Draco sat in his office, muttering under his breath as he finished the last of his paperwork. Edwina walked by his office door and lifted an eyebrow, reminding him that his muttering was once again becoming audible. He gave a sigh and went back to reading the financial statement that lay open on his desk.
He'd spent the past three weeks catching up on his work and, quite frankly, he was annoyed. The encounter with Covingworth had set him back from his schedule and he'd had to go back to working longer days and Saturdays to catch up. He'd hoped that such long hours were a thing of the past.
Raising a hand to rub a weary hand over his eyes, he set the document aside.
In addition to his workload, he still had to keep up with the daily schedule with Weasley. The little bint hadn't let up on him in the slightest. In fact, over the past few weeks she'd been even more brutal than before, if that was possible.
“It's good to keep up with your routine to work off the stress,” she'd said.
“Hmmph,” he muttered to himself as he recalled the little witch's words, but his reaction only earned him yet another raised eyebrow from Edwina.
The odd fact of the matter was that he'd actually begun to enjoy the workouts, despite the pain.
Of course, he hadn't appreciated Weasley's words at the time. Actually, he recalled grumbling some very unflattering things under his breath and was quite convinced that Weasley had heard him because, soon after making the remarks, he managed to take several rather painful falls from his broom.
Yes, his broom. He smiled at the thought When she let him use his own real racing broom instead of the heavier, slower trainer, it had been a most triumphant day.
The best part was that he was making progress. His weight was down by almost two stone, although he had barely the time to go and get his clothing altered, leaving him in pants that looked rather clownish at the moment. He cursed Covingworth again as he put aside the last of the documents for the week, grateful to finally be on top of matters again.
It had been a long three weeks and the truth of the matter was that, even for someone of his superior caliber, he found that he was tired. So, with only one week remaining before the tournament, he came to the decision that he could afford a small break . It was Saturday evening, after all.
In celebration of finally catching up on his work, he decided to take that evening and the next morning off. He mentioned as much to his loyal assistant while she tidied her desk for the evening and asked her to move his morning workout appointment to the afternoon so he could catch up on some sleep.
Or so he thought.
After that, his evening progressed in a relatively orderly fashion. First, he finished his dinner and went up to his rooms, just as he'd planned. He'd even had time to talk with both his parents, persuading them to make a rare public appearance so that they could watch his match, which was a victory in its own way.
After that, he went up to his rooms and prepared for bed. Not that there was anything unusual about his routine, since he'd had it well-established for some time. However, with only one week to go, he took an extra moment to study his recently slimmed figure in the mirror to verify that he truly was ready to show the world that he, Draco Malfoy, was back to his superior self. He rather enjoyed that. He enjoyed it so much, in fact, that he spent a full five minutes admiring himself. He even flexed a few muscles, simply because he could.
Feeling satisfied that all was right in his universe, he crawled into his comfortable bed and gave his current alarm clock a smirk. It was a prototype. In fact, it was manufactured to his personal specifications and the most durable that his company could produce, although he sincerely doubted it could stand up to his abuse, given that all its predecessors had failed miserably. However, he had no intention of testing it in the morning. It was, after all, his day off. Nevertheless, he gave it an extra harsh glare just in case it had any strange ideas.
So, it came as quite a shock when he was awakened from his blissfully sound sleep by someone shouting "Malfoy!" from the vicinity of his bedroom door exactly one hour after the aforementioned alarm failed to ring.
In fact, when the call came, he was so convinced that it was only a dream that he opened one eye, lifted his head from underneath the pillow and gave the intruder a baleful look. Once that action was completed, he then reached the only logical conclusion that his sleep-addled brain would accept: that he was still asleep and was having yet another dream about Weasley. It was something that had become unfortunately common in recent weeks.
Looking at her again, he verified that, yes, she was once again attired in one of those impossibly form-fitting workout garments she liked to wear. His dreams typically started in a similar manner, so there was nothing unusual there.
What was unusual about this particular dream was the fact that she did not look happy. However, dreams were strange things so he decided to play along.
“I thought we were past you leaving me stranded waiting for you, Malfoy. I told you, my time is valuable.”
Something in his brain woke up enough to question why she might be angry with him. He'd clearly left word with Edwina to move his Sunday appointment with Weasley to the afternoon. But, then again, he was still mostly asleep and really did not feel the urge to try to spend too much energy on why. It was a dream, after all.
