Tango * dramione

Chapter 33

Chapter 33: a mother's love

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Stage Right: Douglas B. Diggle

Setting: His cramped corner office

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Douglas B. Diggle wasn't a patient man. He'd tried and failed to perfect the craft on numerous occasions, but the gift had simply skipped a generation and bestowed itself to none other than his son, Gregory. Douglas' wife, bless her resting soul, had also been given the elusive gift, but it didn't seem fair as he sat in front of an office desk piled high with late notices and demands of funds.

There was another thing Douglas wasn't great at: money management.

With a sigh worthy of the Hall of Fame for Exasperated Sounds, he tossed a scratched up piece of parchment scribbled with attempts to balance the books just as a knock came to his door, adding further to his stress. Perhaps it was a new patron wishing to adhere to the wonders of dance? Maybe they had a fat coinpurse as well?

Alas, as the door opened, it was only the fruit of his loins, Greg, peering around the door. "Father, do you have a moment?"

"Of course, hijo mío," Douglas said, ushering Greg in with a wave of his arm and nearly knocking a pile of paperwork over in the process. It took quick wandwork to place the parchment under a sticking spell. "What can I do for you today?"

"Er..." He watched his son take in his disheveled appearance, lack of mustache wax on his upper lip included. "There's someone here to see you."

"Oh?" Diggle's ears perked up.

"I wouldn't get too excited," Greg continued. "It's...Narcissa Malfoy."

Douglas nearly dropped his wand. "Narcissa Malfoy. The Narcissa Malfoy?"

"Apparently," Greg said in a dull way, waving his hand about as if he was swatting a particularly annoying gnat. "Though what she wants is unapparent."

"Do you suppose this has anything to do with her son?"

Greg quirked an eyebrow. "You know, I had the faintest inkling it just might."

Greg's snarkiness went over his father's head as Douglas waved his wand wrist again, accio'ing a hand mirror to float in front of him. With a few quick touches, and some mustache wax from his desk drawer, he managed to make his facial hair somewhat acceptable. After banishing the mirror back on top of the shelf nearby, he raised a theatrical eyebrow and smirked toward his son. "See her in."

One roll of the eyes later, Greg retreated back from whence he came. Time seemed to crawl at a snail's pace as Douglas awaited his guest, pondering all of the reasons she could be here. Was it to commend him on his teaching abilities to train the practically untrainable (Draco)? Well, of course! But what else could it be? He twirled his fingers along his mustache in thought as the door opened, and a woman entered.

She was a thin one, but strong in posture and sharp as nails behind those eyes. Narcissa Malfoy would have made an excellent ballerina, thought Diggle, as she glided across the room and took a seat in the worn armchair across from him. She didn't at all flinch as it squeaked. A fine poker face, indeed.

"Hola, precioso capullo de rosa," he said, tilting his head to the side. "To what do I owe the pleasure of tu visita today?"

"A beautiful rosebud, Mister Diggle?" Narcissa replied, her lips tracing into a thin line meant to be a smile. "I've heard rumors of your flattery, however - I am not so easily impressed."