He spent most of Friday moping around the office, completely preoccupied with his next scheduled encounter with the Weasley witch. Coming to an abrupt decision to simply not allow the next meeting to be booked, he marched toward his assistant's desk.
“'Dwina,” he said, speaking quickly lest he lose his nerve. “I'll be busy all day tomorrow, please make sure not to schedule anything.”
There. A small feeling of victory knotted in his stomach.
“Certainly, Mr. Malfoy. I presume then that will be anytime after nine, as usual?”
“Of course,” he stated, firmly.
Edwina was well aware that because he no longer needed to work entire weekends, his appointments only fell after nine on Saturdays. Not that they'd ever discussed the fact that his preference was simply because he enjoyed a good lie-in. She just knew, and he liked that about her. He watched her efficiently take out her quill to adjust the parchment that contained his schedule.
“I'll inform Miss Weasley, then. She will be pleased, as she initially requested the earlier time.”
He raised an eyebrow in question.
“Your morning session with Miss Weasley will be at six. While you were in your morning meeting, she contacted me to schedule, as you requested, Sir.”
He felt his jaw drop open in shock. Six. In the morning. On a Saturday. He cursed under his breath. Not only had he failed to intervene, he'd just managed to commit himself to an ungodly early appointment.
He took a moment to review the facts, trying to determine how, exactly, he went wrong in his plan, and, worse, how it ended up creating an even less desirable outcome than before. Drawing a blank, he immediately tried to think of how he might be able to remedy this obvious tactical error without looking rather silly. Unfortunately, nothing was coming to mind. Looking skeptically at his assistant, he, once again, wondered if he actually ever had a choice in the matter. Edwina, meanwhile, had returned to her usual work, completely ignoring him.
The whole situation made him hungry. He turned and looked at the bowl of fruit, taunting him from the table in the corner.
He marched back to his office, dropping heavily into his chair and drummed his fingers impatiently on his desk.
There had to be a better way.
Suddenly, a brilliant thought popped into his head. So brilliant, in fact, that he spent several long moments congratulating himself, and even paused to mentally bid the bowl of fruit a not-so-fond good riddance.
He lifted his head up, a fire alight in his eyes.
“'Dwina...” he called, unable to contain the oily sound of Slytherin triumph in his voice.
She entered the room a moment later, parchment and quill in hand. “Yes, Mr. Malfoy?”
“Don't we have a small division that researches and manufactures weight loss potions?” he asked, trying to keep the glee from his voice, unsuccessfully, but he was so happy that he didn't care.
What surprised him, however, was that Edwina's usual look of calm efficiency was replaced by an expression that almost resembled alarm. He had a fleeting thought that she recognized exactly what he was about to ask.
“Yes, Mr. Malfoy. We do, but...”
He interrupted her, despite the fact that she went so far as to widen her eyes in surprise at him – never a good sign. But he continued undaunted, because he was determined to win this battle. “Then why the hell am I even bothering to interrupt my life by bringing that insane witch into this?”
He knew he sounded excited, even eager, but he could hardly contain himself.
“But, Mr. Malfoy...”
He noticed that his assistant clearly seemed alarmed, and for the first time since he'd known the witch, he questioned her motives. It made him just the tiniest bit suspicious, and decided to put a quick end to whatever she was planning with the Weasley.
“No 'buts', 'Dwina. I want you to send an owl to that department immediately.”
“But they don't work, Mr. Malfoy,” she replied, a sincere look of dread now crossing her normally stoic features.
He looked confused and stared at her for a long moment as if she'd suddenly turned into a three headed troll. “What do you mean, 'they don't work',” he stated in annoyance. “I pay those idiots a good salary! They damn well better be in the office working!”
“No, sir,” she said, almost seeming afraid to clarify the bad news. “I mean the potions don't work. There's no easy solution to weight loss.”