Keeping one eye on the witch, lest she attempt something damaging, he plopped back down into his pillows and mumbled, "It's Sunday, Weasley. I am entitled to sleep in."
“You could have at least had the courtesy to inform me,” she said, somewhat snippily.
The remark confirmed the fact that it had to be a dream, albeit an odd one. If he gave instruction to Edwina to move the appointment, he was quite certain that the Weasley had been informed.
She walked over to his bed, stood at the edge, crossed her arms and tapped her foot, as if she expected some sort of response from him. He didn't care. This was becoming an annoying dream and he wanted to get back to sleep. After all, it was his morning and he fully intended to stay where he was.
“Go away, Weasley. I'll see you this afternoon. I'm busy right now.”
She nevertheless pulled back the covers, urging him to get his sorry arse moving and he groaned as the cool air hit his bare torso.
"Sorry Malfoy, it's what you hired me for and I'm not going to give up on you with only one week to go."
“What more could I possibly learn with only a week left?”
He was becoming confused. This wasn't his typical dream and it was no fun whatsoever. At the very least, he had had quite enough. He was in no mood to argue.
Frustrated, he started to move toward the edge of the bed and, perhaps it was the fact that he wasn't fully awake, or perhaps it was because she was dressed in one of those obscenely tight outfits, but suddenly an idea came to mind.
"You know what, Weasley. I think you need to learn how to lighten up just a bit," he said, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her into the bed with him. She squealed but he was pleased to find out that he was able to easily contain her moderately struggling body.
"What are you doing?" she squeaked, looking up at him with no small amount of surprise as she collapsed on the bed next to him.
He smirked. He'd been smirking much more often lately and, truth be told, he rather liked that the expression seemed to come to his face more easily lately. "You, my dear Weasley, are going to take the morning off. Have a lie in and realize that there is more to life than work."
With that, he pulled the covers over the both of them, ignoring her look of shocked indignation. For once, he thought he might have gotten in the last word as he happily buried his head back into his pillow and closed his eyes.
- X - X - X -
Two hours later, he awoke feeling more rested than he had in years. He turned to look over at his most recent alarm clock and realized that the blankets were blocking it from view. As he blinked the sleep from his eyes, he then realized that there was someone underneath the blankets. The telltale red hair gave him his next clue on who the someone might be.
He blinked again, unsure if he was imagining the sight. A knot of fear gripped him in his gut as he looked down upon the peacefully sleeping witch. The memory of him pulling her into bed came back with disturbing clarity. He'd only wanted to win the argument so that he could go back to sleep. Now... well...
It was inappropriate, at best. She was currently in his employ, first of all and, well, he'd been brought up better than to bed random witches so, if his mother ever got wind of this transgression, there'd be hell to pay. He could already imagine the lecture.
But it was far worse than that, as he'd been having a rather nice dream about Weasley after he'd fallen back asleep and, well,as with most wizards, he tended to be a bit more hormonal in the morning. She really did look rather attractive sleeping in his bed, after all.
"Oh sweet Merlin," he muttered, dropping back onto the pillow. When she woke up, he had little doubt that she would kill him. The only question was: how.
She stirred, making him realize that getting out of the bed now would be just the slightest bit embarrassing, due to his already aroused state, as her sleepy movements seemed to make her all the more attractive to him.
He closed his eyes and waited for the barrage of words from her that would indicate that she was fully awake and completely furious with him. When he didn't hear any, he cautiously opened one eye and looked over at her.
She appeared to be amused.
He opened the other eye to stare at her in confusion.
"Congratulations, Malfoy. I guess you were right. It was rather nice to sleep in, if just a bit awkward."
He rubbed a hand over his face, and looked out at her from between his fingers. "Yeah, Weasley, about that... umm... sorry."
She surprised him by merely giving a rather amused chuckle as she extracted herself from the bed, still clothed in her workout attire, although he noticed that she'd removed her shoes at some point earlier.
He looked at her apologetically and she smiled at him in a way that could be considered as fond. "I'll wait outside for you to get dressed."
"Right," he agreed, feeling just the tiniest bit grateful that she didn't say anything about pressing charges against him.
