Chapter Three: Familiarity Breeds Contempt

The announcement that the Master was intending to throw an elegant soirée, to which the cream of wizarding society was to be invited, had sent the Malfoy elves into something of a frenzy of preparation. Draco found himself reminiscing fondly about the days (yesterday) when he had not been beset on a near-hourly basis by requests to approve selections for decor, drinks and canapés.

"I wouldn't mind so much," he told Hermione, "if it weren't for Theo and Harry's preposterous notion that Pansy is going to treat this as some grand overture towards her on my part."

"Mm," she hummed noncommittally. "But then, you did rather bring that on yourself, didn't you?"

Draco scowled. It was all very well to have established a friendship with Granger out of the goodness of his heart, but if she couldn't even be relied upon to take his side in matters that were clearly causing him a great deal of distress -

"You know, I couldn't believe what Harry was saying about Tom the other day." Hermione apparently had no regard whatsoever for Draco's suffering, since she now saw fit to launch into a conversation about Potter's entirely tiresome cousin, who by the sounds of things was a thoroughly -

"I mean, you have to admit that him being disinherited by his mother's family for being a halfblood, and by his father's for being illegitimate, must have been quite awful."

"Well," Draco huffed. "I really don't think -"

"Honestly," Hermione went on. "It's a wonder that he's managed to achieve so much when the odds seem to have been stacked against him at every turn."

"Oh yes," Draco scoffed. "Such a wonder that he's managed to survive everybody always being so concerned for his welfare. 'Poor brilliant Tom, such a struggle against adversity.' Merlin forbid that we should ever be starved for news about him," he muttered. "I wish Tom Riddle all the best, but the very mention of him bores me to death." He was flipping viciously through the selection of serviettes that his head elf, Mimsy, had asked him to choose a favourite from, and therefore missed Hermione's raised eyebrows as he continued to grouse: "Sweet Salazar, this is exhausting. Pansy's lucky I'm such a generous friend, I doubt there are many people who would go to so much trouble to secure the happiness of a former schoolmate."

"You're just so charitable," Hermione remarked drily.

"Thank you, Granger," Draco graced her with a smile, pleased to have his efforts acknowledged. "It actually means a lot to know you recognise that." Hermione blinked several times, looking uncharacteristically confused, before she smiled uncertainly back at him, her cheeks turning pink. Draco frowned slightly, wondering if there might be something in the Manor that she was allergic to and that was causing this reaction, which he had been noticing more and more in the past few weeks. Really though, he reasoned, if Granger had allergies then she was more than capable of sorting them out for herself; he absolutely didn't have the time to spare worrying about her.

Making a mental note to ask the elves to ensure that his mother's plants were moved out onto the terrace, and that air-purifying charms were employed in all the rooms of the Manor, Draco heaved a deep sigh. "Anyway, I'm rather inclined to the opinion that these patterned serviettes are a bit gauche, but they may well be pleasing to the masses. What do you think?"

Hermione's smiled disappeared abruptly. "Are you asking my thoughts as a representative of the masses?"

"Well, we can't all have the rarefied Malfoy taste," Draco mused, flinching when Hermione slammed the book she had been reading down on the table. "What?" he asked, perplexed, as she grabbed her bag and mittens from the chair next to her.

"You're a twat," she snarled, before she stomped out of the room. Moments later, Draco heard the front door close with a resounding crash.

"Oh dear," Narcissa said from the corner of the room, prompting Draco to nearly leap out of his chair with surprise. "That was really rather insensitive of you, darling."

"Mother!" he yelped. "How many times must I -"

"Yes, yes." Narcissa waved a hand. "Only I had it from Iris Greengrass that you were going to be announcing your engagement to Pansy Parkinson at the part next week and I just wanted to check that I hadn't missed -"

"For the actual sake of - no!" Draco leaped up from his chair, so frustrated that he even went so far as to tug at his perfectly coiffed hair. "The reports of my engagement are a gross exaggeration that -"

"Oh that is a relief," Narcissa smiled. "Only I'm quite attached to the notion of your future bride wearing the Black tiara when the two of you marry, and I'm fairly certain the Parkinsons have their own."

