a/n: Hope you like this chapter :) All my love to Helene and Noodar!
Chapter Ten: Roles
Draco sifted through the papers before him, skimming the pages, though he couldn't register the words. He just needed to keep his head down; to avert his eyes after another intimate moment with her. They were getting too close. They had shared a bed; had talked for hours in the kitchen. And just then, as he had held her…
They were just getting too close. He was getting too close.
He had found himself thinking about her when he was gone. In his defense, he had to find something to distract him from the horror of the mission. As he stood there watching the Cruciatus rip through the Canadian reporter at the hands of his uncle, Rodolphus, he had to disconnect. And the only way he could do so was to replay several scenes from the kitchen over and over again as the man screamed and writhed on the floor. She crawled across the counter.
When the Killing Curse hit the reporter, Bella - who had been cackling as she danced around the room - snapped at Draco to move the body. She held his face in her hands.
He had swallowed and held his stony expression as he did as he was told. She lit up as she laughed.
He hadn't let himself consider why he had thought about her, or why thinking about her had helped, and he wouldn't let himself go there. He looked down at the words on the parchment before him, forcing himself to process their meaning and prepare for the big meeting.
He let the minutes tick by without a word shared between the two of them. In his peripheral vision, he saw the movement of her hand as it reached up to her hair to tuck it behind her ear. Ugh.
"I'm really meant to do this?" Hermione asked, pulling him back to reality. She had been noticeably cold to him since he had mentioned the Canadian reporter, and this question was coated in an icy tone he didn't like. It wasn't his fault that he was called away. He didn't choose any of this either.
He met her eyes and returned the attitude. "I am sure you can be more specific than that."
The purse of her lips couldn't go unnoticed as she read from her schedule. "Malfoy. Am I really meant to walk the grounds no more or less than two feet behind you and Ambassador Moreau holding a tray of assorted hors d'oeuvres?" she said.
"Granger. Surely in all your reading throughout the years, you have learned something about the traditional duties of a pure-blood wife," he responded, matching his tone to hers.
"This is just demeaning!" she said indignantly, holding up the pages of instructions. "You cannot possibly tell me this is the norm; that your mother has done these things-"
He cut her off and stood, too, closing the distance between them a bit. "I don't care what you think about the work you have to do. You will do what you are told." His voice was sharp and stern. He could tell immediately that his harsh words had sliced through any lingering energy between them, but he didn't care. He wouldn't accept any comment about his mother, no matter how much he knew she lacked malice in her remark.
"Oh, will I?" she said. Her eyebrows and voice raised simultaneously. Folding her arms, she straightened and stepped closer to him.
"Yes, you will," he said through clenched teeth as he closed the final remaining distance.
They were inches apart, both breathing heavily. His eyes darted back and forth between hers, and at the same moment, there was a change in their tension; right back to how it had been when he held her only minutes before. He watched her brow unfurrow at the same time that he relaxed his own. Her cheeks went pink, and she lowered her gaze to his lips, which parted of their own accord.
Hermione whipped around and stormed towards the staircase.
He wouldn't have stopped them. He would have thrown every bit of negativity between them from the last few minutes clear out the door and kissed her right there. He would have shoved her up against the wall of the château and picked up right where they had left off on the night of his birthday. But she was more controlled than him.
His eyes followed her as she started to ascend the stairs, but they darted up to her face when she stopped and turned to face him. "I found the note from your mother."
He swallowed. Of course Hermione Granger would go snooping.
"Why didn't you tell me the other night that you were in contact with her?"
He stepped closer to her. "You went through my things?"
"I said I found it. I didn't mean to." She backed away, up the first step.
He tried to find words, but nothing came out. She wouldn't understand that it had only been one message. He couldn't explain everything just then. At his silence, she turned and ran up the stairs.
"Wait-" he started, but she was gone.
He turned on the spot and landed in his room. "Fuck." This woman was driving him crazy: in more ways than one. He whipped out his wand and slashed it through the air, hurling his favourite smashing object against the wall.
All he could think about was the last time he had done that. He had hurt Hermione, and that was the last thing he wanted invading his mind. He sat down and shifted on the floor so his back was flush with the bedframe and his head leaned back against the mattress.
The other night had gone so well. They had really connected and actually had fun; something he hadn't experienced in a long time, nor did he think he would ever experience with Hermione Granger.
