Astoria Malfoy passes away on a cold morning in September.
The cat curls up next to her, yowling softly, pawing at her limp hand in an attempt to rouse her — and although Mavi has seen her fair share of death, seeing Guppy nudge her paw against Astoria's pale fingers has her eyes stinging.
Composing herself, Mavi draws the curtains and pulls the sheets up around Astoria's body. She arranges her long, chestnut hair in a halo around her face and folds her hands over her stomach.
She could be sleeping. Guppy continues to paw at her.
Scooping up the old tabby cat, Mavi steps out into the halls of Malfoy Manor. Her footsteps echo against the dark wood floor as she makes her way towards the study — where she knows her employer will be.
It feels odd, calling him her employer. They're only two years apart — Mavi is twenty-three and he is twenty-five — but there's a mile of a difference between them, it seems.
Mavi doesn't think she's seen him smile a genuine smile since she came to work here. He's always stoic, his expression hard and she's never even heard him crack a joke. The only time she's seen him soften is when he's sitting by Astoria's bedside.
She steels herself, taking a deep breath and then knocks on the door to the study, softly. She half-hopes he won't hear it — but then again, she doesn't think the man has missed even the smallest detail in his entire life.
"Come in." His voice is low.
Mavi swallows hard, still clutching Guppy against her and pushes open the dark oak door. It creaks open, revealing the dark interior of the study. Dark wood, dark spines of books, a dark rug on the floor. The room is lit by a single candle on the desk he sits behind, the chair turned away towards the window directly behind it that overlooks the grounds.
"Mr. Malfoy—" Her voice is weak and she tries again. "Sir..."
He doesn't swivel in the chair. She can only see the top of his pale hair as he looks out across the misty grounds. The sun is just beginning to rise beyond the trees, the shimmering light cutting through the fog.
"It's over then," he says, quietly.
Mavi squeezes Guppy tight against her chest. "Yes, sir. I'm so sorry for your—"
In a flash, he's swiveled in the chair and on his feet, rounding the desk, heading straight for her.
Draco Malfoy is an imposing figure. He easily crosses six feet, lean muscle built into every inch of his frame and although the man is beautiful, there's a certain cutting edge to him that intimidates everyone he meets.
When Mavi was first called to take the job here, she nearly ran out with her tail in between her legs. He'd taken one look at her through narrowed silver eyes and drilled her with questions about her education, her current living situation, her skills.
She'd sat, nearly quivering in her boots, on the chaise in the lounge — and while she'd thought she'd done terribly, he called her back the very next week and told her he'd decided to employ her as a nurse for his wife.
It's been nearly a year since then and Mavi has gotten used to his presence. He hardly interacts with her and frankly, she likes it that way. He comes back from work — he's one of the best Aurors in the field, she hears — and she leaves the room when he comes to see Astoria. When he retreats to his study for the night, she slips back in to tend to his wife.
"Was it painless?" He stands in front of her, hands in the pockets of his trousers. He doesn't seem to have changed out of his work clothes the entire night.
Mavi nods. "I gave her a sedative a couple hours ago. It must've felt like falling asleep."
The words make him shut his eyes and he exhales a long breath. Of relief, she thinks. "Thank you."
With that, he angles past her, exiting the study and his footfalls are unmistakable as they head down towards Astoria's room.
Mavi kisses the top of Guppy's head, fondly and strokes her head. Under her breath, she murmurs, "What's going to happen to me now, Guppy?"
But the surprise of her life comes two days after Astoria's passing.
She was laid to rest next to her late father in the rain. Draco was there, standing next to his mother, Daphne Greengrass on the other side of him.
Mavi watched him watch the ceremony. He didn't so much as twitch as they lowered Astoria into the ground. Daphne, however, sobbed into her handkerchief.
In a black suit, he'd looked like a shadow against the backdrop of the trees. His eyes had flicked up — and Mavi had quickly looked away, feeling her face heat at being caught.
Now, she sits in her room on the ground floor, looking at a newspaper cutout that Nezryn had given her many months ago. She'd found it under her bed as she was cleaning out, packing her things into boxes. The image is none other than Draco Malfoy himself, dressed impeccably in a suit, speaking about one of the cases that had flared up at the time.
