Qu'est-ce Que Tu As Dis?
He felt like he had overslept, yet it was summer vacation already. The monstrous house was usually pretty peaceful, but that morning it felt even quieter. He hopped out of bed and pulled his housecoat over his mint green pajamas. Draco pushed his white blonde hair from his still-sleepy eyes and ran swiftly down the hall. He passed his father's office and the door was ajar. He peered inside and noted that his father must have stepped out on business and scrambled down the hallway to the stairs. He took them two at a time, hopping on the banister for the last few steps and letting his bare feet hit the cold floor with a satisfying thud.
The drawing room door was open just like his father's had been, but pushing it still farther open, he spied his mother sitting in the corner with a book and a tea tray. She looked up at him briefly and smiled as she turned a page.
"I was hoping you would get up before tomorrow began," She said, her eyes returning to her book.
"What time is it anyway?" Draco asked as he crossed the room, plopping down on the seat next to her and taking a crumpet from a silver platter.
"Nearly noon. I had thought about waking you but I figured as it's your first day without school…" She took her bookmark from the back of the book and settled it in between the pages, "You needed a little break from the routine."
"Thanks Mum. I really enjoyed the extra sleep," Draco took a tea cup from the tray and poured himself some of the transparent green liquid. Narcissa placed the leather-bound book on the end table, "Yes, well, you'll be beginning your summer routine soon enough. Piano, Quidditch practice, French lessons…"
"Mother," Draco interrupted, "Do you think I could stop taking French lessons?"
"What?" Narcissa looked at her son inquisitively, "Why would you ever want to do that?"
"I—I just don't want to speak French anymore. I never use it," He insisted. Narcissa looked less than impressed. Draco looked around desperately as his mother crossed her arms and sat back in her chair; a trademark move she used on both the Malfoy men when she was feeling particularly stubborn. He added, "I would much rather learn Russian, Mum. Father speaks Russian. I'd like to broaden myself."
"Because you can't do that by learning French?" She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow and pouted her lips resolutely. Draco sighed impatiently, "Yes, I can, but I would really like to do something different this summer, Mother. French isn't the only language out there, you know."
"I am perfectly aware of this, Draco, and I think you should continue on with one language until you are fluent and then worry about another. You already have months of school when I know you're not practicing," Her voice remained level, but Draco knew that his refusal to take lessons was of personal offense to his mother. She looked at him and saw her husband reflected exactly in those steel gray, resolute eyes and she stood.
"Fine! Don't take French! Never become fluent! You'll have a difficulty gaining a position in foreign diplomacy if you can't even stick with a language for more than eight years! I'll talk to your father later about getting you a Russian tutor," She left the room in a fury, slamming the door behind her. Draco stared at the closed door for a second before grabbing the silver tray of crumpets and heading back upstairs to get dressed for the day.
