Official Chapter Dedication: jkrowlingrox for her correct identification of my bit of Twilight humor in the last chapter. :)
CHAPTER 11 – Golden Memories, Silver Tears
Hermione watched with self-loathing as a series of emotions flitted across Malfoy's aristocratic face. The last thing she wanted right now was to have this man stare down at her with pity. Just like before, she despised her pathetic vulnerability, her intrinsic eagerness to let him under her skin. Why did she have to go and overreact? Why couldn't she have just shot him a dirty look and have done with it? Why did he get to her so bloody easily?
She felt hot tears working their way past her eyelashes and hastily turned on her heel to stalk away furiously. A part of her hoped the dreadful creature would remain standing there, forever gawping in her direction like the troll he was. But another part, a small, practically negligible part of her, secretly wished the brute would come after her and do something to redeem himself in some way.
"Screw him," Hermione muttered darkly as she shoved her curls out of her face and threw open the front entrance doors. "Screw him to the fiery pits of hell. Screw Blaise for fucking hiring me at this hellhole. Screw Andi for forcing me into this shit in the first place, and screw HIM for fucking making me think he could be different!"
A little voice in her head meekly proposed that perhaps her ranting was getting a bit too irrational, but she shot down that voice almost immediately.
Winded from her restless pacing and venting, Hermione strode into a nearby garden area and threw herself onto a stone bench which carried, probably thanks to Blaise, the inscription "Live life and smile."
Ha, more like "Eat shit and die."
She buried her face in her hands and blinked back a few tears as she pictured her mother, her dear, sweet mother in her mind's eye.
There she was, the kinder, curvier version of her daughter, forever laughing at the newest household object she'd destroyed while waltzing from room to room with her equally blissful husband. As a toddler, Hermione would sit there on the living room sofa and watch with innocent, happy eyes as her parents swept across the floor, each performing a set of grandiose moves in time to big band music. Her mother would toss her fluffy brown hair and glance at her daughter from time to time with those soft brown eyes of her, always watchful, always wary of a sudden mood swing or a necessary diaper change. When the music would cease, her father would collapse onto the rug, breathless from gaiety and physical exertion, while her mother would advance with extended arms into which Hermione would launch herself. After years of immersing herself in motherly duties involving laundry detergent and dishwashing liquid, Hermione's mother had permanently acquired a faint scent of lemons, a fragrance that never failed to put Hermione's mind at peace.
What she wouldn't give now to hold her mother and smell those lemons again...
The sound of rustling grass tugged her out of the quicksand of her memories. Hermione lifted her head to see the devil himself gazing down at her with an unfathomable expression blanketing his features. He stood before her, gradually growing uneasy, and seemed to be shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
She glared at him and impatiently waited for the fool to say something, but Malfoy appeared to be in no hurry to grovel at her feet and beg for forgiveness. She made a sound of disgust and started to charge past him when his hand darted out and grabbed her wrist. Hermione stared down in disbelief at the long, pale fingers that encircled her wrist before heartily struggling to free herself from his strong (albeit painless) grip.
"Unhand me at once, Malfoy!" she snarled as she tried to use her other hand to pry his fingers off.
His fingers didn't budge a millimeter. "Granger-"
"I said, let go!" She raised her hand to deal a quick blow as she said this, but he was too nimble for her.
With a sigh, he wrapped his other hand around her fist, completely encasing it, and firmly steered her back toward the bench where she was forced to plop down gracelessly. Without relinquishing his hold, he deftly dodged the only kick she could manage with her dratted pencil skirt, and then pushed her against the bench until she could feel the coolness of the stone slowly permeating her blouse. He now loomed over her, wearing that same inscrutable expression as before, and showed no signs that he was even a little strained by her sorry attempts to fight him off.
She prepared herself to lash out at him with her high heels again, but as she subtly drew her foot back, he leaned in close so that his breath mingled with hers and peered into her eyes. "Granger? Can you stop fighting me for a second and just calm down?"
His breath was sweet and minty, and against her will, Hermione felt her muscles go slack at his words. He maintained his steady grip so that her hands were still up by her sides, and sighed again. Something was stirring in his silvery eyes...something along the lines of contrition.
I'm not falling for his bullshit again.
"If you think," Hermione snarled as she glared into those dastardly eyes, "that you can just prance up to me and play your stupid mind games, then you can just take your pureblooded ass and march it straight b-"
And then, without a word, he pulled her towards him with a jerk and pressed her head to his chest. Hermione froze, stunned and utterly speechless, as she felt him hesitantly wrap his arms around her and lock her in place. With her ear planted firmly on his chest, she could even hear his heart beating steadily on, and this brought her attention to the fact that her own miserable piece of junk was about to burst straight through her ribs.
