before the words could leave his lips. This seemed to be happening quite frequently, and he had no clue how to stop it.
“Well, yes...” he said quickly, hoping to finish some form of sentence, but, alas, it was not meant to be.
“Then meet me at half six, at the Harpies' practice pitch.” She then looked at the dish of chocolates sitting on his desk, frowned, and lifted the bowl. His eyes widened in horror.
“And, after that, we'll discuss a proper nutrition plan for you, so that you'll be able to perform at a peak level.”
“But...” he said, reaching helplessly toward the tray of sweets, as he watched her carry them away with her as she moved toward the door.
“I have another appointment this afternoon, so I must be going. Looking forward to this evening, Malfoy,” she said, and with that, she, and his tray of sweets, was gone.
He sat back in his chair, wondering just what, exactly, had transpired.
“Hmmph...”
Not sure he wanted to delve further into the rather bizarre conversation that had just occurred, he chose to stare at the parchment on his desk. It was a proposal for development of a new form of Skele-gro potion that would be less painful that the current formula. Unfortunately, his mind found it difficult to focus on the dreary details of the research because parts of his recent conversation with Weasley continued to gnaw at his thoughts.
He leaned forward, dropping his head into his hands and, absently, he reached for the comfort of his tray of chocolates. His stomach tightened in what only could be described as a pang of fear as he realized that it was no longer there.
Staring for a long moment at the spot, he confirmed that the tray was not about to reappear. He stood up, allowing himself to feel a good amount of righteous anger at the little witch who had absconded with his treats. Whatever had possessed him not to dismiss her outright was a mystery that he was in no mood to ponder at the moment.
He marched out of his office, straight to his assistant's desk.
“I've already cleared tomorrow morning for your next appointment with Miss Weasley. You'll be meeting for breakfast,” she said, not waiting for him to speak and without looking up from the complicated parchment that she was working on, which he could only assume was his schedule.
He stared down at the woman in amazement. “What?”
Edwina looked up, her usual calm, professional facade in place. “You did specify that you wanted to begin your regiment as soon as possible, Mr. Malfoy. Miss Weasley left preliminary instructions, and informed me that she'll be able to provide specifics tomorrow, after she discusses any special dietary requirements with you.”
He blinked at her, suddenly feeling like he had been hoodwinked, although, in all honesty, she did echo his orders rather precisely. He quickly tried to compare what he had specifically stated against what was actually happening, and, somehow, they didn't quite equate.
“I said...”
“Yes, Sir,” she confirmed, in her usual, no-nonsense manner. A cold fear settled in his stomach as he realized that he was likely in for a long three months.
Deciding he needed some immediate consolation, which he apparently was not going to receive from his formerly loyal assistant, he turned for the pastry tray.
It was gone.
“'Dwina...” he said, looking back at her, his finger pointing at the plant that now occupied the table where his comfort food once sat.
“I've already ordered a replacement, Sir. It should be here in a few minutes.”
“Good,” he said, once again feeling in control. He didn't want to ask about what had happened to the table's previous occupant.
He marched back into his office, hoping to finish his work for the day quickly, so that he could leave soon, show up the Weasley bint during a bit of Quidditch practice, fire her, and proceed to get his life back to normal as quickly as possible.
X - X - X
As his wall clock chimed that it was time for him to leave for his Quidditch practice, he gave a weary sigh, placed his quill aside and rubbed his tired eyes. He came to another unwelcome conclusion that staring at documents all day would leave him needing glasses if he wasn't careful.
He then decided that it might be a nice change to go out and play some Quidditch, even if it was with the little Weasley. It might do a world of good for his confidence, after all.
Leaving the office, he realized that he hadn't had a snack all afternoon. Turning to his favorite pastry tray he found... a bowl of fresh fruit.
