The Reign of Mummy

From Oliver dearest

'Oliver Wood,' murmured Draco Malfoy, pacing his bedroom floor anxiously, 'bloody hell, Oliver Wood.'

It was half five in the morning, and the Slytherin hadn't yet slept. Even Blaise Zabini, who had hung around him in the hopes of antagonising him further had left at three, rolling his eyes. The separate seventh year rooms meant that Draco could pace and stalk and angrily throw things whenever he pleased, and mostly it was the photograph of his mother, beaming happily and waving, which was used to being thrown and generally just bounced back thanks to the numerous charms covering it. The green brocade curtains hung feverishly open, showing a dark ground, with a few lights twinkling here and there – presumably fairies or Hagrid. He snorted at the image.

'Of course!' he exclaimed suddenly, his burning eyes happening to fall on a book stacked haphazardly on the shelf.

Frivolity and Fortune was the title his latest whore had brought with her, to read while he bathed, and had been cast on the shelf in the throes of passion by the dark haired sixth year Ravenclaw. He meanwhile, had had the phrase 'lie back and think of England' running through his head. It was the most excruciatingly boring sex he had ever had. The book cover showed a young man kneeling in front of his scantily clad damsel, in armour, with his horse standing behind them on its fore legs as it kicked. Draco had snorted, and in a particularly boring moment, while she writhed, had worked out the angles, and deduced that when the stallion landed it would kick the man's head in.

'She's a Gryffindor!' he triumphantly explained to his empty room, 'She'll fall for the begging move – I'll tell her mother's gone slightly deranged from Crucio being cast on her and is convinced that we're in love. She'll be so sorry for her that she'll agree to anything!'

And with that he gathered himself into his black cloak, rearranged his slightly ruffled hair and excited the Slytherin lair.

Fifth Floor, six hours past midnight

The Head Girl's room was on the fifth floor, opposite Fluffy's room, although Draco didn't know that, and the three headed dog was long gone. He knelt outside the thick wooden door, far enough away to avoid being hit by it as it swung open, but near enough to be sitting in a convenient patch of moonlight that made his hair shine like molten silver. He arranged a suitably angelically tortured expression on his face and waited patiently for the Head Girl to make her six o'clock rounds.

Hermione was running late. Oliver, her steady boyfriend of the last year (she giggled softly when she thought of him) had sent a large package at five, which she had been busy unpacking. She slipped on the dark aubergine cloak which served as casual, and her slippers, and sped out of the door.

There was a short, sharp shriek of surprise

Draco felt a warm body miss his head and tumble over his kneeling posture

The Head Girl fell face forward down the three steps that separated her rooms from the Head Boy's and landed, with a groan and another gasp of horror, on her nose.

'Merlin!' bellowed the partially winded Slytherin, scrambling to his feet.

'Malfoy' choked out Hermione through a broken nose, 'Bhat are you boing, bou imbecile?'

'Granger?' questioned the Head Boy through his door sleepily, 'What the hell is going on?'

'Bothing, Charbles, bothing,' reassured Hermione, getting to her feet and cradling her nose in agony.

'Crap, Granger, you're bleeding everywhere!'

'Bull marbks Malfoy,' she commented sarcastically, and motioned him away from the other room. 'Bow, bhat the bhell do you bwant?'

'Granger, you're practically unintelligible. Mendus.'

'Oh thanks. Took you bloody well long enough.'

Granger was beginning to sulk. Now, Draco, now, urged his mind and he dropped on one knee. She looked mildly startled as he almost gripped the hem of her cloak in his palms. He carefully arranged his features to look mildly pathetic.

'Granger,' he began dramatically, 'I need you.'

'And Oliver needs to punch you, you creep!' she hissed, in what would have been a shriek if she was going to risk waking the Ravenclaw Head boy.

'Not like that Granger,' he groaned, mildly disgusted, 'it's my mother.'

'Your mother?' she sounded disbelieving.

'She's coming here tomorrow.'

'Ah – the lectures on how black magic affects families. I wondered who would be doing them.'

'Well, it's my mother.'

'How embarrassing. Imagine if she calls you Drakie Poo in front of the whole school again.'

'Stop the snide comments please! This is serious!'

Malfoy sounded terribly frantic and upset, so Hermione, bearing in mind her Head girl duties, paused and composed herself.

