Chapter Twelve

STIFF UPPER LIP

December 16, 2001

He fought back his throat from spitting all the food out of his mouth as his mother took a small sip from her red wine. He pulled the napkin resting on his lap, and in one swift movement, took it to his lips to wipe evidence of his surprise. He coughed as he sat properly again, pulling his chair closer, and tried his best to wrap his head around what he had just heard.

Stealing a glance at his mother, Narcissa sat upright with a half-full glass of wine in her right hand and her red lips twitching into a tight smile. These were some of the moments that Draco failed to read his mother completely. Her smile—conveying two messages that he wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to know, but a slight itch in the little vein in his temple urged him to ask about it. But he decided to sit stiffly and eat his dinner without a word. Or a sound of protest.

It was at that night that his mother had openly told him about her decisions to invite three-quarters of the Ministry staff to her annual Christmas ball. He allowed his grey eyes to search hers for a slight flinch, or anything that would be considered as a hint of doubt, before he conceded to her wish. Draco admitted to himself that after hearing his mother's decision, he initially thought that she had gone bonkers. But a few more minutes of deliberate consideration, his mind shifted to the idea that perhaps it was, indeed, a clever move. A good publicity stunt; and even if Draco's intentions were mainly to uplift their image, he knew that his mother's were, almost if not so entirely, inherently pure.

Draco blinked, seeing his reflection standing in front of the mirror, and the image of that dinner with his mother faded into the past once again. He thought of things that might convince his mother to reconsider this insanity; but of course, that would've been too late. The ballroom had been decorated. The elves had made it their life's mission to prepare the best three-course meal for the evening. The gates were about to be opened. Indeed, it was too late. So lest he desired to disappoint his mother, he needed to play nice.

His rough hands ironed the collar of his coat, feeling the texture under his palms, and removing any of the creases after he put it on. He clasped the bowtie around his neck a little tighter. He stretched his legs, his arms, his shoulders, his back—and he was ready. The suit that his mother had fixed to be personally tailored fitted him perfectly. His grey eyes traveled from his shoes to his face in front of the full-length mirror, and behind him, he caught a glimpse of his mother standing by the door frame of his own bedroom.

He hadn't heard her come in. But that was his mother, even stealthier than Potter hiding under his invisibility cloak in the Slytherin's train compartment. Draco had gotten used to it by now. He knew his mother too much, and she knew him too much, too.

Narcissa flashed a smirk, and said, "You look handsome as always. Just like your father."

He flinched, but hid it from his mother. Yes, he looked like his father. Almost, at least. Malfoy men were biologically known to have pale blond hair and carry their formidable looks. But no, the last thing Draco wanted to be was be like his father. To follow his footsteps or even look remotely like him. He had loved his father once. Even if his father had been the most difficult parent to care for, Draco still loved his father as much as any child would've loved theirs.

But that had been years ago. That man had been long gone. Dead. Lost into the void of the past. He didn't want any reminders of that man, and the crimes he had committed out of blind faith, because carrying his name was more than enough as a burden. And it was a curse he was doomed to carry on for the rest of his miserable life.

Snorting, he turned to face his mother. She wore a dark green dress, wrapped around her slim figure and cut below the knees. She had grown a few inches taller with the pair of black heels that she matched her dress with. A handful of her blonde hair was gathered into a knot behind her head while the rest flowed graciously over her bare shoulders. He wondered if she would get cold, but the fur-coat hugging her arms answered his question.

Draco sighed, his hands pushing deep into his pockets. "Is it starting?"

His mother shook her head. She took a couple of small steps toward her son with her hands clasped to her front and breathed, "Almost. I haven't opened the gates yet. But in a few minutes, our guests should be arriving, and I need to be downstairs to welcome them."

Silence filled the short distance between them. Only to be replaced by their heavy breathing, and the sense of unspoken words hanging in the air. Draco felt his mother's eyes darted onto him like a nail and drilling a deeper hole into his skull. So, he sent her a sharp look. But she only smiled.

She asked, "Do you have a date tonight?"

He exhaled. While Priscilla Parkinson spent her days bidding her own daughter to numerous men in the pureblood society for marriage and a larger fortune, his own mother wasn't so different. When his relationship with Astoria ended, Narcissa insisted that he was in the need to spice up his dating life by inviting different witches on different dinner occasions who wasted their breaths and a good half an hour talking about mindless gossip that Draco had cared nothing for. He had developed several escape strategies whenever he felt trapped in that bubble, and sometimes, a smoke was better company than those witches.

