That Wednesday morning, Draco went to visit his mother. Once more, his visits with her had begun to wane, his schedule as busy as it had been lately. He found her in her room, sitting at the window, appearing more sullen and more listless than he had seen her since she had been permanently transferred to St. Mungo's. Frowning, Draco called for her, "Mother?"
Seeing him, Narcissa instantly brightened. "Draco, darling! What is this horrible place?" she asked as she rushed to him, wrapping her arms around him tightly.
Draco sighed against her blond hair. "What year is it, Mother?" he asked cautiously.
She huffed against him, pulling away to look at him. "I hardly think that matters," she said as her eyes scanned him. "You've grown so much, darling."
"Mother?" he asked quietly, his voice beginning to tremble slightly as he spoke. "Mum?"
"Darling?" she asked, smoothing his hair, before pulling away from his embrace to study him closer. Seeing his face, she frowned. "What's wrong?'
"You're you," he said simply, his voice fully quavering.
"Of course I'm me," she soothed, stroking his cheek. "Who else would I be?'
"You haven't been you for a while," Draco replied softly, tears beginning to form in the corners his eyes against his will.
"Is that why I'm here, then?" Narcissa asked calmy.
Draco nodded against her. "Yes. I couldn't—I couldn't anymore. I'm sorry—" he said, his voice breaking.
"Shh, darling, it's all right," she soothed.
"I didn't want to, I swear I didn't—" he began.
"How long, my love?" Narcissa asked, interrupting him. "How long have I been sick?"
Draco hung his head. "I—I don't really know, Mother," he answered truthfully. "You forget a lot, sometimes—and other times you're just so sad, that I don't—I don't—"
His mother pulled him in close, tightening her thin arms are his shoulders. "Shh, my darling," she murmured softly, the way she often did when he was upset when he was just a boy. "It's all right."
"I've missed you so much," he sobbed against her shoulder, realizing for the first time just how true it was. It had been years since she had truly—really, truly—been his mother, and he hadn't realized just how much he had missed her.
"Come, sit, Draco," Narcissa said, pulling away from him and gesturing to the chair sitting next to hers at the window. "We have much to discuss." With Draco seated, his mother studied him with a small smile gracing her patrician face. "You look good, my love. Tell me about your life, Draco. Are you happy?"
"What's the last thing you remember, Mother?" Draco asked softly.
Narcissa sighed and paled slightly. "I remember your father's sentencing—not too much after that."
Draco nodded. "He's still there. He's alive," he qualified. "He misses you."
Narcissa's lips quirked almost imperceptibly before she was once again smiling. "That's delightful, darling. But, really, I'd most like to hear about your life," she pressed once more.
"The past couple of years have been—turbulent—to say the least," he began slowly, and his mother frowned. "But they've gotten better over the past few months," he added quickly, forcing a smile.
Narcissa's frown instantly flipped, and she was smiling at him brightly. "You're such a handsome man now, my darling. Please, tell me that you have a girlfriend?"
Draco's heart stumbled and stuttered in his chest before it began thrumming at a much more rapid pace. Could he tell her? Should he tell her? Fuck—he wanted to tell her. "Yes," he admitted softly, not meeting her eyes.
His mother leaned forward, clasping his palms in her own. "Oh, darling, that is so wonderful!" she said excitedly. "Tell me about her—do I know her?"
Draco couldn't bring his eyes from the floor as he cleared his throat before he began slowly, "The thing is, Mother—she's a Muggle-born." For a moment, his mother's hands squeezed his own so tightly he thought that her fingers would snap against his. "Mother, I'm sorry—" he began, even though he was so very not sorry for Hermione.
"No—" Narcissa snapped. "Don't you ever be sorry."
Draco's eyes finally snapped upwards to finally meet his mother's, where he found her staring at him with great fondness. "What?" he asked hoarsely.
"Did you truly think it would bother me?" she asked sincerely. "That you're with a Muggle-born?"
"Yes," Draco answered firmly. You've—you've been pretty vocal about Muggle-borns in the past few years."