She tried opening her mouth a few times in an effort to say something, for Merlin's sake, but she found that absolutely nothing came to mind. Her body was all too aware of the solid mass of male flesh that clung to her, and approximately ten seconds had passed when she realized that her brain was screaming for him to do more, and that her hands were itching to trail upwards and touch his face, his hair, his...
"I'm sorry."
Her knees nearly gave out underneath her, but his hold on her was strong enough that she was in no danger of falling. But she slowly pulled out of his embrace and gazed up at him, aware that she looked as blank and starstruck as a besotted sixteen year old.
"Wha-what?"
His cheeks were as pink as she'd ever seen them, and he unconsciously tugged at his tie as he said, "I, er, well. Blaise talked to me after you, er, left. He told me about your mother." Here, he gave his tie a hard jerk and addressed the ground apologetically. "I...I had no idea. I really didn't." His tone became pleading. "You – you know I wouldn't have said that, don't you? I was just being stupid. If I had known..."
His voice trailed off and he averted his gaze as she continued to stare at him. When Hermione finally felt composed enough to speak normally, she asked in a monotone, "How much do you know?"
He glanced at her. "He said that after your father passed away, your mother's been seriously depressed, and that's why you've taken this job...that her medicines are very expensive."
"And what, that just struck a chord in you?" She couldn't help being so harsh. It was all fine and dandy that he knew her sob story, but it just...it just didn't seem right that Draco Malfoy gave one ounce of a shit about her family problems.
"What you said to me struck a chord."
Hermione frowned as she thought of her outburst about his at least having a mother who recognized him. She imagined her mother again, following her with her lifeless eyes, always treating her like an unwanted house guest. There was never a flicker of recognition, never a gasp of realization, never even a warm smile. The woman who had been her mother had been reduced to nothing but a shell of her former self. And even then, the shell was cracked, faded, and beyond repair.
With eyes swimming in tears again, Hermione bowed her head and asked in a trembling voice, "Why do you even care?"
She sat down on the bench and waited for him to answer. The second hand on his watch ticked away as neither person spoke. Finally, he sank down next to her and covered his face with his hands.
"I don't know," he mumbled.
More silence followed. Hermione watched as tear after tear plummeted off her cheeks into her skirt. Beside her, Malfoy was still as he watched the gurgling waters of a small fountain in the corner.
"Tell me about her," he said suddenly.
She turned to him in surprise. "You mean, my mother?"
He nodded and continued to watch the fountain.
She let out a slow breath as she registered his bizarre request. "Well," she began reluctantly, "She has a degree in psychology. Her favorite color is orange. She had a peculiar habit of tugging at her earlobes whenever she was worried about something."
Her eyes misted over with the bittersweet fog of nostalgia, and her voice broke as bits and pieces of her mother's spirit twinkled in the dark corners of her mind. "Everything about her was soft, except for her laugh...her laugh was raw and raucous and completely free. She would dance around the house like a madwoman, and she never bothered with what other people thought; she marched to her own drum. She was beautiful in the way that the stars are beautiful: she was timeless, pure, and lovely." Her shoulders began to shake as each memory stabbed her heart. "She – she is my oldest friend."
She covered her eyes with one hand and wept quietly. Her pain was the pain of forgotten affection. To think that her own mother had lost every vestige of her life apart from a single tragedy...it was unbearable. Not for the first time, Hermione cursed fate for being capable of such destruction.
After a while, she wiped the wetness off her face with the back of her hand and shakily exhaled. "Are you satisfied now?"
He reached over and tentatively let his hand rest next to her. "She sounds wonderful."
She shook her head woefully and bit her lip. "God, Malfoy, if only I could have her back the way she was. I would ask for nothing else in life. Nothing else." She inadvertently glanced sideways at his hand by hers.
A gentle breeze turned the air fragrant with the scent of flowers, and Hermione breathed in deeply. With a rueful laugh, she murmured, "She used to love gardens like this."
"What kind of flowers does she like?"
"Flowers?" Hermione thought back to days when she would wander through mounds of dirt and weeds to find her mother eagerly thrusting plant after plant into the deep brown soil. Her mother had always preferred one flower over the other. "Primroses," she answered finally. "She loved primroses."
He nodded in response, and Hermione found herself staring at him with unchecked abandon. His decorous, concerned behavior was unsettling to say the least. When he questioned her, he sounded genuinely interested, as if her life actually mattered to him. When he spoke now, there was none of that scathing sarcasm or underlying current of acid. And when he looked at her like that...she thought she could spill her heart and soul out to him without a moment's hesitation.
"Granger."
"Yes?"
"Don't be like this."
She wrinkled her brow in confusion. "What? Like what?"
He gestured towards her with a vague wave of his hand and shrugged. "Just, you know, this. Don't be sad." He flushed a faint shade of pink again. "It doesn't suit you."
