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Paint Me Malice by OvergrownEden9

Format: Novella
Chapters: 3
Word Count: 4,164
Status: WIP

Rating: Mature
Warnings: Strong Language, Strong Violence, Scenes of a Sexual Nature, Substance Use or Abuse, Sensitive Topic/Issue/Theme

Genres: Horror/Dark, Romance, Angst
Characters: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Draco, Pansy, Ginny, Blaise (M), OC, OtherCanon
Pairings: Draco/Hermione, Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Other Pairing

First Published: 03/12/2008
Last Chapter: 06/16/2008
Last Updated: 06/16/2008

This amazingly perfect banner was made by Iriki @ TDA (:

“No, I’m lying. My wife’s body is not currently in my attic."

Blaise Zabini has made a disturbing mistake...
He pulled her close to him, enveloping her lips in a lethal kiss.
... while Draco Malfoy is addictive.


Chapter 1: Like Mother, Like Son
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Like Mother, Like Son. 

Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. Abruptly turning over, shaking from the cold sweat that was a result of his intense nightmares (if you could call them that), Blaise Zabini opened his vivid blue eyes. He groaned loudly, and his breathing hitched in his throat; jerky and unsteady. 

He sat up in a juddering motion, sliding his quivering legs out of the heavy, ice-cold, sweat-glazed bedcover. His feet freezing the moment they touched the cool, ash-wood, floor, he ran his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, shuddering.
Eyebrows knotting, Blaise constricted his vision by screwing up his eyes. If he could see nothing then nothing would be there. He shook his eyes in a lagging way, with deliberation, attempting and failing to stunt the growing memory flashbacks inside his head. 

He rested his head on his hands. His naked, muscled, arched back trembling. Ebony hair was pasted to his suddenly pallid, normally tanned, skin. Blood caked his lips, where he must have bitten them while he slept. Blaise relived and endured the worst possible things while he slept; the memories that haunted him for longer than he cared to remember. They were memories, mostly happy, of his late father. It's the happiness of them that was hurting Blaise. 

"Blaise!" Almond shaped, sapphire-blue eyes met the elder man's deep-set ones – the colour of a tranquil, cloudless, midnight sky. The man laughed, wrapping the smaller boy in his arms. 

The small boy giggled, exultant grin spreading from dimpled cheek to dimpled cheek. His father lifted him up, and swung him around playfully, ignoring the laughing child's protests. The man pulled the boy to his chest, laughing again, and kissed him lovingly on the forehead. 

Tiny Blaise escaped his father's arms, running across the pure-white sandy beach. The sound of the wind was like a pleasant song fluttering through them, curving around the two like a blanket or a soft wave. 

Suddenly, the atmosphere changed – stunted. Hacked, suffering darkness suffocated the images only living now in Blaise Zabini's imagination. A place of infinite absence filled his heart; the colours muted and edges lost in a haze of despair. His father was lost in this place, something that intoxicated Blaise every night – however, he hoped, fiction. His father's once-chiselled features that were so like Blaise's own were bitter and violated and distorted. It wasn't like the laughing man that Blaise knew as a small boy. 

Corrupted. Tainted. With, as always, that perfected touch of poison. Blaise's mother was dangerous. 

Blaise opened his eyes again; the memories and inventions, of his own, disturbing, imagination, dissolving into the room. Blaise jerkily moved towards the open-window, staring out into the sooty clouds. A translucent slice of the moon could be seen hanging behind the purest of the clouds. Blaise let out a breath, spluttering on his pain. 

Blinded with raw distress, he came to a decision. One Blaise had been trying to make for months. Blaise moved from room to room, avoiding the portrait of his mother's, which lived in the hallway, mocking glaze. Blaise stumbled into his only child's room. She was sleeping. Blaise pressed his cold lips against her forehead, gently brushing his shaking fingers through her chocolate-coloured hair. He whispered a sickly sweet apology, as he looked at her unprotected, fragile, perfect facial features. She looked angelic. 

