Murder to Malfoy - D.MALFOY

[3]

"Delusional?" Ivy Cadieux exclaimed, attempting to keep her voice somewhat stable in the presence of her parents. She threw the paper on a deep brown leather chair, not caring that the corners creased with the sheer force of her uncontainable anger. "Delusional?" she echoed once more, forking an angered hand through hot toffee frizz that - when she had the energy to care for it - became delicate spirals that stretched down her back. She hadn't bothered to make herself look anything near presentable since Antony's funeral, simply not having the energy to do something she had her brother once bonded over.

Her mother, with pin straight yet messy blonde hair, sighed affectionately as she looked at her daughter, "Mon Amour, take a few deep-"

"No Maman, I will not calm down," she interrupted, not meaning to bite at her mother as fiercely as she did. She sighed and sent her mother one of many apologetic nods that she had mastered from the age of thirteen. "I loathe journalists." She snatched the paper back up, scrunched it into a tight ball then threw it into a blossoming fire where the moving pictures screamed in protestment. She could not think of another way to releave the hatred that flushed through her veins, only pumped further by the hatred in her heart.

"Would you like us to get it redacted?" her father asked softly, looking up from the novel in his hand as he pushed his glasses back up his nose. Mr Cadieux - having taken her mother's name as he didn't like his English one - gave her her curls and dark green eyes. He was a rather relaxed parent, like her mother and cared dearly for his daughter's happiness yet she never became spoiled. The Cadieux family, unlike most wealthy wizarding families, cared for the well-being of others. Their house-elves were all freed, given garments to wear often and were paid in whatever they required for their happiness.

"Yes, but there's no point in that now," she sighed, watching the newspaper curl in the burning embers of the fire - only lit because her father enjoyed the cosiness while reading. Her attention soon became taken by the sound of the bell at the front door.  "That's Blaise, " she smiled softly before running from the library to the main foyer, hoping to catch her most dear friend just as he walked through the door like usual.

"Afternoon gorgeous," he smiled then sighed as she walked down the grander staircase in the house, near slipping on one of the steps due to the lack of grip that her loose fit, dark brown lounge socks gave. "I saw the papers."

"You and everyone else in the country, maybe the world," she paused as she reached the bottom of the stairs, flinging her arms around him for their usual greeting hug. She dropped her voice to a mutter, resting her chin on his shoulder, "And they all think I'm Insane."

"You're not insane Ivy, Ant wouldn't-  Mr Cadieux!"

"Lovely to see you again, Mr Zabini, " her father smiled as he passed them in the foyer, one hand still wrapped around the book his hair pushed up with his glasses. Her parents were very formal when it came to anyone outside the family and even though she insisted, her Father would not call Blaise by his name. Her mother however made the change a few years ago, after very little convincing. It wasn't that he thought anyone was below him in anyway shape or form, no he was just a little too stuck in his 'posher' English ways. And he did try, upon occasion.

"Let's go upstairs," Ivy suggested as they broke the hug, smiling briefly at her passing father even though it felt painted on haphazardly. 

Blaise, with a grin that was meant to bring her some sort of joy, covered his eyes briskly and exclaimed, "But what if there's a bra on the chair like last time!"

She sent him a glare, looking over her shoulder for presence of her father - which thankfully was not found. "Only bra you'll ever get to see Zabini," she half hissed half laughed, the sound feeling odd coming from her lungs after such drowning grief. She had only risen from her bed that morning, finally ready to face some sort of normality in life. Though, the vacant spot at the breakfast table did nearly send her into tears again.

"Funny," he grumbled, dropping his hand from his face as they made the climb to her bedroom. Her room was far away from her parent's room and the main spares, having chosen the room with the biggest windows that opened onto a slight balcony. For the natural light, more than anything. Walking past her brother's room to get to her own sent a stab of longing through her heart, longing to see his freckled face leaning out of the door with a goofy expression like he used to do whenever she walked past.

Blaise, upon entering the room, flopped down onto her four poster with such a sigh you would think he was going through great difficulty in life. Ivy drifted towards a hidden floorboard, which she propped up with a shoehorn before heading to the window. She opened the latch, swinging the windows open onto the balcony as Blaise spoke of his date with Luna two days before. The telling of the date from his perspective had her hanging onto every word as she smoked, making sure to get as much of it out of the window as possible. Grief does weird things to the body, things that before she felt were vile became a dependence that stilled her mind of awfulness for a few hours at least - picked up the very day of Antony's death. 

Fifteen minutes into Blaise's telling of all the good things about Luna, a soft knocking came from behind the door. Both their heads turned in the direction of the door just as a small voice, belonging to the house-elf,  echoed out from behind it, "Miss Ivy?"

"Come in, Meline," she replied, watching the door open as the house-elf stepped out with a letter in hand. The elf was dressed in the most gorgeous flowery dress that swung just below her knees. "I like the dress. It suits you beautifully," she smiled as Blaise wandered into the bathroom adjoining her room.

The elf smiled ever so brightly, "Thank you! Miss Aurelie gave me it this morning."

"Merci," she responded as she handed her the letter, name written on it in recognisable calligraphy. With that, Meline left and closed the door behind her just as Blaise walked back into the bedroom smelling vaguely of the cologne she kept in there for him.

"My luck is god awful," she sighed, laying down on the bed next to where he was before.

"Why what's in the letter?" he asked as he lay down next to her, looking at the tan parchment laid haphazardly at her side.

"An invitation to the Malfoy costume Ball. You're my plus one, Fin's busy."

"So I'm the second choice?"

She laughed ever so slightly and sat back up, pacing across the room as a thought of her brother at the last ball broke through a defence wall within her mind,  "Only for stuffy events, they know how to keep me sane in the presence of Malfoy."

"He only hates you because you're richer than he is," he responded with a light chuckle, having witnessed the nontalking feud between the two of them for their entire past five years at Hogwarts. "Smarter too."

She scoffed, pinning the invitation onto the corkboard in one corner of her room, "Materialistic douchebag."

"Ain't that the truth."