He sat there for a while, running through everything that had happened.
Glancing at the clock, he saw there was only twenty minutes until the meeting with Ambassador Moreau. He ran his hands over his face and picked himself up off the floor. It took half the time left to prepare himself properly. He downed his last Pepper-Up Potion, ran his head under water in the sink, and muttered a number of spells to fix his hair and straighten his robes. With a pop, he Apparated to the foyer.
He paced, watching the clock hands as the slower one moved closer and closer to the ten.
"Lottie!" he called, and the elf appeared in front of him in an instant.
"Yes, sir!"
"Find-" He closed his eyes and steadied a heavy sigh. "Please find Hermione and tell her she cannot miss this meeting."
"Right away!" she squeaked.
Hermione glided down the stairs just before Lottie popped away. She kept her chin high and her eyes fixed on anything but him.
"Oh, good, you're here," Lottie said to Hermione, "and you look lovely! Doesn't she look perfect?" the elf said with a wide grin and even wider eyes.
He swallowed.
Lottie failed to notice the look on his face or the tension between the two. Instead, she jumped excitedly at the sight of the Ambassador at the Apparition point through the windows. "Oh, she's here!" She guided Hermione closer to him, nearly pushing her into his side, then ran for the door. As she opened it and bowed, she gestured with her hand for them to move outside.
Hermione hastily linked their arms together. He glanced at her and caught the same fake smile plastered on her face as he had seen several times. He led the way out the door and summoned every bit of strength he had to match her skillful level of deceitfulness. He thought briefly that she would've done well in Slytherin.
"Ambassador Moreau! Lovely to see you," he greeted, taking her hand and kissing it politely when they met on the pathway.
"Likewise, likewise," she said. She was perfectly prim and poised, as a proper pure-blood woman was raised to be.
Hermione bowed her head to the woman and dropped slightly into a clumsy curtsy.
"Thank you again for agreeing to a change in schedule, Ambassador." He walked with the women slowly along the path back to the entrance. "I knew when I took the job that working for Lord Voldemort would be demanding. But, I have to believe that sacrifice is one of the most valuable weapons against evil. It's something bigger than yourself, as you know, being someone in your position."
"Oh, you do flatter me too much," the Ambassador said. She beamed at him as he led the way into the château.
Hermione was last in, closing the door behind her.
As he walked with the Ambassador along the ground floor to the formal dining room, he kept up the small talk. They completely avoided the sitting room, which he explained away with the excuse of renovations.
He was very aware that Hermione remained at a close distance behind him and the Ambassador the whole way. She was staying quiet, yet polite, just as she was instructed to do according to the schedule.
Each of their meetings were carefully planned and tailored to appeal to the preferences of the people they were meeting with. Some people were more inclined to accept Hermione, as well as their relationship, without any hesitation. Others, however, were supportive overall of the mission, but weren't as keen on the idea of interacting with her in person. Ambassador Moreau fell in the latter category. And for that reason, Hermione wasn't given any leeway room. She was meant to be a quiet, polite, well-mannered host.
Although he didn't want to admit it to her, she had been right about his mother. He recalled many luncheons, meetings, and even large parties when his mother played her role well. She had often stayed quiet. She was always polite. And she was the most well-mannered host. This wasn't how she was meant to be in every situation, but a pure-blood wife's role was often strict. It was an expected aspect of most gatherings, which he had increasingly become more uncomfortable with over the years. Yes, he believed in upholding valuable traditions within a family unit, but the restrictions expected of a wife within his father's circle had become more and more extreme with the rise of Voldemort. His mother was a strong, independent woman, so to see her conform to such expectations before she was taken was harrowing. The very fact that she was taken angered him in part because of the idea that she could be used in that manner without thought.
When he really thought about it, Hermione was a bit like his mother. She, too, was strong and independent. And he could easily see how the expectations of her in this situation would be hard to deal with. But regardless, she had to deal with things the way they were. He had to. What did she expect? For someone to coddle her? For him to coddle her? Not bloody likely. Nobody had helped him through any of it. Nobody had held his hand. And he certainly wouldn't hold hers, metaphorically speaking.
Ambassador Moreau was detailing her trip to Venice when they entered the dining room. Draco pulled a chair out for her, then used his wand to pull one out for Hermione directly across from the Ambassador. He took his chair at the head of the table, on the back of which was the cloak he hadn't had time to grab before leaving for the mission.