Blaise, every step feeling like a death sentence, tersely walked into the bathroom. A man with a motive. He could hear his wife cluttering about in the nearby kitchen. Unknowing seconds passed as Blaise steadily stared at the bathroom cabinet, watching his sleep-derived eyes. He took a deep breath, and opened it. It was his mother's old house; he knew it as well as his daughter's every feature. Blaise, with wavering finger tips, pulled away the back of the cabinet from the inside. There was glass after glass of poison his wife knew nothing about. His mother's spare stash. He took the colourless one; the one he knew to be the most deadly. The most painless, but the one that would infect someone's very soul within a split second. 

Blaise, holding the tiny tube, shut the cabinet and looked into his eyes again in the mirror. They seemed to hold that barely-noticeable spark his mother's had. This sickened him slightly. 

He slipped, silently, out of the bathroom and past his mother's portrait and through another door – into the kitchen. His wife's back was facing him – a lukewarm mug of coffee sat on the unit. Blaise inconspicuously poured in the fatally venomous liquid, his mouth curling into a tiny smirk. He stepped forward, close to his wife, silently. He touched her neck, making her flinch in surprise. He slowly, with deliberation, ran his cold hand down the length of her back. She shivered, and he placed an arm around her waist. He pulled her close to him, enveloping her lips in a lethal kiss. She sighed contently as he let her go. 

"Don't forget your coffee, love," Blaise whispered slowly, delicately, seductively, into her ear. She nodded, smiling, as she moved to pick up the mug. 

She brought it to her lips. Blaise told himself that he was doing the right thing. She took a sip. He told himself that, this way, she'd be no danger to him. Not like his mother was to his father. Not like she was to all the other men. She finished the small amount left in the mug. Blaise would not be taken away from his child. She smacked her lips. 


She touched her throat, eyebrows rutting in confusion. 

Blaise locked eyes with her. 


Her eyes widened in shock, as she let out a choke. 


Blaise let a small grimace touch his lips as the mug, and his wife, shattered against the floor. 


He knelt down beside her, and watched the light go out. 

It was all over. 

Blaise kissed her forehead for the last time, "Like mother, like son." Blaise idly collected the small chunks of china from the floor, a slight smile at his lips.

A/n. Sorry about the shortness. Chapter One will be longer. Please review if you want me to continue with this.

Chapter 2: Regret
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Dislaimer: Nothing but the plot is mine. :)

As I always feel about alomost every chapter I write, I'm not sure about this one. I hope you like it. Please R&R; I'd love to know what you think!

Chapter One

  Blaise Zabini wandered down the corridor, looking from office door to office door, trying to find office 7b. The secretary downstairs told Blaise that Mr. Malfoy was busy, as he has only started the new job a week before, but she sent him upstairs anyway. The corridor, which was proclaimed to be in the Department of Magical Games and Sports according to a shining silver sign, was immaculate. Blaise found office 7b fairly easily, despite his throbbing head.

  The door read Mr Draco Malfoy. Underneath stated that he was the junior head of the department. Opposite the door were several white chairs, which reminded Blaise of a hospital. Or a mental institute. Every so often, the desolate atmosphere of the corridor was interrupted by a passing Ministry worker, or a visitor. An elderly woman, with drooping eyes, took the seat next to Blaise for a moment before leaving hurriedly. Blaise didn’t even notice she was there until she asked softly, “Do you know the time, dear?” Blaise didn’t gesture to the large clock in front of the two of them.  

  Blaise wrung his hands, edgily waiting for the door to open. Blaise’s nails dug into his palms, drawing blood. Blaise winced slightly; momentarily surprised that he could still feel pain. He couldn’t feel anything else. Blaise half-heartily tore his hands apart. As the clock ticked like a drum, Blaise took his eyes away from it for a brief moment to inspect his nails. Fresh blood lined the tips, grinning at him maliciously.