Taking a deep breath to calm himself he looked around the reception area, to first verify that perhaps the pastry tray had simply been moved. Confirming his suspicion that it had not, he then looked back to the bowl which contained a variety of apples, oranges, grapes and banana. It was colorful, he had to admit, but what he had in mind was a cream filled puff pastry, preferably of the chocolate variety.
And how did it happen that Weasley was actually hired for the position that he wasn't sure he'd wanted filled to begin with? The idea was that he was just going to talk to a candidate or two, see what they had to offer. In fact, he'd discussed requirements so specific, that he was surprised that Edwina had found a suitable candidate at all.
He turned back to Edwina, who was now putting on her cloak.
“I'm just about to leave for the evening, Mr. Malfoy. Your breakfast appointment is at eight, at the Elfin Delight.”
“What is this supposed to be?” he said, pointing to the fruit and glaring at her, with the maximum amount of hostility that she would likely tolerate from him.
“Miss Weasley's instruction,” she said with authority. “You did specify that she have priority in all matters regarding your fitness and she was quite specific in this matter.”
“She was specific...”
“Yes, Sir,” she said, with her usual, professional smile, as she bid him goodbye and walked out the door.
He was left staring after her, then back to the innocent bowl of fruit with his mouth hanging open in disbelief.
- - -
The situation left him feeling decidedly uncomfortable. The small witch seated in front of his desk was rather high on the list of people he would have preferred to not see his shortcoming. He preferred to keep the fact that he was seeking assistance as quiet as possible, which was why he'd asked Edwina to conduct the interview process.
Mentally, he hexed himself for not specifying that Weasleys were not to be considered on the list of candidates, but then, how was he to know that a Weasley would happen to specialize in this particular type of work?
He waved a hand carelessly in the girl's direction, deciding that the best action was to get rid of her as quickly as possible. “Well, now that we have this established, I suppose you may go, Weasley. ”
He looked down, hoping that his dismissal of her was final, and reached for the top parchment in his stack of work. Hearing her rise from her chair, for which he assumed would be her departure, he decided to add a warning for good measure.
“Just remember that you've signed a confidentiality agreement so, as much as you'd like to have a good laugh at me with your oaf of a brother, I'm afraid you can't.”
He glanced up, but was surprised to she that she wasn't moving toward the door. In fact, to her credit, Weasley appeared far from upset by his abrupt dismissal of her. Instead, she was now standing before his desk, looking at him squarely in the eye.
“Malfoy, I would never laugh at you over hiring me.”
“Hmmph,” he said, slumping back in his chair. “Anyway, it's not my problem, Weasley.” He then attempted to ignore her by turning back to the paper on his desk.
However, the girl didn't leave. Instead, he became acutely aware that she had leaned toward him, her palms resting squarely on the polished mahogany of his desktop. He stared at her hands for a long moment, thinking it bold for a Weasley to attempt to intimidate him like that.
“Let's get one thing straight, Malfoy. I don't need this contract. In fact, I nearly walked out during the interview because it seemed that it this might conflict with my other obligations.”
He didn't look up, instead turning back to his parchment. “Well, then we seem to be in agreement. Goodbye, Weasley.”
“Not yet,” she said, forcefully enough to draw his attention away from the paperwork on his desk. “You want to show up the others, including Harry, in the Quidditch Tournament, and you know that I'm the best person to help you do that.”
The witch was nearly impossible to ignore, despite the fact that he was trying his utmost best to do so. Nevertheless, he made a valiant attempt to hide the fact that she'd attacked the one subject that was particularly close to his ego. “And why is that?” he asked, looking up at her with a pained expression, although he dearly hoped that she would interpret it as disdain.
“Because you're going to want to prove to me that you have the self control to get fit. You're going to need someone who's willing to push you and not be intimidated by your position.”
“There are plenty of others in your field, Weasley. I'm sure Mrs. Harris has found several other suitable candidates.”
Unfortunately, Mrs. Harris had not yet left the room, and was currently standing by the door, shaking her head at him in a negative manner. He silently damned the woman for being so much like his mother. He waved at her to leave, and she complied, but he didn't miss the small smile that graced her lips. Damn the woman. She found this amusing.
