BY : Nora13
Category: Harry Potter > FemSlash - Female/Female
Dragon prints: 3116
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter 's franchise of any of its characters, I just enjoy playing around with them – though in a way J. K. Rowling would definitely not approve of –. I make no money from this work.

Okay, so… this idea has been running about my head for a while and I thought maybe someone here would appreciate it, even if just a bit. Not much to say, only that English’s not my mother language and thus I apologize for eventual grammar mistakes. Oh, and comments give me life, so I’ll be happy to hear any opinion on the story.

I highlighted every content tag I already know will fit at some point, but they won’t show up all at once, you’ll need to have a little patience. For now, consider this an introduction.

EDIT: now cross-posted on Archive of Our Own, under the same nickname.

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Narcissa really shouldn’t have been surprised when the main topic of discussion on their New Year’s Eve dinner, obviously raised by Draco, turned out to be the mudblood who seemed to plague his every single day at Hogwarts. At least, this time around he had new things to report about her.

«Looks like she became dirt poor,» her son sniggered. «She carries around second-hand books and scavenges for potion ingredients in the collective provisions’ cupboard. Now she’s seriously ready to marry that Weasel and pop out a herd of ginger babies!»

New, though not particularly interesting.

Lucius used his fork to stab a potato and looked at it with condescension, as if it was the mudblood herself. «Even if you were right, I doubt this will get the girl off her high horse. I had to deal with her too, and the way she acts like… I would almost believe it commendable, for someone of her status.»

«I bet that’s why she was sorted in Gryffindor, they’re all ridiculous, with their…»

Oh, no, Narcissa would not allow the evening to turn into an endless tirade on the part of her husband and son about Gryffindors, then most certainly about Dumbledore, and later still about the Muggle-friendly policy of the Ministry…

Mrs. Malfoy clapped her hands. «My dears, I hope you’re ready for dessert.»

That, in fact, immediately drew their attention.


The cake was levitated on the table straight from the kitchen, given that Lucius, after the deplorable experience with one former house-elf of theirs – Toppy, Donny? –, could barely tolerate the sight of such creatures. It was a chocolate profiterole, Draco’s favourite, and he dug in with gusto under his mother’s benevolent gaze. Had he been younger she probably would have chastised him for his table manners, but Narcissa secretly admitted that as her little man got closer and closer to become a full-fledged wizard, she had started appreciating those moments of spontaneous enthusiasm.

One day Lucretia Zabini had taken the liberty of commenting that, in her opinion, she was too indulgent with Draco and needed to discipline him better, in order for him to be more like her Blaise. The witch had later on excused herself from the soiree because of a sudden and mysterious attack of stomach cramping, which lasted an entire week.

Observing every now and then her boy devouring his second portion of dessert, Narcissa wondered about why the mudblood girl bothered him so much. During the summers following his first two years at Hogwarts, those long rants over what an annoyance and a know-it-all Granger was had brought her to the most logical conclusion; Narcissa, unlike Lucius, hadn’t found the thought of their only son having a crush for someone with such filthy blood very upsetting. When the decision to confront him on the matter had been made she had spoken with perfect nonchalance and, seeing Draco almost choking on his pumpkin juice, she had continued: “There is nothing wrong with being attracted by repugnant things”. He had denied, and denied, and denied, so eventually Narcissa had to discard that idea.

In Salazar’s name, was she perhaps supposed to think Draco was jealous of Granger because she spent so much time with Potter, his other favourite subject for ranting? That suspect she knew better than to share with Lucius, though: she didn’t want to become a widow as a consequence of him having a stroke… yet.

This however left her with the disappointing hypothesis that her son was somehow envious of Hermione Granger. And for what, really? School marks meant little, despite Lucius often muttering unhappily about their son’s report card, because Narcissa knew how intelligent Draco was. Friends? In Narcissa’s eyes “friend” was just a bit more embarrassing way to say “ally”, and the family they were part of had allies in spare.

Mrs. Malfoy had studied the girl in question that summer, throughout the Quidditch World Cup, only occasion for the two of them to meet, and she had been impressed… impressed with her plainness. If the brunette hair hadn’t made her stand out amidst all the Weasley redheads, she would have hardly noticed her; overall, more than the face behind said hair, it had remained impressed in her mind the pale pink cardigan and worn-out trousers the girl had been wearing. The exact moment that lack of fashion sense would finally be deemed a crime, Hermione Granger would already have a cell in Azkaban with her name on it.

Not wanting to dedicate another thought to the mudblood those walls had surely heard enough of, Narcissa focused her attention back on what Draco was saying.

«… it wasn’t really anything special his number on the broomstick, it’s obvious that with a Firebolt anyone could’ve avoided the dragon’s attacks…»

Only decades of impeccable courtesy taught by her mother stopped Narcissa from slapping a hand on her own face.

Oh, my.

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