"An underwater gondola ride? Ambassador Spataro is really upping his game in the tourism department," he said. The conversation was nothing he was remotely interested in, but it was admittedly better than a mission. He knew things with Hermione were by no means perfect, but he would happily take a day with her over another mission. But, he also knew that was wishful thinking. He knew he wasn't safe. He knew things could change any moment; that he could meet his end at any time under the world Voldemort had created.
A beautiful display of silverware and place settings appeared on the table before them, along with coffee, juice, and a salmon entré. After a quick toast, they started in on brunch.
Draco continued the conversation with the Ambassador until he heard a coughing fit from his left. Hermione had gone slightly red and looked as if she were about to faint.
"I apologize, Ambassador," she breathed, clutching her chest. "If you will excuse me." She stood and made a quick exit, the coughing sounds resuming from the hallway.
"My, my, poor thing," the Ambassador said, though she didn't pause in her eating or look up from her plate.
Draco stood. "Sorry, but if you don't mind, I am going to see if she's alright."
The woman glanced up at him and smiled. "Of course," she said.
He followed the path out the door and to the stairs, catching up with Hermione in moments.
"Feigning illness to get out of this meeting, are we?" he said quietly.
Hermione turned around, and when he saw her, he knew immediately that she wasn't feigning anything. She was still coughing, turning red, and looked as though she had walked into a sauna.
"Lottie," she said. She didn't even look at him or try to respond.
"'Mione, I'm sor-"
The elf popped up next to her and immediately started tending to her. The two of them Disapparated and he was left near the bottom of the staircase. She would be fine. She was well taken care of, and he couldn't leave the Ambassador waiting for too long. He hurried back down the hall and returned to the dining room, his mind focused on Hermione.
"I do apologize for that, Ambassador. The elves must have forgotten an allergy of hers, but she is being tended to now. We shouldn't let this ruin our time together." He smiled and took his seat once again, banishing Hermione's plate with a swish of his wand.
Ambassador Moreau looked at him with curiosity for several beats, then continued eating. The rest of the meal went well despite the situation. Afterwards, he led the Ambassador along the grounds outside, discussing the vision going forward in France and the surrounding countries in Europe under Voldemort's leadership. He couldn't help his glances at the window to Hermione's room.
"Mr. Malfoy, do forgive me for asking, but is there something going on with you and…your wife? I noticed there was some tension earlier-"
"No," he said almost too quickly, but he reined it in. "Well, yes, I see why there would seem to be something off. Unfortunately, I am not completely free of my duties just because I am married now." He chuckled. "I was called away the other day for a quick security check. She worries every time I am gone. It's very sweet, but I am and will always be dedicated to my work. She knows that."
The Ambassador nodded her head and abandoned the subject, admiring the growth of the hedges since the last time she had visited. Her mentions of his mother and questions of her well-being stung. He deflected and lied as perfectly as ever. And though he could easily shove his feelings deep down, he still felt them at first occurrence.
By the time he walked the Ambassador to the Apparition point, he couldn't wait to be alone in his room. He bid her farewell and thanked her for the support she showed on behalf of Lord Voldemort. She assured him that she would see him in France again soon.
Draco Apparated to his room the moment the Ambassador was gone. There was still plenty of daylight outside, but he didn't care. He strode the length of the room straight to his nightstand and searched it for another Dreamless Sleep Potion. He knew his searching was futile; he had given his last one to Hermione that morning. But he hoped there might have been one more he had missed.
There wasn't.
He huffed and threw himself face down on his bed. He closed his eyes and tried to force himself to sleep, but he just couldn't. For hours, he laid awake wishing he wasn't. He tossed and turned, pulled the covers on, kicked them off, got up to eat dinner, read the rest of a book… At some point, he finally dozed off.
Draco awoke to pitch darkness. He felt fully rested, though he still had a pit in his stomach. He and Hermione had several full days planned together in public. They had lunches, store visits, and meetings all scheduled together before returning to the Manor on Sunday. They needed to talk before all of that; get back on the same page. Plus, he needed to find out if she was okay. She had looked genuinely sick earlier, and he had only heard from Lottie when she had brought him dinner that Hermione was doing well. He thought it right to check for himself.