His jaw dropped open slightly, and he found himself denying the truth in her voice. “I see the accounts, 'Dwina,” he responded, a hint of desperation in his argument. “That division earns this company tens of thousands of galleons every year. How could they not be effective?”
Edwina looked at him with obvious concern and immediately began to explain. “The potions usually contain a glamour charm to temporarily give the illusion of weight loss. Some contain some form of nutritional supplement, maybe even an appetite suppressant but, overall, they are completely ineffective. We make a significant profit in that market due to the fact that desperate people will pay for anything what appears to be an easy solution.”
He blinked twice in total disbelief. Worse, he was a bit devastated. Then, closing his mouth, he took a deep breath and stated flatly, “Remind me of this little fact when it comes time for me to sign the Christmas bonuses for that department.”
“Yes, Mr. Malfoy.”
He closed his fist and gave a short pound on the desk to vent his frustration. The force of the impact caused the picture of his mother to topple over. He righted the item, looking apologetic as the magical image in the frame scolded him soundly for his outburst.
He looked up desperately at Edwina. “You mean I really have to keep that bint? I really have to do everything she says?”
“If you want to get back into shape again, then yes, sir,” she said, as professionally as possible.
He nodded and turned back to his paperwork, as Edwina turned to leave the office, knowing that it was going to be a very long day.
- - -
One week later...
- - -
He opened one bleary eye as the alarm shouted at him, once again, that he was going to be late. He decided he was quite sick of being told what to do, so he grabbed his wand and hexed the thing into oblivion.
Finally at peace, he dropped the wand lazily on the floor and closed his eyes. Just this once, Weasley could do her morning workout alone. He ached all over from the regular Quidditch sessions over the past week and felt more than entitled to sleep in. He wasn't a morning person, after all.
Tucking his head under the pile of pillows, he blissfully drifted back into slumber.
About an hour later, his sleep was once again interrupted, albeit a bit more forcefully than by his alarm. Brightness temporarily blinded him as the curtains in his room were thrown wide open.
“Malfoy!”
He jumped up, eyes wide and awake, as he realized that the sound had come from an intruder in the sanctum of his room. Thrashing madly in search of his wand, he managed to only tangle his legs in the blankets. Unfortunately, his wand was out of reach, since he'd dropped it right after hexing his alarm. Looking madly about for a long few moments, he finally managed to focus his sleep addled vision on the intruder.
“What are you doing in my bedroom, Weasley?”
“You missed our morning appointment,” she said, looking rather stern, crossing her arms in front of herself, tapping one foot impatiently.
“So?”
“We discussed this and agreed that we'd meet in the mornings.”
Dropping back on the bed in an elaborately dramatic manner, he closed his eyes and groaned. “Actually, as I recall, you were the one doing all the discussing. I was only allowed to agree with you at the end.”
“You didn't mind meeting last Saturday at this time,” she said, her hands squarely on her hips.
“Well, that was last Saturday, Weasley,” he responded, still trying to hide his eyes from the blinding glare. He decided it was best to attempt to change the subject. “Who let you in here?”
“Your mother,” she answered simply, as if it was completely logical.
“My...” he had been hoping that she would say one of the house elves. Then, at least he could appropriately punish the offender, that is, if his mother didn't catch him. Hearing that his dear mother was the offending party left him in a bit of a quandry. He found himself momentarily toying with the idea of disowning her, despite the fact that she'd given birth to him. However, he quickly realized that it wasn't worth having her hex him. Damn.
He buried his head under the pillow.
The pillow was forcefully removed a moment later, and a rather irritated Ginevra Weasley was glaring down at him.
“Move it, Malfoy. We still have an hour to get something done before I have to go to my next appointment.”
Despite the fact that she was only about half his size, he found himself just the tiniest bit afraid. He seemed to recall she threw a nasty hex, but, right now, standing over him like she was, wearing her typical tight spandex suit, he was more concerned about her simply hauling him out of bed with physical force.
She clearly had control issues.