- X - X - X -
The Sunday-Lie-In incident left him without sleep that night. Despite the fact that he'd spent most of the afternoon on his broom with the red-head and, during that time, she never even mentioned the incident. While that was a desirable outcome it didn't seem to help him very much. The fact that she didn't seem to bring it up bothered the hell out of him. In fact, it disrupted his evening routine in every possible way.
It all began when he walked into his room after dinner. Normally, he'd simply read or ready himself for bed. Instead, he found himself staring at the bed for several long minutes, reminding himself that Weasley had actually slept in it. As he changed into his pyjamas, he found himself glancing back at the bed, as if to check that the girl hadn't managed to return, especially since she seemed to have a habit of arriving in his room unannounced.
Of course, that was really his mother's fault. He reminded himself that he really did need to speak with her about allowing the girl access to his room so readily, but somehow he'd never found the right way to address the subject.
Subsequently, he did not sleep very well that night and it had little to do with broaching a rather uncomfortable topic of conversation with his mother.
The next morning, he found himself facing his loyal and ever-so-efficient assistant with a question.
“'Dwina, you did remember to send word to Miss Weasley that I had canceled my appointment with her for yesterday morning, didn't you?”
Edwina looked up over her reading glasses, with her typical owl-ish expression and merely blinked at him once. He suddenly was overcome with the distinct feeling that he'd just asked the stupidest question in the history of stupid questions.
Her response was completely neutral, neither expectant, nor accusing, nor guilty.
In fact, she was effectively ignoring his question.
He had an overwhelming thought that the woman could easily make a fortune playing poker if she ever chose to attempt it as a career. Just once, he really, really wanted to know what went on inside her head.
“Your appointment with Mr. Oakes has been moved to 9:30,” she replied with her usual efficiency.
He blinked, nodded in affirmation and walked toward his office, wondering how the woman repeatedly managed to maintain such perfect control. It was uncanny.
Scratching his head, he sat at his desk, still trying to comprehend Edwina's response. Was she ignoring the fact that he'd failed to give her appropriate instruction, or that, in an overwhelming unusual circumstance, that maybe, just maybe, she'd failed to inform Ginevra of the change in schedule, or that Ginevra had somehow forgotten or ignored the message?
His eyebrow raised as he was struck by an even more unlikely scenario: that Edwina had deliberately ignored his instruction.
He shook his head, pushing the thought aside and tried to concentrate on his work.
He'd spent the past three weeks catching up on his work and, quite frankly, he was annoyed. The encounter with Covingworth had set him back from his schedule and he'd had to go back to working longer days and Saturdays to catch up. He'd hoped that such long hours were a thing of the past.
Raising a hand to rub a weary hand over his eyes, he set the document aside.
In addition to his workload, he still had to keep up with the daily schedule with Weasley. The little bint hadn't let up on him in the slightest. In fact, over the past few weeks she'd been even more brutal than before, if that was possible.
“It's good to keep up with your routine to work off the stress,” she'd said.
“Hmmph,” he muttered to himself as he recalled the little witch's words, but his reaction only earned him yet another raised eyebrow from Edwina.
The odd fact of the matter was that he'd actually begun to enjoy the workouts, despite the pain.
Of course, he hadn't appreciated Weasley's words at the time. Actually, he recalled grumbling some very unflattering things under his breath and was quite convinced that Weasley had heard him because, soon after making the remarks, he managed to take several rather painful falls from his broom.
Yes, his broom. He smiled at the thought When she let him use his own real racing broom instead of the heavier, slower trainer, it had been a most triumphant day.
The best part was that he was making progress. His weight was down by almost two stone, although he had barely the time to go and get his clothing altered, leaving him in pants that looked rather clownish at the moment. He cursed Covingworth again as he put aside the last of the documents for the week, grateful to finally be on top of matters again.
It had been a long three weeks and the truth of the matter was that, even for someone of his superior caliber, he found that he was tired. So, with only one week remaining before the tournament, he came to the decision that he could afford a small break . It was Saturday evening, after all.
In celebration of finally catching up on his work, he decided to take that evening and the next morning off. He mentioned as much to his loyal assistant while she tidied her desk for the evening and asked her to move his morning workout appointment to the afternoon so he could catch up on some sleep.
Or so he thought.
After that, his evening progressed in a relatively orderly fashion. First, he finished his dinner and went up to his rooms, just as he'd planned. He'd even had time to talk with both his parents, persuading them to make a rare public appearance so that they could watch his match, which was a victory in its own way.