He placed his quill down and looked up at the Weasley.
“Explain.”
“When I walked in here, I hardly recognized you.”
He glared in response.
“Now, that's the Draco I remember!” she said, pointing at him, her expression brightening to an irritatingly cheerful level. “You were angry, pushy, an outright prat, and you were confident in yourself!”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Weasley,” he grumbled. “I happen to be president of my own corporation, thankyouverymuch. I think I have enough confidence.”
She leaned in, her face uncomfortably close. “But, you cringed at the idea of a Weasley knowing that you let yourself get a bit out of shape. You're avoiding going out with your friend, Goyle. And,” she declared with a triumphant smirk, “you are practically hiding from me behind that big desk of yours.”
He merely stared at her in response, dumbfounded.
She took his stunned silence as an opportunity to continue. “You have a confidence problem, Malfoy, and, if you don't address it directly, it will rule you until the day you die. Best start by dealing with me, because, at the very least, I've signed the confidentiality agreement.”
He raised an eyebrow, afraid of letting the witch know that she was right. He'd been hiding for the past few years behind his desk, where he was quite safely hidden from the world, the bulk of his social interaction being primarily with underlings who feared for their jobs.
Feeling more than slightly cornered, since he really had had enough of hearing her itemize his shortcomings, he decided to make an attempt to turn the conversation back to her. “Fine. If you are so smart, what's your motivation to help me succeed?”
“As your assistant recognized quite accurately, I like a challenge.”
He looked at her sceptically. “I'd hardly be a challenge, Weasley.”
She narrowed her gaze, almost playfully. “Then, prove it to me.”
He considered saying that he really didn't need her help, but, the fact that his assistant had actually brought her in here for an interview left him without much of an argument.
“I could probably beat Potter right now in the Quidditch tournament, without any help whatsoever from you or anyone else. I'm simply looking to refine my skills.”
She looked at him in amusement, which annoyed him greatly. “Excellent. We'll get started on that tonight, then,” she said, with a cheerful smile.
“What?” he yelped, his voice accidentally rising to a rather undignified squeak.
“You did tell Mrs. Harris that you had plans with me tonight. So, let's go. I'm supposed to get you in top form for Quidditch, and there's no better time to start than now.”
“I did not say...”
She placed a hand directly on his, effectively distracting him from completing his last statement. He stared down at her fingers and found himself wondering how one so small could have so much of a commanding presence. He found that he was rather impressed, until he reminded himself that the witch touching him happened to be a Weasley.
He looked from her hand, then up into her cheerful hazel eyes and opened his mouth to complete his last sentence.
“You want to beat Harry, don't you?” she said, once again cutting off his statement before the words could leave his lips. This seemed to be happening quite frequently, and he had no clue how to stop it.
“Well, yes...” he said quickly, hoping to finish some form of sentence, but, alas, it was not meant to be.
“Then meet me at half six, at the Harpies' practice pitch.” She then looked at the dish of chocolates sitting on his desk, frowned, and lifted the bowl. His eyes widened in horror.
“And, after that, we'll discuss a proper nutrition plan for you, so that you'll be able to perform at a peak level.”
“But...” he said, reaching helplessly toward the tray of sweets, as he watched her carry them away with her as she moved toward the door.
“I have another appointment this afternoon, so I must be going. Looking forward to this evening, Malfoy,” she said, and with that, she, and his tray of sweets, was gone.
He sat back in his chair, wondering just what, exactly, had transpired.
“Hmmph...”
Not sure he wanted to delve further into the rather bizarre conversation that had just occurred, he chose to stare at the parchment on his desk. It was a proposal for development of a new form of Skele-gro potion that would be less painful that the current formula. Unfortunately, his mind found it difficult to focus on the dreary details of the research because parts of his recent conversation with Weasley continued to gnaw at his thoughts.
