The Not So Good Girl

Malfoy Manor was a large, towering house built of stone that seemed perpetually dark, though it was daylight when she and Draco arrived by carriage. Perhaps it was the ivy growing all over the home, or maybe it was because all the curtains were drawn. Either way, the mansion looked foreboding and unwelcoming. Virginie’s stomach lurched, and Draco, as if sensing her apprehension, reached over and took her hand gently.

As the carriage pulled up the long, winding driveway, Virginie could see two figures step from the front vestibule. Both had very long blond hair and were wearing black robes. When the carriage finally stopped at the front entrance, Draco’s parents advanced toward the carriage, each looking extremely haughty. Draco climbed from the carriage and stepped out, holding his hand for Virginie to climb down. She smiled faintly at Draco—truthfully, she felt very ill indeed—and turned to his parents.

“Mum, Dad, this is Virginie de Gaulle. Virginie, this is my mother, Narcissa, and my father, Lucius,” he said simply.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Lucius smirked, bending to kiss her hand. “I know your father, of course, a brilliant wizard.”

Draco’s mother simply sneered, as if sizing up this miserable creature whom her son found so fascinating. Virginie tried smiling pleasantly at Narcissa for what seemed like hours, and she could feel Narcissa’s cold stare look from her black satin robes and traveling cloak down to her stiletto heels. She wondered if heels were okay. She was second-guessing each thing she was wearing from head to toe.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Narcissa finally said, and gestured to the front door. “Come in. Welcome to our home.”

Feeling as though she’d passed a sort of inspection, Virginie walked slowly into the entrance hall, feeling almost as nervous as she had the day she’d come to Hogwarts.

“My darling Draco,” Narcissa simpered, removing Draco’s traveling cloak. “How very hungry you must be, my dear. Come eat. Mummy has had dinner prepared.”

After Draco had taken her cloak, they retreated to the dining room, which was long and narrow, the table stretching down the entire room. It must have been at least twenty feet long. The ceilings were high and the room was drafty, making Virginie shiver. She wished she’d worn more clothing. Satin never kept her warm. She hadn’t, however, anticipated that any place could be colder than Hogwarts was at this time of year. Before she had a chance to do a warming charm on herself, though, a fire appeared in the grate.

With just the four of them at the gigantic table, the room seemed empty and, to Virginie, very sad. Her parents had four children (two boys and two girls), and the house was always full of warmth and laughter. There was never an underused room to be found in the de Gaulle house, which was indeed rather large, but not larger than they needed, as seemed to be the case in the Malfoys’ home. She graciously ate the food that was presented before her, and she knew that the Malfoys could scarcely find room for complaint about her table manners. She had been trained at a charm school in France by the very best witches in the industry, and she knew her etiquette was flawless.

“Shall we retreat to the drawing room?” Draco’s mother asked, as Lucius rose from the table.

They followed behind his parents, Draco’s hand resting on the small of her back. She felt odd, as though she knew something was coming. It was bound to be awkward as fuck, she knew that. God, Draco looked delicious. He turned and flashed his lovely grey eyes at her. Oh Christ, how good he looked. She could just gobble him up. Yes, Draco, sit there on that sofa, let me just sit on your lap…

“Virginie, do tell us about your mother,” Narcissa said, accepting a glass of firewhiskey from her husband. “I daresay we’ve not heard of her. How is that? Is she a Muggle?”

“Oh, no,” Virginie answered quickly, knowing they would disapprove of that. She was taken aback by this forwardness. “My mum is French, born in Marseilles. I actually lived in Paris until a year ago, when I came to Hogwarts. You see, my mother approved more of Beauxbatons than Hogwarts. I presume you’ve never heard of her because she tends to fall in the shadow of my father. She likes being kept in the dark most of the time…she doesn’t like being in the press. The Daily Prophet can be cruel,” she finished, knowing she had digressed.

“Ah,” Narcissa said. “And what was her maiden name?”

“Arobin,” Virginie said.

“Oh, of the Marseilles Arobins. I wondered when you mentioned Marseilles,” Narcissa said, giving a curt nod of approval. Obviously she was more accepting now that she knew both of Virginie’s parents were pureblood.

“Your mother must be a good woman, devoted as she is to her husband,” Lucius said, and Virginie’s pulse began to race. She knew what was coming next. “Yes, I do agree that it is a woman’s place to stay home to care for her family.”

To her annoyance, Narcissa nodded emphatically. Virginie’s anger didn’t have the opportunity to stew much longer though, because right after she had finished nodding, Narcissa touched Lucius’s arm lovingly.

“Darling,” she said, smiling in a way that made her look very attractive—much more so than when she was sneering, “Isn’t she a very pretty girl? And she looks like a Malfoy. Just the type.”

They beamed at Virginie, making her extremely uncomfortable.

“We weren’t expecting someone so beautiful,” Lucius said. “You are very charming, as Draco has told us. And your manners—impeccable. Yes, you would make a good Malfoy. Very calm, composed, and most of all, regal. You have a manner that commands respect.

“Yes, Draco, we very much approve,” he continued, nodding his head at his son. Instead of feeling elated, Virginie felt sort of nauseous at the way they were appraising her—as if she were a piece of furniture rather than a person.

“You see, Virginie, we have great things planned for Draco,” Narcissa interrupted. “He speaks very highly of you, of course, but we needed to see for ourselves. Not just anyone would do. You…you are pureblood, a must for this family. You are beautiful…need I say more? Your poise and charm—that comes from your French upbringing, undoubtedly—are unmatched. Yes, you would make a good wife. And the Malfoys”—she turned to Lucius and began massaging his thigh—“treat their wives very, very well indeed.”

