Draco dressed himself slowly, savoring the warmth of the fresh clothes against his skin. His damp hair hung lazily over his brow, amplifying his rugged persona. Upon opening the bedroom door, he noticed that his room was one of three in a lengthy hallway. There was a door across from him, and another at the end of the hall. Between the single door at the far end and his own, was an open archway to what appeared to be a living room.
Aromas of a spicy origin filtered through the hallway as he shut the door behind himself. It brought him a sense of invitation as he let it glide seductively past his nose. Curiously, he stepped into the living room that was more lavishly furnished than his bedroom.
There were two heavy chocolate brown leather sofas facing each other with an equally heavy wooden coffee table separating them; both were draped in variously colored throws. The legs of the table were carved intricately with vines and plant leaves and such; made with elegant curves and twists. It stood no more than two feet high so as not to be the envy of the proud sofas. It was cluttered with books, coasters, and recently pawned through magazines. A glass of chocolate milk stood lonely on a coaster at the end of the table next to an open magazine, lying forgotten in the middle of an article.
A grand fireplace backed into the wall of the hallway. Its mantle was of a dark stained wood and was just as uniquely carved as the coffee table. Crimson bricks summed up the hearth. Above the fireplace hung a good sized piece of parchment with the words "In this place I do fear that my fears do not exist, and in that truth I have only to fear my freedom, which is now unlimited" painted in a precise calligraphy across its surface. He studied the phrase mockingly.
If Muggles knew anything of freedom, they wouldn't really believe that, he thought with a sneer.
The rest of the wall accommodating the fireplace was devoted to polished dark wood shelves and cabinets stuffed with books and pictures. Of course he recognized none of the books for they were all of Muggle origins. He browsed through some of the titles; he recognized none of them.
Behind the farthest sofa was a wall of windows, each reaching from ceiling to floor with lengthy deep red curtains. The wooden blinds were pulled up, allowing the last of the daylight into the coziness of the secluded room. A set of French doors were set next to the windows. They were open to reveal another living room, far more relaxed than the first. From his viewpoint all he could see was a large leather chair and a box of moving pictures mounted in another armoire (this one without doors on it) next to another door; it faced the leather chair for clear viewing.
Looking straight ahead, Draco could see into a small portion of the kitchen, accompanied by a non-formal dining area. It was a small wood table with four chairs and a simple arrangement of flowers in a blue glass vase.
He walked past the sofas towards the beckoning smell of lively spice. Through the archway to the informal dining area was a sumptuous kitchen with white-washed cabinets and glossy brown marble countertops. Morgan was busying herself with variously sized pots and pans. She seemed not to notice him.
There was a loud banging sound coming from Draco's left. When he turned to look, there was only another door. Then suddenly a loud buzzer went off, and the banging sound slowed to a stop. Draco had jumped excitedly at the unexpected sound.
He heard Morgan sigh under her breath as her back was turned to him. "There goes the laundry again…" she muttered absentmindedly. When she turned around from the stove she gave a sharp start of surprise at his presence.
"Are you feeling better Mr. Malfoy? You were in the bathtub for almost five hours," she said after recovering from her shock.
"I'm much better."
"Good. I hope ziti al forno with a side of lamb is alright with you- I wasn't really sure what to cook," she admitted half-heartedly.
Truth be told, Draco liked lamb, though he'd never had ziti al forno. He may have lived in high society, but he was not accustomed to an overwhelming choice in foods. He nodded in response as she whisked past him through the door on his left.
He watched over her shoulder as she bent down to retrieve a bundle of clothes from a white metal box. She then put the bundle on the table, carefully avoiding the vase of flowers, and returned to take a pile of wet clothes out of a second white metal box, and into the first one. Now Draco was thoroughly confused. What the heck was she doing? The last thing she did before leaving the small room with the two white metal boxes in it was turn a dial on the thing with the wet clothes after putting in a thin sheet of something she had gotten from the cabinets above the white box.
Morgan hurried back into the kitchen as a pot of something started to boil over. She pulled it off the gas burner and ran to the sink to pour the contents into a strainer already set up for it over the sink. A plentiful amount of ziti noodles spilled over the edge of the pot, steaming profusely as they did so. She dried both the noodles and the pot and placed the noodles back in the pot, covering it with a lid.
Rushing to the oven with a thick oven mitt, Morgan pulled out a large pan with something wrapped in aluminum foil. It smelled delicious and almost brought Draco to his knees. It was a lamb rack; a delicious, succulent lamb rack.
"Alright," said Morgan to herself as she pulled two teal plates and matching teal bowls from the nearest cabinet. She took them into the room beyond the kitchen, one Draco hadn't explored. Morgan appeared through the swinging doors and grabbed a few knives and forks from a drawer nearest to the cabinet that kept the plates and she disappeared into the other room again.
