Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to J.K. Rowling. *sigh* Disclaimers are so depressing.
New Year…
I have ambiguous feelings towards that holiday. I can't decide whether or not I like it.
It urges you to reflect on the past, one that might not always be pleasant or one that might not lend to your sense of pride…
Then, you find that you've lost even before you begin. What's the good in that?
~~
Draco held on to the table with all his might while trying to fight off the cringe that was slowly settling on his face.
"Perhaps we shouldn't have done that?"
"Perhaps," Draco spat and quickly drew in a sharp breath. "I need to sit."
Hermione nodded understanding and took hold of his arm, leading him to a nearby table. "I told you not to, you know," she scolded lightly. "I don't know what made you think you could drink him 'under the table' or whatever you call it."
Draco sighed. He wasn't going to bother explaining the ego of a man to Hermione. Lest, he wanted for her to hex his loins into oblivion—something she was very liable to do.
In Draco's humblest opinion, men had smaller egos than women. Honestly. In comparison to men, women always felt like they had to fight for something—whether it be sexuality, equality or whatever—there was always something. Anything could be misconstrued into an insult and given some sort of malicious undertone.
With men, however, it was different. There were only a few things that they held onto. Pride, was one of them. You see, pride and masculinity come together hand in hand. You cannot have one without the other. You cannot enjoy one without the other.
And when some stupid bloke looks up your friend like piece of carcass on a hot sizzling plate you cannot help but feel the need to defend both.
Can you? Can you? CAN YOU?
Draco closed his eyes to keep the surroundings from slurring into some discombobulating array of colours that didn't seem to meet…
He wobbled a bit on his feet and was almost certain that he would fall flat on his face had someone, presumably Hermione, pulled him by the lapels of his shirt and steadied him.
Iasd asjhdjfh jhb okhin bvasy
What?
Opening his eyes, it seemed to Draco that Hermione was telling him something. Yes, that part he could understand. But what the hell was she saying? It was a lot gib… gibber… gibberish… a lot of gibberish.
…don't you think?
"What do I think?" he asked loudly, unaware of the volume of his voice. "What ta hell are you talkin' 'bout, 'Ermione?"
Even his own words seemed somewhat odd to him. Actually, he sounded a bit like Hagrid from Hogwarts. Not to mention his tongue was currently feeling twice it's normal size and it appeared that Hermione was holding a small blue elephant in her hand.
Draco shook his head and willed the dizziness away.
"Wot…" His normally superlative diction warbled uncertainly. "Is that?" He pointed a shaky finger at her hand and her small blue elephant. No, it was a glass. Of blue liquid stuff that reminded Draco of the blood of those whatsits…
"Looks sort of like blue juice, eh? It's called an Illusion Shaker and the blue curacao makes it that colour," Hermione told him.
In slow motion. Which made Draco blink. Several times. And caused both his head and stomach to take a nosedive into the deep abyss that was… unconsciousness.
When he finally did came to, Draco found himself flat on his back staring at a blanket of stars.
"Glad to see you're up," a low sultry voice whispered in his ear.
Draco turned to the voice, a ready smile on his face.
Gah!
"Tim!" Draco exclaimed, jumping to his feet, which gave him a quick zing to his brain. He winced as he tried not to stare at Tim, who was sporting a neon blue wig on his head and a short vinyl number that was entirely too tight and short and wrong. "Where… Where's Hermione?" he sputtered, trying his best not to insert obscenities in between words.
Tim sighed and flipped his blue hair over his shoulder. "Honestly, you were so much nicer when you were pissed," he informed Draco with a smirk.
Draco shuddered at the thought of what exactly "nicer" meant. "Where's—"
"Hermione's over there," Tim interrupted, his finger pointed to his left. He sighed again and shook his head. "Well? Go on. Attach yourselves at the hip again. Merlin knows you probably forget to breathe when she's not around."