'What's wrong Malfoy?' she forced out through gritted teeth, 'bearing in mind I am not favourably disposed towards you – you have, if you need reminding, spent the last six years antagonising me, and this year in particular focused your attentions personally on my person.'

'Look Granger,' he gambled, 'this isn't about me. It's about my mother. She thinks you're my girlfriend.'

'She What?' and this time Hermione did shriek, but there was no response from the Head boy suite.

'It was my father,' Draco spoke rapidly, trying to convince her before she stormed off, 'He crucio'd her six, seven times a week.'

And there it was. The slight hesitation in Granger's brow as she relaxed her furrowed eyebrows, that softly sympathetic glow, the pursuing of her lips, and finally, the nibble that meant he was in there. He almost danced.

'Oh. Your poor mother.'

'Anyway,' Draco moved on, trying out a hurt look that apparently signified he didn't want to pursue the subject any further because it was upsetting, 'She's convinced I became best friends with Potter and you – luckily not Weasley or I'd be done for – and then you and I fell in love.'

There was a moment's silence as Hermione processed this, and leant back against the wall.

'She's gone deranged, a little,' he added, in case she hadn't got the message.

'As tragic as that is, Mal-Dr, Ferret,' she agreed on finally, 'what does it have to do with me?'

'I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend.'

Stupefied silence.

'Only until the end of term – five weeks, Granger, that's all. For mother.'

Antagonizing silence, in which Draco gave a fake sniffle.

'Fine!' she snapped angrily, 'fine! But what are you going to tell Oliver when word gets back to him?'

Great Hall, eight hours past midnight

'And of course, Oliver's not to know!' she finished loudly and angrily, 'Me! Keeping secrets from Oliver, who happens to have been my loyal boyfriend for two years?'

'Are you going to do it?' Harry Potter asked, attempting to look unconcerned and failing.

'What else can I do Harry?' she almost wailed, 'his poor, poor mother'll be heartbroken if I don't. And after all her suffering…'

'Shhh, here comes Ron.'

'Harry, you have to help. You have to pretend to be his best friend!'

'Alright, alright. Shurrup!'

Ronald Weasley was not going to be in on the plan, an executive decision taken by Hermione and Malfoy at approximately half seven, in an alcove close to the hall on the way to breakfast. He emerged that morning at eight, scratching his ear and inspecting his fingernail as he sat down, and waving a hand at his friends; seated with false smiles at the breakfast table.

'Pancake, Ron?' asked Hermione, pushing the bowl towards him.

'Maple syrup, Ron?' Harry pushed the small boat towards him, an edgy smile inhabiting his face.

'What's up with you two this morning?' Ron asked, having just recently gotten over the grunting stage of replies.

'Oh, nothing. The new instructor's coming today.' Harry replied smoothly, cutting his sausage up with short, sharp strokes.

There was a rather highly pitched voice chattering with Snape's this morning as he strode along the corridor. She was discussing levitating trunks, and he methods of restriction for seventh years. When he pushed open the Great Hall doors all attention was commanded, and so the coming of Narcissa Black-Malfoy was not unheeded by the students of Hogwarts.

'Drakie!' she gushed suddenly.

Narcissa was a commanding woman. She was very tall and slim, with long legs and a wealth of blonde hair that moved when she walked as her hips did. She did suffer from that unfortunate expression of looking as if she had smelt a bad smell, but when she smiled it was almost shy and easily made up for that inadequate expression. She was far more frail and delicate that her son was, but not so much that you couldn't see the similarities.

'Mother,' he drawled, and she looked almost hurt before she waved cheerily at him.

On the Gryffindor table, Neville Longbottom, seeing how close his future instructor had walked to Snape, had collapsed into his bowl of porridge with a sigh of desolation. Lavender and Parvati had admired her silk robes, complained about her son and moved back to gossiping about the hottest couple of the moment – Hermione and Oliver Wood (Hogwarts was a little starved for gossip at this point). Ginny was regarding her curiously, having no idea why she was here. Ron was sitting frozen to his spot, looking as if he had swallowed a large furry animal which was about to choke him. Harry and Hermione were giving each other encouraging, buoyant looks and breathing deeply.

'Good morning professor Dumbeldore,' she greeted, revelling in the utter silence of the hall.