Of course, his mother despised his smoking. But sometimes, he only did it to spite her. He could use one right now by how his mother was looking at him. She waited, but gaining the sense that he wasn't planning to indulge her satisfactions with his answers, she spoke again: "Well, is she the same woman that you have been pining for these past few days?"

Draco snickered. It wasn't the first time she asked him that. And even if he denied it, it wouldn't be the first time that he lied to her too. Not that he was ever successful at that before. She knew him all too well. Draco knew who she was talking about. It was Granger. He had shared countless dinners with many witches in the Wizarding World invited by his mother; but his mind had somehow dug a tunnel through his brain that always led right back to Granger.

The puzzle that she was, was much complex than he had anticipated.

"I wasn't pining, Mother," Draco groaned. He brought a hand to rub his temple as it began to ache terribly at his mother's inquiries.

But what he heard was a chuckle. A soft laugh emitting from his mother's lips, amusement could easily be distinguished from that sound, which made his cheeks redden at his own chagrin. Shortly, Narcissa stifled her laughter and said, "Please, Draco, I'm your mother. I carried you with me for nine months. I'd suggest that you don't underestimate my abilities to read you perfectly."

He snapped his head with a reply, not clearly knowing that she wanted to hear from him, "Yes. I'm picking her up in five minutes. Happy?"

"Very. Will you introduce me later, then?" Narcissa questioned, eyes glistening under the light touch of mascara that rounded them.

Draco raised an eyebrow. Her smile widened.

"Will you promise not to be rude? Or embarrass me?"

"I am never rude, Draco. But not to embarrass you? You are asking me not to do my duties as a mother," Narcissa chuckled. He heard her heels cackling softly against the carpet as she began to walk around the vicinity of his room, and from the corner of his eyes, he noticed a cunning smirk twitched at the ends of her red-coated lips. "Well, of course, I promise not to be crass. I cannot, however, promise not embarrass you…"

Draco huffed, but couldn't prevent a smirk. His mother stopped walking when she reached a few steps in front of her son. Her hand reached up to touch his cheek before Draco said, "That I can handle, Mother. Thank you."

Narcissa's smile didn't falter. His chest rumbled as though a storm brewed inside it. Then she asked, "Are you worried?" He looked at her. The smile that had painted her face a while ago had dissolved into a deep frown. Even her eyes seemed darker. Or perhaps that was the light. But it didn't matter. He didn't know if he was one being asked, or if was a question for herself.

Then, he shut his eyes with an exasperated sigh. His face still held in her hand, he leaned closer to feel her warm and assuring touch against his cheek. He didn't know what was going on in his head right now, his thoughts were too scattered for him to build a pattern, and he couldn't find any. But his mother shouldn't have to worry about any of his thoughts right now.

After a moment, he opened his eyes. He saw his mother's eyes, the eyes that always calmed him whenever he felt distressed or angry or frustrated or anxious. The eyes that always looked at him with such affection. She pressed her lips into a tight line before tiptoeing to reach his cheek. He felt her lips touched that tiny dimple on his left cheek before she pulled back with another smile. Unreal or real, he didn't know. Then, she said, "Come, Draco. I believe we have a very long night ahead of us."

He stepped away, and extended a hand to escort her outside. His mother walked on, and he followed from behind her. His fingers touched the doorknob, and one last look at his bedroom, he shut the door. Halfway down the stairs, Draco halted and said, "I need to pick up my date, Mother. I shall meet you in the ballroom." Narcissa nodded with a slightly amused smile; to which he ignored, and headed to disapparate in the lobby.

Once he landed, the busy streets of London solidified at his feet. Instantly, loud vehicular noises replaced the fading sound of the Manor's classical Christmas tunes. Draco stood right in the middle of some dark alley; and for a moment, his head swirled as an after effect of his apparition. He focused his senses to the sounds filling his ears, his head, his gut, until his mind had stopped throbbing like a racing pulse. He began his short walk toward Granger's apartment building.