Draco ignored Tim's implication and went off in search of that damnable Hermione Granger who left him in the care of someone who looked right about ready to pounce on his person.
Not that there was anything wrong with homosexuals. Nothing at all. But he didn't prefer anyone of any sex pouncing on his person without his permission.
That sort of rhymed.
They were on a roof of some sort, Draco finally deduced while walking stupidly around. And judging from the accent of the people milling around him, he was obviously on a roof in America.
Why the hell was he in America? And where the hell was Hermione?
The 'party animal' was found in the middle of a small crowd giving body shots. Draco held on to a railing of some sort to keep from keeling over in surprise.
Hermione Granger was giving—giving, not taking—body shots to a group of people that she didn't know. At least, he didn't think she knew them. And neither did he think that she knew what she was doing for she was currently sans her shirt and shoes, standing in the snow with only her black brassiere on, her velvet skirt and black holey stockings.
Although the blackmail potential of recent events were tugging at Draco's inner Slytherin, he pocketed his grin, let go of the railing, took several deep breaths and pushed his way deeper into the crowd.
"Hermione?" he said hesitantly when he reached her. "Where's your shirt?"
She turned to Draco slowly; her eyes wide as if in quiet adoration of something he couldn't quite figure out but was amused by, nonetheless.
"Would you like one?"
"What? A body shot?"
"Yes."
Draco sighed and shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders.
"Come on, you party animal you," he told her in a somewhat pained voice. "Let's get with the walking so you can sober up some and then I can get mad at you properly for having left me to fend for myself against your currently blue-haired assistant editor."
Draco pushed Hermione through the throngs of disappointed (and mostly male) spectators and quickly spotting a secluded alcove nearby, lead her there.
She, on the other hand, was staring at her hands as if she didn't know what she was supposed to do with them.
When the tables turn on Draco Malfoy, they turn in the most horrible of circumstances.
"Malfoy… I have three arms."
Draco sighed while sitting her down on an upturned crate. "Yeah… drunkenness can give you extra limbs."
"Extra everything!" Hermione exclaimed enthusiastically. Her hand shot up to her head and two fingers pressed against her temple. "Ow…"
It was on the tip of his tongue to reprimand Hermione for having gotten pissed—had he not remembered his own drunken state a few hours ago. Instead Draco sat down beside her and took her hand in his.
"Happy New Year, Hermione."
"Why did you…" hic "Hate—" hic "Me so much in Hogwarts?"
She wasn't supposed to say that! She was supposed to say, "Happy New Year, Draco" or "I certainly hope it will be happy" along with her trademark sigh. Just something else entirely, anything else except that one question that they had silently and mutually vowed to never ask.
There was only one thing left to do. Or say.
"Happy New Year, Hermione," he tried again.
Hermione's eyes narrowed as she turned to him. "I may be drunk…" hic "But I'm—" hic "certainly not stupid."
"All right…" Draco replied, hoping to placate her. "Let's see… Why did I hate Hermione Granger in Hogwarts?"
She gasped and slapped his arm. "You mean you did hate me in Hogwarts? You truly hated me?" Hermione began hyperventilating then, and an odd shade of blue began to tinge her cheeks. "All this time I thought that you merely some sort of… of…"
"Misunderstood… entirely-too-handsome-for-his-own-good school boy?"
She nodded hastily. "Yes, misunderstood and… a very… stupid… prat," Hermione pronounced lamely.
And with that, she stood up. After which, she quickly sat down. Perhaps drunkenness did have its perks.
"There is no way to make you understand what I was back then," Draco said quietly. "I don't think that even I understand until now. There was a time when I thought that I could blame it on other people. My father, my family in general, my housemates… But the truth of the matter is that, yes, I was stupid. Besides, what would life have been had I not provided you and your group of friends with my trademark 'angst?'" It was obvious, that he should have stopped while he was ahead. But that is not the way of the Malfoy. The Malfoy simply does not know when to stop. "Now that I think about it, my… my shortcomings helped you realise how lucky you were that you had your friends and your—"
At that moment someone bearing bottles of beer chose to pass them. Draco graciously accepted all but one of them, while a still glaring Hermione not as graciously declined.