Having been caught off-guard, Hermione found it difficult to respond to this, and instead busied herself with the hem of her skirt. "It's easy to say that, Malfoy," she said after clearing her throat. "But you can't just tell someone to be happy all the time."
"Why not?"
She stared at him in bemusement. "What do you mean, why not? It's impossible to dictate someone's happiness!"
"Is it really?" he replied calmly. "Happiness isn't just a state of mind, Granger, it's a way of life. You are what you feel. If you surround yourself with things that you like, then happiness just becomes that much more attainable. We are only sad when we get bogged down by certain things and allow them to take over our lives."
"So you're saying I should just forget about my mother and go live amidst bloody pixies?" she retorted.
"No, I'm saying you should take care not to let gloom infiltrate your life."
"Oh? And how do you propose I do that, oh Lord of Sunshine and Unicorns?"
He gently placed his hand on hers and leaned in close. The perfume of flowers was driven out by the crisp smell of mint once more. He tilted his head and moved forward even more, approaching her so closely that hardly a few inches remained between them. His eyes darted back and forth from her own to her lips, and Hermione stiffened like a rod when she considered, for one crazy moment, that he might actually do what her brain was slyly suggesting.
Once she saw him briefly lick his lips, she closed her eyes and prepared for the inevitable. Her pulse rocketed out of the norm as she automatically parted her lips for him ever so slightly, and she thought her spine might solidify in a permanently upright position, so tense was she.
His breath caressed her cheek, and she squeezed her knees together in anticipation. And then, his mouth moved near her ear and he whispered lightly, "Just...relax, Granger."
With that, he backed off and withdrew his hand. His gaze was heavy with amusement at her expense and something darker, something intense. She watched him traipse away with sheer embarrassment threatening to shut down every part of her body, a body which was now battling fiercely to rid itself of its ridiculous desires. Her nerves were on edge, her throat had run dry, and now her fingers shook as she reached up to graze her still-parted lips, unable to think of anything but that almost-kiss.
But he hadn't kissed her, had he? Oh, but she was a right fool! She'd played into his hands exactly as he'd planned, and now the incorrigible man was probably celebrating his victory with shots of Firewhiskey and a cake to boot!
Hermione fled from the garden and out the front gates in order to Apparate. When she found herself in front of her beloved apartment, she dashed through the door, tore off her clothes, and threw herself into the shower to torture herself with a shower of icy water. As the sharp sensation of goosebumps and total discomfort pierced her mental haze, Hermione slapped her palm against the wall and groaned.
How could I have been so stupid? Merlin, I acted like a desperate slag! Think, 'Mione, think: why the bloody hell would Malfoy want to kiss you? Didn't it occur to your joke of a brain that maybe he was just toying around with you?
But another voice bravely decided to speak for the opposition.
Ah, but the way he took you in his arms...and the way he apologized and asked about your mother. Do you think all of that was based on ulterior motives?
Hermione turned the knob in front of her to shut off the water and shivered as her hair, weighted and dark, swung in her face like a pendulum.
I don't know.
A few hours later, she was cozily nestled under thick covers with her wand serving as a reading light beside an enormous work entitled, "Basic Clinical Practice: Physical and Psychological Points to Consider." She had already decided that she had no burning urge to return to work that day, and highly doubted that the entire company would collapse if she chose to take a small break. Thus, she trained her eyes on the small print before her in hopes of absorbing even a modicum of information.
She should have known better.
Every bloody sentence seemed to bear some sort of connection to Malfoy. Every damn one!
"During your rounds, you must carefully listen to each patient's respiration in order to pinpoint any underlying problems beforehand..."
It's like I forget to breathe every time he nears me. I try to force the air out of my lungs but I can't manage to-
She gave a violent shake of her head. "Shut up, Hermione!"
"While palpating an area on the patient's body, be sure to press firmly yet gently with the fingertips as this will suit tender regions and unearth any unseen anomalies."
It feels like an electric shock every time he brushes me with those long fingers of his. His palms are like fire when he lays his hand on mine; the heat feels so unexpected each time -
"Shut up and focus, goddamnit!" She'd try again. She knew she was better than this. She knew she had more self-control, more discipline, greater powers of concentration. She wasn't about to succumb to her twisted fantasies. They didn't call her the smartest witch of her time for nothing.
...right?