  A young woman, with flaming red hair trailing down her back, drifted past him. She paused, glancing at the clock and at the office numbers. Blaise recognized her; she was in the year below him at Hogwarts. She murmured something, taking the seat next to Blaise that the old woman had left. The woman was pregnant; her blouse seemed uncomfortably tight around her stomach area. She kept looking at Blaise, seemingly pondering something. She left when the man, whose office was next to Draco’s, emerged. She didn’t seem very happy with him as she stormed into his office uninvited.

  Blaise’s dark eyes returned to the clock face. Each tick, full of spite, seemed to rip at his skin. Blaise blinked; his eyes were dry and bloodshot. He hadn’t slept in three nights. He hadn’t eaten either; he was unsure if he could stomach anything right now and -

  Finally, the clock chimed. Blaise jumped up, his rutted shoulders suddenly making some sort of movement. He stared eagerly at the door, his hands shaking. The door opened slowly, taunting him, as the light from behind the door leaked through the crack. Blaise bounced his knee in anticipation.

  “Blaise,” Draco Malfoy smirked, leaning on the doorframe. He nodded at his friend, amicably; but any courtesy the nod held was stripped by that idle smirk.

  A tall, slim woman stood behind Draco. Her hair was blonde, contrasting heavily to her mousy-brown roots. Her crimson lipstick was smudged, her cheeks flushed and she hastily did up the last few buttons on her ruffled blouse. Her collar was askew, revealing a blood-red bra strap. She hurried brushed past Draco and Blaise, her long nails clutching onto a tacky handbag.

  Blaise, almost forgetting the reason why he was here, raised his eyebrows at his friend. Draco smirked and, with a shrug, said easily, “Step into my office.”

  Blaise followed Draco into the office, taking the seat in front of the desk that Draco offered him. Draco Malfoy, sitting in the more comfortable-looking chair behind the desk, looked at him with mild interest. Blaise looked to his feet, his eyes travelling across the floor to the bin in the corner.

  “Merlin,” Blaise raised his eyebrows at Draco, who shrugged again. Inside the bin were several lacy knickers; one of which was blood-red, “Same woman?”

  Draco lazily drawled, “Of course not.” His eyes glinted mischievously, “Dear Pansy,” he said sardonically, “Is away with her father. I don’t think I should be expected to be celibate.” Draco smirked, waiting for Blaise to laugh. He said nothing. Draco rolled his eyes, gesturing towards the exhausted-looking man, who rubbed his eyes wearingly, “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you, Blaise.

  Blaise looked up, his eyes catching Draco’s. Neither of the two looked away. Draco let a blonde hair fall lightly onto his cheek.

  “I’ve done something stupid.”

  Draco’s eye-contact didn’t waver. Blaise looked away, wetting his lips. Draco waited, looking impatient.

  “What?” Draco rolled his eyes again, “You can’t have done anything that can’t be fixed,” Draco paused, “If you cheated on your wife, you can pay the girl you did it with to keep quiet.” Draco smirked and added, “Or girls, if you like it like that.”

  “I killed her.”

  Draco coughed, “You killed the girl you slept with?!”

  Blaise stood up, slamming his bleeding fist onto the desk, “NO! I fucking poisoned my wife.”

  Draco looked up at him, half-expecting Blaise to start laughing and announce the joke. When no such announcement came, Draco also stood, hastily brushing his hair from his eyes.

  “Seriously?” Draco held his breath, an unsure expression on his pointed features that somehow suited him.

  “No, I’m lying. My wife’s body is not currently in my attic,” Blaise hissed.

  Draco, a look of deadly awe on his face, raised his eyebrows, “I never thought you’d take after your mother, Blaise.” His tone was airy, but his eyes said differently, “Why’d you do it?”