After that, he went up to his rooms and prepared for bed. Not that there was anything unusual about his routine, since he'd had it well-established for some time. However, with only one week to go, he took an extra moment to study his recently slimmed figure in the mirror to verify that he truly was ready to show the world that he, Draco Malfoy, was back to his superior self. He rather enjoyed that. He enjoyed it so much, in fact, that he spent a full five minutes admiring himself. He even flexed a few muscles, simply because he could.
Feeling satisfied that all was right in his universe, he crawled into his comfortable bed and gave his current alarm clock a smirk. It was a prototype. In fact, it was manufactured to his personal specifications and the most durable that his company could produce, although he sincerely doubted it could stand up to his abuse, given that all its predecessors had failed miserably. However, he had no intention of testing it in the morning. It was, after all, his day off. Nevertheless, he gave it an extra harsh glare just in case it had any strange ideas.
So, it came as quite a shock when he was awakened from his blissfully sound sleep by someone shouting "Malfoy!" from the vicinity of his bedroom door exactly one hour after the aforementioned alarm failed to ring.
In fact, when the call came, he was so convinced that it was only a dream that he opened one eye, lifted his head from underneath the pillow and gave the intruder a baleful look. Once that action was completed, he then reached the only logical conclusion that his sleep-addled brain would accept: that he was still asleep and was having yet another dream about Weasley. It was something that had become unfortunately common in recent weeks.
Looking at her again, he verified that, yes, she was once again attired in one of those impossibly form-fitting workout garments she liked to wear. His dreams typically started in a similar manner, so there was nothing unusual there.
What was unusual about this particular dream was the fact that she did not look happy. However, dreams were strange things so he decided to play along.
“I thought we were past you leaving me stranded waiting for you, Malfoy. I told you, my time is valuable.”
Something in his brain woke up enough to question why she might be angry with him. He'd clearly left word with Edwina to move his Sunday appointment with Weasley to the afternoon. But, then again, he was still mostly asleep and really did not feel the urge to try to spend too much energy on why. It was a dream, after all.
Keeping one eye on the witch, lest she attempt something damaging, he plopped back down into his pillows and mumbled, "It's Sunday, Weasley. I am entitled to sleep in."
“You could have at least had the courtesy to inform me,” she said, somewhat snippily.
The remark confirmed the fact that it had to be a dream, albeit an odd one. If he gave instruction to Edwina to move the appointment, he was quite certain that the Weasley had been informed.
She walked over to his bed, stood at the edge, crossed her arms and tapped her foot, as if she expected some sort of response from him. He didn't care. This was becoming an annoying dream and he wanted to get back to sleep. After all, it was his morning and he fully intended to stay where he was.
“Go away, Weasley. I'll see you this afternoon. I'm busy right now.”
She nevertheless pulled back the covers, urging him to get his sorry arse moving and he groaned as the cool air hit his bare torso.
"Sorry Malfoy, it's what you hired me for and I'm not going to give up on you with only one week to go."
“What more could I possibly learn with only a week left?”
He was becoming confused. This wasn't his typical dream and it was no fun whatsoever. At the very least, he had had quite enough. He was in no mood to argue.
Frustrated, he started to move toward the edge of the bed and, perhaps it was the fact that he wasn't fully awake, or perhaps it was because she was dressed in one of those obscenely tight outfits, but suddenly an idea came to mind.
"You know what, Weasley. I think you need to learn how to lighten up just a bit," he said, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her into the bed with him. She squealed but he was pleased to find out that he was able to easily contain her moderately struggling body.
"What are you doing?" she squeaked, looking up at him with no small amount of surprise as she collapsed on the bed next to him.
He smirked. He'd been smirking much more often lately and, truth be told, he rather liked that the expression seemed to come to his face more easily lately. "You, my dear Weasley, are going to take the morning off. Have a lie in and realize that there is more to life than work."
With that, he pulled the covers over the both of them, ignoring her look of shocked indignation. For once, he thought he might have gotten in the last word as he happily buried his head back into his pillow and closed his eyes.
- X - X - X -
Two hours later, he awoke feeling more rested than he had in years. He turned to look over at his most recent alarm clock and realized that the blankets were blocking it from view. As he blinked the sleep from his eyes, he then realized that there was someone underneath the blankets. The telltale red hair gave him his next clue on who the someone might be.