To ensure that absolutely nothing would distract her, she rapidly flipped to an innocuous part of the lesson regarding "Washroom Policies." She had hardly read more than two sentences about urine samples when she absentmindedly thought: Hmm, I wonder how big his -
With a supremely frustrated shriek and flaming cheeks, she jumped up and slammed the book shut before yelling again and burying her face in her pillow. She lay there, sandwiched between blankets and cushions, and miserably stared out the window at the smattering of rain that had begun. She watched as each new raindrop landed on the glass and commenced making its way down in the customary segmented path. The little balls of water grew in size with each drop they encountered until they finally slipped off and splashed into the windowsill below. The gray skies, the faint tapping of the rain, and the comfort of her bed slowly caused her eyelids to droop. Before she knew it, she had drifted off into a deep sleep.
That was when she began to dream.
He was standing there, poised like an archangel, on top of a small rowboat bobbing merrily along in an azure lake. Clusters of pale-leafed willow trees along the banks teased the water with their curling tendrils. The delicate fragrance of wildflowers wafted through the air, and a delicious gale blew through the small paradise, lifting the flexible arms of the greenery and delivering a little tremor through the lake's glassy surface.
As she stepped forward, his head whipped in her direction and a dazzling smile brightened his face ten-fold. With the blazing sun at his back like a halo and a distinct glimmer about his skin, he nearly took her breath away. With long, sure movements, he rowed the boat over to where she stood and extended his hand. As if in a trance, she accepted his offer and unsteadily stepped into the boat. She had just looked away from the hard musculature of his exposed upper body when a hand brusquely grabbed her by the chin and turned her head to face him. She opened her mouth in surprise, but before she could utter a syllable, he'd already swept in and covered her lips with his.
And oh, but it was agony. It was the sweetest, softest, most delightful agony she'd ever known, but still it was agony. As his velvet mouth worked wonders on her with the most tantalizing of nips and caresses, she felt like she was sinking into a whirlpool of music and dripping honey. Pleasure seeped through every part of her body until she was left thoroughly blissful and oblivious to the alarmed chirps of the birds, the building undulations of the water, the escalating strength of the wind, the ominous creaking of the wooden boat beneath them. Her eyes fluttered as his hands lightly danced over her arms and back, plucking at parts of her dress as if she were a harp, crafting a melody that sung to her senses for sweet release.
But then, the music stopped. The winds grew ferocious, and the chattering of the birds had given way to the low rumbles of thunder echoing across darkened skies. He pulled back and smiled at her again, but this time, the smile was crooked and complacent. A bubble of panic rose within her as the boat began to heave turbulently through the silver-foamed waters that slashed through the air like serrated blades. She got to her feet and desperately tried to look beyond the thickening fog that had formed, and when she realized she could see nothing, she spun around to grab him by the hands and beg for him to do something.
Upon observing her distress, he threw his head back and laughed just as a mighty bolt of lightning sizzled across the underbelly of the clouds. He pried off her hands and rotated her so that she had her back to him. With his soft, mocking laughter grating on her nerves, he wrapped his arms around her and rocked her against him. She closed her eyes and tried to calm herself, but with each passing jerk of the boat, she grew more and more petrified. When she finally let out a whimper, he bent his head next to her ear and crooned, "Relax, Granger. Just...relax."
And the next thing she knew, he'd thrown her into the roaring waters below, into a raging maelstrom that she, without a doubt, would not survive.
…
Draco enjoyed the cooling sensation his polished desk had on his forehead. As he sat there, hunched over a series of documents requiring his signature, he thought that it was a good thing he had Blaise as a partner. After all, if the day ever came that he had to hurl himself off a cliff because of another one of his idiotic mistakes, then he could just rest easy in a hot tub in hell knowing that Blaise would be there to carry on his life's work.
Why the fuck had he done that? Why the flying, flipping fuck had he done that? It was all, yet again, Blaise's fault.
After she'd stormed out (as usual) because of something he'd said (as usual), Blaise had approached him (as usual) and filled him in on some very critical information (need we say it, as usual).
"Draco," Blaise had said solemnly as Draco continued to stare at the spot where she had been a second before. "Draco, mate, you really ought not to have said that."
"Zabini, unless you're going to enlighten me with an actual reason apart from the fact that Granger has a natural proclivity to get her panties into a twist, I suggest you go the hell away."
Blaise had crossed his arms in annoyance and cut to the chase. "Her mother's essentially demented, Draco. After Hermione's father was killed in a car accident in Australia, her mother just gave up on everyone and everything. She's been institutionalized, but Hermione's had loads of problems trying to scrounge up the funds to pay for all the expenses. After the Mental Health Healers prescribed a bunch of anti-psychotic drugs, Hermione considered giving up her ambitious dreams of being a Healer to use the tuition money for her mother. You remember how she'd thanked you after her interview? Our company was her saving grace."
