Never Been Kissed Like That

NEVER BEEN KISSED LIKE THAT

Chapter Ten

"Valentine's Day"

A piercing scream filled the large corridors of the manor, waking her from sleep. It had been a long time since she had last heard those blood-chilling cries at night. She started from bed and put on her dressing gown, hurrying to his chamber at the other end of the house.

She entered his room and found him awake, breathing ragged and looking at the ceiling with glassy eyes. It broke her heart to see him still suffering from guilt after all those years. He didn't acknowledge her presence when she sat on the bed, gently taking some strings of his silvery hair off his sweaty forehead. He just closed his eyes, inhaling deeply to gain control of his nerves.

She never questioned him when he came late to spend the night at the manor. He had his own life and place in London, but whenever something troubled him, he came back home. But what was troubling him she never knew, for from a very early age, he had been reserved and secretive.

"Draco," she said. The young man turned his head away from his mother; he didn't want to talk about it.

"You had a nightmare again. It's been a long time." Silence.

"I'm glad you're here," she said affectionately. "Not only in the manor, I mean back in England. It was time for you to stop running."

Draco turned and faced his mother.

"I was not running," he said coolly. His eyes were dark, and his countenance would have seemed menacing to anyone else, but not to Narcissa. She knew her son very well, including his many ways to disguise and shut up his feelings.

"Did you dream about your father?" The direct question startled the blonde man, who shifted uncomfortably in the silk sheets. He didn't answer that either; he didn't need to.

"I'm so proud of the man you've become. He would be p..."

"Don't," he cut off whatever Narcissa had to say. "I was just a disappointment in his eyes," he said bitterly.

"No, you weren't. You must stop tormenting yourself with it, Draco. It was not your fault. He sought his own death for all his wrong actions. And he gave up everything he stood for just for you to live. He would have never taken that curse if all he thought you were was a failure!" She spoke hotly, the pain of seeing a son tormenting himself for his father's death too much to bear.

They sat silently for a moment. Then Narcissa spoke again, this time more calmly.

"It was not your fault," she said, this time pleadingly.

Draco nodded. "Yeah, I know."

"No, you don't. It was not your fault," she repeated, taking him into an embrace. He didn't fight it, but just sat there limply, his head buried in the familiar scent of his mother's embrace. "You never did anything wrong," she spoke softly, as if she was holding a little child and not a twenty-four-year-old man.

Lucius Malfoy was never the loving father type, yet he cared very much for his offspring, just in his own peculiar ways. He had raised Draco as an improved reflection of himself and was satisfied with the product. Their relationship was one of admiration; Draco admired his father for the power he seemed to hold, and Lucius admired the good job he had done with the upbringing of Draco. Little did he know how much his son resembled him, for, among other things, the boy had inherited a mind of his own. That had been the final cause of the rupture between them.

It had begun with the younger Malfoy pointing out certain discrepancies in the Dark Lord's philosophy, doubts expressed regarding the good of his return, the inconsistency in the differences regarding mudbloods and purebloods. It all ended with Draco joining the Light side and being disowned by Lucius.

The last thing Draco heard from his father was his yelling at how much of a disappointment he was the night he left the manor to join the Order of the Phoenix. The next time they met, Lucius had shielded him from the Avada Kedavra thrown by Voldemort himself. His father had given away his life for him, even if he thought he was a failure.

Carrying a burden to heavy for an eighteen-year-old to bear, Draco had fled the country and applied for the most dangerous jobs he could perform. He had sought Vampires through the forests of Transylvania, wrestled giants in the Apennines, and confronted the Yeti in the Himalayas. Unluckily, he thought, he had gone through all those adventures unscratched. All that he found was a complete emptiness inside.

By the time he was twenty-two, he had decided not to be a failure anymore. Somehow, becoming the man his father wanted him to be would pay for his sacrifice. He had settled down in France and made interesting connections; that was the time when he had met Isabelle. When Cornelius Fudge made his proposal during a reception at the English embassy in Paris, he knew his opportunity had come. And now, even in this task, he was very likely to fail miserably. He was indeed proving to be the worthless failure his father had proclaimed him.

He clung to his mother's hug, unable to unburden himself from all the weight he was carrying. He knew she wouldn't understand it, that she would try to divert him from his resolve, so he just let himself be shielded in the silence of the room, like he was a little child.