  “It-” Blaise slumped down into the chair, a distressed look in his eyes, “It seemed like a good idea at the time. I was having dreams and… I didn’t – I don’t! – want my daughter to be fatherless, Draco!”

  “Now she’s motherless, you know that?” Draco sat on his desk. Blaise buried his face in his hands, “I don’t know if your wife would have killed you; she did remind me of your mother though.”

  Blaise nodded gravely. Draco paused thoughtfully.

  “No use crying over spilt blood,” Draco clapped his hands together, “What do you want me to do for you?” He added, with a snide tone to his drawl. Blaise looked up at his friend; he couldn’t say he was that surprised at Draco’s reaction – the man had very little compassion, and seemed to be without remorse most of the time.

  “I don’t know, I-”

  Suddenly, the office door opened. A woman, who was held an open case-file in one hand, strolled into the room. She didn’t look at the door, “Gary, could you take a-” The woman stopped in her tracks, her dark eyes looking from the file. Her jaw dropped animatingly. She widened her eyes; a look of anger was in them after the initial shock wore away.

  “Malfoy!?” She spat, brushing a bushy curl, that had fallen from her tight bun, behind her ear, “What are you doing in Gary’s office!?”

  Draco smirked, gesturing to the open door, “Welcome to my office. Shut the door, Granger; a draught is coming in.”

  “Granger-Weasley!” Hermione raised her left hand, showing a simple gold ring along with a small engagement ring on her ring-finger, “You took Gary’s job?!”

  “Gary got the sack, Hermione Granger-Weasley,” Draco said easily, “Can’t you afford a newspaper? Oh, that’s right; by the look of the tiny diamond on that ring, Weasley must have sold his house. How is the box?”

  Hermione was fuming, “You haven’t grown up yet, Draco Malfoy?” She said, sarcasm dripping from her lips. She looked over to the bin, noticing the underwear, “Oh Merlin.” She raised an eyebrow.

  “That’s what they said,” Draco smirked, getting to his feet. Blaise looked from one to the other, sitting up straight. Hermione looked at Blaise’s red eyes, a crease appearing in-between her eyebrows.

  “Are you okay?” She asked slowly, watching Blaise with intelligent eyes. Blaise looked away as Draco walked towards Hermione.

  “Mind your own business,” Draco said darkly, “And leave my office. I was having a nice day before I saw your face.”

  Hermione looked affronted, but not surprised. She left, slamming the door. Draco chuckled.

  “She is exactly the same.”

  “As are you,” Blaise added, “She doesn’t look as bushy as she used to...”

  Draco looked disgusted, “Don’t even imply that she’s attractive,” Draco paused, “And keep it in your pants, Blaise; you’ve only just poisoned your wife.”

  Blaise rubbed his temples tiredly, recalling their conversation before Granger-Weasley interrupted.

  “What do you want me to do for you?” Draco repeated, reading his mind. Blaise licked his lips.

  “My daughter is downstairs.”

Chapter 3: Responsibility
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I disclaim everything. From here on out, things should get a little more interesting... hopefully! Dramione, anyone?

R&R, pretty please.

Chapter Two

  The Ministry of Magic was very busy today, Ginny Potter mused as she stood in the entrance hall. The walls were paneled with mahogany, while the ceiling was a peacock-blue, inlaid with shining moving symbols. Ginny looked to the floor, rolling her bright brown eyes as she found she could see her reflection in the extremely well-polished black wood. She could only see up to her bulging stomach, though. Oh, the joys of pregnancy.

  With only two short months to go, Ginny could barely wait to see her baby. Their baby; hers and Harry’s. What she would miss, however, was being able to balance tea on her stomach. Ginny, in a moment of hormonal insanity, considered eating a chocolate diet just to do that trick.

  Ginny, impatience seeping from every strand of her red hair, tapped her foot with irritation. Hermione had promised that she would be waiting for her down here. Rolling her eyes, Ginny was certain that her sister-in-law was doing some paperwork. That woman was a workaholic.