Erlack, Virginie though, mentally gagging. Though if Draco’s impressive endowments came from Lucius, she knew why Narcissa looked so happy…Ewewewewewewewewew…must stop this horrid mental image.

“Well, Mother,” Draco said, finally speaking. “It is a bit early to think of marriage, though we have discussed it.”

“It’s never too early, Draco,” Narcissa said.

“Even so, we must finish this year first, and we would both like to work for a year to save some money.”

“Don’t be silly, Draco,” his father snapped. “We have plenty of money. And your mother and I will be buying your first house for you anyway. Don’t worry about money.”

“Even so,” he said, and he cast his eyes downward. Virginie resisted the urge to take him in her arms and cuddle the poor boy.

“Oh my, it’s very late,” Lucius said, looking at his watch. “Narcissa, show the dear girl to her room, would you?”

“Of course, darling,” she simpered, touching his shoulder before leading Virginie up the vast stone staircase off the main foyer.

“Lucius and I are in the West Wing on this first floor,” she said, gesturing to the right on the first landing before they turned and ascended another staircase. “Draco’s room is on the second floor, in the East Wing. We’ve put you in the West Wing on his floor.”

They entered a rather large, drafty room, and Virginie saw her trunks stacked neatly in a corner. Narcissa lit a fire and a few lamps, and Virginie saw a very large four-poster bed in the center of the room, made up with blood red sheets.

“There’s a bath attached here,” Narcissa said, gesturing to a large oak door. “You should find everything you need.”

“Thank you,” Virginie said, managing a smile.

Narcissa, never breaking eye contact with Virginie, shut the door with her wand and advanced toward Virginie, until she was eye to eye with her.

“We’ve let you into our family now,” she said, losing any trace of friendliness. “I will treat you as a daughter. If you ever, ever, I say, hurt my son, or damage his reputation in any way, there will be consequences. Being in this family means abiding by the rules. You’ve been warned. Sleep well.” She exited the room in a swish of skirts.

Astounded, Virginie stood rooted in place. Her astonishment was broken only when one of the portraits on her wall—the one directly above her bed, placed squarely between the two headboard posters—said, “She’s right you know. Don’t you dare go tarnishing our ancient name.”

Virginie looked to see a thin, snooty looking woman with silvery hair glaring at her from the portrait. She was wearing a black dress with a white lace collar and looked as if she weren’t someone to be trifled with.

“Buzz off,” Virginie snapped, drawing the curtain around her bed with her wand so that this foul old wretch wouldn’t see her change into her pyjamas. She was completely naked when there was a knock on her door.

“Yes?” she asked quietly, Summoning a towel to wrap around herself.

“It’s me,” she heard Draco say, and, though she really had no desire to speak with anyone right now, let him in.

“Well, are you ready to leave now?” he asked angrily, storming into the room. “Hate me now? Hate my family?”

“No, no, Draco,” she said, trying to calm him—but it was no use.

“I’ll bet you do. They all do. They all run away. Well I’m not letting you!” he fumed, finally stopping to look at her.

Fatigue coated Virginie like a warm shower. She sank into a chair and began to cry. “D-Draco…I don’t h-hate you…I just…shocked…why….yelling at me…didn’t do…a-a-anything…” she broke down, sobbing hysterically into her hands.

“Fuck!” he yelled, sinking to his knees and putting his head on her lap. “So sorry…darling, don’t cry….I love you…”

“Whaaa?” Virginie said through her tears.

Draco looked up at her. “I love you, Virginie.”

She began to sob again, though this time it was because she was happy. “I love you too, Draco. And I’ll always love you. No matter what.”

They stood up and hugged, Draco’s rage forgotten. Their happiness was interrupted, however, by applause from behind the bed curtains.

“What the fuck is that?” Draco said irritably, breaking away from her.

“Some old bitty who’s been criticizing me,” she answered, wiping away her tears and wrapping her towel more tightly around her.

Draco drew back the curtains soundlessly with his wand and climbed on the bed to look at the portrait.

“It’s my great-grandmother, Selenia,” he said. “She’s got another portrait at St. Mungo’s….wish she’d go there.”

“Dear boy!” Selenia shrieked. “How dare you banish me, your own grandmother? And-” she gasped, seeing Virginie in a towel. “—How crude! I know you aren’t married! Draco!”

“Go to St. Mungo’s or you’ll see something cruder,” he snapped, coming back to Virginie.

They kissed softly as they made their way toward the bed. Virginie perched on the edge of it and wrapped her legs around Draco’s waist, and they giggled through their kisses as Selenia gasped in horror and stormed from her portrait.

“I love you,” Draco said as he gently pushed her down onto her back on the bed.

“I love you, too,” she whispered. “Would it be rude of me to say ‘I love you, now fuck me raw?’”

“No,” he said, biting her shoulder. “In fact, it only makes me love you more.”

She giggled as he tickled her legs, her laughter soon turning into moans.

Instead of falling right to sleep, as she often did after being with Draco, she found herself wide awake. She turned over and snuggled up to him. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head in return.

“I’ve never told anyone I love them before,” he said hoarsely. “I never even say it to Mum and Dad.”

“Really?” she asked. She herself said “I love you” numerous times a day when she was at home with her family.

“If you hadn’t noticed, we really aren’t the feelings type here,” he laughed. “But you’ve been wonderful, really. Most girls would turn around and run for the hills.”

“Can’t say I didn’t think about it,” she admitted, stroking his hair. “But you’re worth it. …D-do you really mean it when you say you want to get married?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “I can’t imagine ever being with anyone else.”

“Me neither,” she admitted, relieved he’d said it first. “Every other relationship…it was such a game. I feel so mature when we’re together. This feels real.”

“I know,” he said. “And you…you’re just…perfect.”

And when she woke the next morning, his arms were still around her.