the sweetest con [d.m]

one

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.