  Ginny sighed, rubbing her lower back gently. This baby was killing her muscles. Ginny slowly trotted to some uncomfortable-looking chairs, sitting down carefully. She let her head roll back as she rubbed her temples. What a day.

  Ginny, a chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, was being forced to retire early. Did she have any say in the matter? Nope. Admittedly, in her “current state” as her manager had put it, she couldn’t ride a broom but after the baby was born she would easily be able to fly again. The manager for the team had reasoned that she would be at home with the baby, as she had such a busy husband, but Ginny hasn’t listened. Mere reason was not going to sway Ginny in her “current state”.

  “The cheek of that bloody letter,” Ginny grumbled under her breath, “Didn’t even have the decency to tell me in person…”

  Suddenly, Ginny was very aware that someone was watching her. Peering over her stomach, a small girl was watching her with intrigue. She had long, chocolate-brown hair and huge, orb-like eyes. Ginny smiled uncertainly at the girl, who didn’t return the gesture.

  “Hello…” Ginny said gently, looking around for the girl’s mother. She saw no one who looked like the girl, or who seemed to be missing a child. The girl said nothing. She sat next to Ginny, glanced at her for a moment, and patted her stomach. Ginny gaped at the girl in surprise.

  “Do you have a baby in your belly?” The girl inquired, her light-blue eyes alert.

  Ginny nodded, smiling slightly, “Yeah, I do. It’s a little boy.”

  The girl looked at Ginny again, “I like babies.”

  “You do?”

  The girl nodded, “My mummy told me that she was going to have another baby. Her tummy wasn’t big like yours though.”

  Ginny chuckled, “I’m Ginny.” The girl smiled slightly, still staring at Ginny’s stomach. She said nothing, so Ginny tried again, “Where’s your mummy then, sweetie?”

  The girl looked up at Ginny, “Daddy said that she had to go away for a while.”

  “Oh.” Ginny paused, “Where’s your daddy?”

  The girl looked around the hall, shrugging, “He went to see Uncle Draco, and he told me to wait over there for him.” She gestured to the golden fountain. Ginny’s eyebrows constricted as she frowned.

  She’d seen a man outside Malfoy’s office, who looked like the little girl. Blaise Zabini. He’d been in Harry’s year, at Hogwarts… conceited, he was. This girl was his daughter?

  “Is your daddy’s name Blaise Zabini?”

  The girl nodded, looking around. As if on cue, Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy came out of the lift, near the fountain. Zabini looked around the room, flustered, realizing his daughter wasn’t where he instructed her to be. Ginny stood up, gently taking the girl with her by her hand.

  Ginny approached Blaise and Draco, her shoulders tensing for a moment. Draco saw her, but made no movement. He watched her walking, looking rather bored.

  “Is she your daughter?” Ginny asked melodiously, letting go of the small girl. Blaise spun around, his heart in his mouth.

  “Francesca!” Blaise knelt down, fear melting from his eyes. Ginny smiled slightly, nodding to Draco stiffly.

  Draco rolled his eyes, returning the nod curtly, “Never took you as a baby stealer. Aren’t you happy with the one you’re carting around, Weaslette?”

  Ginny chuckled, “More than happy, Malfoy. My bladder isn’t, though.” Ginny locked eyes with Draco, silently warning that she would go into more detail if he irritated her.

  Draco pulled a face. Ginny smirked to herself, as Blaise took his daughter by the hand and led her back to the lift. The little girl turned, waving, “Bye Ginny!”

  Draco rolled his eyes again, muttering to Ginny as he followed them, “Got you a bloody fan there, Weaslette.”

  “Potter actually, Malfoy!” Ginny called after him, in a chipper tone she knew would irk him, “If you’re going to try and piss me off, at least get the names right.”