Draco hasn't spoken to her yet but she knows her time here is over. There's no reason for her to stay on now that Astoria is gone — and she can't help but feel the overwhelming dread that threatens to swallow her.
Working here has been her only source of income — the only way she's been able to take care of her father. She worked herself to death to graduate from the Healer Track with a modest grade — and when she'd been hired by Draco Malfoy, it had been her big break.
She doesn't know how she'll manage to take care of her father now. He's an invalid and though he spends most of his time sleeping, the cost of his medical bills are more than what Mavi would've earned working at a regular hospital. Here, Draco has been paying her thrice as much as she should be earning — and although she'd been shocked at the beginning, she'd never protested.
Now, that's all over. She'll have to head back to stay with her father and find a job elsewhere. Maybe that position at the local hospital down the block is still open.
Tears blur her vision and she shakes her head, clearing them. There's no use in crying, she scolds herself. She's managed this far on her own, hasn't she? She'll find a way.
But as a woman of colour who never attended Hogwarts, she knows by definition that finding another job will be a hassle like no other.
A slow knock on her door rouses Mavi from her stupor and she blinks at it for a long moment before scrambling to her feet.
She pulls open the door, hastily and stops short, surprised.
"Mavi." He stands a couple feet beyond the door, hands in the pockets of his trousers.
She hasn't seen him since the funeral day before yesterday — and he looks tired, pale hair tousled. He's dressed in the clothes he usually wears to work — black turtle neck, black trousers, wand holster strapped to his hip.
"Mr. Malfoy," she breathes, clearing her throat a moment later. "I'm sorry, I—"
"There's something I wish to discuss with you."
Again, Mavi halts, unsure. "Yes?"
Silver eyes flick over her shoulder and she feels slightly self-conscious as she sees his gaze sweep over her cluttered room.
"I'm..." She looks back over her shoulder at the mess she's made while packing. "I'm just packing my things."
His eyes linger for a second before he drags his gaze back to hers. "I see. May I ask why?"
Mavi's brow furrows. He can't be serious, can he? "I assumed I'd be leaving."
"Did I tell you you would be?" There is no malice in his tone; just pure curiosity. Like he can't believe she'd do something he didn't tell her to.
"But—" She blinks at him, bewildered. "Astoria—"
"It was my wife's last wish to keep you on," he cuts her off again and this time, she bristles. Can he let her finish a sentence? "It was the very last thing she asked of me."
"To keep me here?" Her surprise is plain in her voice.
"Yes," he replies, coolly. Like this news doesn't faze him. "My wife was a kind woman and she wanted to make sure you were provided for. So, against my better judgement, I am making you an offer."
Mavi feels like she should feel insulted — but her confusion is the only emotion she can currently feel. "An offer?"
"Yes. Must I repeat everything twice?"
Her fingers tighten. "Sir—"
"I do not care about why Astoria wanted to keep you here," he interrupts her again, "I am simply carrying out her last request. You will stay here at Malfoy Manor — as you have been for the past nine months — and you will work—"
"As what?" She knows he was getting to it but she thinks she should be allowed to interrupt too, just to see the irritation flicker over his handsome face.
"As," he continues, a muscle twitching in his jaw, "a Healer. Just as you always have been."
"But—"
"You can brew medicinal Draughts, can you not? Has that not been what you've been doing for my wife these past nine months?"
"Of course but—"
"So you will continue. But instead of giving them to your patient, you will hand them over to a friend of mine. She runs an apothecary and will gladly buy those potions from you for a price. You can continue to use the little — laboratory you've established here and things will go about as normal."
Mavi can hardly think straight. "But—what do you get out of—"
"I have an extra job for you." His voice is hard. Like he dislikes speaking to her — or speaking in general. Granted, this is the longest conversation they've ever had. "My wife was a highly disorganised individual. I had most of her things moved after she became bedridden — and they now lie in a room in the East Wing. I have neither the will nor the time to sort through all of them."
Mavi stares at him — at this tall, sharp-edged man — and nearly gawks.