Narcissa frowned thoughtfully. "I'm sorry for that, darling. Truly. If I'm being rather truthful, it's horrid name, and even more of a horrid ideology, one that I never quite ascribed to," she admitted.
Draco could not find the words to speak, so he simply watched his mother carefully.
She sighed and continued after a moment. "You were raised in a strict pureblood household, and I'm sure you're aware that your father and I were raised in very much the same way that you were." Here, Narcissa paused for a moment, thinking. "When you were a little boy, you wanted to be so much like your father. You used to follow him around, copying his mannerisms, his words, his infuriating smirk." She chuckled. "On the outside, you were like a little copy of your father, but you've always been much more like me, darling."
Draco furrowed his brow at her in confusion. "How so?"
"Do you remember when I took you to the Magical Zoo when you were younger, Draco?" she asked. "And we saw the Dragon Chameleon?"
Draco nodded, still not quite understanding. "Yes, of course."
"We are like that Chameleon, Draco. We appear on the outside however we need to in order to protect ourselves. There are only a few who will ever see the true colors of the Dragon Chameleon, and it will be a hard-earned feat at that," Narcissa explained, before sighing. "Your father, and many of the others, they are not like that. They are a common garden lizard—what you see is what you get. We hide our emotions, our opinions, fears, Draco, not because we want to, but because we have to."
"Is that what you did for all those years?" Draco asked softly.
Narcissa nodded, letting her lids flutter closed. "It's not something I'm proud of by any means, but you have to understand that I was already married to your father by the time things were bad, and I never had the option to leave him," she said sadly. "And then, against all the odds, I had you. And then leaving was certainly never an option because I had to protect you. I would have never followed Him on my own, Draco. But I didn't have a choice."
Draco closed his own eyes, passing a frustrated hand over his face before sweeping it through his hair. "I'm trying to wrap my head around all of this," he admitted wearily.
"I know," she said quietly. "I played a part for so many years, to the point that it was almost second nature. But just—you have to know now, my son, that you needn't apologize for having feelings for a Muggle-born."
Draco nodded mutely.
"So tell me about Hermione," she said with a smile.
Draco looked at his mother with a start. "Did I tell you it was Hermione?" he asked in confusion.
Narcissa's smile froze on her face for just the briefest of instances before she was shaking her head primly. "No. Silly me, I simply assumed. She was the only one who could ever keep up with you at Hogwarts. You could never be with a girl who was an idiot—It's why you and Pansy Parkinson could have never worked out—she was much too dull to ever keep your interests."
Draco smiled. "Yes, I suppose that is true."
"So tell me about her," Narcissa urged.
Draco sighed, but couldn't help but smile thinking about Hermione. "She's got a Master's in Potioneering and owns a little shop in Diagon Alley—it's where I met her, actually. She's not like anyone I've ever met before, Mother. She's so good and kind—she'll do anything for anyone, but most of all for me."
"She makes you happy, then?" His mother asked gently.
"Yes," Draco replied, grinning.
"That's all that matters, darling," she said, squeezing his palm. She seemed to think for a moment before speaking again, "Will you be seeing your father anytime soon?"
Draco sighed. "Probably not, Mother," he said quietly. "Hermione doesn't want me to go back to Azkaban. The island—well, it eats at my magic, at least that's what she thinks it does."
Narcissa nodded thoughtfully. "It is a rather nasty island, isn't it? No matter," she said brightly. "But, if you ever do happen to visit him again, can you pass him a note from me?"
"I can try," Draco replied.
She smiled before rising from her seat and heading towards her nightstand, where she opened the top drawer and pulled out a sealed envelope which she handed to Draco. Lucius' name was scrawled on the top in his mother's tell-tale elegant script "Thank you, darling," she said, pressing a kiss to his ruffled hair.
Draco stared at the thick envelope for a moment before slipping it into the inner pocket of his coat. "Would you meet her?" he asked suddenly. "If I brought her here—would you meet her?"
"I'd be delighted, darling," she replied genuinely.
Draco couldn't help the smile that crossed his face. "I'll set it up, then. Saturday morning?"