  “Bloody hell…” Draco climbed into the lift, rolling his eyes. As the lift went up, he saw Granger-Weasley join Ginny. He turned to Blaise, forgetting about the small girl that was peering up at them curiously, “So, they all ended up with each other. How very uninteresting… predictable too.” Draco sneered, “Any bets that Potter is running around, saving the day in a pair of tights?”

  Blaise shrugged, “You’re with Pansy.” He paused, and added, “I don’t see why you’re so interested, if it’s so uninteresting.”

  Draco sneered again, his lips curling into a smirk. He ignored Blaise’s last comment, “Well, I am screwing half the female population along with that.”

  Blaise covered his daughter’s ears protectively, “Draco,” He spat sharply, “If you use any crude language that will taint my daughter in any way, I will personally make sure you will be physically ill-equipped to screw anything.”

  A tense silence filled the lift. Draco led the way to his office again, getting a little irritated by Blaise’s current mood. Blaise kept whispering to his daughter, who made little indication that she was being spoken to. Blaise looked worried, as the three of them stepped into the office.

  Taking a miniature bag from his pocket, Blaise returned it to it’s normal size with a fluid flicker of his wand. He dug into the suitcase, extracting a porcelain doll. He held out the blonde, fragile-looking doll to Francesca. She took it from him happily, not uttering a word. She wandered around Draco’s office, making the doll stand on everything. Draco winced as she slammed the doll down on a case file, which lay on his desk neatly.

  “I can’t deal with this,” Blaise muttered to Draco, glancing at his daughter. She couldn’t hear them; she was too engrossed to even bother trying to listen.

  Draco looked at him, “So, what is it you want me to do? Stay with her for a couple of hours, so you can dump the body somewhere?”

  Blaise shivered, “I don’t know…” He hesitated, “I need you to look after her… for a moment or two.”

  Draco coughed, “How long is ‘a moment or two’!?”

  Blaise massaged his temples, “Until I sort myself out.” He gestured to the suitcase, “All the things she will need are in there.”

  “What?” Draco blinked, in disbelief. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “I fucking hate children…” He frowned, adding, “And they hate me.”

  Blaise buried his face in his hands, stressed. He let out a moan of despair, “I can’t deal with this, Draco.”


  Draco ran his fingers through his white-blonde hair, trying to focus on the report in front of him. With no avail, he sighed and slid backwards in his chair. He placed the paper in front of him, musing momentarily if he would remember what report he was meant to be reading in the morning. He doubted it; not one word had sunk in.

  Francesca lay, fast asleep, on the sofa in the corner of his office. He had agreed, despite his better judgment, to look after the girl. Not for long, he had told Blaise bitterly. Draco hadn’t taken her back to his flat yet. He was unsure of how to get there. Had she even side-along apparated? Had she even used floo? He honestly had no idea, and he couldn’t get in touch his Blaise to find out.

  Draco, finishing for the day, minimized her suitcase and slid it into his pocket. Gingerly picking up the small child, he carefully held her against his chest. He could feel her heart beating, and it made him uneasy. She dribbled on his shoulder, and he grimaced. He didn’t like this.

  Blaise left him with a bloody girl. A girl! Draco didn’t know what to do with a girl. He had been a boy; he had things that a boy would perhaps be interested in – that would interest the child so it didn’t piss him off. What did girls like? He’d never been around girls; his mother had been around, yes, but house elves did most of the work a mother would have done. The only girls he was around now, that he actually noticed, weren’t ones he had conversations with… unless you counted screwing on a desk as talking?

  Draco spun on the spot, holding Francesca tightly. They appeared outside his flat. Draco opened the door hastily, taking the little girl inside. Draco walked into his bedroom, about to put the girl on his bed when he realized; he lived in a one-bedroom flat. Where the hell was he going to sleep?

  Draco put the little girl down, covering her roughly with the duvet. His soft duvet… Draco sighed, frowning darkly, and trudged into the sitting room. Taking off his shoes, he slid onto the sofa and rubbed his temples, swearing loudly.