Fortunately, she seemed to calm down as soon as she noted the look of resignation on his face. Indicating to the witch that she leave, so he could get dressed, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his head in frustration.
It had been over a week. Ten days to be exact. Somehow, he'd been manipulated to joining Weasley every other morning for a quick workout before breakfast.
He wasn't quite sure how that happened, actually. He thought back to that first Saturday workout, just over a week ago. He'd shown up at six at the Quidditch pitch, despite his overwhelming desire to do otherwise. But he'd made a commitment, and if he didn't show, Edwina would likely do something terrible to his schedule for making her adjust it again.
And, no, he was not intimidated by his slender, middle-aged assistant. It was simply a matter of courtesy.
But, he'd shown up that first day, and Weasley was there, looking rather chipper and cheerful, almost as if she was happy to see him. Worse, she was nice. And he was, unfortunately, not quite awake enough to taunt her appropriately.
To worsen matters, she had been dressed in an outfit that fit her small form rather snugly. It was a recipe for disaster.
They went through a series of light stretches and drills, and he almost had...well...fun, and fun was something that had been sorely lacking during his last four years. Little did he realize at the time that she was only luring him into her trap. By the end of the session, he was willing to agree to just about anything. Unfortunately, that seemed to include early practice sessions at least four times per week.
So, when she smiled sweetly at him, he found himself lulled into some sort of terrible submission and he agreed to continue the morning workouts. Idiotic of him, really.
The fun typically ended as soon as the next workout began, with her usually demanding him to work harder, move faster, or do just one more pattern on the broom, despite the fact that his arms were literally limp with fatigue. All the while, she spurred him on, her red ponytail bouncing in the breeze, while he followed, chasing her on the broom. It was quite aggravating, actually. The only plus seemed to be that he typically had a wonderful view of her backside as he chased her about the pitch. It was clearly a lust/hate sort of thing.
Pulling on his socks, he thought for a long moment about this issue with the morning workouts. Something about the entire thing plagued him. First, Edwina seemed all too eager to pen it into his schedule, but there was more to it than that.
Now that he thought about it, he likely would have found some way to oversleep for the weekday workouts, if at all possible, except his mother had chosen to schedule some sort of remodeling in the house and corresponding noise inspired him to leave.
Thinking back on that, and the fact that his mother was responsible for Weasley tossing him out of bed this particular morning, convinced him that his mother was quite involved in the conspiracy against him.
He groaned in defeat.
X - X - X
“Your weight should be going down more...” she said, surprised.
He shifted nervously as she passed the wand over him again, scowling at the numbers that appeared over his head in response to the spell. She should be thrilled with him. After three weeks of misery, he'd managed to tighten his belt a notch, and he no longer ached after an hour of flying on the broom, although he continued to blame the old Cleansweep brooms for his lack of speed and agility, although there was no shortage of her yelling at him to move faster, make sharper turns, or do one more lap around the field.
He was doing everything she said, for the most part. Obviously, she wasn't as good at her job as she claimed to be.
“With the meal plan I have you on, I was expecting better results.”
“Well, perhaps your plan isn't so very perfect,” he responded, seeming just the slightest bit smug.
She narrowed her eyes, as if she knew something. An overwhelming sense of guilt washed over him as she stared at him almost accusingly. Fearing some sort of wrath from the little witch, he made sure to give her his most innocent expression, an expression, mind you, that almost never failed to work on his mother.
Weasley was apparently not so easily swayed.
“We'll discuss this at our next meeting. It might be time for us to adjust our exercise plan, anyway.”
Somehow, her words did not bode well, he thought, as he left the practice field to prepare for work for the day.
X – X – X
Opening the lower left drawer of his elaborate desk, he found what he'd been hoping for, and immediately decided that the cleaning witch would get a hefty bonus this quarter for her efforts.