Draco had quietly paid attention to Blaise's words, and after his friend had retreated with a sigh, he knew what he had to do. He'd run outside and, on a hunch, stepped into a small garden that Blaise had had built to commemorate his late grandfather. There she'd been curled up on a stone bench with her face down and crystalline tears leaking through her fingers. He'd watched her sit there and cry with an ache gnawing at his chest. Why was he always the one to make her cry these days? She'd always been headstrong and impervious to his taunts during their school years, but it seemed that adulthood had loosened the tight grip she'd maintained on her emotions for so long. Now she spoke of unthinkable things like friendship and did terrifying things like touch him.
Why, she was nothing but a lunatic! Wasn't she?
...wasn't she?
She'd glared at him when he'd stealthily approached her, but the effect was diminished by the pain that swam in her limpid brown eyes. And when he'd held her down by her wrists and stood over her – Merlin, what had he been thinking? - he'd wanted nothing more than to kiss her then and there. Her soft hiccups as she'd fought to appear dignified had undone the taut knots in his heart, and he'd simply pulled her into his arms.
She'd fit so well. He'd never been the type to get his thrills from a mere embrace (he was more a "get to the goods" type), but at that moment, it felt like nothing could ever perturb his mind again. His heart had been pounding like mad the entire time, but he'd felt a rare calm as she'd gradually relaxed against his chest.
He could have stayed like that forever, but that was not to be.
The familiar voice of his secretary now rang tinnily from a minute speaker on his desk. Draco had to admit, those Muggles occasionally knew their stuff. "Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Zabini has asked me to inform you that he is deciding to leave now, and that you are free to go, if you'd like. That is all."
Draco pressed a button and grunted out a response before galumphing into the fireplace with a briefcase in his hands and Flooing to his library at home. Sighing, he tugged off his tie and coat and draped the articles over the back of his armchair.
He summoned his personal elf and instantly thought of what Granger would say if she knew that his household had over ten house-elves lined up for duty. "Needy!"
The servile creature materialized immediately and scurried over to Draco while anxiously wringing a piece of cloth with his grubby hands. "Yes, Master Draco? How can Needy be of assistance, sir?"
"Bring me some soup and wine," Draco ordered. Granger's face flashed before him again. "Please."
Needy nearly went into conniptions at Draco's final utterance and bowed so low that his pointed nose was quite flattened against the ground. "Master Draco is too polite! Oh good gracious, Needy does not know what to do with himself!"
How about just go and do what I ask?
Draco coughed and pointedly fixed his gaze on a figurine on the mantel. Needy took the hint and, while continuously gushing and babbling, vanished with the characteristic crack! Draco reached for his briefcase and overturned the contents onto a coffee table, both eager and chary of what lay before him. He slowly lifted one of the pages off the table and stared at an image of him and Granger engaged in a pose from the photoshoot.
Blood rushed to a certain zone of his body as he once again lost himself in the lean stretch of her leg, the careless drape of her hair, the coy smirk that lifted a corner of her sinfully moist lips. The smooth hand that lingered upon his own seemed to be clutching at more than just his fingers – they ensnared the fringed ends of his soul and tangled in heartstrings he knew not he possessed.
He perused photo after photo with the quiet desperation of a man who believes that his source of obsession will soon be wrenched away. After Needy arrived with the food he'd requested, he downed the wine in three gulps and burned his tongue in his haste to chug the soup and return to the pictures at hand.
Cursing with abandon as he gingerly held his wretched tongue between two fingers, he came across a solo image of her that silenced him.
It was a moving picture, and must have been a candid shot. She was chatting animatedly with someone, and whatever the person replied with caused her to throw her head back and laugh heartily. Draco longed to hear the sound of that laugh and revel in its playful intimacy. As he watched her burst into merriment again and again, he thought of how she'd described her mother's laugh.
Raw. Raucous. Free.
Suddenly agitated, he leaped up and tossed the photo aside, determined to stop thinking about her. However, she had provoked his body into thirsting for pleasure, into yearning for carnal satiation. Too long he'd been deprived of the comfort that only a woman could provide. He walked out of the library, through the endlessly long corridor, and into his room where, in his bedside drawer, lay a list of the names of certain friends he could call in times of need. He summoned Needy once more, gave him a few explicit instructions, and then used his wand to send an invitation to the first name his eye fell upon.
Within fifteen minutes, Needy appeared alongside a young woman dressed in what could politely be deemed "risque apparel." Her eyes were rimmed with outlandish blue eyeliner, and her lips were caked with a ruby red. Straggly blond hair tumbled down her back as she tossed her head, and her extremely long glossy nails were more akin to talons than anything else.
Needy stepped back and bowed, but when he straightened up, Draco could have sworn he'd seen a hint of reproach in the frail minion's bulbous eyes.
The woman moved forward with a click of her stilettos and Draco felt mildly repulsed by the grin full of yellowing teeth that she shot him. The exaggerated sway of her hips and the subtle roll of her shoulders did nothing to entice him, and by the time she'd neared the foot of his bed, Draco could see every ill-covered blemish that marked her pasty complexion.