"Sounds lovely, darling," Narcissa said. "Ahh, just in time—" she said as there was light knock on the door, right before the door swung open, revealing a plump witch carrying a tray of food. "Hello, there, Glinda. This is my son, Draco."
Glinda looked over at him with a raised eyebrow and a curt nod before speaking, "I'm sorry, but visiting hours are over," she said, not sounding sorry in the least bit.
Draco felt himself wanting to argue with the woman—certainly this counted as extraordinary circumstances, his mother lucid and herself—just Narcissa—for the first time in years. He felt his mother squeeze his fingers gently, shaking her head slightly. "Mother," he began to protest.
"It is fine, Draco. I will see you on Saturday," she said, beaming. "I am feeling a bit peaky, after all."
"I'll be back tomorrow," Draco countered.
"I look forward to it," Narcissa replied, squeezing his fingertips once more.
Draco left St. Mungo's with a huge smile on his face. He apparated at once to Diagon Alley, where, for the first time in recent history, he easily ignored the stares and the comments that came from passersby. He was not going to Azkaban, his mother was herself once more, and he had Hermione Granger, and the rest of them could just fuck right off.
He found Hermione at an odd moment of calm for the shop, and she was sitting, predictably, on the purple couch, an ancient-looking tome held between both of her hands as she scanned the pages and gnawed at her bottom lip. Her eyes flashed up instantly at the tinkling of the bell and she smiled up at him immediately. "Hi," he said breathlessly, rushing towards her and, unable to contain himself, he wrapped her in his arms as she met him, her arms looping around his neck. He whirled her around lightly before dropping her toes back to the ground and finding her lips.
"Hi," she murmured back, her face flushed. "What's gotten into you?"
Draco grinned at Hermione, and he was certain that he looked completely foolish. "My mother—" he began. "She—I—" Draco shook his head. "She was my mother again."
Hermione looked up at him, awaiting further explanation.
"She was lucid, Hermione. Completely lucid," Draco continued excitedly. "I told her about you—about us."
"What?" Hermione asked, a slightly panicked expression etching across her face.
"She doesn't care, Hermione," he said happily.
"She doesn't?" Hermione asked quietly.
"No! In fact, I asked if she'd meet you," Draco said, suddenly feeling nervous. "And she said she'd like to. On Saturday, if that's all right with you."
Her panic had noticeably dissipated as her hand rose to cup his cheek. "Of course I will, Draco," she said softly, smiling back to him.
"Okay, good," he replied, still breathless.
She chuckled before standing on the tips of her toes to kiss him lightly on the lips. "You're so cute when you're excited."
"I just—I just never thought I'd see her again," he confided, dropping his forehead down on hers. "Not the way she was, at least."
"I swear if you two have shagged here I will take my money elsewhere," came Potter's voice at the same time the bell tinkled.
Hermione instantly looked up and pulled away from Draco, rolling her eyes as she took in Potter's form. "Hello, Harry," she said. "And we weren't shagging."
"That doesn't quite answer my question now, does it?" Potter countered.
"This is a place of business, Harry!"
"I'm just saying—!"
"We've never shagged here, Potter—happy?" Draco said rolling his own eyes.
"Not quite," Potter replied, seemingly disgruntled.
"Though maybe we should?" Hermione asked, teasingly.
"All right, I'm leaving—"
"Could be fun," Draco nodded in agreement.
"I absolutely detest you both," Potter said, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.
"Aww, Potter, and here I was thinking we were friends," Draco said lightly, smiling.
Potter grimaced for a moment. "What is that expression on your face?" he asked, seemingly disgusted.
Hermione laughed wholeheartedly. "That's a smile, Harry. Draco's smiling," she replied.
Potter continued to look disgusted. "I didn't know your face could make that expression, Malfoy."
Hermione shrugged. "It does happen from time to time," she said, smiling in turn.
"Gross," Potter muttered, even though he seemed to smirk a bit. "Anyways," he began again, "I did come by for something."
"What's that, Harry?" Hermione asked turning to him, a bit more seriously now.
"More pain potions," Potter said, with another dramatic rolled of his bespectacled eyes.
"Recruits not quite living up to your expectations there, Potter?" Draco asked with another smile.