Inside the drawer was a large cupcake covered with a thick coating of pink frosting, sitting innocently alongside a half dozen other pastries. Draco eyed the treat and licked his lips, thinking briefly that there was no accounting for the choice in frosting. Considering the circumstances, however, he decided that any color was perfectly acceptable, and besides, he had no intention of allowing anyone to catch him consuming the confection. After all, he'd had a good half hour workout that morning, and he deserved to reward himself.
Grinning with a small amount of devious glee, he hefted the item and examined it thoroughly, taking a finger full of the frosting and sampling it. Savoring the sugary pink sweetness, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the moment of victory over the Weasley bint. But there was little time to relish in his success. Glancing about the room, he verified that Mrs. Harris was still away from her desk, and therefore would be unable to catch him in his moment of indiscretion. He turned his chair away from the open doorway, quickly dismissing the idea of closing it, lest his action appear suspicious.
Looking out his window at the bright morning sunshine, he smiled and took a large bite of the cupcake, heedless of its pinkness, and enjoyed. It was going to be a good day after all.
He was just over half completed in his task of consuming the item, when he heard a sound, and froze.
“Malfoy?”
Damn. It was the devil Weasley herself. Damn, damn, damn. He felt his blood run cold as a moment of panic swept over him. Dropping the remains of the cupcake onto his lap, crumbs and all, he swallowed the bite he'd taken quickly, and reminded himself to do a quick Scourgify on his pants before leaving the office later.
“Yes, Weasley?”
“Enjoying the view?” she asked, looking far too pleasant. She was never this pleasant. Immediately, he started to calculate how she was planning to make his life even more miserable.
“I do occasionally.”
She frowned at him as if he'd disappointed her in some way. It made him feel decidedly guilty, although he had absolutely no reason to feel such an emotion.
“What?” he asked, as innocently as possible. Something about the way she was looking at him made him feel much too much like a small child caught doing something naughty.
She gave a resigned sigh and leaned forward, and he immediately pulled his chair closer to his desk to hide the remains of the cupcake now squashed on his pants. As she came closer to his face, he noticed that she was staring at his lips, and had a fleeting thought that she might try to kiss him, but instead, she simply reached forward and wiped her finger along the side of his mouth.
As she pulled back, he noticed the smudge of pink frosting now coating her finger. His eyes widened in fear.
“Really, Malfoy. Am I that bad that you felt you had to hide this from me?”
“Well...”
She pursed her lips and gave him a slightly sour look. “Where is it?”
He pulled his chair back, only to see the squashed remains of cake and pink frosting in his lap. “Uhhh...”
She leaned over his desk once again, and verified the mess. “Oh, Malfoy...” she said, her tone amused.
“It's my life, Weasley,” he said, casting a scourgify on his pants and attempting to look dignified. “If I want a bloody pastry, I'm entitled to one. I shouldn't be reduced to having to bribe people and hide it as if it was some sort of illicit drug.”
She gave him a smile, almost as if she was pleased with him. He was more than a bit surprised, having expected the horrid harpy to tear into him for his indiscretion.
“You're right, Draco,” she replied.
“Of course I'm right. Wait. I'm right? You're agreeing with me?”
“Yes, I'm agreeing with you,” she said almost as if she were a normal person, having a normal conversation. He looked at her with suspicion as she continued. “It was a bit aggressive of me to cut you off from all of your comfort foods, and you've been doing so well. Cravings for your favorite foods are normal, and to deny yourself from them for too long will only cause you to binge eventually.”
“Well, it's about time you recognized your error, Weasley.”
“Not an error, exactly. Just a small adjustment. I'm going to allot some sweets into your day, but only small amounts, so you can satisfy your cravings. For example, you don't need an entire pastry, when a few bites will do.”
He looked at her skeptically.
“It's a simple matter of balance,” she explained. “Calories in must be less than calories expended. You can have the treat, but we'll have to increase your activity. I think you are ready for that now, anyway.”
Suddenly, his triumph didn't seem quite as satisfying as it did a few moments ago.
