AN: Okay, this is going to be short compared to the rest of my future chapters. Why? Because I'm mad. Mad as in angry. And maybe mad as in lunatic. Why? Because I've finally found my soulmate, and he doesn't know I exist!

Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling, anything else belongs to me. The citrus vodka, however, belongs to Paola. No, you won't succeed in suicide anytime soon, sweetie… as long as I'm keeping the vodka and aspirin out of your hands.

Dedicated to: No one. I can't think straight. Too hungry.

Chapter Three: Silver-tongued

And there's no mountain too high

No river too wide

Sing out this song

I'll be there by your side

Storm clouds may gather

And stars may collide

But I love you until the end of time

- Come What May, Moulin Rouge

Draco stood in front of the very same door he himself, as a child had walked through so many time. Why now, of all times, did his heart plead with him to stay where he was?

He took a deep breath and lifted a hand to the beautiful yet sinister carved brass knocker. But the second he touched the cold metal, a shivering pain charged through his body, and the world went black.

When he came to, he was lying on a bed. Not just any bed, but a bed which sent childhood memories swirling back into his head in a whiff of cedar scent. He sat up, and immediately groaned as the pain in his head increased. A high, but cultured voice beside him made him look around, and groan even more.

"Welcome to the Malfoy Manor. Please state your business."

Draco stared down at the house-elf, which stared up at him just as intensely. "I'm Draco Thomas Malfoy, and I used to live here." The house-elf looked unimpressed. "I want to speak to my mother."

Draco scrambled off his bed, and head spinning, stood in the middle of the room.

The house-elf followed him out of the room and down the hallways, watching him stumble on the stone floor. "Mister Malfoy, if you are who you say you are, I'd like to see some credible proof of your heritage." Draco whirled around, angry. "Can't you see me?! Malfoy is written all over my face! My hair, skin… even my drawl!" The house-elf suddenly darted to him. "With your permission…"

And the elf lifted Draco's shirt up.

"What the hell?!"

"Ah, yes, Mister Malfoy, your mother is in the drawing room… Shall I escort you there?"

~*~

In a few minutes, Draco was seated in his favorite armchair in that drawing room, with a perfectly made frozen margarita in his hands. He sent it away and had it replaced with a citrus vodka. He sat there, sipping it nervously, waiting for his mother to walk in.

But Narcissa Malfoy never walks. She glides.

Draco stood up when she came into the room, and she motioned for him to sit down with a cool, slim hand. She took her seat in front of the fireplace, facing Draco. And now, in the midst of such rich surroundings, in front of the woman who had brought him to life, the time had come for Draco to prove just how silver-tongued he really was.

~*~

"I love her, and you can't stop me from what I'm going to do!" Draco stood up from his chair, knocking his wineglass to the floor. Narcissa Malfoy, the lovely woman he once called "Mummy" sat across from him, watching him calmly.

After taking a slow sip from her tea, she stood up as well, carrying herself with grace, and quiet dignity, yet her anger seemed to emanate from every inch of that pale skin. "No. She is a Mudblood, and you have blood of the highest Dark families running in your very veins. Do not dare bring yourself down to her level. Has your father not taught you anything?!" she raised her voice, bringing back memories of the days when Draco used to cower in a corner and weep.

Her cold grey eyes pierced into Draco's, which had long ago lost that very same expression. "Your father is dead. Have you been waiting all this time for that to happen? So you can marry that… that creature?!"

Draco shuddered, yet kept his stand. "Yes, Father is dead now, and there is no way you can break Hermione and I apart." He took something from the pocket of his black robe and cast it on the tabletop. "I won't need this anymore, Mummy." he spat, emphasizing the last word.

She flinched, so very faintly. She glanced at the object on the table, and picking it up slowly, slid it into her pocket.

Then, in a blind rage, eyes burning with hurt pride, she pointed her wand at her son. "Pointing a killing wand at my very own son could very well be the last thing I'll ever do. But reasons come along."

Narcissa's voice was low, threatening, and it chilled her son to the bone. But he stood there, willing to receive any curse she may utter. For an eternity and a second, mother and son stood eye to eye, both hating each other with all malevolence they could muster.