"Seriously, stop smiling at me—it's creeping me out—"
"What? I'm having a good day—"
"And yes, they are a rather clumsy bunch, keep hexing themselves and whatnot—"
Rolling her own eyes, Hermione moved away from Draco and Potter and instead busied herself filling her arms with pain potions.
Noticing her filled hands, Potter abruptly cut off their banter with a shake of his head. "I don't need that many, Hermione," he said. "There's only six of them."
Hermione ignored him and set the numerous bottles down next to the register. "Nonsense, Harry. You're in here every other day buying potions for your trainees and I'm tired of it. Plus, if you buy in bulk, I can give you a discount," she replied sternly.
"You aren't already giving me a discount?" Potter asked in disbelief. "I have it on very good authority that you're a very wealthy woman now," he said jostling Draco's shoulder with his own.
"Of course I give you a discount, Harry," Hermione sniffed primly. "And just because yes, I am now a wealthy woman, I don't intend to squander my gold the way my benefactor did," she said, with a pointed glance to Draco.
"I always knew she wanted you for your money, Malfoy," Potter said with a lopsided grin as he leaned casually against the counter across from Hermione.
"I'll have you know I'm still quite a wealthy man, Potter," Draco replied.
"And besides," Hermione said as she rang up Potter's potions before placing them delicately in a little wooden basket, "I was never with Draco for his money—I wanted him for his library."
"Ah, I should've known," Draco said morosely, placing his hand over his heart in mock distress.
"You really are in a good mood today," Potter mused, pushing his spectacles up back over the bridge of his nose. "Less sullen, less surly."
Hermione looked excitedly to Draco just as she was placing the last of the potions in the basket, as if she were asking for permission. Draco nodded lightly. "I'm going to meet Narcissa on Saturday," she blurted.
"What?" Potter asked dumbly, looking to Draco.
Draco shrugged even as a grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "She's lucid," he said happily. "For the first time in years. I actually just came from seeing her."
Potter's expression faltered for a moment before he clapped Draco on the shoulder. "That's great, mate!" he said happily.
Draco's eyes flickered to Hermione's, who was studying him with intense concentration as if she was trying to relay a message to him via consciousness from sheer will alone. In an instant, Draco understood. "Well," Draco began slowly. "I had only planned for Hermione, but if you wanted to swing by for a minute, say hello—I suppose that would be all right."
"Really?" Potter asked hopefully. "That would be all right?"
"I suppose, as long as she's not tired or confused," Draco replied carefully.
"It would mean a lot," Potter confessed. "If I could talk to her."
"So then it's settled. We'll owl you with the details later on tonight," Hermione cut in brightly, pushing the basket forward on the counter.
"How much?" Potter asked, pulling a sack of gold from his trouser pockets.
Hermione shook her head. "This one's on me. As you did say, I am a very wealthy woman now."
"Thanks, 'Mione," Potter said, leaning forward to press an affectionate kiss to Hermione's cheek. "Malfoy," he said with a tip of his head.
Once the tinkling of the bell had announced Potter's departure, Hermione came around the desk to stand in front of Draco, where she promptly wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Sweet," she said softly, kissing his jaw.
"Oh, stop," he huffed even as he closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of her lips.
"No," she murmured against his neck. "That was a nice thing you just did for Harry."
"I suppose," Draco relented, wrapping his arms around her waist. "You know, my mother said something very interesting today."
"Hmm? What's that?" Hermione asked, resting her head against his shoulder.
"She compared us—she and I—to Dragon Chameleons," he began slowly. "We change our colors in order to protect ourselves from the world, and very few people will ever see their true form. Do you think that's true?"
Hermione seemed to think for a moment before she raised her head to look at him. "Yes," she replied soundly, affectionately running her fingers through his hair. "Didn't I once say just as much?"
Draco smiled softly at her. "I suppose you did, didn't you?"
"Does that make me your handler?" Hermione asked with a flirtatious smirk.
Draco smirked back at her before leaning in closer, so that his lips just grazed the shell of her ear. "After the way you handled me last night? I should think so," he said seductively. He felt Hermione shiver against him before pulling away. "Chinese tonight?"