"Well, Mr. Malfoy," she crooned in the seasoned way of her trade. "And how may I be of service tonight?"
Draco grimaced at her accompanying wink and felt the former surge of libido begin to abate. The more he examined the hooker, the faster grew the velocity of the food rising back up through his innards. She expertly crawled onto his sheets and advanced on her hands and knees, her expression lascivious. Once upon a time, Draco would have greedily gathered her into his arms and had his way with her, but tonight...this woman's presence held no allure.
She pouted and asked in a sing-song voice, "What's wrong, honey?"
He slipped off the bed and tucked his hands into his pockets. "I'm not really feeling it tonight."
The woman chuckled and settled on top of his covers, making sure to bare her cleavage as much as possible. "That doesn't sound like you, baby. All the girls tell me you're an absolute beast in bed. Do you want me to warm you up?"
Draco sullenly watched as her eyes gleamed naughtily. He pivoted to face his dormant fireplace and said, "Look, it's not working. You should just go."
She made a sound of outrage to which he responded by putting a pouch of coins before her and muttering, "Here, this should be more than enough compensation. Good night."
The woman slunk off the bed like a chastened animal and set aside the money with a frown. "Baby, come on, don't be like that." She wrapped her arms around him, seemingly blind to the disgust written all over his face, and trilled, "I'll make you see stars, baby!"
At that moment, Draco's bedroom door slammed open, and there stood Narcissa Malfoy burning with cold and regal fury.
Fuck my life.
Narcissa's livid eyes felt first on her son and then on the woman cowering behind him. With a few powerful strides, she crossed the room and curled her lip at the despicable ragamuffin that anxiously wiggled its beastly claws at her.
"I believe you are no longer required," Narcissa hissed with a venomous smile. In the blink of an eye, the girl snatched the coin purse off the bed and fled from the room as fast as she could, leaving Draco to shamefacedly stutter and squawk in front of his mother.
"Mother, I – I can explain..."
"You shall not speak a word."
Draco shut up instantly, and without further ado, Narcissa grabbed her ungrateful flesh and blood by the ear and dragged him to the nearest sitting room without so much as a wince as Draco howled and hollered for amnesty.
"Mother, I really am sorry!"
"Mother, please, could you please let go?"
"Mother, it hurts! OUCH!" (She'd delivered a sharp pinch to his earlobe as she'd grown rather sick of his bellyaching.)
Because he entered the sitting room in a haze of misery, Draco didn't initially notice Blaise sitting in one of the chairs. After his mother mercifully released him with a contemptuous scoff, he remorsefully massaged his ear and eyed the other man balefully.
"What?" he spat as he saw Blaise valiantly stifle his laughter.
His mother's voice was a poison-tipped arrow. "Draco Malfoy."
He immediately backtracked and addressed Blaise again. "Er, I mean, what brings you here, mate?"
Was it possible to die of ignominy? Draco thought he ought to take a crack at it.
His snake of a friend sniggered, "Well, I thought I'd come down to discuss an upcoming event with you, but it seems I may have come at a bad time."
Narcissa sipped her tea and smiled fondly at Blaise. "Oh no, it's nothing. Draco's just been inclined to make a fool of himself yet again."
Blaise began to nod sympathetically, but Draco cut in: "Mother, honestly, we didn't even do anything! She'd barely been there five minutes and I wasn't even planning on -"
Narcissa dipped a biscuit into her tea and seethed through gritted teeth, "Draco Malfoy, you will shut up before I find myself backhanding you across the face."
Draco clamped his jaw shut again and barely kept his irritation in check as Blaise all but bounced off the damn cushions with glee.
I will fucking shove your teeth down your throat if you grin at me one more time, you son of a bitch.
Blaise grinned. Draco jumped to his feet. His mother glanced at him. He sat his ass back down.
"Now," Narcissa said as if there had been no interruption. "What were you saying, Blaise?"
"Ah, yes, so, I was thinking that it would be good to have some kind of celebration in honor of the successful project we've just executed."
"You mean, "Temptation?"
Blaise nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! You see, we've started quite a storm in the corporate world, and quite a few members of the company feel that some sort of event would help to cement our success and garner more publicity."
"And what do you have in mind?"
Blaise shrugged. "Well, nothing too ridiculously fancy. This is just a starting milestone, you see. I was thinking that we should do something that revolves around our two star models, seeing as it is because of them that the advertisements were such a great hit."
"What does Miss Granger have to say about this?"
"I haven't quite discussed it all with Hermione yet, Mrs. Malfoy, but if I know her, I know she'll be on board with the whole gimmick. She for one understands the concept of doing things for the sake of others."