When she came back through she asked Draco if he would like anything to drink. "I have white tea, green tea, peach tea, raspberry tea, brewed tea, iced tea, milk, orange juice, sodas, red wine……"
"Just water, thank you."
And Morgan rushed to another cabinet, retrieved two clear glasses, and filled them both with ice and cold water from the freezer. Then once again she took them back to the room beyond the swinging doors.
"You can go ahead and have a seat in there if you like. I'll bring the food out in a second," she instructed.
Draco's only reply was to walk through the kitchen and through the swinging doors. What he saw surprised him, yet again. There was a fairly good sized dining table of another dark, polished wood with a crystal vase filled with exotic flowers sitting at the very center. There were eight chairs in all. The six chairs without diner plates looked terribly lonesome to Draco. How nice it would be to have them filled.
Also in the room was a large window with extravagant drapes on the opposite wall. To his left a right was a large china cabinet, and to his left a large bureau with a matching mirror mounted above it. Sitting atop the bureau were two candelabras and several picture frames filled with unmoving, smiling faces.
Suddenly very self-conscious, Draco took a seat in the closest chair with a dinner plate and waited patiently- a new characteristic, he noticed. Maybe the Muggle was wearing off on him- No Draco! Don't think that way…
~*~
"My oh my…" muttered Morgan under her breath as she fixed up the food into proper serving dishes.
All day she's done nothing but worry about who this stranger was. He had a most unusual name and was covered in blood- not exactly the best impression to make on someone.
She'd tended his wounds and gave him fresh clothes, but she couldn't let her guard down. There's no way to know who he his or what he's done. He could be a runaway, or an escaped convict. But surely if someone had escaped from prison it would be all over the newspapers and she'd seen none of it.
So she sighed and did the best she could to make her guest comfortable.
~*~
The two had eaten dinner in the longest and most awkward of silences. Setting down his fork from his last bite of food, Draco started to pick up his dishes when Morgan insisted that he needn't bother with them. So she had craftily hoisted all dirty dishes into her arms and carried them to the kitchen sink and loaded them into the dishwasher. Poor Draco, not knowing what to do, set into the kitchen to offer some assistance.
"Dinner was very good," he said modestly. Modestly? That's a new one too. Alright, maybe his head just hadn't cleared yet.
"Thank you," she said.
Okay, now what? Doesn't the woman talk? Don't all women talk? A lot? Maybe Muggle women don't talk as much as witches. Or maybe it was his presence that scared her into such prolonged silence.
Morgan, now finished with the dishes, washed her hands in the sink and dried them off with a dishtowel, wondering what to do next. His bandages probably needed to be checked now.
Turning around to face her guest she asked politlely, "Would you like me to check your bandages? I'm sure they need changing again."
He shrugged in response and followed her to the more relaxed of the two living rooms. Draco sank into the plush sofa, relieved to be doing something, and unbuttoned his shirt. Morgan sat down next to him with a yellow tube and an extra roll of bandages in her hand.
Before he could stop himself he asked, "What is that?"
She gave him a funny look and responded, "It's Neosporin," and when she received no reaction from his stony face she added, "It fights against bacterial infections in the wound."
He lowered his head again and let her set to work.
"So, how's your memory?" she asked politely.
"My what?"
"Your memory, Mr.Malfoy- about what happened to you? Or perhaps you've been able to come up with a convincing untruth for me?" she sniggered.
Draco frowned indignantly. How dare she make such assumptions! She's even smirking! Wait, I'm the one in her house, under her care, and under her observations. She has every right to make assumptions.
"Well…neither."
"Really?" she asked only half-sarcastically. "You're not even going to try?"
Alright, now it was time to tell her something convincing, something she'll believe and won't ask questions about. A dog attack? No, not in the middle of the countryside on the side of the road. Mugged? Again, in the country on the side of the road? No. Maybe it's time to resort to 'vague' but 'enough for now'.
"I think that even if I did remember, and if I did tell you the truth, you wouldn't believe me. Besides, I need time to come up with a lie that covered all my tracks."
"Alright, so you can either demonstrate your poor storytelling skill for me, or you can tell me the truth."
"I pick storytelling- I was attacked by a wolf." What was that?
"You're not very good at this….you're supposed to elaborate. Make it sound believable."
Draco just gave her a blank stare. Morgan sighed and wrapped some gauze around his chest.
"I think you'll be alright. It still looks really bad, but at least it's stopped bleeding."
"Thank you." Since when does a Malfoy say 'thank you'?
Breaking the Mirrors by On Angels Wings
Chapter Notes: Sorry this one's so short, but it comes in three parts, so really it's not that short- you're just taking it in bite sizes right now.