He blinked again, unsure if he was imagining the sight. A knot of fear gripped him in his gut as he looked down upon the peacefully sleeping witch. The memory of him pulling her into bed came back with disturbing clarity. He'd only wanted to win the argument so that he could go back to sleep. Now... well...
It was inappropriate, at best. She was currently in his employ, first of all and, well, he'd been brought up better than to bed random witches so, if his mother ever got wind of this transgression, there'd be hell to pay. He could already imagine the lecture.
But it was far worse than that, as he'd been having a rather nice dream about Weasley after he'd fallen back asleep and, well,as with most wizards, he tended to be a bit more hormonal in the morning. She really did look rather attractive sleeping in his bed, after all.
"Oh sweet Merlin," he muttered, dropping back onto the pillow. When she woke up, he had little doubt that she would kill him. The only question was: how.
She stirred, making him realize that getting out of the bed now would be just the slightest bit embarrassing, due to his already aroused state, as her sleepy movements seemed to make her all the more attractive to him.
He closed his eyes and waited for the barrage of words from her that would indicate that she was fully awake and completely furious with him. When he didn't hear any, he cautiously opened one eye and looked over at her.
She appeared to be amused.
He opened the other eye to stare at her in confusion.
"Congratulations, Malfoy. I guess you were right. It was rather nice to sleep in, if just a bit awkward."
He rubbed a hand over his face, and looked out at her from between his fingers. "Yeah, Weasley, about that... umm... sorry."
She surprised him by merely giving a rather amused chuckle as she extracted herself from the bed, still clothed in her workout attire, although he noticed that she'd removed her shoes at some point earlier.
He looked at her apologetically and she smiled at him in a way that could be considered as fond. "I'll wait outside for you to get dressed."
"Right," he agreed, feeling just the tiniest bit grateful that she didn't say anything about pressing charges against him.
- X - X - X -
The Sunday-Lie-In incident left him without sleep that night. Despite the fact that he'd spent most of the afternoon on his broom with the red-head and, during that time, she never even mentioned the incident. While that was a desirable outcome it didn't seem to help him very much. The fact that she didn't seem to bring it up bothered the hell out of him. In fact, it disrupted his evening routine in every possible way.
It all began when he walked into his room after dinner. Normally, he'd simply read or ready himself for bed. Instead, he found himself staring at the bed for several long minutes, reminding himself that Weasley had actually slept in it. As he changed into his pyjamas, he found himself glancing back at the bed, as if to check that the girl hadn't managed to return, especially since she seemed to have a habit of arriving in his room unannounced.
Of course, that was really his mother's fault. He reminded himself that he really did need to speak with her about allowing the girl access to his room so readily, but somehow he'd never found the right way to address the subject.
Subsequently, he did not sleep very well that night and it had little to do with broaching a rather uncomfortable topic of conversation with his mother.
The next morning, he found himself facing his loyal and ever-so-efficient assistant with a question.
“'Dwina, you did remember to send word to Miss Weasley that I had canceled my appointment with her for yesterday morning, didn't you?”
Edwina looked up over her reading glasses, with her typical owl-ish expression and merely blinked at him once. He suddenly was overcome with the distinct feeling that he'd just asked the stupidest question in the history of stupid questions.
Her response was completely neutral, neither expectant, nor accusing, nor guilty.
In fact, she was effectively ignoring his question.
He had an overwhelming thought that the woman could easily make a fortune playing poker if she ever chose to attempt it as a career. Just once, he really, really wanted to know what went on inside her head.
“Your appointment with Mr. Oakes has been moved to 9:30,” she replied with her usual efficiency.
He blinked, nodded in affirmation and walked toward his office, wondering how the woman repeatedly managed to maintain such perfect control. It was uncanny.
Scratching his head, he sat at his desk, still trying to comprehend Edwina's response. Was she ignoring the fact that he'd failed to give her appropriate instruction, or that, in an overwhelming unusual circumstance, that maybe, just maybe, she'd failed to inform Ginevra of the change in schedule, or that Ginevra had somehow forgotten or ignored the message?
His eyebrow raised as he was struck by an even more unlikely scenario: that Edwina had deliberately ignored his instruction.
He shook his head, pushing the thought aside and tried to concentrate on his work.
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