Draco accidentally crushed a biscuit in his hand as Blaise said this and became engrossed in surreptitiously wiping the crumbs away on a cushion before his mother could catch him.
"I think a celebratory party would be just the thing," declared Narcissa. "And what's more, we'll have it here at the Malfoy Manor!"
Draco nearly pissed himself. This was it, the old woman had finally gone completely batty. Somewhere along the way, someone had mixed a little crazy juice into one of her countless cups of tea and here was the result: she was offering to hold a party in Malfoy Manor, residence of one of the most feared yet exalted families in all of Britain.
He opened his mouth to protest but Blaise was already vehemently pumping his mother's hand. "By Merlin, that's an excellent idea, Mrs. Malfoy! Thank you so much for your generosity!"
Narcissa laughed and shook her head. "No need to thank me, my dear boy. It'll be a good diversion for us all, and Merlin knows this house could use some joy."
Blaise sank into his chair with relief. "This takes care of so many issues. Now I don't have to worry about the venue or transportation or food..."
Draco couldn't stay quiet any longer, even if his mother was going to impale him with a sterling silver fork. He glowered at Blaise."Excuse me, but did you even consider running this by me privately?"
"And what purpose would that have served?" Narcissa inquired acerbically. "You would have done nothing but give up without a second thought."
He refused to back down so soon. "Be that as it may, sometimes I actually do have the right idea. Any kind of undertaking that takes place here is going to end in disaster. What's more, the paparazzi are going to be crawling over the premises if we hold a party here. You said, mother, that you didn't want to deal with that kind of crap anymore."
His mother frowned at his use of the word "crap" and calmly replied, "That was a long time ago, Draco. Frankly, I don't have a problem with the press anymore. They've published all the foul stories that they can, and I intend to finally show the world that we are as sociable as anyone else. We have nothing to hide and nothing to fear."
"It has nothing to do with fear," he said stonily.
One pair of silvery eyes flashed at another. "It has everything to do with fear! You are afraid of something, Draco. Tell me what it is."
Blaise, who had sat quietly up until that moment, quickly cleared his throat and slyly offered, "It's more of a 'who,' Mrs. Malfoy."
Draco almost lunged at Blaise to throttle him, but his mother threw him a highly intrigued look at this new revelation Blaise had delivered and thus distracted him. "Oh? Is that so? Of whom do you speak?"
Draco tried to smile sweetly at his mother as he protested, "No, no, mother! Blaise is just joking around. Isn't he?" He glared threateningly at the dark-haired goon with a prayer on his lips.
Blaise countered with an equally sugary smile and said, "Ah, no, mate. I'm not joking this time, believe it or not." He turned conspiratorially to his hostess and stage-whispered, "From what I've seen and heard, Mrs. Malfoy, Draco gets a bit on edge whenever a certain member of the Golden Trio is around..."
Narcissa pressed her fingers to her mouth and theatrically giggled. "You don't say! Am I to understand that this member is Miss Granger?"
"None other," Blaise finished with a flourish. "And...if you don't mind my saying so...I think they look quite good together."
"Blaise," Draco warned as he grabbed fistfuls of biscuits from a bowl beside him. A second later, the snacks had disintegrated in his palms. "Do not cross your limit."
Unless you want me to thrust a carving knife into your pancreas.
Blaise rolled his eyes as he stood up to leave. "Oh, do shut it, Malfoy. Anyway, Mrs. Malfoy," he added with a bow in the smiling woman's direction, "thank you for all your help and your unfailing support. You never fail to brighten my day."
Oh, Merlin, someone bring me a bucket so I can throw up.
Narcissa got to her feet as well and laid a hand on Blaise's shoulder. "You are very welcome, dear," she said warmly. "I always hold you in the highest regard as you are the only man who can keep my darling son's life in check. If you should need any assistance with plans or resources, do not hesitate in coming to me. I would be more than happy to aide you."
Blaise bowed again and ducked into the fireplace, but not before waving half-heartedly at Draco (who determinedly ignored the gesture). After he'd left, Narcissa faced her despondent son and clapped her hand once.
"Well!" she exclaimed. "It's high time I went to bed. I expect Blaise will be sending me the party details starting from tomorrow, so I ought to get as much rest now as possible."
"Mother," Draco pleaded, his pride having evaporated with his friend's departure. "You can't really expect this to happen. Blaise just has his moments where he blurts out whatever is lying around in his head. He doesn't think things through like I do, and I guarantee that this is a fiasco just waiting to occur."
"Darling, if you've been thinking things through for the past few weeks, then I'm a Russian gargoyle."
"Be serious, Mother!"
