One upside to having the flu and being unable to go into work is that I have lots of time to sit and write! Hooray!
As his driver's car pulled up to the hill where Malfoy Mansion sat, Draco stopped him.
"This is where I get off," he announced.
"But Mr. Beaulac, there's nothing out here but trees," the driver said, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion.
Actually, the Mansion sat about 30 yards from the car—the driver just couldn't see it because he was a Muggle.
"My mother's home sits right on the other side of this hill, but the road is blocked off up ahead," he told him. "She's a very private woman—a bit paranoid. You know how old women get," he lied.
The driver laughed nervously. "I understand. Very eccentric, people with money—if you don't mind my saying."
"Not in the least," Draco assured him with a charming smile. "We certainly have our eccentricities," he confirmed. "Thank you so much."
"Would you like me to wait in the nearby area for a ride anywhere else this evening, Mr. Beaulac?" he asked politely.
Draco was thoughtful for a moment. "No, I believe I'll probably end up staying the night here. But I appreciate the offer."
The driver nodded and stepped out of the car, opening Draco's door for him.
"I'm a call away if you need anything, sir," he told him.
Draco handed him a few hundred quid—each bill crisp and neatly folded in half. "Good man," he said. "I appreciate it." He nodded at the driver and wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck. England was just as cold in April as he remembered it being.
The driver handed him an open black umbrella. "For the rain, sir," he said with a smile.
Draco accepted it with another nod, holding it above him as he proceeded up the hill through the dark, trying to ignore the drizzle that misted through the night. The sound of the engine faded away as the car disappeared down the road.
The gates opened as he approached—as they did for all of the Malfoy bloodline. He began his trip up the long gravel road, listening to the familiar sounds of the Mansion property. The gravel crunched beneath his feet and the wind whistled through the trees that lined the drive, bringing with it the sounds of his mother's gurgling fountain in the gardens to the left.
When he finally arrived at the steps, the large wooden doors opened.
"Master Draco!" squeaked the elf that opened it. "Oh, Mistress Narcissa will be so pleased to see you!"
"Hello Daisy," he greeted the elf, closing his umbrella and handing it to her. The elf eyed it apprehensively, having never seen an umbrella before.
"What's is this?" she asked.
"It's a Muggle invention to keep the rain off of your head," he said, shrugging off his coat and scarf.
She hurriedly took the articles of clothing from him. "Shall I prepare your old room for Master Draco?" she squeaked.
He nodded. "Please."
She bowed. "Mistress is in the parlor room," she told him before disappearing out of sight with a pop.
The doors closed behind him with a heavy thud and he took a look around. He hadn't been home since he left for France. It was well lit, and the hallways lamps reflected in the dark windows. He adjusted his suit jacket before walking towards the parlor.
The mansion had undergone many changes since the war. His mother was an excellent decorator, and she had made sure to rid the mansion of anything that reminded them of dark times. She had changed the parlor again since his departure, he noticed, as he opened the door and stepped inside. The walls were a lighter green, with white paneling. One entire wall was now made out of mirror, making the room appear even larger than it already was.
His mother was sitting at a round white table, drinking tea and reading a magazine. She was in her favorite Japanese styled dressing robe, and her hair was twisted back in a clip.
"Hello, Mother," he announced as he approached her.
Her reaction was priceless. She jumped, spilling her cup all over her magazine. "Draco!" she exclaimed, her pristine face warming with a smile. "Oh, this is the best surprise I've had all week!" She took quick steps towards him before pulling him into a hug.
He grinned, bending down slightly to hug her back. "Glad to hear I can still surprise you from time to time."
"Well maybe I wouldn't be so surprised if you visited more often," she said, pulling back to take his face in her hands. "Oh, I won't even lecture you—I'm too happy to see you." She hugged him once more before leading him back to the table. "Would you like some tea? Have you eaten? When did you get into town? Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"
He rolled his eyes. "Which question should I answer first?"
She arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "As witty as ever, I see. You must be feeling well, then." She clapped her hands twice, and another elf appeared.
"Sunny, please clear this mess," she said, motioning to the spilled tea before her. "Then fetch Draco some dinner and bring a fresh pot of tea, please."