“Don't pout, Draco. It's not that bad. We'll meet tomorrow morning. I think it's time for you to start jogging.”
And when did he give her permission to call him by his first name?
“'Dwina,” he said, speaking quickly lest he lose his nerve. “I'll be busy all day tomorrow, please make sure not to schedule anything.”
There. A small feeling of victory knotted in his stomach.
“Certainly, Mr. Malfoy. I presume then that will be anytime after nine, as usual?”
“Of course,” he stated, firmly.
Edwina was well aware that because he no longer needed to work entire weekends, his appointments only fell after nine on Saturdays. Not that they'd ever discussed the fact that his preference was simply because he enjoyed a good lie-in. She just knew, and he liked that about her. He watched her efficiently take out her quill to adjust the parchment that contained his schedule.
“I'll inform Miss Weasley, then. She will be pleased, as she initially requested the earlier time.”
He raised an eyebrow in question.
“Your morning session with Miss Weasley will be at six. While you were in your morning meeting, she contacted me to schedule, as you requested, Sir.”
He felt his jaw drop open in shock. Six. In the morning. On a Saturday. He cursed under his breath. Not only had he failed to intervene, he'd just managed to commit himself to an ungodly early appointment.
He took a moment to review the facts, trying to determine how, exactly, he went wrong in his plan, and, worse, how it ended up creating an even less desirable outcome than before. Drawing a blank, he immediately tried to think of how he might be able to remedy this obvious tactical error without looking rather silly. Unfortunately, nothing was coming to mind. Looking skeptically at his assistant, he, once again, wondered if he actually ever had a choice in the matter. Edwina, meanwhile, had returned to her usual work, completely ignoring him.
The whole situation made him hungry. He turned and looked at the bowl of fruit, taunting him from the table in the corner.
He marched back to his office, dropping heavily into his chair and drummed his fingers impatiently on his desk.
There had to be a better way.
Suddenly, a brilliant thought popped into his head. So brilliant, in fact, that he spent several long moments congratulating himself, and even paused to mentally bid the bowl of fruit a not-so-fond good riddance.
He lifted his head up, a fire alight in his eyes.
“'Dwina...” he called, unable to contain the oily sound of Slytherin triumph in his voice.
She entered the room a moment later, parchment and quill in hand. “Yes, Mr. Malfoy?”
“Don't we have a small division that researches and manufactures weight loss potions?” he asked, trying to keep the glee from his voice, unsuccessfully, but he was so happy that he didn't care.
What surprised him, however, was that Edwina's usual look of calm efficiency was replaced by an expression that almost resembled alarm. He had a fleeting thought that she recognized exactly what he was about to ask.
“Yes, Mr. Malfoy. We do, but...”
He interrupted her, despite the fact that she went so far as to widen her eyes in surprise at him – never a good sign. But he continued undaunted, because he was determined to win this battle. “Then why the hell am I even bothering to interrupt my life by bringing that insane witch into this?”
He knew he sounded excited, even eager, but he could hardly contain himself.
“But, Mr. Malfoy...”
He noticed that his assistant clearly seemed alarmed, and for the first time since he'd known the witch, he questioned her motives. It made him just the tiniest bit suspicious, and decided to put a quick end to whatever she was planning with the Weasley.
“No 'buts', 'Dwina. I want you to send an owl to that department immediately.”
“But they don't work, Mr. Malfoy,” she replied, a sincere look of dread now crossing her normally stoic features.
He looked confused and stared at her for a long moment as if she'd suddenly turned into a three headed troll. “What do you mean, 'they don't work',” he stated in annoyance. “I pay those idiots a good salary! They damn well better be in the office working!”
“No, sir,” she said, almost seeming afraid to clarify the bad news. “I mean the potions don't work. There's no easy solution to weight loss.”
His jaw dropped open slightly, and he found himself denying the truth in her voice. “I see the accounts, 'Dwina,” he responded, a hint of desperation in his argument. “That division earns this company tens of thousands of galleons every year. How could they not be effective?”