"Therefore, I want you to take care of them. Keep anything that looks important and toss out the rest. I wager it'll take you a couple months at least — especially since you'll still be brewing alongside that. Additionally, you'll be allowed to treat patients outside of this house. I have already informed my circle about you — you should receive a summons for some patient or the other soon. Any questions?"
It's a mystery how she manages to find her voice. "I don't—I don't understand."
Draco narrows his eyes at her and then sighs, pressing the heel of one hand into his eye with something akin to a wince. "You'll be paid double what you are now — and that's besides what my friend from the apothecary will pay you. Your relationship with her is completely independent of me — so negotiate with her what you will. Is that sufficient encouragement to accept?"
How could she ever turn this down? But Mavi is not an impulsive individual — she's never had the luxury of being rash, not when she's had to take care of a parent.
"How long will this last for?"
"Astoria gave me strict orders not to let you go unless you asked for it." His tone is bored now and Mavi frowns.
"Would you have let me go otherwise?" she inquires — why, she doesn't entirely know.
"Of course. I have no use for you." He doesn't miss a beat in his response. "If everything is clear, I have to head to the precinct."
Right. He's an Auror. "Oh—Alright. Thank—Thank you for letting me know."
He's already backing away — but for a second, there's a flash of amusement on his face. The first she's ever seen. "Do you cut out pictures of me from the newspaper often, Miss Sultan?"
Mavi's brow furrows, her head tilting to the side, puzzled and it's only a couple moments after he's disappeared from the hallway that she realises she'd been clutching the cutout of him Nezryn had given her this entire time.
———
Damn Astoria.
Draco knows he probably shouldn't be thinking ill of his dead wife — but he can't help it. Despite the fact that their marriage was more arranged than out of love, he'd grown fond of her in the past two years. They'd been friends — and he'd never had a friendship as pure.
She'd always resembled an early morning spring breeze. She'd pass through and rejuvenate everyone in the room with just one of those soft smiles, bringing the scent of flowers with her. She'd always smelled like flowers — delicate and dainty. The perfect picture of femininity.
And now, she's gone — and all he has left is the memory of her silky hair slipping through his fingers. Of her green eyes blinking up at him as he caresses a thumb across her cheek.
Draco throws back another glass of whiskey, unflinching at the burn.
"That's your fourth in the past twenty minutes," Nadia says in a disapproving tone. She sits on the armchair in his study, adjusting the chiffon scarf around her head, shielding her hair. "You might want to slow down."
"I can hold my alcohol, Nadia."
"The amount of times I've had to take care of you and Deiji on a night out says otherwise."
He rolls his eyes in response but her twin brother, Idris, chuckles from where he stands by the window overlooking the grounds. "You know she's not wrong."
Neither Nadia nor Idris drink — but Draco supposes him and Deiji have evened out the friend group by drinking double themselves.
"Where's the girl?" Nadia glances at her watch, a crease between her brows. "What was her name again?"
"Mavi," Draco answers, voice rough as he puts his glass down on the desk, sinking back into his chair. "Mavi Sultan."
Nadia's eyes flick up to his. "That's a Turkish name."
"She's Turkish." Draco spins his Malfoy signet ring on the desk, watching it twirl several times.
"Finally," Idris says.
Nadia and Idris are originally Palestinian — although they were born and brought up in England. Draco met them soon after he'd been released from Azkaban and the three had hit it off immediately. Deiji had come in later and Astoria only after Draco had married her.
"She's been working for you for how long?" Nadia crosses one leg over the other, folding both arms over her chest.
"Nine months," Draco answers, spinning the ring again.
"And Astoria asked you to keep her?"
"You make it sound like she's a pet," Idris puts in and Nadia rolls her eyes.
"She did." Draco steers clear of their bickering, answering Nadia's question. "She's the one who picked her in the first place. She was too sick to meet the candidates herself so I did — but as soon as I told her about Mavi, she didn't even want to hear about the rest. She said she had a good feeling about her."
Nadia sighs and murmurs, "Astoria and her good feelings."
It used to be her favourite catchphrase. Astoria wasn't a particularly thorough individual. She based a lot of things off of her gut instinct — and whenever Draco asked her about the thought process behind the decision, she'd simply say she had a good feeling.