He pulled himself out of bed and started for the door, but he stopped himself. He turned back and headed into the bathroom to shower. Standing before the mirror afterwards, he fiddled with his hair, trying to get it to look more purposefully messy. After ten minutes, he cursed at himself for what he was doing and left it alone, heading out of his room and down the stairs.
The foyer was dark and quiet.
He had planned to go to Hermione's room; knock on the door and see if she was awake. But now that he was actually doing it, his heart pounded in his ears. Just do it, he told himself. He walked forward a few paces towards the stairs leading to her wing, but he paused. Stop stopping and go. Merlin, you're annoying. The inner dialogue with himself was wilder than it had ever been. He had never been this way before. No one had ever infuriated and intrigued him at the same time like this, and to be so affected by it was stupid. He was Draco bloody Malfoy.
He marched himself up the stairs, but walked quietly down the hall to her door. The light was on. He had expected that; thought she might be reading because he knew full-well that she couldn't sleep. He stood there, staring at the lines of the door.
There was nothing he could tell her yet about the letter from his mother. It just wasn't safe; not for anyone he cared about. It wasn't like he was in constant communication with her. He had sent her a letter through their house else, Trotter, the day she was taken, and she was able to send one back. But she was moved to a different location that evening and ever since then, none of the elves could say where she had gone. He kept the note close to him in the pocket of his cloak. Of course he would be so careless to leave it lying around when he was called away.
His breathing was heavy.
This wasn't right. He wanted to talk to her, but it wasn't the right time. And it wasn't in the right way. He would talk to her in the morning; make an effort to clear the air before their departure for the day.
He turned around and reluctantly headed back the way he had come, stopping in the foyer. The sitting room doors were closed. He wasn't particularly bothered by rooms where bad things had happened anymore. If that were the case, he wouldn't be able to set foot in the Manor at all. But he knew Hermione wouldn't want to set foot in that room again. He knew she would never want to go in the drawing room at the Manor, either. It was, admittedly, his least favourite room, particularly because of the man who occupied it most of the time.
Wavering a bit on what to do, Draco started for the front entrance, but decided against it. He had a different idea. He turned around and passed his staircase, walking down a long hallway. The floorboards creaked under his feet. He descended the spiral staircase at the end of the corridor and emerged into the kitchen.
It was spotless. There was no sign that they had been there nights prior. He knew that's how it would be; that's how he had intended it to be. But still…
He summoned a bottle of Firewhiskey from the pantry and Apparated to the formal dining room. On the chair at the head of the table was the cloak that he knew held his mother's letter. He retrieved it and vanished the cloak to his room, then took his seat. For a while, he sat there taking swigs of the drink, feeling the burn of the liquid run down his throat.
Before the night with Hermione, he hadn't really been drunk more than a few times. The last time had been the night after the Battle of Hogwarts. There had been a huge party at the Manor, and everyone on their side showed up.
Six Weeks Prior - Malfoy Manor
"Harry Potter is dead!" Bellatrix bellowed.
The sea of people that occupied his house hooted, hollered, whistled, and raised their glasses. It was a madhouse. He had never seen the place so full of life; terrible, deranged life.
"Cheers," a voice behind him said.
He turned around to see Blaise holding his glass up to him.
"Cheers," Draco said back, and he clinked his glass to his friend's.
"Well, what are you going to do now?" Blaise asked.
Draco lowered his drink. "Haven't you heard? There's already talk of a complete restructuring of everything. Voldemort knows he can't go much further beyond the United Kingdom if he doesn't frame this whole victory right. We're not done yet, Blaise. This war isn't over."
Blaise lowered his voice, too, and stepped closer to Draco. He glanced around. "Look, I want to talk to you about something. Not here, though. We should go to your room."
Draco huffed a laugh, meeting his low volume. "I know I'm incredibly attractive, but we play for different teams, mate." He took a swig of his Firewhiskey.
Blaise punched him in the arm lightly, causing Draco's alcohol to spill on the floor.
"Hey, hey, I'm only joking! I know what you meant. Let's go." Draco led the way through the crowd.
"Oi! Malfoy! Zabini! Over here!" Cassius Warrington called out to them from the bottom of the grand staircase. He was standing in a group with older Slytherins: Marcus Flint, Lucian Bole, Peregrine Derrick, Adrian Pucey, Miles Bletchley, and Graham Montague.