It didn't take him too long to reach her apartment. He climbed three flights of stairs and walked down the narrow and empty corridor until he finally arrived at their doorstep. He didn't knock immediately. He waited for a second. Then a minute. Then a few more minutes. And when he thought that he might not be ready to knock anytime soon, he deeply exhaled and knocked. It was soft, yet audible enough, and soon, the door flung open to reveal Luna Lovegood who clearly hadn't been expecting to see him.

She wore a rosy tea-length dress matched with silver stilettos. Her face had a fair amount of make-up. Her once-straggly blonde hair was smoothed and wrapped in a neatly fixed bun with a few strands dangling at the side of her cheery face. And despite how she looked exceptionally ordinary to attend a ball, Draco thought that she looked wonderful.

Luna broke his reveries when she greeted him with a beaming smile, "Oh hello, Draco. I thought you were Blaise. Come in." She stepped aside for him to enter. Her heels cackling against the floorboards. He walked in as he was instructed and followed Luna to the living room. The flat looked the same as he last saw it the last time he came for a visit. The only difference was that the kitchen looked unusually cleaned, scrubbed, and unoccupied.

"Is he picking you up?" Draco asked, as he pushed his hands deep into his pockets.

"Yes. In about a minute," Luna said—her voice calm. He watched as she went on to finish fixing her purse, and later, she asked him back, "Are you here for Hermione?"

"Yes, actually," Draco said after he cleared his throat. There was that lump that wouldn't dissolve right at the middle of his neck. He felt his stomach flipping, and for what reason, he didn't know. Before he realized it, he was reminding himself to breathe in and out. "Is she ready yet?"

Luna paced. She walked here and there; and even if Draco wasn't looking, the sound of her footsteps were enough evidence to tell him that she was walking around. "I don't know. The last time I saw her was about an hour ago. She was still covered in paint," she said.

He frowned, "Paint? What was she doing?"

"Oh, she decided to redecorate. Did some paintings on the wall. It's magnificent, really. I didn't know she had a knack for art," Luna rambled, but smiled. "Why don't you wait here while I check on Hermione? Is that alright?"

Draco nodded, with a hum in agreement.

He watched Luna as she disappeared down the hall toward Granger's bedroom. Her footsteps faded as she went farther, and Draco remained standing where Luna left him. He looked around. The living room was dull, and there were no ornaments. It had an old couch where Granger had fucked him senseless, an oval shaped coffee table where they later moved into a more comfortable position, a cabinet where they kept dusty books, and a small window to the right. He looked out of it—seeing the night has finally devoured the city into its darkness, only to be decorated with little city lights.

The door opened; and he expected Luna to emerge, but instead, was greeted by Blaise coming through the front door. He looked as ordinary as he could be, but perhaps that was because he had known Blaise most of his life. He knew how Blaise dressed at different occasions after having to share countless parties with him as they grew up. Blaise took fast strides toward the living room, and a grin plastered onto his dark lips, "Hello, Draco. Here to pick up Hermione, I presume?"

Draco nodded.

"Where's Luna?"

"She went to check on Granger," Draco said, shrugging.

Blaise hummed, before they both fell into silence. They stood side by side, waiting, but neither of them felt to talk. Until Blaise asked, "Does your mother know who you're taking to the ball?"

Draco turned to his friend. Blaise had his eyes fixed on the hall that led to the bedrooms, probably counting the seconds until Luna walked out. Then after a long moment, Draco said, "No. But I don't think it would matter. No, not really. She doesn't get to decide that for me. Of course, she is my mother, and I value her opinions greatly. But those are just that—opinions." Blaise nodded his head slowly. Draco watched as his friend turned to him, and his sly smirk edging on his lips. Then, he let out a cough when he felt Blaise's hand clapping on his back hard. He glared, and Blaise stifled his laughter.

Loud footsteps returned them back into reality. Luna stalked from the hall and said, "Oh hi, Blaise. I didn't hear you come in."

Draco turned back to the window. His eyes darted onto the streets where muggle cars raced, and Londoners walked on this early evening. Behind him, he heard Blaise say, "I let myself in." A pause. "You look really fantastic, babe. I am most certainly the luckiest man in the entire ball."

"Thank you," Luna chirped. Draco could hear the smile in her voice. "Oh, Draco," and as Draco turned, he noticed Luna was locked in between his best friend's arms, "—She's nearly done. Maybe five minutes more. Do you want us to wait for you?"