Edwina looked at him with obvious concern and immediately began to explain. “The potions usually contain a glamour charm to temporarily give the illusion of weight loss. Some contain some form of nutritional supplement, maybe even an appetite suppressant but, overall, they are completely ineffective. We make a significant profit in that market due to the fact that desperate people will pay for anything what appears to be an easy solution.”
He blinked twice in total disbelief. Worse, he was a bit devastated. Then, closing his mouth, he took a deep breath and stated flatly, “Remind me of this little fact when it comes time for me to sign the Christmas bonuses for that department.”
“Yes, Mr. Malfoy.”
He closed his fist and gave a short pound on the desk to vent his frustration. The force of the impact caused the picture of his mother to topple over. He righted the item, looking apologetic as the magical image in the frame scolded him soundly for his outburst.
He looked up desperately at Edwina. “You mean I really have to keep that bint? I really have to do everything she says?”
“If you want to get back into shape again, then yes, sir,” she said, as professionally as possible.
He nodded and turned back to his paperwork, as Edwina turned to leave the office, knowing that it was going to be a very long day.
- - -
One week later...
- - -
He opened one bleary eye as the alarm shouted at him, once again, that he was going to be late. He decided he was quite sick of being told what to do, so he grabbed his wand and hexed the thing into oblivion.
Finally at peace, he dropped the wand lazily on the floor and closed his eyes. Just this once, Weasley could do her morning workout alone. He ached all over from the regular Quidditch sessions over the past week and felt more than entitled to sleep in. He wasn't a morning person, after all.
Tucking his head under the pile of pillows, he blissfully drifted back into slumber.
About an hour later, his sleep was once again interrupted, albeit a bit more forcefully than by his alarm. Brightness temporarily blinded him as the curtains in his room were thrown wide open.
“Malfoy!”
He jumped up, eyes wide and awake, as he realized that the sound had come from an intruder in the sanctum of his room. Thrashing madly in search of his wand, he managed to only tangle his legs in the blankets. Unfortunately, his wand was out of reach, since he'd dropped it right after hexing his alarm. Looking madly about for a long few moments, he finally managed to focus his sleep addled vision on the intruder.
“What are you doing in my bedroom, Weasley?”
“You missed our morning appointment,” she said, looking rather stern, crossing her arms in front of herself, tapping one foot impatiently.
“So?”
“We discussed this and agreed that we'd meet in the mornings.”
Dropping back on the bed in an elaborately dramatic manner, he closed his eyes and groaned. “Actually, as I recall, you were the one doing all the discussing. I was only allowed to agree with you at the end.”
“You didn't mind meeting last Saturday at this time,” she said, her hands squarely on her hips.
“Well, that was last Saturday, Weasley,” he responded, still trying to hide his eyes from the blinding glare. He decided it was best to attempt to change the subject. “Who let you in here?”
“Your mother,” she answered simply, as if it was completely logical.
“My...” he had been hoping that she would say one of the house elves. Then, at least he could appropriately punish the offender, that is, if his mother didn't catch him. Hearing that his dear mother was the offending party left him in a bit of a quandry. He found himself momentarily toying with the idea of disowning her, despite the fact that she'd given birth to him. However, he quickly realized that it wasn't worth having her hex him. Damn.
He buried his head under the pillow.
The pillow was forcefully removed a moment later, and a rather irritated Ginevra Weasley was glaring down at him.
“Move it, Malfoy. We still have an hour to get something done before I have to go to my next appointment.”
Despite the fact that she was only about half his size, he found himself just the tiniest bit afraid. He seemed to recall she threw a nasty hex, but, right now, standing over him like she was, wearing her typical tight spandex suit, he was more concerned about her simply hauling him out of bed with physical force.
She clearly had control issues.
Fortunately, she seemed to calm down as soon as she noted the look of resignation on his face. Indicating to the witch that she leave, so he could get dressed, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his head in frustration.