Blaise let out a quiet groan beside him as they made their way over.
"Join us, men. We're about to play a game," Warrington said.
"What game?" Blaise asked.
Warrington clapped Blaise on the back. "Come and find out." He walked into the drawing room, followed by the others.
In the cold and dimly lit room, they all took seats around a long table. Warrington summoned large bottles of Firewhiskey and spaced them out across the center.
"Alright, boys. Veritaserum or Imperio," Flint said with a wicked grin. "Whoever's it chooses one of the options." He placed a cologne-sized glass jar on the table. "Veritaserum," he looked around the group and pulled out his wand, "or Imperio. Simple enough."
"You're not suggesting you can actually cast an Imperio, are you, Flint?" Draco drawled.
Flint sneered and the others howled with laughter.
"I say you're up first, man," Warrington said to Flint, whose nostrils flared.
Draco sat across and two seats to the left of Flint. Blaise was to his right and Pucey was on his other side. He had never been very close to Pucey, though they had been on the Quidditch team together. The man was a bit more quiet and reserved. Flint, on the other hand, was a loud-mouth. Draco was perfectly happy watching him make a fool out of himself.
Flint took a dramatic swig. "Let's do this," he said. He gestured at Warrington, who sat at the head of the table on the other side of Blaise. "Imperio me." He tried, but failed, to look confident.
Warrington leaned over to confer with Bletchley on what to make him do. After a moment, Warrington nodded and pointed his wand at Flint. "Imperio."
Flint stood from his chair and jumped up on the table. The room filled with laughter as he started dancing around the bottles of Firewhiskey. He twirled on his tip-toes. He arabesqued, plied, releved, and pirouetted back and forth across the table.
Warrington released him from the curse as the men hooted and hollered at Flint's final moves.
Draco smirked as he downed half his glass of Firewhiskey in one go.
"Where were those moves at the Yule Ball, Marcus?" Montague sniggered.
Flint sneered back at him. As he was the last person to go, he was the one to choose who was next and deliver the question or Imperio.
"Blaise."
Draco watched the glint in Flint's eyes as he saw the man consider the power he had.
Blaise reached for the bottle of Veritaserum and twisted the top off, pulling out a dropper filled with the liquid. He released a single drop on his tongue.
"Tell us about your best shag."
A knot formed in the pit of Draco's stomach and his eye twitched.
"And you have to tell us who she was," Flint added.
The knot uncoiled. She.
Blaise sat up straight and flashed a wicked smile. "It was in the prefects' bathroom sixth year," he said.
"You weren't even a prefect," Montague said.
"No, but Parkinson was," Blaise smirked. "It started off with head, then we ended up against the-"
Draco made an exaggerated gagging sound. "You need to stop. That is basically my sister you're talking about."
"Come on, mate, he was just getting to the good part!" Pucey said.
Another person laughed into their drink.
Draco glanced to his right to see Blaise fidgeting with the silver ring on his pointer finger as he scanned the group.
"Start without me?" Theo Nott said.
Draco's eyes snapped to Theo as he strolled into the room and took a seat beside Flint. He was thankful there was another man he could at least somewhat trust there.
"Perfect timing. It's your turn," Blaise said.
Theo grimaced. "Alright. Surprise me."
Blaise thought for a moment. "Well, since you're late to the party, you can finish off this bottle of Firewhiskey." He pointed his wand directly at Theo. "Imperio."
The men around the table groaned their disgust and laughed as Theo downed the drink with a pained expression. When he was done and released from the curse, he looked sick.
Draco could tell Theo was holding down bile, though he managed to keep it together.
They went around the table for half an hour, and Draco was thankful he hadn't been chosen yet. He had been steadily drinking through the bottle of Firewhiskey in front of him when Bletchley fixed his eyes on him.
"Malfoy," Bletchley said.
Draco raised an eyebrow in anticipation. He had been trained well in Occlumency by his aunt, so he was confident in his ability to fight off the Veritaserum. The Imperio, not so much.
He let the clear, water-like liquid drop on his tongue.
"If you could have Avada'd one of The Golden Trio swots, who would have been your pick? Potter, the Weasel, or the Mudblood?" Bletchley asked with a nasty grin. He sat across from Draco, watching him as he leaned back in his chair.
The room filled with the others' opinions.
"That's an easy choice. Of course he'd kill Potter."