Draco shook his head, supplying, "No, that's alright. You can go ahead. I'd like a word with Granger before we leave. We'll be right behind you…"

"Alright, then. Ready, love?" Blaise said, as he turned to the woman in his arms. She nodded in excitement, before taking his hand in hers. She dragged Blaise toward the front door, and as they exited, Draco heard her tiny voice, "We'll see you at the ball, Draco." He could hear her laughter. It died down as soon as the door shut close, and Draco stood alone.

Again, he waited.

Letting his mind wander, he began to think back to that evening that he had asked Granger to be his date. It was an impulsive gesture, of course; although not out of pity, he knew that it would look like he took her for charity. It wasn't his intention. He extended a branch to their impending friendship and perhaps she would consider him as a friend; even though, he didn't know why it mattered to him. It didn't matter why; because what mattered was that it mattered to him.

Granger remained a mystery to him. He knew her better than anyone. Better than Potter and Weasley, to which he wasn't sure if that was a good thing in the first place. He had her long-kept secrets hidden in the back of his mind. And the more he knew her, the more he wanted to stay. For weeks, Draco tried to figure the situation he had entered, map the patterns, find the way in and out, and perhaps he might be alright, but he came nothing close to that feeling of satisfaction. It felt as though he was swimming in uncharted waters, and there was no map to tell him which direction to take.

He never liked exploring unexplored territories. He didn't like to act without a plan. No, that wasn't what he was. He didn't charge without a proper strategy, without having laid out all the pros and cons of whatever he was going for. But with Granger, Draco ran headfirst with no idea what was waiting for him on the other side, and he still didn't, but he kept charging on. He cared for her, and whatever force was pulling him in, he didn't fight it.

He let the currents take him where it went.

Not swimming in, not swimming away.

Just floating.

"Malfoy?" Draco turned at the sound of his name; and immediately, his eyes landed on Granger. She stood with her hand smoothing over the length of her evening gown. The color was emerald green, and the skirt flowed down to the floor. Her dark hair, bundled in thick curls, cascaded down her shoulders like waterfalls that gave perfect angle to the shape of her face.

She looked…

Clearing his throat, Draco said, "Evening, Granger. You clean up nicely."

He heard her trying to suppress a smirk into a huff, but failed as soon as a smile broke her thin red lips in a curve. She looked away before she said, "You look not half as bad too."

Draco stepped forward. He closed their distance to a few steps away and stopped when he found a better view of Granger's eyes and said, "Before we go, I have something to tell you." He sighed softly. "Most of the Ministry staff have been invited, as I've said before, but I failed to mention that Potter and Weasley are most likely to make an attendance." He couldn't help but notice the sudden pain in her eyes before she could look away. He fought the desire to reach out to her, to place a hand on her cheek, and to graze the length of his fingers against the narrowness of her jaw. No, he chided himself. He continued, "You may refuse to attend if you don't want to see them. My mother will surely understand."

Among other things, he noticed a few more things other than her eyes. Like how her neck seemed to freeze. Like how her breathing had quickened in a matter of seconds. He sighed again. Then she spoke, still not looking, "No. I've been avoiding them for so long. It doesn't really help me forget, does it? I might as well face them right now."

He nodded, and asked, "What is that muggle saying? Stiff—"

"Stiff upper lip," Granger interrupted. Then, a nod. "Right. I know. The Wizarding World is small. I don't think I'll be able to outrun them, anyway."

After a deliberate amount of silence, Draco offered his hand for her to take. His eyes watched hers carefully as she gradually slid her hand into his. He almost shivered when their hands connected, feeling her skin against his, but Draco ignored the shock that ran through his spine during their walk toward the apparition point. She didn't let go of him, and neither did he. Reaching the dark alley where he arrived at earlier, he took one last glance at Granger and disapparated them both to the Manor.

A/N: Hello! Apologies for the delay. But, don't worry, the next chapter is already written and beta-ed. So, I'll post that soon. Honestly, I don't know what to feel regarding this chapter. And the next. But well, I needed to write it. I hope you liked though. Thanks to my amazing beta, JularaVon, as always. And my gratitude is extended to my ever-supportive readers. Thank you! Please, review. I live for it! 'Til next time. (Or in a few days. Lol.)