"And firewhiskey," he added, looking at the elf, "if we have any."
The little elf smiled and nodded before disappearing again, the contents of the table disappearing with her.
Narcissa eyed him sharply. "Still drinking yourself to an early grave, are we?"
He leaned back in his chair. "Actually, you'll be pleased to know that I've cut back considerably."
She nodded. "I'm very glad to hear that." She placed her hand on his knee. "I've missed you, Draco."
He smiled. "I've missed you too," he said with a roll of his eyes.
She sighed. "Did you just get in?"
He swallowed, sobering. "Actually, yesterday."
She blinked. "Sunday? Why did it take you two whole days to visit your mother?"
He grew nervous. "I was visiting…friends."
She blinked again, her eyebrows rising almost imperceptibly. "What kind of friends?"
He coughed. Just then, Sunny reappeared with a pop. She poured them cups of tea and set the bottle of firewhiskey on the table before Draco with a crystal tumbler.
"Dinner will be ready very soon," she said with a bow.
"Thank you, Sunny," Narcissa said dismissively, still watching Draco with a dangerously curious expression on her face.
Draco poured himself a full glass of firewhiskey, relishing in the opportunity to drink it once more. Twice in one day—now that was a treat. He hadn't been able to obtain firewhiskey on a regular basis in almost eight months—his mother refused to bring him any more bottles when she visited.
Merlin, he really did have a bit of a drinking problem.
He tossed back the drink in preparation of the conversation ahead.
"Draco?" she intoned. "What…friends?"
Where should he begin? He set his glass on the table—a bit rougher than he'd intended. "The Potters."
She blinked three times rapidly, her expression unchanging. "The Potters," she repeated. "As in, Harry and Ginevra Potter?"
"Yes," he confirmed, feeling apprehension roll around in his gut like a swirling wave.
She tilted her head to the side. "When did this…friendship…come about?"
"Yesterday, actually."
There were a few rather heavy moments of silence that passed before she shook her head. "Draco, forgive me for not following your rather sparse explanation."
"I'm dating Hermione Granger," he blurted.
Her face scrunched up in confusion. "The Hermione Granger? Isn't she…dead?"
"Not as dead as people have assumed—err, no. Not dead at all, actually. She's very much alive. She was living in France."
Her silver eyes widened dramatically. "Pardon me?"
He nodded. "We met in a bookstore a while ago, and we…well…we're dating now."
Her eyebrows knitted together. "When did…for how long? When did this happen?"
He shrugged, filling his glass once more. "Two…months ago, maybe? Or was it…" he rubbed his forehead with one hand as he picked up his glass with the other. "Has it been longer than that? I should probably know this…"
"Draco, that's wonderful!"
He paused, his glass halfway to his mouth. "What?"
She nodded. "It's a brilliant idea!"
He blinked, feeling completely blind-sided.
She leaned forward. "You met her in a bookshop?"
His mouth hung open as he stared at his mother from across the table. "Er…yes."
"Does anyone know yet?"
He shook his head, feeling very much like he was dreaming. "Not yet. We were planning on going public tomorrow. We're attending Pottere—er…Ginevra's Quidditch game together."
She nodded, her eyes twinkling.
Why were her eyes twinkling? Wasn't this the part where she gave him the silent treatment because she didn't approve?
"That will be perfect. The press is sure to be there. You two will make the front page!"
He frowned. "I suppose we might, yes."
Sunny appeared with two plates of food, and she set them on the table in front of them both.
Narcissa unwrapped the linen cloth beside it and set it neatly in her lap with a happy sigh. "I'm very proud of you, Draco. This will be wonderful."
He leaned forward, unrolling his silverware as well. "Forgive me, Mother, but I was expecting for you to be…considerably less excited about this."
She shook her head as she picked up her silverware. "No, I think it is the perfect tactic."
This caused him to pause. Tactic?
"Excuse me?"
She nodded. "Of course. You'll be in the spotlight now though, Draco. So you mustn't make any kind of mistakes. You need to keep your record absolutely spotless. No loitering in bars or hanging around questionable women. None of that at all."
He blinked. "I'm not following," he told her.
