"It has been said, 'time heals all wounds'. I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone."
— Rose Kennedy
________________________________________
"Your mother also mentions you love dancing, is that true?"
No. No, no, no! No, it bloody well wasn't! Draco hated dancing. There was no way you could get him to dance for anybody, ever. It was something he never enjoyed doing, something he didn't even like watching.
Well. That is with the exception of exotic dancing. He enjoyed watching that very much.
But to actually dance elegantly like some prissy little...
Draco couldn't do it, he couldn't lie again – he was sick of pretending and answering these questions falsely to impress his stupid supposed to be mother-in-law. All afternoon through little sips of tea (that he had just barely contained from pouring down her throat; the woman drank slower than a dead turtle, for Christ's sake) she'd asked all kinds of questions, from what he enjoyed doing in his spare time (his mother pointing to the bookshelves from behind Hopkins' back so he'd answer correctly), to what his favourite drink was (his mother, again, mouthing profusely to answer with champagne). But none of those answers had been true. When Hopkins asked what kind of books Draco enjoyed reading, he had started to believe he'd be allowed to answer truthfully (because he genuinely did like reading) but then his mother pointed hastily over to the geography section. Geography. What kind of sane person read about the earth in their spare time! And his favourite drink was not champagne, but whiskey mixed beverages dammit!
He wouldn't do it. He wasn't going to lie again.
"I love dancing," Draco found himself lying through his teeth, "especially ballroom."
She was ecstatic. "Ah, wonderful! And I hope you're good at it?"
"He's marvellous," Narcissa answered, a fake smile on her mouth.
Draco felt his fists clench.
"And you also like...?"
Porn, he thought bitterly.
"Classical music," his mother supplied. "Mozart, Vivaldi, Beethoven, Brahms, Debussy to name a few."
She nodded. "How do you feel about red meat?"
Red meat? Red meat? What the hell did that have to do with being worthy to marry her daughter? Was she allergic to everything decent?
Draco shifted in his seat, hoping he didn't appear as uncomfortable and irritated as he felt, and, for the hundredth time, lied.
"I'm not a fan of red meat, but the protein and vitamins are important to maintain a healthy diet, so I generally try to incorporate beans and other alternatives."
"You cook?"
Draco opened his mouth to tell her that's what house elves were for, but caught his tongue at the warning look Narcissa sent him, and, again, lied.
"Yes." His fingers itched to strangle the woman.
She studied him dubiously. "We'll test that out next time I drop by, shall we? You can cook afternoon tea."
Cook afternoon tea? Cook afternoon tea?
"He'd be delighted," Narcissa said.
"Wonderful. Now," Hopkins leaned forward in her chair, expression turning serious, "how's work coming along?"
YOU ARE READING
A Wonderful Fortuitous Love
Fanfiction"You see, Draco Malfoy, without your sarcastic replies to endure each morning and that arrogance only you could carry, I find myself somewhat missing you." Draco thought the biggest problem living for a year under the same roof as Hermione Granger w...