Hermione shook her head at him playfully before pulling him back to her. "You'll pay for that later, Draco Malfoy," she whispered, nipping lightly at his neck, causing his own shiver.
It was just then that the bell over the door tinkled once more, and a group of women filed into the shop, giggling to themselves. Draco, knowing his alone time with Hermione was over, stepped away from her, but not without a slight wink. "I look forward to it."
Saturday arrived without incident. Narcissa remained lucid, and seemed to be in very high spirits, especially in regard to Draco's upcoming visit with Hermione. Before he had left her on Friday, she had pulled him back, primly touching her hair. "Does she hate me? For Bellatrix?" she had asked him, with only the slightest twinge of nerves.
"No," Draco had replied. "She's not at all like that, Mother. You'll see."
Hermione typically allowed herself a bit of a lie-in on Saturdays, devoted usually to reading in bed, curled up next to Draco as he tried to sleep, or, if he was completely awake, a bit of morning sex to get the day started.
Today was not to be one of those days.
Hermione rose early, taking a long hot shower as Draco continued to lounge in bed. When the water had turned off, she came padding back into the bedroom, one fluffy towel around her body and another wrapped around her curls. "Come back to bed, Hermione," Draco pouted.
"No," she said soundly. "I have to figure out what I'm going to wear."
Draco sighed, reaching for her. "Whatever you wear will be fine," he assured.
She shot him a sharp glance. "I've seen your house," she argued. "Whatever I wear will not be just fine."
"Hermione—"
"I spend my days in jumpers and leggings or denims, Draco! I only own one nice dress, and I'm not even sure if I own a pair of heels—" she said, rummaging through the closet.
"You do," Draco interrupted.
"What?" she asked, whipping around to face him.
"You own a pair of heels," he responded. "You wore them when The Prophet took your picture at the grand opening of the shop." Hermione looked at him intently for a moment before he sheepishly admitted, "I kept the picture."
Hermione visibly flushed even in the darkness of the bedroom. "For that, you get five more minutes," she said, heading back towards the bed.
Draco instantly grabbed her and pulled her into him. "I'm sweet, remember?" he said, attempting to peel the towel from her body. "I should get at least 15 minutes."
Hermione swatted his hand away. "No, you don't! I've just had a shower!"
Draco groaned. "Hermione—"
"No! Today is important, Draco! Don't you want me to make a good impression on your mother?" she asked, quieting and resting her head against his chest.
"Of course I do, Hermione," he replied softly. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were so nervous."
"Of course I'm nervous! I'm meeting your mother—I don't know how to do this, I've never done this, not really—and I really don't own that many nice clothes, and I'm pretty sure I got those heels at a thrift store—" she rambled.
"Hey," Draco said quietly, rubbing the bare skin of her arm. "We're going to St. Mungo's, not a five-star restaurant. A jumper and denims will be fine. And you don't need to wear heels." He pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder. "Just some flats or something. No, wear trainers."
"You want me to meetNarcissa Malfoy with trainers on?" she scoffed.
"No," Draco said simply. "I just want you to be you. I know she's going to love you—it doesn't matter what you're wearing, Hermione."
"Meeting your mother is a big deal to me, Draco," Hermione replied quietly.
"I know," he confirmed. "I just don't want you to worry so much. She's not how you think."
His 5 minutes apparently up, Hermione wrenched himself from her arms. "It doesn't matter. I want to look my best."
"Okay," Draco relented, keeping to himself that he thought she always looked beautiful, knowing she would consider it unhelpful.
Hermione headed back towards the closet, rummaging for several minutes before returning with two dresses in her hands. "Do you think it's too cold to pull off floral?" she asked, slightly panicked.
"Hermione, it's the dead of winter," Draco said with a sigh.
"So no?" she asked, her face wilting.
Draco threw his legs over the side of the bed. "Here, let me," he offered, making his way to Hermione, who was looking more and more hopeless by the second. Draco stepped into the closet, running his fingers over the well-worn jumpers that he was so very familiar with. Towards the back of the closet, he found a casual, loose-fitting black dress. "Here," he said, holding it out to Hermione.