"That's a bunch of poetic bollocks," Hermione grunted and Draco could feel her watching him take a swig his beer from the corner of her eye. He could tell the effects of the alcohol were slowly wearing away. Pity.
Draco shrugged. "And I forgot to ask. What the fuck are we doing in America?"
"You missed the New Year back in England, so Tim suggested that we go here so we could have New Year's all over again."
Hermione reached over and grabbed one of bottles of beer. "Now, I'm thinking that you don't deserve it," she added haughtily.
He was on bottle number six when he finally answered. "I don't deserve anything, I think," Draco mumbled. He closed his eyes, slowly feeling the buzz of the alcohol beginning to numb his senses.
It took a few moments to realise that Hermione was slumped up against the side of nook they were staying in, her breathing deep and even, her eyes closed in dreamless sleep.
Indeed, the irony is thick.
In the distance he could hear people cheering loudly. The New Year has come and was being enthusiastically greeted with loud whoops and tooting horns.
A new year… Draco smiled.
It was going to be a good year, he knew. There was so much to be thankful for.
He drained his sixth beer and grabbed the seventh and last of beer. Pissed twice in one night? That was something to be happy for certainly. He was making money. Lots of. Another thing to be thankful for. Also, he was a healthy, virile man, yes that's something to be thankful for as well.
And he had friends.
Draco looked at Hermione. Or at least he had one true friend.
A bit drunkenly he leaned over her and whispered in her ear, "Happy New Year." He was about to pull away when he noticed her lips, red and parted.
Draco reached out his hand, and as delicately as he could manage, he pressed the soft flesh against the pad of his thumb, tracing it gently. He closed his eyes in a moment of contemplation and lightheadedness.
"You're like… the love of my life that I never had."
Had he opened his eyes at that moment instead of giving in to the welcoming beginnings of slumber—he would have seen a pair surprised brown eyes looking at him.
~~
They say that the only constant thing in life is change. I think about that often—of how much I've changed so far.
I've changed a lot. So much that when I look back on the person that I was… it's not a memory anymore. It's as if looking at a stranger.
And so I sometimes wonder who I am exactly. Is what I am what I was meant to be?
Am I the person I want to be?
~~
Draco surveyed the bleak surroundings with a sigh. If Malfoy Manor was already bleak and intimidating, it was more so during the winter. The gardens with their barren soil and snow reminded him too much of a graveyard and the thought sent chills down his spine.
"So kind of you to visit your mother."
Draco turned to the source of the voice and smiled. "I know. I'm nothing but kind," he drawled and held out his hand.
Narcissa Malfoy scoffed before taking her son's hand and being led to the conservatory where their tea was waiting.
"I thought you weren't coming," she whispered softly, and Draco could see her eyes were trained on where her roses once bloomed.
He cleared his throat guiltily. "I know I haven't been by lately," Draco began, averting his gaze. "Work has been keeping me busy and I—"
"I understand," she interrupted in that brusque tone of hers that reminded Draco so much of his childhood, jars filled to the brim with the most delicious biscuits and digging in the patch of brightly coloured tulips.
Draco tried to shrug off the uneasiness, though in the back of his mind he knew that it would be impossible. His mother did understand, he knew. However, she understood a little too well.
He had left things behind he hoped he would never have to face again. Memories of past that haunted him enough without having to take the time to reminisce. Draco knew that his mother was aware of this, too and no amount of reasons or excuses would ever take away that fact.
He wished he had brought Hermione along, but that idea was quickly dismissed. He couldn't understand why he hadn't told his mother about Hermione. After all, how hard was it to say the words, "Mother, this is my friend Hermione Granger. Remember her? We used to be mortal enemies during our time in Hogwarts. Fairly tormented each other, we did."
