All The Things I Hate About You, Part IX

Rating: M

Summary: All The Things, continued. Kate Advent, Day 9.

#9 My Mother likes you

Well… fuck.

How does one go about inviting his flatmate who he may (true) or may not (false) have feelings for that she's been cordially invited to spend Yule with his parents because his mother demands to meet the woman he "won't stop talking about" without making it seem like it has to do with the whole feelings thing?

Because if he A) doesn't admit to having any said feelings then she would be right to question why she has received such an invitation seemingly out of nowhere. But if he B) admits to having said feelings then he risks being rejected by her and enduring the holiday season – and the rest of their flat lease – with loads of emptiness and a dash of regret.

So…

"GRANGER!" Draco called out, still staring at the two beautifully written invitations in his hands.

"Marphuh?" She called back, appearing from the bathroom with a toothbrush in her mouth. "Warshup?"

He sighed, "You know how much I hate trying to have a conversation with you when you do that."

"Dorwah?"

He narrowed his eyes, and she promptly rolled her eyes and gave an exasperated sigh before disappearing back into the bathroom and then reappearing without the blasted toothbrush.

"Your welcome," she chimed.

He didn't hesitate, "I didn't say thank you, Granger."

"Eh," she shrugged. "Technically you just did," – he opened his mouth to continue but she came up and plucked the envelope clearly addressed to Miss Hermione Granger and gave him a pointed look – "What's this?"

"It's for you," he smirked. "I thought you could read. How sad that I've grossly overestimated your abilities. Sorry to hear it."

"Oh, shut up." She elbowed him, then opened it and much to his dismay went extremely silent.

He cleared his throat. "Mother told me she invited Astoria this year. I asked if I could bring you to help me… behave."

Granger blinked, then tucked the letter into her back pocket. "Yeah, of course," she crossed her arms and let a smile spread across her face, lighting up her features. "I'll be there."

"Great."

She stared at him for a moment and he feared that she'd seen right through his lie.

"Is there something you aren't telling me?"

He bit his inner cheek, "You need a dress."

"I have plenty of - "

"No," he cut in, delighted to steer the conversation in a direction he was well-versed in and not at all nervous to talk about. "None of them are fancy enough. This is a Yule dinner and ball at Malfoy Manor. NOT TO MENTION," he held up a finger. "That it's my mother's first event since her – Well – You know." Draco cleared his throat, then scoffed. "Come on, Granger."

She rolled her eyes at him again.

"Fine. You have to come with me, then. To help."

He could have told her that Greengrass would probably be better suited to help her, seeing as she had not only an eye for fashion, but also a positive reputation among the usual Manor guests as being the best-dressed.

He could have also volunteered himself, as she wanted, but he didn't think he could handle walking around boutiques with her and not feel despondent because she would have no idea how much her attending meant to him. Besides, he really didn't think he could do less than tell her "You look beautiful" in every gown.

So…

"Mother will take you."

Draco beamed, hoping his pleading eyes would be enough to convince her to spend an entire day with Narcissa Malfoy going from shop to shop looking for an appropriately elegant gown.

Granger blinked.

Then, she groaned enormously and swatted him with the back of her hand – "Ouch, Granger – Whoa, watch it – Hey! What the hell? – OUCH!" – until she huffed and stormed out of the foyer.

It took Draco a moment to recollect himself and pad further into the flat, cautiously peering around the corner to see her storming back towards him. He leapt back several feet and yelped.

"Oh, relax," she said. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Yet… He thought unhelpfully (both emotionally and physically).

He stayed out of reach and kept a careful eye out for her wand's whereabouts. He did note, however, that there was a formal parchment letter in one of her hands and a simple quill in the other. She quickly charmed the quill after setting the parchment down on a nearby coffee table.

"I don't have the neatest scripture," she explained at his expression. "Or so Theo loves to remind me at work." Another eye roll, but affectionately.

"What?"

"Well, I presume your mother is the type of woman to care about that sort of thing, right? I don't want her to dislike me before she even meets me for this futile appointment."

Draco sat beside her, "You're writing to my mother?"

"Well… Yes." She tilted her head to the side, arching a single brow at him. "I think it's polite and, more importantly, isn't it correct etiquette according to your weird pureblood rules? I'm sure you keep telling me that or something like it."

"I – Yes. Yes, that's correct." He stared dumbly at her. "You remember that?"

She cleared her throat softly, "Just because I don't always respond to your constant rambling and ranting does not mean that I don't listen to what you're saying."

Draco felt immensely stupid.

And (a teeny bit) flattered.

"So," Granger went on. "What do I say?"

He shouldn't have been surprised, he knew, that by the time Yule came around Granger and his mother had become regular correspondents and well on their way to being good friends. His own owls from his mother said as much even if he couldn't tell from the way Granger talked about Narcissa when something reminded her of something the very posh, very talented woman would say or do.

Granger's near meltdown over what to gift Narcissa alone was enough to make his side ache from laughter.

Then, she had to go out of her way to make him feel appreciated as well by sending him tiny gifts as part of her advent every day at work. A new tie here, a new practice snitch there, and it went on and on.

She just kept on giving.

He tried to reciprocate but she waved him away, claiming that her gifts were only small and that it was only fair after all of the meaningful gifts he'd given her since they became flatmates. He'd asked her, "What gifts? I didn't buy you anything," but she sighed and shook her head, then said something under her breath about how money can't buy everything or whatever.

Draco was happy, of course, that she got along well with his mother and why wouldn't he be?

It had – unsurprisingly – been a subject of concern as far as Granger earning his mother's approval (not that she would ever know he set her up for that kind of screening process).

Except, it made it that much harder on him every time Granger would go from, "Oh, look at what Narcissa sent for us. It even has those little cakes I love so much – Oh, and sour sweets for you," to "I can only imagine what she would send us if we were more than friends and flatmates – Haha, your face! Malfoy, relax, We're friends, best friends even. Nothing more."

Nothing more.

Fuck me, he thought.

At the top of his Christmas list to the fat bastard this year: make it go away, please.

However, what Draco didn't catch because he was too busy internally lamenting over the bushy-haired witch he lived with, was the way her eye caught on his face after he'd looked away. He didn't catch the way she swept aside a loose curl covering the colour rising to her cheeks, or the way her laughing smile immediately dropped the moment he wasn't watching her make a joke about the two of them anymore.

A/N - This one is dedicated to mega700201. New chapter coming shortly for The Art of Betrayal if any of you are following that WIP of mine xx