After some minutes, Narcissa left the room, leaving a sleeping Draco behind. Her shoulder was damp with tears that were not her own, and she cursed the memory of Lucius Malfoy under her breath.

****

"Happy Valentine's Day!"

"Yeah, whatever," Hermione said to a broadly grinning Stephen, who was exiting the office at the same time she arrived. "What do we have for today?" she asked Loretta, who also seemed high on the day, with two heart-shaped earrings complementing her pink robes.

"You have a lunch date with Mrs. Malfoy at 12 o'clock, at... wait... yeah, an unpronounceable fashionable restaurant. I hope she's buying." She handed Hermione the piece of parchment where the appointment was written.

"Paying the bill is the least I can do after all the effort she's putting in helping us, Lory. And it's not unpronounceable, it's French, La Maison Derrière."

"Oooh, I see keeping in company with this wealthy boyfriend of yours is paying off," she maliciously retorted.

Hermione stared at the witch with narrowed eyes. "He's. Not. My. Boyfriend. We're... we're...." She couldn't find the proper word to define the nature of her relationship with Malfoy. "Friends. That's all."

"I see. But that doesn't hide the fact that you're dying to get a bit of that piece of white chocolate cake, aren't you?" Loretta sniggered and turned to her paperwork, while Hermione sat at her desk, blushing profusely.

Loretta began humming "A Little Green Bag" under her breath, much to her partner's exasperation. She took the folder containing the Werewolves' proposal for the commercialisation of wolfsbane potion and shut out all thoughts of white cocoa and blonde wizards from her mind. Lunchtime arrived fast, so she gathered her things and Apparated to the restaurant where she had to meet Narcissa.

The woman was already sitting at a table, elegantly clad in deep green robes. She smiled when she saw Hermione approaching her.

"Good day, dear," she said.

"Hello, Mrs. Malfoy." At the disapproving look the other woman gave her, she corrected herself. "Narcissa. First, I'd like to thank you for the generous donation to our cause. You're resulting in the best public relations we could wish for."

"Oh, that's not much, dear. Besides, it's great to do something useful now and then; I was never cut out to be just a wallflower, no matter how rich the wallflower was. And now, what was this matter you were dealing with? Werewolf potions, was it that?"

The two women passed the time talking about the affairs of the WMCA and eating luxury delicatessen. Hermione wondered how in the past could she ever have considered Narcissa a cold, sneering woman, for she was perfectly civil and nice. It was amazing how Lucius Malfoy had overshadowed the personalities of the rest of his family over the years.

"Hermione?" Narcissa directed a questioning look to the young girl, who had been too lost in her musings to hear anything.

"Oh, sorry, Narcissa. You were saying?"

"I was asking you if you're friends with my son," she smiled.

"Uh, oh, sort of. Malf-Draco and I did never get on well at school," Hermione uttered timidly.

"I knew about that. But what about now? Are you... close?"

Hermione felt the heat rise to her cheeks. Not as close as I'd like, she thought.

"We meet sometimes, and talk, and have a coffee." And hide under tables and kiss, she added as an afterthought.

Narcissa furrowed her brow, very much like her son did when thinking hard. "It's just, I feel there's something troubling him. But he's so withdrawn sometimes that I cannot reach him. I hate to see him suffering, so I thought he might have told one of his friends."

"Oh, I don't really know," Hermione offered. "But I've noticed he's sometimes got that... cloud over him, as if he were waging an internal battle of some sort," she said pensively, more to herself than to the other woman. "Not always, though. Sometimes he's great fun and capable of the wittiest retorts. He's just hard to get, I guess."

Hermione turned to Narcissa, who had been listening to her ramblings with a strange glint in her eye, the ghost of a smile forming on her lips. She felt embarrassment creep inside, for she might have been letting out more than was appropriate.

"I think it would be better if you asked some closer friend of his," Hermione suggested.

"Yes, thank you anyway. One last thing; has he ever told you about Lucius?"

Hermione was a bit startled at the question, but she said, "Oh, M-Draco is a bit touchy with his past." From this answer Narcissa could deduct that was exactly what was bothering his son, but not why.