Somehow, that seemed a little bit off.
Draco opened the door to the Conservatory and waited as his mother passed to enter before doing so himself.
She was still wearing the same perfume, he noted and it brought a slight smile to his lips.
As the Malfoy Mansion was austere and cold, the Conservatory was its exact opposite. It had not always been there, as the Malfoy women were not known to go digging up the soil. The gardens had primarily been tall bushes and shrubs as well as select topiaries (that were, essentially, also bushes in shrubs—only in pots) that were pristinely maintained with maddening precision.
His mother, however, had brought with her roses and tulips and mums and exotic flowers whose names escaped him at the moment. At some point in his youth, his mother had allotted a small plot of soil for him where grew dandelions that he could pluck at whim and blow with all his might.
Draco was smiling while he led his mother to the tea that was awaiting them in the middle of what might have been a million hydrangeas—his mother's favourite flower.
"How was your New Year?"
So they were back to idle small talk. Usually common between two almost strangers, and only present between two family members when the situation might prove to be awkward and a device to ensure non-silence.
Draco didn't appreciate it, although he knew better than to venture the topic. Instead, he cleared his throat. "I, er…" He paused to pull the seat out for his mother and pushed it back in as soon as she was settled. "I spent it with Her—" He quickly caught himself. "I spent it with some friends."
"And you got drunk?"
There was something difficult with his mother… or perhaps all mothers. Rhetorical questions were none existent. Which was a very tricky thing. They appear to be rhetorical questions and yet, and yet they still demanded answers.
"I…" Draco took the time to sit in his seat with studied meticulousness. "Well, yes."
Another problem is that there never seems to be a right answer.
Narcissa raised an eyebrow questioningly—almost challengingly. "You would rather spend the New Year's as some sort of sodden blithering idiot than be with your mother?"
A sodden blithering idiot?
His mother was never one for mincing words.
"Well, er…" Draco cleared his throat and smiled wryly. "There's no winning with you, is there, mother?"
There was a bit of movement along the stern lips that belonged to Narcissa Malfoy, which might, quite surprisingly, count as a smile. Though he couldn't be too sure. She didn't smile too often. Draco couldn't blame her. She hadn't a lot to smile about, especially now…
"You should do that more often."
His mother's eyes flickered downward. "What? Pour tea? I try… it's bothersome having to wait around for the house elves to do it."
"No." He shook his head in an attempt to shake out the amusement. "You should try to smile more often."
"What do you think I have house elves for?" she snapped at him.
Draco fairly goggled at his mother in unhidden astonishment. "You see," he explained. "I would laugh, but you would probably kill me."
"I would never do such a thing. That's another thing for the house elves to do."
He watched his mother place a few things on his plate. Some sort of pastry, two sorts of pastry, what looked like a stuffed mushroom and an artichoke and salmon and…
"You know that I hate artichokes!"
His mother shot him a wry look. "Oh really? My my," she murmured, bringing her teacup to her lips. "One would think that one had it specifically put there on purpose. How utterly horrid."
Fighting back the urge to fling the offending vegetable toward the hibiscus, Draco gritted his teeth and proceeded to drink his tea. Perhaps he just might get through this ordeal without any scars.
"Yesterday, I was walking around in Diagon Alley and who do you think I ran into?"
Oh will someone have mercy on his soul?
"I, er… I don't know."
And he hoped he never would.
"Mrs. Parkinson and her lovely daughter, Pansy."
A hope short lived.
Draco hadn't seen Pansy in… a very long time. They hadn't been buddy-buddy during Hogwarts, contrary to what other people thought. Both he and Pansy were spoiled brats and the limelight was usually fought over instead of being shared. Sure, there had been a few unsolicited kisses in between—but when geography and hormones are working against you, you haven't a chance in heaven. Or hell.
