The Malfoy Project

𝟑𝟑 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐩𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐩𝐬𝐞

     ✼¹

     Draco is waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase, idly hunched against the railings in a crisp, all-black suit and looking no less put-together than he does at school. The sound of my heels herald my arrival, and he turns and watches as I try not to take a tumble down the steps.

     "Mother says I'm to bring you in," he informs me flatly when I've reached the bottom. "What is this, a royal ball?" I joke, but he doesn't laugh. "Look, Ainsley," he says irately. "I don't want to be here any more than you do, but it's important to them so just... don't fuck this up, alright?"

     "But I do want to be here!" I protest earnestly. "And I won't fuck it up. I'm very good with people, you'll see!"

     I follow him down to the dining hall from where the sound of hearty laughter and voices seeping through the cracked doors. Draco hooks his arm loosely through mine, and together, we enter.

     They were huddled in a circle by the fireplace, chuckling at something one of them had said. At the sight of us, the conversation stops.

     "Ah, Gabriella, we were beginning to wonder if you would be joining us at all!" Lucius says. "Gents, may I present Gabriella Ainsley, who has so graciously agreed to write our biography."

     I plaster on my most personable smile and approach the group. I go around the circle shaking their hands as they introduce themselves to me. Edmund Hemingway. Duncan Bulstrode. Alaric Selwyn. Magnus Opius. "It's very lovely to meet you all," I say, burying the sudden stab of self-consciousness in my chest.

     Under the soft, luminescent glow of the chandelier, I can see clearly the faces of each one of them. And unfortunately, they can see me. Mr. Bulstrode looks at me consideringly. "You're a student at Hogwarts, Ms. Ainsley?"

     "Yes," I say. "Eighth Year."

     "That means you'll be taking your N.E.W.T.s soon. You're certain you can manage? Writing a book is no easy task."

     "Absolutely, Mr. Bulstrode. I wrote for the school newspaper just until two weeks ago, and I've been managing everything very well so far."

     "Hogwarts has a paper now!" says Hemingway. "That's brilliant. Never too young to begin a career, I always say. Why, I myself was only twenty-one when I started working for Obscurus Books. I'm sure you'll do wonderfully."

     Bulstrode still looks unconvinced. "But I mean, there are still many steps to go through when writing a book," he says. "The process is largely complicated. It can be very overwhelming for a young girl like you."

     "Well, I suppose that's why we're having dinner today! It's truly an honour to have the support of established professionals such as yourselves," I say, making eye contact with every one of them.

     Bulstrode falls silent and Hemingway barks in laughter. "You're quite right, Ms. Ainsley," he says. "That's exactly what we're here for, isn't it, Bulstrode?" Bulstrode scrunches his mustache in reluctant agreement. Hemingway steps forward, partially obscuring the shorter man. "Don't let old Alaric here intimidate you, darling. We're all confident you'll do wonderfully." He raises his glass and winks at me. 

     At Lucius's urging, we move to the dining table, which was already set with a feast. He positions himself at the head, Narcissa herself on the other end. Everyone seems to know where they're to sit — Bulstrode and Selwyn flank Lucius, and next to Bulstrode, Opius and Hemingway fill up the rest of one side of the table, which leaves two empty chairs next to Narcissa.

     I go to the one directly next to her when Draco catches hold of my elbow. "You'll sit next to Hemingway," he hisses into my ear. Not about to ask him why, I obediently take the seat next to Hemingway, although it's hardly anything to complain about.