It'd become a running joke in the friend group and Astoria hadn't seemed to mind. She'd always laugh with the others, green eyes twinkling as she looked at Draco.
His chest pangs and he silently refills his glass before tossing it back again. Nadia sighs.
"When will you learn to cope with things healthily?" she demands, raising a dark eyebrow.
"It's not coping if it's healthy."
"That's not—"
A quiet knock on the door sounds and Draco glances up. Both Idris and Nadia adjust themselves to face the entrance.
"Enter," Draco drawls, spinning his ring around his finger now.
Nadia rolls her eyes at his tone. "You really are the most unfriendly person," she says under her breath as the doorknob turns and the door creaks open.
Mavi pokes her head in and stops short. "You called for me."
"I did," he responds, waving a dismissive hand. "Come in. Take a seat."
"We don't bite," Idris tells her as Mavi steps in, cautiously, shutting the door behind her.
"Speak for yourself." Draco looks at him over his shoulder with a smirk.
Nadia seems to tire of the two men and stands, striding over to Mavi and holding out her hand. "I'm Nadia," she says with a smile. "I run an apothecary in London with my brother."
Mavi shakes her hand, that quizzical expression on her face and glances over at Idris who grins and raises a hand.
"Idris."
"Mavi. It's nice to meet you."
"We're friends of Draco's," Nadia explains. "He told us how you brew your own medicinal Draughts."
Mavi nods, tucking a strand of her short wavy hair behind her ear. "I do. It was cheaper for me to buy my own ingredients than buy the potions themselves."
Nadia looks impressed. "It's not easy to brew."
"I had to learn." Mavi tucks her hands into the back pockets of her jeans.
Draco watches her closely. She always seems to try and make herself smaller. Like she's scared to take up too much space in a room.
It's a stark contrast to what Draco has grown up doing: making sure everyone in the room knows who he is.
"Do you mind if I take a look at some of your potions?" Nadia asks with a tilted head. Draco can see her sizing up Mavi in every way — typical Nadia behaviour.
"Sure." Mavi gives her a tight-lipped smile, already turning for the door. Nadia follows without a look back.
As soon as the dark oak door swings shut behind them, Idris speaks from behind Draco.
"She's pretty."
Draco traces the outline of the M on his ring with his index. "Is she?"
He'd never noticed. Mavi is tall — probably around five foot seven — with short, wavy hair somewhere between brown and black. Her eyes are dark but he's never noticed the exact shade.
"Come on, Draco. Even you have to admit she is."
He shrugs, slipping the ring back onto his finger and standing. "I've never looked at her long enough to admire her."
Idris is quiet for a long moment as Draco rounds to the trolley against the wall where he keeps his assortment of alcohols. "I thought you weren't attached to Astoria like that."
Draco's movements slow as he places his glass down on the mirrored tray. "Am I supposed to ask you what that means?"
"It means," Idris sighs, running a hand through his curly dark hair, "that you've been mourning her like you really were in love with her."
"I did love Astoria."
"Yeah." He rolls his eyes.
"Like the rest of us did. Not really in a I'm-so-in-love-with-her-I-might-die way."
"Does that mean I'm not allowed to mourn?"
"Of course you're allowed to—We're all mourning, Draco. I just—There's something different about you and I just want to know if maybe your feelings changed before she passed." Idris steps forward, concern flickering on his face.
Draco rubs the back of his neck, staring at the sleek wood floor. Had he ever fallen in love with Astoria? He doesn't think so. Their marriage was purely an arrangement on their parents' parts. Both the Greengrasses and the Malfoys need an heir — both Astoria and Draco had been well-aware of why they'd been paired.
But he had grown attached to her — just like how she'd grown attached to him.
"Knowing my parents," Draco says, quietly, "they'll probably have another line of potential marriage candidates waiting already."
Idris' eyebrows raise. "You're not—You're not going to let them marry you off again, will you? Not this soon?"
Draco shakes his head, picking up the bottle of whiskey and taking a long swig from it. "Not this time," he says, his voice low. "I don't care if they disown me for it. I'm never getting married again."
———
i promise it'll pick up! this book is really fast-paced.
let me know your thoughts!
kisses,
nyx