Drawn ( A Dramione Story)

Separation

Draco Malfoy glared out the window of the Manor with absolute seething hatred. Rage practically shook his fingers against the fragile fabric of the curtains.

If he had to hear one more bloody thing about scones he'd curse the entire household.

"This clotted cream is delicious," a woman raved. "Your elves make the most delightful scones, Narcissa. You are the best."

He internally screamed.

Narcissa Malfoy fanned herself with a delicate ivory lace fan made for Draco's grandmother as a wedding present. It was a family heirloom. Ancient. Brittle. Not the thing to don at afternoon tea.

Since he'd returned home, his mother said nothing regarding their Christmas encounter. She twittered about Lucius, whom she'd gone to visit in Azkaban, and her excitement over his return home. It was a chance for them to reconnect.

Draco relented to her persistence. She was his mother. He had to give her a chance to be in his life.

Only if she accepted Hermione, too.

"They imported this all the way from Sweden," Narcissa answered in the most subtle, boastful way. She indulged herself another bite of the strawberry and clotted cream scone. "They are the happiest cows, did you know?"

A young blonde witch hummed a soft agreement. "It is very tasty, ma'am. Thank you."

Draco had been summoned for the little tea party with his mother, unaware that guests were expected to dine with them. He hadn't appreciated being sprung on. Time at the manor was difficult enough without his mother parading him around like a prize pony freshly educated and barely acquitted wizard. In her eyes, that absolved him of all wrong. He was clean. A catch.

He kept a running tally of how many hours he had left to endure such torture of his mother's company.

It was one more day until he was expected at the train station with his friends for Pansy's holiday trip.

He hadn't seen Hermione in two days. No word. Not a single letter from an owl, either.

The magic that connected them was strained the farthest it'd ever been. It was stretched taut enough that the slightest disruption in the flow would ignite a superfluous reaction bound to make any situation ten times worse. Not that he cared.

Let the dishes and trinkets of the Manor shatter against the imported wallpaper.

"Draco." His mother hummed his name in her distracted delight. She forgot how much he resisted when the wards alerted them of visitors only fifteen minutes before. "Come away from the window. We've guests."

Greengrass was the family that Narcissa Malfoy intended to unite with to create a lineage worthy of her approval. Since a wife of her son's choosing was unacceptable, their lineage would be as well.

He was instructed by his mother to meet with the young witch in the beginning of term, which he had.

Astoria was her name. She was a quiet, tiny thing.

In another world, she might have been a good wife for him. He did not deny she was beautiful and kind, and gentle, and pleasant enough. But the only one of his eye was Hermione Granger. He knew of that completeness that came with her in his arms and to throw it away for any reason was absurd.

Pure blood be damned.

The very blood in his heart demanded her.

"I've not the taste for tea, Mother." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "There are things need tending to."