t e r g e o
{ houses tilting
towards the sea }

House-elves are like ghosts should be: light-footed and scarcely ever spotted, when at work. Dobby had been a master of these two traits - light-footedness and being able to tackle jobs unseen - for as long as he could remember. He had never come across a Malfoy during the time he cleaned.

Tonight, however, he did.

He had stepped into the Blue Study, Narcissa's favourite, and found that an open ink-pot had overturned, spilling its contents all over the sofa. Magical folks have Tergeo. Dobby, being a house-elf, had far more effective, and cleaned it up, leaving the sofa sparkling, in a matter of seconds. Then he turned around, entered the next room... and halted.

Young Master Malfoy sat by the small fireplace [it was one of the smaller rooms, not used often, though kept in perfect condition] the light throwing flickering, dancing shadows across his pale face, all reflected and captured in the cold eyes. Cold and, at this moment, Dobby thought, restless. Thoughtful. Discontent. He hesitated, and Draco, without raising his head, said,

"Shouldn't you be cleaning?"

He did not sound pleased. Dobby bowed and mumbled a 'Y-yes, master,' and tiptoed off.


Song credit: Hood. <3