Chapter Two: A Woman to Love
Summary: Draco wants the opposite of sex. He just doesn't know it.
The Fourty-Eighth Thursday.
Rarely anything ever shocked or surprised his mum.
She may have been many things, but she was not a witch accustomed to being caught unaware. She was a fucking rock, the woman. Nothing ever bowed the head of Narcissa Black Malfoy. Not the humiliating series of midnight Ministry ambushes upon the mansion which often found her in the flimsiest of robes. Not even when his father had been convicted of conduct unbecoming a wizard and sent off to that dee-luxe apartment in the sky.
Although he'd been warned since his time in nappies that that day could come, Draco remembered feeling absolutely thunderstruck, like he might puke and shit at the same time. But he looked to her and saw that cool familiar tilt of her chin and a glint in her eye that told those old wrinkled fucks of the Wizengamot what they could do with their wands. No, his mother was never going to take that poisonous slice of humble pie.
It was reason enough to love her.
Another reason was for this very moment when he'd managed to catch her unaware. A pale elegant hand flew to her brow like a startled dove as she snapped her head upward to find his long lean shadow nearly eclipsing her afternoon sun. Her face morphed through a series of indecipherable expressions, but initial brutal clap of fright plainly stood out. Then it cleared and her mouth twitched and she suddenly seemed very soft and vulnerable. He felt a deep empathic pang squeeze his chest.
He quickly leaned forward and brushed a kiss across her burning cheek, inhaling the low warm scent of ginger snaps as he slumped in the chair across from her. It continued to both puzzle and comfort him that his mother always smelled of his favorite childhood sweets. He suspected at times that it was simply an enchantment of some sort, a charm to befuddle one's olfaction. He recalled at dinner that Lucius often bitterly accused Narcissa of teasing him with chocolate eclairs. And try as he might, Draco's young eyes refused to detect even a hint of the imaginary pastry at the table.
An ancient house elf suddenly Apparated at his knee with a teapot in her hand, nearly causing him to jump. The horrific tremor in her arm threatened to send the scolding liquid
Her cool dishwater colored eyes settled over him with mild suspicion.
[to be cont...]