By the time he had "returned" to the Wizarding world, many of his old schoolmates had decided to not renew acquaintances. Draco couldn't blame them. During the war, you were either on one side or the other. Those who took the in between were automatically labeled as traitors. Those who ran away were considered worthless. He would have probably done the same had he been in their position. But not once did he ever regret his decision.
"Pansy's not married, did you know?" His mother stated simply. However, nothing was ever simple. Or innocent. Or without desire to have her son married and producing bouncing babies with blue eyes and blonde hair and high-pitched laughter that could fill the air with joy.
A rich dream, really, but merely a dream.
"Pansy isn't the marrying type." The salmon suddenly tasted like moist cardboard in Draco's mouth.
The elder Malfoy quirked an inquiring brow. "What sort of type is she?"
"I don't think I'll be able to answer that question with a straight face and still maintain this delightfully civil conversation with you," Draco hastily answered, cutting up pastry that shouldn't be cut. "Besides, I'm not the marrying type, either, mother. So may we just toss out the topic and leave it for dead?"
Unfortunately, beating dead horses was Narcissa Malfoy's favourite sport. Figuratively speaking, though, of course.
"And what sort of type are you?"
Draco looked at his mother. He had intended to snap at her for her incessant and disagreeable questions, but he finally understood that perhaps, he had brought about it himself. He had pushed her away, along with the past and that, in itself was an inhuman act.
Unforgivable.
"I…" He clenched and unclenched his jaw a few times before continuing. "I'm a…worthless son."
Through his slightly blurring vision he could see his mother shake her head slowly, a true smile gradually dawning on her face.
"And what would a worthy son have done?" she asked him gently. "Fight a war he didn't understand? Risk his life for things that didn't make sense?" She reached her hand forward and touched his palm. "You left. But leaving took more courage than staying. And coming back? Even more so. I just…"
Draco bit his lip tentatively. "What?" he asked softly. "You what?"
"I just wish I had come along."
In two long strides, Draco pulled his mother into a tight hug. "You did," he whispered fiercely, his heart tightening. "You were always with me."
~~
And so another year begins. We wipe the slate clean. We start anew. We learn from the past and we look forward to the future.
This is what I hope: To live.
For I don't think I've lived enough, so I'll certainly try.
Author's Notes:
It's been brought to my attention that the URL didn't show in the last chapter. I am forever your faithful klutz. ^__^ The url is http ://www.livejournal. com/users/1000_sorrows/ (but take out the spaces). Ok. Embarrassing moment has passed. Must breathe and return to normal colour. ^O^
This Chapter: I mention alcohol waaaay too often, don't I? But it's New Year's! There must be alcohol! Lots of! Besides, I need a device to loosen Draco's tongue a little and it was much too convenient to pass up.
Draco. I wanted him to say the words or at least hint of his growing feelings, however, not have him aware of them yet and effectively placing the ball in Hermione's court. Yes, those were her surprised brown eyes.
Waaah. Hermione. Do something. *pokes character with toothpicks in a loving, affectionate manner*
Narcissa Malfoy. My love for the Malfoys is deep and true. Thou shall not question it. ^__^ I wanted to create one of those society matrons who weren't as superficial as they seemed and had a lot of hidden emotions.
*huggles all her OCs* Aren't they just wonderful?
Next Chapter: Valentines Day. Mmmm ^__~ Some fluff… and something unexpected—that you may very well hate me for.
Valentines Day is coming up ^__^ I'll see what I can scrape up for that since I've been just challenged to write something with only one specification: Harry and Ron as cupids. O_o Wish me luck!
Special Thanks:
RebelRikki I didn't forget the blue juice! ^__^ I had thought it better in this chapter than in the last. Hee!
Mooncroww for the stuffed mushrooms. I haven't the faintest clue what they look like, though. ^__^;;;
REVIEW PLEASE!!! ^__^