He leaned forward, dropping his head into his hands and, absently, he reached for the comfort of his tray of chocolates. His stomach tightened in what only could be described as a pang of fear as he realized that it was no longer there.
Staring for a long moment at the spot, he confirmed that the tray was not about to reappear. He stood up, allowing himself to feel a good amount of righteous anger at the little witch who had absconded with his treats. Whatever had possessed him not to dismiss her outright was a mystery that he was in no mood to ponder at the moment.
He marched out of his office, straight to his assistant's desk.
“I've already cleared tomorrow morning for your next appointment with Miss Weasley. You'll be meeting for breakfast,” she said, not waiting for him to speak and without looking up from the complicated parchment that she was working on, which he could only assume was his schedule.
He stared down at the woman in amazement. “What?”
Edwina looked up, her usual calm, professional facade in place. “You did specify that you wanted to begin your regiment as soon as possible, Mr. Malfoy. Miss Weasley left preliminary instructions, and informed me that she'll be able to provide specifics tomorrow, after she discusses any special dietary requirements with you.”
He blinked at her, suddenly feeling like he had been hoodwinked, although, in all honesty, she did echo his orders rather precisely. He quickly tried to compare what he had specifically stated against what was actually happening, and, somehow, they didn't quite equate.
“I said...”
“Yes, Sir,” she confirmed, in her usual, no-nonsense manner. A cold fear settled in his stomach as he realized that he was likely in for a long three months.
Deciding he needed some immediate consolation, which he apparently was not going to receive from his formerly loyal assistant, he turned for the pastry tray.
It was gone.
“'Dwina...” he said, looking back at her, his finger pointing at the plant that now occupied the table where his comfort food once sat.
“I've already ordered a replacement, Sir. It should be here in a few minutes.”
“Good,” he said, once again feeling in control. He didn't want to ask about what had happened to the table's previous occupant.
He marched back into his office, hoping to finish his work for the day quickly, so that he could leave soon, show up the Weasley bint during a bit of Quidditch practice, fire her, and proceed to get his life back to normal as quickly as possible.
X - X - X
As his wall clock chimed that it was time for him to leave for his Quidditch practice, he gave a weary sigh, placed his quill aside and rubbed his tired eyes. He came to another unwelcome conclusion that staring at documents all day would leave him needing glasses if he wasn't careful.
He then decided that it might be a nice change to go out and play some Quidditch, even if it was with the little Weasley. It might do a world of good for his confidence, after all.
Leaving the office, he realized that he hadn't had a snack all afternoon. Turning to his favorite pastry tray he found... a bowl of fresh fruit.
Taking a deep breath to calm himself he looked around the reception area, to first verify that perhaps the pastry tray had simply been moved. Confirming his suspicion that it had not, he then looked back to the bowl which contained a variety of apples, oranges, grapes and banana. It was colorful, he had to admit, but what he had in mind was a cream filled puff pastry, preferably of the chocolate variety.
And how did it happen that Weasley was actually hired for the position that he wasn't sure he'd wanted filled to begin with? The idea was that he was just going to talk to a candidate or two, see what they had to offer. In fact, he'd discussed requirements so specific, that he was surprised that Edwina had found a suitable candidate at all.
He turned back to Edwina, who was now putting on her cloak.
“I'm just about to leave for the evening, Mr. Malfoy. Your breakfast appointment is at eight, at the Elfin Delight.”
“What is this supposed to be?” he said, pointing to the fruit and glaring at her, with the maximum amount of hostility that she would likely tolerate from him.
“Miss Weasley's instruction,” she said with authority. “You did specify that she have priority in all matters regarding your fitness and she was quite specific in this matter.”
“She was specific...”
“Yes, Sir,” she said, with her usual, professional smile, as she bid him goodbye and walked out the door.
He was left staring after her, then back to the innocent bowl of fruit with his mouth hanging open in disbelief.
- - -
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