The Gralfoy Affair (or, The Oblivious Ones) - Dramione

Chapter Nine

The Wilkins's flat was in the attic of an old, empty garage at the back of their country property, detached but in view of the main house. The distance between the buildings was an overgrown meadow of wildflowers and woody, thorny raspberry brambles full of bees, bisected by a path worn into long green grass. When they bought the property, along the main road through Upper Raleigh, the Wilkins had talked about pruning and grooming it into a bed and breakfast, but the dental practice took all their time and it was left undone. Wendell wondered -- only briefly -- about striking a deal with the young Malfoy couple to work away at the renovation project themselves for a reduced rent. That was before he saw Draco holding a paintbrush pinched between two fingers, scowling at it like it was a dead rat he was being forced to hold by the tail.

"What does your Draco -- do?" he asked Hermione as she stood on the stairs above him, sweeping dust and cobwebs away.

Her answer was ready. "He's a student, like me. Only he studies literature. You know -- old-fashioned English poetry and theatre. He loves Hamlet."

Wendell hummed. "How daring. And his family?"

"Old money. Awful aristocrats. He's an only child but he's fallen out with his parents recently and is still trying to sort himself out."

Wendell chuckled. "That explains a lot."

He reported his findings to Monika as they were carrying bags of rubbish up to the road. "So it's no wonder he's so effete and awkward. Can't say I understand Hermione's attraction to these pallid boys, the red-head was bulkier but just as wan looking about the face, really."

Monika frowned. "Red-head?"

"Yes, Hermione's last romance, the red..." Wendell's voice trailed into silence.

"Whatever do you mean? We've only just met the girl. How could we know anything about her dating history?"

Wendell was as surprised at himself as she was. "We couldn't. I must be thinking of someone else. Or maybe there were pictures I saw somewhere, like on a social media something or other."

Monika shrugged. "I suppose so. Whatever you do, Wendell, let it go. You're obsessing like an overprotective father and I'm sure she's got her own father doing a fine job of that out in Saskatchewan. At any rate, she's nicely married now and they'll make the best of it, I'm sure."
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Malfoy waited until the Wilkins were hauling the rubbish away before setting down his paintbrush and getting his wand.

"What are you up to, Draco? Malfoy, no. They told us to paint it."

"They never specified how."

"Well, of course they didn't intend for us to paint it magically."

"That's just because they don't realize it's an option." And without negotiating any further, he flicked his wand and the wall he'd been dabbing at with his brush all morning while Wendell cringed was flawlessly covered in the pale yellow colour he was growing to hate the longer he had to work with it.

She rushed toward him. "Alright, that's enough. And look, now you've got yellow paint on your hawthorn."

They were standing in the middle of the room with their heads bent over Malfoy's wand, scraping paint off its handle, when they heard the Wilkins on the stairs. As Malfoy hurried to tuck it out of sight, he flicked one more wall yellow.

The Wilkins had come back from the house with sandwiches for lunch. Malfoy was quiet, as he was every time the four of them ate together, concentrating on eating normally.

"Well, I must say I'm pleased with your progress," Wendell said. "The place is coming together faster than I feared it would. Well done, Malfoy family. You're on track to sleep here tonight. We only need to bring in the mattress." He stood up, eyed Malfoy, who was still engrossed with trying not to choke on his lunch, and decided to ask Hermione to help him carry the bed inside.