Narcissa sighed and patiently regarded Draco. "Listen to me, Draco. I am not a fool that I'm going to go off and prance among the centaurs because of a small celebration. I want to enjoy myself, and I want to prove to the world that we are not as reserved and snobbish as they think. But above all, I want this house to see a little light again. A little life. And if it means inviting a few of those media cretins, then so be it. As long as a little laughter can be heard within these walls, I am content."
With that, she glided out of the room and noiselessly closed the door behind her, leaving behind one very skeptical, very put out, and very concerned Draco Malfoy.
…
Narcissa perched on the edge of her luxurious four-post bed and silently combed her fingers through her flaxen hair. Beyond the window pane shone a portion of the moon, the stalwart watchman of the night, garnished with the pearly lace of clouds. She pulled her knees up to her chest and continued to stare at the moon, watching as it periodically hid its pockmarked face behind the opaque sheets that floated onwards.
How similar her life was to the moon. Scarred and battered. So hideously disfigured that it could not expose itself all at once – no, it found its comfort in quietly emerging bit by bit, so as to not shock the world with its stories. Stories of hurt, neglect, and solitude.
Lucius had dealt her most of the scars. She had been lured in by his smooth words of promise, and had married him under the impression that he would treasure her far beyond anything else in the world. He'd loved her for the first year, and then he'd started to change. Booming laughter morphed into enraged shouts. Tears that had never existed began to flow like a river between them. Whispers of love became whispers of harm.
Scar after scar disfigured her soul, until she thought she could be maimed no more.
And then, her little baby had been born. Draco, her Draco. Her own darling moonshine.
Draco had lifted her out of the dark like no other person ever could. His innocent curiosity, his unending delight at all things magical...everything he did somehow kept her afloat even as Lucius wreaked havoc with every step. Draco had been her sole companion. He had been her piece of heaven as she lived through hell.
And now, Lucius was gone. The only vestiges of his deranged power were her indelible scars and the pain he'd caused his only son. She'd cried for many nights after he'd died, but they had not been tears of sorrow, but rather, tears of insurmountable relief. The nightmare had finally come to an end.
Narcissa reached inside her robe and pulled out a faded, moving photograph that was luminescent under the milky moonlight. Her eyes fondly traced that smiling mouth, the pert nose, the sweet eyes that she knew were just as capable of shooting daggers as they were of shooting rose petals. She had kept this photo for a long time as a memento of the past, when hatred and suspicion had been the common elements of life. This face had been a beacon among the hooded visages that surrounded it. This child had not been afraid to laugh in the face of animosity and fight in the name of love despite all the trials she had faced. Narcissa had noticed this face long ago and had yearned to keep it close to her heart forever.
She slipped the photo onto a table at her side and laid her head down on her pillow. She looked up at the moon once more and thought again of how much its life seemed to mirror hers. The moon which had been scorned and left on its own was not much different from the woman who'd been shunned and abandoned by the world.
But, Narcissa thought defiantly, I will not always be the moon. One day, there will be someone who will bring light back into this house, back into its name, and back into me. One day, I will have a new reason to live. One day, I will no longer be the moon.
I will be the sun.
And as Narcissa closed her eyes in repletion, the girl in the photograph raised her red-and-gold scarf with a cheer, as if in answer to the words of a woman the world had long forgotten.
…
Responses to Selected Reviews (but fear not, I read every single one, so if I don't reply here, it doesn't mean I didn't read it at all.)
Tom's riddles: Thank you so much! Looking forward to your stuff ^_^
Blair Cornelia Waldorf: Your profile picture is KIM HYUN JOONG! -gazes adoringly at photo (Oh, and thank you for your praise, of course!)
waterflower20: Hehehe, I'm not about to tell you if you're right or not, dearie...
synchrogirl44: Thank you for being honest. I hope it didn't detract too much from the overall chapter.
Emily: You are too kind! I appreciate your compliments ^_^
DracoAndMeliny: I'm glad my writing can make you feel the emotions I want to convey. Thanks for reading and revewing!
Guest: Sorry, I just have an addiction to cliffhangers. They make life so much more interesting, don't you think?
VenetianBlue: Yeah, this is an AU story and I'm not big on keeping it relevant to the real HP books. Sorry if it's annoying :P BUT, thanks for your input, and WHOA, I swear I'm not stalking you, haha! That's just a case of serendipity, my dear. :D
Ponytail: I apologize for the long wait, but I do have a life, and many things to worry about at the moment. I don't enjoy being so delayed, but at least I try to keep the quality right for each chapter. I hope this suits you for the time being, and thanks for reading :)
AND TO THE REVIEWER WHO MENTIONED MY REVIEW DEMANDS (sorry, I can't find your username): I have stopped doing that now for a while. It's far better to just let people do what they want than dictate something like review count. If even one person wants to read my story, then that's all I need. Thanks for speaking your mind! :)
Love you guys! PLEASE, leave me your thoughts?