"Do you happen to know..." Narcissa stopped mid-sentence when Hermione looked at her and decided against telling her. The girl was obviously interested in Draco more than in a friendly way, by the look in her eyes when she talked about him. And it was more than probable he hadn't said a word to her about his impending engagement. She honestly wished her son were not toying around with the girl's feelings, for she had taken a liking to her.

"Erm, nothing. It was nothing important," she smiled, and hoped she was doing the right thing.

*****

"The usual stuff?"

"Yes, please, Molly," Hermione said to the waitress of the Watercolours café.

"You look tired, Hermione. Too much work?" the young girl asked.

"Loads of it. Good it's over, at least for today."

"Cheer up, it's Valentine's!" Molly said happily, obtaining just a grimace from her client.

Hermione took the steaming cup in front of her, warmth spreading through her cold hands. It was quite a cold evening for mid-February, and she longed for spring to come. She took a sip of the warm liquid that eased all her stress away. She had so much caffeine in her system that it didn't stimulate her nerves anymore, but had the contrary effect, probably psychological.

She put the porcelain cup back on the plate, only to find a small plate with a chocolate bar on it.

"Molly? I didn't ask for this," she pointed to the sweet.

"I know, someone left it here for you," she said brightly.

Hermione fingered the chocolate and turned it to have a better look at the unfamiliar wrapping. After some seconds, a broad smile formed on her lips.

"He said you might like it, and something about it helping with your chocolate fantasies, or something like that," Molly said, and turned to attend another customer.

'Dentley's Sugarfree Chocolate, a magic amount of flavour, with the minor danger to your teeth' the chocolate bar wrapping said.

Hermione sighed and slid the bar into her cloak's pocket. It was the sweetest sugar-free thing she had ever received, and by no other than Draco Malfoy himself. The mere thought of him made her heartbeat accelerate and heat grow inside of her. The git. Why had he given her the stupid chocolate, just to annoy her tremendously?

She said goodbye to Molly and walked back home. Some passers-by looked at the girl, who subconsciously was humming with every step.

*****

Everything was perfect. Everything was the way it should be.

Draco handed the pretty girl in front of him a bouquet of perfect red roses, charmed to bloom in exuberant bouts of fragrance. She smiled a perfect smile, showing her perfectly lined white teeth, and took his arm.

He led her to their table at the top-class restaurant in Paris where they had had their first date. It was the perfect place for a romantic Valentine's Day dinner. He ordered for her in perfect French, and they clinked their tall glasses filled with champagne as a toast to the perfect evening.

"The food is good," Draco said, more to break the unbearable calm between the two than to set up any conversation.

"Oui, très bon," Isabelle said.

Silence fell again.

Then they walked home through the perfectly romantic Champs Elysées, hand in hand as lovers should do, not a word passing between the couple.

Draco stared at the beautiful young woman standing in front of him in the balcony of her perfect bedroom. Her blonde hair curled slightly at the ends, framing her petite face. She looked back at him, her full red lips slightly parting. Everything was perfect; she was perfect.

He leaned in and touched her chin, bringing her lips to him. Her mouth was warm and soft as he pressed it more firmly to his. For a fleeting moment, he opened his eyes, only to find blue eyes staring at his own. He swiftly backed away, his gaze still fixed on her.

"Are you ok?" he asked.

She looked unsure for an instant, and then flashed one of her perfect smiles, that didn't reach her eyes. "Why Draco, everything is perfect."

"Everything is perfect," he echoed, his arm falling limply at his side. She held her smile expectantly, waiting for him to say something to break the awkward moment.

"Look, I have to go back to England tonight. I'm sorry, but tomorrow I've got some early work to do and..."

"Yes, me too. I have a meeting with Monsieur Charot, the wedding planner," she cut him off. "Lots of things to do too."

"I'll be back on the 27^th, to make the public announcement of our engagement." She slowly nodded in approval. "Well, I must go now."

"I love you," she said quietly to his back while he was opening the door.

"Yeah, me too," he replied before going outside. He missed the sad, long sigh Isabelle released as the door the shut after him.

Draco took a cigarette out of his pocket and lighted it, savouring the spicy taste of the smoke. It helped to ease the tension he didn't know that he was holding. With one last glance to the building he had just exited, he hurried down the Parisian streets. Perfection did not exist.