"Black?" she lamented.
"No," said Draco, reaching for his wand. "Green, don't you think?" In an instant, the dress was a deep emerald color.
"It's not too casual?" she asked suspiciously.
"Not if you add a few accessories," Draco replied.
"You sound like a woman," Hermione grumbled.
"Yes, well, my father had very particular taste," he replied with a shrug.
"He did used to wear a ribbon," Hermione said thoughtfully.
Draco chuckled. "That he did."
Clothing now picked out, Hermione plopped herself down at her vanity and removed the towel from her hair. "And this," she said quietly, lifting a wet curl. "What do I do with this?"
Draco followed her, placing his hands comfortingly on her shoulders and pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. "Just do what you normally do. You know I love your hair."
"You're the only one," she said, exasperated.
Draco took a seat next to Hermione on the bench before perching his chin on her shoulder. He met her eyes in the reflection of the mirror. "Do you know what I see there?" he asked, gesturing towards the mirror.
"A drowned rat?" she grumbled.
"No," Draco replied sternly. "What I see there is the brightest witch of my age."
"Please, Draco—"
"I see the most beautiful witch I've ever met."
Hermione was silent, her eyes trained on him.
"I see the love of my life," he said softly, kissing her shoulder. "And my mother is going to love you because I love you."
"Do you really think so?" she asked, her voice quavering with nerves.
"I know so, Hermione," Draco replied. "Hey, remember that first night you brought me to the Potter's?" he asked, beginning to absently play with a wet curl.
"You were so nervous," she said quietly.
"Yes. But I had you, so I knew I'd be all right."
"Okay," she said, suddenly determined. "Okay."
Draco smirked at her before pressing another kiss to her cheek and rising to take his own shower. When he returned, toweling his wet hair, Hermione had dried her hair and it hung past her shoulders in thick, haphazard ringlets. She was frowning determinedly as she applied some makeup to her eyes. "Why don't you use a glamour charm?" he asked her.
Her eyes met his through the mirror and she shrugged. "My mother taught me how to apply makeup," she replied. "I don't wear it much, so I never really learned the glamour charms."
"You don't need it," Draco said with a smirk, smacking her playfully with his towel.
"You prat!" she cried. "And you're biased."
"Maybe," he said, shrugging. "But I think you're just stunning."
Hermione dressed carefully, pulling the green dress over her head slowly, covering her practical nude knickers and bra. She smoothed the dress thoughtfully in the mirror, her fingertips trembling. "Are you sure?" she asked quietly.
Draco wasn't sure if she meant the dress or meeting his mother, but on both counts his answer was a firm, "Yes." At Draco's beckoning, Hermione pulled on a long coat and wrapped a scarf around her neck. He firmly placed his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. "Ready?" he asked.
She nodded, even as she paled visibly.
Before Hermione could change her mind, Draco apparated them into the familiar alleyway near Purge and Dowse, Ltd. "Just a bit of walk," he said, pulling on her fingers gently, unwilling to drop her hand.
When they reached the abandoned storefront, Draco gestured for Hermione to go in first, which she did, even as she tentatively dropped his hand. Within seconds, Draco followed behind her, finding her waiting for him anxiously in the atrium.
The witch at the desk recognized him now and she waved them through carelessly with a flick of her wrist. Once more taking Hermione's hand, Draco led her to the magical lifts and to level 4. "She's going to love you," he insisted quietly as they rode the lift.
"Maybe," Hermione said noncommittedly.
The lift stopped at the 4th floor, and a loud ping announced their arrival. Before the doors had a chance to open, Draco kissed her lips. "Well, I love you," he said, hoping to ease her nerves. The doors of the lift opened, and Draco walked out into the hallway with Hermione following, her fingers still tightly gripping his own. They walked down the hallway in silence until they reached the familiar door of his mother's room. Draco paused just next to it to look at Hermione. She no longer looked nervous—she was every bit the brave Gryffindor. "Ready?" he asked, smiling at her.
"Ready," she said firmly.
With a smile, Draco pushed the door open.