It had been over a week. Ten days to be exact. Somehow, he'd been manipulated to joining Weasley every other morning for a quick workout before breakfast.
He wasn't quite sure how that happened, actually. He thought back to that first Saturday workout, just over a week ago. He'd shown up at six at the Quidditch pitch, despite his overwhelming desire to do otherwise. But he'd made a commitment, and if he didn't show, Edwina would likely do something terrible to his schedule for making her adjust it again.
And, no, he was not intimidated by his slender, middle-aged assistant. It was simply a matter of courtesy.
But, he'd shown up that first day, and Weasley was there, looking rather chipper and cheerful, almost as if she was happy to see him. Worse, she was nice. And he was, unfortunately, not quite awake enough to taunt her appropriately.
To worsen matters, she had been dressed in an outfit that fit her small form rather snugly. It was a recipe for disaster.
They went through a series of light stretches and drills, and he almost had...well...fun, and fun was something that had been sorely lacking during his last four years. Little did he realize at the time that she was only luring him into her trap. By the end of the session, he was willing to agree to just about anything. Unfortunately, that seemed to include early practice sessions at least four times per week.
So, when she smiled sweetly at him, he found himself lulled into some sort of terrible submission and he agreed to continue the morning workouts. Idiotic of him, really.
The fun typically ended as soon as the next workout began, with her usually demanding him to work harder, move faster, or do just one more pattern on the broom, despite the fact that his arms were literally limp with fatigue. All the while, she spurred him on, her red ponytail bouncing in the breeze, while he followed, chasing her on the broom. It was quite aggravating, actually. The only plus seemed to be that he typically had a wonderful view of her backside as he chased her about the pitch. It was clearly a lust/hate sort of thing.
Pulling on his socks, he thought for a long moment about this issue with the morning workouts. Something about the entire thing plagued him. First, Edwina seemed all too eager to pen it into his schedule, but there was more to it than that.
Now that he thought about it, he likely would have found some way to oversleep for the weekday workouts, if at all possible, except his mother had chosen to schedule some sort of remodeling in the house and corresponding noise inspired him to leave.
Thinking back on that, and the fact that his mother was responsible for Weasley tossing him out of bed this particular morning, convinced him that his mother was quite involved in the conspiracy against him.
He groaned in defeat.
X - X - X
“Your weight should be going down more...” she said, surprised.
He shifted nervously as she passed the wand over him again, scowling at the numbers that appeared over his head in response to the spell. She should be thrilled with him. After three weeks of misery, he'd managed to tighten his belt a notch, and he no longer ached after an hour of flying on the broom, although he continued to blame the old Cleansweep brooms for his lack of speed and agility, although there was no shortage of her yelling at him to move faster, make sharper turns, or do one more lap around the field.
He was doing everything she said, for the most part. Obviously, she wasn't as good at her job as she claimed to be.
“With the meal plan I have you on, I was expecting better results.”
“Well, perhaps your plan isn't so very perfect,” he responded, seeming just the slightest bit smug.
She narrowed her eyes, as if she knew something. An overwhelming sense of guilt washed over him as she stared at him almost accusingly. Fearing some sort of wrath from the little witch, he made sure to give her his most innocent expression, an expression, mind you, that almost never failed to work on his mother.
Weasley was apparently not so easily swayed.
“We'll discuss this at our next meeting. It might be time for us to adjust our exercise plan, anyway.”
Somehow, her words did not bode well, he thought, as he left the practice field to prepare for work for the day.
X – X – X
Opening the lower left drawer of his elaborate desk, he found what he'd been hoping for, and immediately decided that the cleaning witch would get a hefty bonus this quarter for her efforts.
Inside the drawer was a large cupcake covered with a thick coating of pink frosting, sitting innocently alongside a half dozen other pastries. Draco eyed the treat and licked his lips, thinking briefly that there was no accounting for the choice in frosting. Considering the circumstances, however, he decided that any color was perfectly acceptable, and besides, he had no intention of allowing anyone to catch him consuming the confection. After all, he'd had a good half hour workout that morning, and he deserved to reward himself.