"Yeah, Potter."
"Would love to watch the Mudblood keel over."
Draco was suddenly aware of how little Firewhiskey was left on the table. He focused on the forest in his mind, honing-in on several trees with Potter, Weasley, and Granger carved into the trunks. They were thin trees, but they were there in his mind, nonetheless. Weasley's was the thinnest. He covered the trees in snow, just as he had practiced, using the cold, white substance to layer over the branches. It was a thin layer this time, but it would be enough to block the Veritaserum, despite the Firewhiskey's inebriating effects.
"The blood-traitor," he stated.
Derrick laughed and gulped down his drink, releasing an obnoxious sigh. The others voiced their agreements.
"What do you think they're doing now?" Pucey asked the group.
"Who?" someone said.
"Potter's people. They could be planning to attack us here as we speak."
Warrington scoffed. "Not likely. They don't have enough-"
"This place is better warded than Hogwarts ever was," Draco cut in. His voice was clipped and resolute. "And anyways, Potter's supporters are of no concern to us. Especially the blood traitor and the Mudblood."
In the wee hours of the morning, the last of the party attendees trickled out of the Manor. His father had kicked the boys out of the drawing room at some point to clear it for Voldemort. Draco had been able to steer Blaise down the hall to the rear staircase, though they stumbled a bit as they walked.
"Fuck Warrington. Fuck Flint. Fuck all of those bastards," Blaise said as they clumsily ascended the stairs.
"Theo's not that bad." Draco was dragging his fingers along the wall on his way up.
"Theo only cares about himself."
"You're only mad because of what happened between you two." Draco led Blaise down the hallway to his room once they reached the second floor. "I saw it coming from a mile away. He wasn't looking for a long-term thing, and you wanted something more. That shit never ends well."
"He shouldn't have led me on and he knew that," Blaise said.
"I know." Draco stopped before the door to his room and turned to his friend. "But you've found someone better." He had never liked talking about any of this; relationships, feelings, sex. It wasn't because Blaise was gay, or that Theo was up for anything he could get from anybody. It was just improper to discuss. But Blaise always brought it up when he was drunk.
"Come in for a few?" Blaise asked, gesturing towards the door to the right of Draco's bedroom. "I still have something I want to discuss with you."
"It's nearly daylight. Can it wait?"
"No." Blaise opened the door leading to Draco's spare bedroom. His parents had set it up when he was a child as his playroom. He used to read in it and play Gobstones with his friends. They would play hide-and-seek, using the closet to access his main bedroom.
"Alright," Draco said. He followed Blaise in and closed the door, taking a seat in the armchair by the window. "What is it?"
Present Day
Draco ventured back to his room once he was drunk enough to fall asleep.
He awoke to a pounding at his door. "A Floo call for you, sir," Lottie yelled through the door.
Draco groaned and pulled himself out of bed. He ran his hand over his face and yawned. Waving his wand a few times, he readied himself for the day and Apparated to the fireplace to find his father's head sticking up through the flames.
"Fath-"
"Come home straight away, Draco. There are reports of an Order base in Brussels. You are to leave with a team at sundown." Lucius didn't wait for his son's reply.
Draco watched the fire settle as his heart raced. Shit. He had expected another mission soon, but not as soon as that evening.
"Lottie!" he yelled, and the elf appeared before him.
"Yes, sir!"
"Inform Hermione that we need to leave at once," he said.
The elf nodded and disappeared.
He shook his head and willed himself to be alert and mentally prepared for what was to come. His mind flitted through his memories of the past few days, shoving them under mounds of snow that he could keep hidden against a Legilimens.
He quickly made his way through the doors of the sitting room over to an armoire in the far corner that he knew held a number of potions and antidotes. His father had said there should at least be a vial of Draught of Peace and Volubilis Potion, but it had largely been cleared out before his arrival with Hermione. Though he had meant to check it days ago, he consistently had other things on his mind, and had pushed it off.
When the doors to the armoire clicked open, Draco was knocked to the ground by something that tumbled out of it. He scooted backwards and scrambled to his feet, but froze at the sight before him.
Narcissa Malfoy's cloudy blue eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. Lying in a cold, lifeless heap before him was his mother.
Next update: January 24, 2021 (I mistakingly put January 21 when I first posted this when I meant to put January 28, so I'm compromising and going to make sure I update on the 24th!)