Sentimental Reasons

29. Malfoy Manor

The ballroom had a handsome, ornate marble mantelpiece, a gilded mirror, and an intricately scrolled frame. It had dark purple walls with more portraits, emphasising their understanding of pureblood legacy. A large crystal chandelier was displayed atop the dance floor to reveal their solid conservative aspect.  

Around us were many people, either dancing or talking. Every one of them had a smile on their face. It wasn't fair. I felt my father squeeze my hand, but he didn't look at me. He kept his face straight, looking in front of him. I followed his gaze and was met by a couple. 

The man had long white hair but couldn't be over forty. He had a pale pointy face and cold grey eyes. I now knew where Malfoy had inherited his eyes. The man standing in front of us with a vicious smile was none other than Draco Malfoy's father, Lucius Malfoy. The tall and slim woman beside him was his wife, Narcissa Malfoy. She had softer features and was easy on the eyes, but her voice was as cold as winter. 

"Richard." The man said.

"Cecilia." The woman eyed my mother, judging her without any shame. Her eyes finally reached me, but she didn't say a word. It was as if she was waiting for her husband to start the conversation—the male dominance prominent in their legacy. So, the long-faced man's eyes travelled to mine. 

"You must be Audrey." A smile crept onto him, but it wasn't a pretty, warm smile. It was a smile, so cold shivers ran down my spine. I held on to my father's arm to calm myself. "I understand you are the same age as Draco." Malfoy had probably told his parents all about me. I couldn't tell him what power he held over me, so I kept my face unamused, unfazed – even though my hand told a different story. Before I could say anything, my father responded for me. 

"Yes. She has been sorted into Slytherin. We couldn't be happier. The holiest house of them all." Was what he said. So different from what he believed, but he had to buy their trust. "Where is that boy of yours? It's been so long since I last saw him." Indeed, ten years ago, the families reunited over some order they wanted to raise upon the sacred twenty-eight. The man called for the one who bullied me every chance he had, and the boy appeared an instant later, like a dog being called by his master.

He was wearing a black suit which accentuated his hair colour. It looked blonder, and his skin looked paler. Once his eyes fell on me, he paused, all his features softening. He looked me up and down before finally diverting his attention to my parents, raising his features again to a stern face. "Draco, will you dance with my daughter? Your father and I have to discuss." It wasn't a question, more like a suggestion, an order even. He hadn't looked at Malfoy since he arrived in the discussion. He kept his gaze on the father in front of him. My heart wanted to argue, but my brain knew it was for the sake of the mission. Malfoy looked at his father for approval, and the man nodded faintly. 

For what it was worth, the music was beautiful. I tried to think of a positive outcome for the situation. "Miss Bardot," Draco said in his cold voice, extending his hand. I felt my father's hand squeeze me one last time before I let him go. 

I hesitantly took his hand to avoid any suspicion. "Mister Malfoy," I said with a stern face. The warm touch was hot against my skin, and the feeling only amplified as he led me to the middle of the hall. He leaned in dangerously close. Tauntingly. Slowly. Revelling in the subtle reactions, he was able to draw from me by just our mere distance. The hairs on the back of my neck rose as a tingling sensation jolted about in my body. 

"Mister Malfoy. I like the sound of that." He mused as he brought me to the middle of the dance floor. I ignored his foolish remark.

His hand slipped on my bare back. It was lower than I wanted it to be, so I adjusted his hand to be higher. The only response to that was a grin from him. For the dance's sake, I tried not to look at who I was dancing with. I only wanted this dance to be formal and not cause a scene. I took his hand, and the music started to play.