Grinning with a small amount of devious glee, he hefted the item and examined it thoroughly, taking a finger full of the frosting and sampling it. Savoring the sugary pink sweetness, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the moment of victory over the Weasley bint. But there was little time to relish in his success. Glancing about the room, he verified that Mrs. Harris was still away from her desk, and therefore would be unable to catch him in his moment of indiscretion. He turned his chair away from the open doorway, quickly dismissing the idea of closing it, lest his action appear suspicious.
Looking out his window at the bright morning sunshine, he smiled and took a large bite of the cupcake, heedless of its pinkness, and enjoyed. It was going to be a good day after all.
He was just over half completed in his task of consuming the item, when he heard a sound, and froze.
“Malfoy?”
Damn. It was the devil Weasley herself. Damn, damn, damn. He felt his blood run cold as a moment of panic swept over him. Dropping the remains of the cupcake onto his lap, crumbs and all, he swallowed the bite he'd taken quickly, and reminded himself to do a quick Scourgify on his pants before leaving the office later.
“Yes, Weasley?”
“Enjoying the view?” she asked, looking far too pleasant. She was never this pleasant. Immediately, he started to calculate how she was planning to make his life even more miserable.
“I do occasionally.”
She frowned at him as if he'd disappointed her in some way. It made him feel decidedly guilty, although he had absolutely no reason to feel such an emotion.
“What?” he asked, as innocently as possible. Something about the way she was looking at him made him feel much too much like a small child caught doing something naughty.
She gave a resigned sigh and leaned forward, and he immediately pulled his chair closer to his desk to hide the remains of the cupcake now squashed on his pants. As she came closer to his face, he noticed that she was staring at his lips, and had a fleeting thought that she might try to kiss him, but instead, she simply reached forward and wiped her finger along the side of his mouth.
As she pulled back, he noticed the smudge of pink frosting now coating her finger. His eyes widened in fear.
“Really, Malfoy. Am I that bad that you felt you had to hide this from me?”
“Well...”
She pursed her lips and gave him a slightly sour look. “Where is it?”
He pulled his chair back, only to see the squashed remains of cake and pink frosting in his lap. “Uhhh...”
She leaned over his desk once again, and verified the mess. “Oh, Malfoy...” she said, her tone amused.
“It's my life, Weasley,” he said, casting a scourgify on his pants and attempting to look dignified. “If I want a bloody pastry, I'm entitled to one. I shouldn't be reduced to having to bribe people and hide it as if it was some sort of illicit drug.”
She gave him a smile, almost as if she was pleased with him. He was more than a bit surprised, having expected the horrid harpy to tear into him for his indiscretion.
“You're right, Draco,” she replied.
“Of course I'm right. Wait. I'm right? You're agreeing with me?”
“Yes, I'm agreeing with you,” she said almost as if she were a normal person, having a normal conversation. He looked at her with suspicion as she continued. “It was a bit aggressive of me to cut you off from all of your comfort foods, and you've been doing so well. Cravings for your favorite foods are normal, and to deny yourself from them for too long will only cause you to binge eventually.”
“Well, it's about time you recognized your error, Weasley.”
“Not an error, exactly. Just a small adjustment. I'm going to allot some sweets into your day, but only small amounts, so you can satisfy your cravings. For example, you don't need an entire pastry, when a few bites will do.”
He looked at her skeptically.
“It's a simple matter of balance,” she explained. “Calories in must be less than calories expended. You can have the treat, but we'll have to increase your activity. I think you are ready for that now, anyway.”
Suddenly, his triumph didn't seem quite as satisfying as it did a few moments ago.
“Don't pout, Draco. It's not that bad. We'll meet tomorrow morning. I think it's time for you to start jogging.”
And when did he give her permission to call him by his first name?
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