She looked up at him. "Hermione Granger is a war hero. She's a very prominent figure in society. Everyone will be overjoyed at her return—and all eyes will be on you, because you associate with her. So you can't ruin that."
He set his napkin on his lap with some hesitancy. "I wasn't…planning to…"
"Well plan not to, Draco. Really." She began to cut into the pheasant on her plate.
"Okay…" He turned his attention to his dinner, his mind full of questions. He cut a piece of pheasant and forked it into his mouth.
"And when you end things with her, it must be amicable," she continued.
He choked, lifting his napkin up to cover his mouth. She looked up at him in concern.
"I'm sorry, what was that?" he asked with a cough.
"Are you alright?" she asked him.
He nodded and took a drink of tea. "I'm fine," he told her. "Fine, I just…what are you talking about?"
She blinked as if she was the one confused. "Well, unless you want to fall out of the public's favor again, you have to be amicable about it. Let her down kindly."
His eyes widened. "Let her down kindly…" The dots connected. "Mother, are you under the impression that my relationship with Hermione is some kind of…ruse?"
Her face cleared as realization dawned upon her. She set down her fork and knife. "But of course it is."
He sat back. "Merlin's beard, no! No, it's not! I'm genuinely dating Hermione!"
At this, she laughed. "Oh, Draco, don't be ridiculous." She took a drink of her tea.
He stared at her as everything pieced together. She thought he was dating Hermione with ulterior motives.
"I'm not. I'm being utterly serious," he told her.
She set down her cup with a clink of porcelain that made him cringe. Here it was—here was the reaction he had expected.
"Draco, you can't tell me you've developed…feelings for the girl," she said with a wry smile on her lips.
He blinked. "I have, very much so."
She frowned now, pursing her lips in disapproval. "Draco, be realistic. It's not as if you can marry her."
He scoffed. "And why not?"
Her eyes went wide and a look of mild horror rested upon her impeccable features. "Draco! She's a…she's a mu… She's a muggleborn, for goodness sakes!"
Anger coiled within him. "Were you just about to call Hermione a mudblood?"
She gave him a patronizing look. "Let's not be coy, shall we? There's no need for pretenses in this home." She returned to her dinner as if nothing was wrong.
Draco felt something dangerous stir within him. What was that? Ah, yes—it was fury. Complete and absolute fury. It sparked and ignited within him; it made his hair stand up on end.
He rose from his chair, the legs scraping noisily against the wooden floor. The linen napkin fell to the ground.
Narcissa looked up at him in disapproval. "Will you have some care? I just had these floors re-done!"
"Damn your floors, mother," he spat.
Her eyes widened. "Draco! I am your mother! You will not speak to me this way. And certainly not over some girl!"
"Have you forgotten everything we've been through over the last five years?" he asked, his voice reverberating with wrath. "Everything we've learned?"
She stared at him in silence.
"Have you forgotten how she bled in this very house?!" he shouted. "Because of us? Because of the decisions we made? The wrong decisions! How many people died because of what this family did? How many?" He slammed his fist on the table.
She shrank back slightly. "I…I don't know."
"And you're telling me that after all these years—after Father died in prison for our crimes, that you still hold to your ridiculous, twisted, illogical and barbaric beliefs of blood supremacy?"
She blinked rapidly, as if shaking herself out of her terror, before her eyes lit up and she took on a rage of her own. "We may have lost the war, Draco, and we may not be running this world anymore—but that does not change facts. And the facts are that Muggles and Muggleborns are below us. Their blood is impure. I will not have a Muggleborn tainting the Malfoy bloodline! I will not have it! Your father did not die so you could destroy all we have worked for!" she shouted.
His shoulders heaved in big angry breaths. "What about all your work with the program for Muggle families of Hogwarts students? Your donations to Muggleborn families displaced during the war? After all of that…?"
She scoffed. "Someone had to rebuild our family's name after it was destroyed in the war. Everyone must make certain changes to survive."
He shook his head, seething. "You're disgusting," he hissed.
And with that, he turned on his heel and left the house, ignoring the angry calls of his name echoing behind him.
Tell me honestly. Was anyone expecting that or did I manage to surprise you?