'Ah, Mrs Malfoy, how charming. And Severus, I see you have joined us for breakfast. Excellent, excellent. Now, Mrs Malfoy, perhaps Draco, already making his way up here, will introduce you to the students you need to know – our Head boy and girl, and so forth. And then of course he will escort you to your new rooms. I believe he has frees this morning?'

'Yes sir,' answered the surprisingly meek Slytherin, smiling at his mother.

'Draco, darling,' she leant over and whispered, 'I want to meet all your charming friends.'

'There are complications, mummy, but of course.'

'Complications?' she shrewdly questioned.

Draco was luckily saved from the question by the arrival of the first owls into the hall, and the accompanying rush of sound as every student craned their neck upwards to glimpse their family owl. They came in a steady stream this morning, as it was raining heavily, and never failed to look surprised that the rain falling from the ceiling didn't hit them unless they had board here.

'This is Charles Banbar,' Draco began, passing the Ravenclaw tables on his voyage to the Gryffindor abode, 'Head boy.'

Charles Banbar stood up and bowed deeply, until his nose was almost buttered by his toast. He was a handsome boy, with traditional dark looks, who had remained quiet until his sixth year, when it transpired he was friends with almost every student in the entire school at his birthday party.

'A pleasure Mrs Malfoy,' he said smoothly, and Draco hustled his mother away before she said something about his tie, which had been dangling in his friend's porridge, much to the stifled laughter of the Ravenclaw posse.

'The Gryffindor table,' he murmured as he approached, 'and remember, I'll explain everything later.'

Impressions of the red table were favourable from a distance, and Draco almost relaxed. They were chattering and laughing, pointing at each others letters, and occasionally a seventh or sixth year reached over to wipe porridge off Longbottom's face, which was becoming steadily paler. Hermione was watching their progress with a slightly nervous eye, and Harry was watching the windows for letters. Weasley was glowering at a letter from his brother Charlie (it was crispy and burnt).

'Oh Hermione!' came a fatal shriek from Lavender, who had been watching the windows for a particular

hawk, 'A letter! From your boyfriend! From Oli--'

Hermione was so quick that half the table missed it. She had grasped Lavender's blonde head, smiled at the girl apologetically, and pushed her head straight down into the bowl of chocolate rice crispies she had been enjoying.

'Lavender!' shrieked Parvati, and pulled her spluttering best friend up.

Lavender was truly a sight to behold. Her face was covered in chocolate milk, and everywhere sat little clumps of soggy, sticky rice crispies. They perched merrily in her nose, on her eyebrows, above her lips, in her hair; and to make matters worse there was a flash of light and the dreaded Creevey Camera had come out.

'Come on!' Parvati screeched, and they both rushed straight out of the hall, pushing past Mrs Malfoy and Draco, who gave them very amused looks.

'Mrs Malfoy,' Hermione had crept up to them in all the commotion, 'I'm Hermione Granger, Head girl.'

'Hermione!' Narcissa gave all her attention to the brunette, 'How are you darling? I feel like I know you already.'

Hermione sent Draco a slightly panicked glance as the hall quietened down.

'Mum,' Draco distracted her smoothly, 'don't waste time. That's Potter, and that's Weasley.'

By now the large black hawk had landed on Hermione's plate and was chewing on her bacon rinds. It was eyeing her in a distinctly suspicious way, as was Ron.

'Smoochy,' Narcissa spoke to Draco, 'Did you get a new bird?'

'What? Oh yes.'

It was Dumbeldore who saved their lies before they had even got going. He rang the bell for lessons and smiled genially at them all.

'Lessons, everyone, lessons. Go and fill our heads with knowledge – do try and stay awake at least.'

'Ancient Runes!' grasped Hermione gratefully, 'My books!'

'Goodbye Hermione sweety,' waved Narcissa as she sped out of the hall, and then turned to Draco.

'Mummy,' he said, satisfied that no one would hear them over the tremendous rush to get to lessons, 'the thing is, Hermione and I are keeping our relationship secret.'

'Oh,' Mrs Malfoy said unhappily, a little smile vanishing from her lips, 'but smoochums, you will let me come and see her, won't you.'

Her son fell for the pathetic look hook, line and sinker. He caved in. He flopped. He folded. He gave in. he admitted defeat before his mother.

'Of course you can mummy,' he whispered, 'but don't tell anyone else.'

Thanksgiving

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