Draco gave himself a moment to process this. "Well," he said eventually. "I'm glad to know that's your primary concern. Am I to take it that you would prefer me to form an attachment to a witch who doesn't come with family heirlooms? Only you know that would probably preclude the vast majority of pureblood -"

"In all honesty, darling, I am perfectly content for you to marry whomsoever you choose," Narcissa said, patting his hand fondly. "But if I can be spared an argument over jewellery choices then so much the better."

"Great," Draco managed a strained smile. "I'll keep that in mind."

oOo

The day of the party, Draco woke with a sour taste in his mouth that he ascribed to having allowed himself to be rather carried away by Theo's enthusiastic 'testing' of the cocktail menu the evening before.

Theo: "You're about to host the biggest party since the end of the war, and you expect me to trust your taste when it comes to the drinks?"

Draco: "What is this? Why is it that everyone has a problem with my taste all of a sudden?"

Theo: [with Significant eyebrows] "Methinks the baby doth protest too much. Tell me, Draco, who else has expressed their reservations about your -"

Draco: "Firstly, it's 'Lady,' and secondly, it's none of your -"

Theo: "By all means, Lady Malfoy, please continue to prove my point."

Draco: "..."

"Ugh," he groaned into his pillow. "Mimsy!"

The elf materialised at his bedside instantly. "Yes, Master. Mimsy is bringing the hangover potion, and the Master's post, and -"

"Thank Merlin." Draco grabbed the bottle from silver tray that Mimsy was holding out, ignoring the stack of parchment that looked, quite frankly, incredibly boring as he tipped his head back and downed the potion in one. "Pass me the Prophet would you? You can take the rest of the post back downstairs, I'll look at it later."

"Yes, Master," Mimsy's ears flapped as she bobbed her head. There was a slightly pregnant pause before Draco glanced up from the paper, pleased to realise that he was no longer quite so offended by the winter sunlight that was cutting its way between his bedroom curtains.

"Mimsy," he said slowly. "You're hovering."

"Yes, Master." Mimsy's bright blue eyes, large even by house-elf standards, widened even further. "Master has a guest."

"Well then tell them to go away," Draco sniffed, looking back to the Prophet and flipping to the announcements section. "The party doesn't start until seven, so they must be at least -" he squinted at the window "- four hours early."

"If Master is to begged of his pardon," Mimsy squeaked. "But is Miss Granger."

"What is?" Draco was distracted by his attempt to assure himself that Pansy hadn't snuck something into the paper about an imminent engagement while simultaneously pretending that was absolutely not what he was doing, so it took him a moment to process what Mimsy was saying. "Granger?" he barked, his head jerking upright. "Granger's here?"

For some reason Hermione had made herself scarce over the past few days, and though of course Draco had been thrilled to be spared the annoyance of her strident, bushy-haired presence while he tried to plan his party, he had found the sudden solitude of his evenings had taken some getting used to.

"Bugger it all," he growled, lurching out of bed and feeling suddenly somewhat queasy. The hangover potion must have been expired, he reasoned, as he summoned a towel and stumbled towards his bathroom. "Tell her I'll be ten minutes."

"Mimsy will get Miss Granger another coffee," the elf nodded.

Draco was almost through the bathroom door when he stopped, spinning on his heel. "Wait. Mimsy. Another coffee?"

"Miss Granger has been here for two hours already," Mimsy declared, rematerialising by Draco's elbow. "Is saying not to worry about waking Master."

"But what has she been doing?!" Draco cried, now frantically attempting to shower and get dressed at the same time.

"Mimsy is showing Miss the preparations for the party, and then Mistress Narcissa is arriving and they is -"

"Fucking hell, Mimsy!" Draco yelled, flinging a drying charm over himself and then desperately attempting to smooth his hair back into something resembling good order. "Why the fuck would you leave her alone with my mother?"