Finally, Narcissa lowered her wand. "Ebony and dragon heartstring, Gregorovitch creation." fluttered faintly through Draco's mind as relief flooded through his veins. She glared at him, unable to unleash her wrath.

She then aimed her wand at a gilded black box on the dresser and Summoned it to herself. Narcissa caught it, opened it, removing an opal amulet from between the velvet lining. There was something in the reverent way she handled it, that made Draco know that it was very valuable.

She thrust it into her som's hands. "Take this... and you will find the key to the Gringott's vault inside. I would like to hear that Narcissa Kailine Malfoy never left anything to her son, no matter how stupid or brazen he was in choosing his life-long partner." she hissed.

And she stalked out of the room, her silvery-blond hair billowing behind her.

Draco stood in the middle of the room, staring after his mother, the black amulet heavy and cold in his hands, echoing the same about his heart.

~*~

Narcissa stalked angrily through the stone corridors, pulling a black cloak around her all the while. She stopped in front of a painting which depicted a handsome young man, skin as pale as the full moon, eyes as blue as the summer sky, hair as dark as the raven's wing. He looked down at Narcissa. "You grow more and more beautiful everytime the sun rises." Narcissa ignored the young Lucius' remark. "You didn't have to change your eye color when you grew up. Blue eyes like that are lovely… but they are against the Malfoy Code."

Narcissa raised her wand slowly. "Lucet."

The painting swung open, and Narcissa stepped inside, hiding tears.

~*~

Hermione helped Draco out of his cloak. "Would you like something to drink?" Draco walked slowly towards the kitchen. "Yes, a citrus vodka, please." Hermione went doubtfully to the cabinet which housed their alcohol. "And some aspirin, please."

She whirled around angrily. "You shouldn't joke like that! I had a friend who…" she broke off when she saw his eyes, which were twinkling sadly. "Oh, Draco…"

~*~

Harry stood dejectedly in front of his closet, looking for something he knew was there, but couldn't bear to touch. A tapping at the window brought him out of his painful reveries. He walked over and let Ron's Impecunir into the room.

Harry,

Stop moping and start looking for clothes for the wedding! It's only a week away! Parvati already got me dress robes, and they're a shade of purple that looks suspiciously like maroon, but Parvati said that it was "grape". Sure.

I know that Malfoy's not the greatest bloke in the whole world, but Hermione seems to love him a lot, and Parvati's convinced… and so am I. Tell you what, just trust Hermione, okay? She's been right more that 98% of her life, and I think she's right about Draco Malfoy too.

Ron

Harry tossed the letter aside and put his head in his hands. "Ron… I still love her. But you don't know that, do you?"

~*~

A dark figure stood in front of a cauldron, which was bubbling with a black potion. Chanting softly in a voice to chill your very bones, the figure bent over and touched the potion with the tip of a long, pale and slender finger. The chanting grew higher and more frenzied as the figure traced a line on a sheet of dragon-skin suspended in front of her.

A line, with a black star on the end, and as the unworldly chanting grew louder, she traced three lines crosswise the larger line.

Suddenly a sizzling sound filled the room, and the diagram glowed bright green before embedding itself in the dragon-skin.

The figure waited for the green glow to fade before beckoning to another, smaller figure in the shadows.

That one walked forward, bearing a strangely familiar black amulet. The chanting rose once more and the smaller figure joined it, the voices becoming a cacophony, as the tall one dipped the amulet in the black brew.

Using the same finger that had touched the potion a while ago, the tall figure traced a slash across the smaller one's chest. A sinister black line trailed onto the robe, glowing in the faint firelight.

And there was a scream.

~*~

Draco suddenly sat up, breathing heavily, sweat beading his skin, paler than ever by moonlight. Hermione jolted awake, rubbing her eyes. "What's wrong? Draco…" He brushed off her hand and covered his eyes with a trembling hand. "Nothing."

~*~

"What did you give your mother?" Hermione asked over their morning cup of coffee. Draco frowned. "Please… don't talk about her." Hermione shrugged, and Draco downed his coffee with cognac.

No, Draco is not becoming an alcoholic.