Two Idiots Walk Into a Bar (Dramione)

One Idiot's Mother Is Not An Idiot Herself

Does time slow down on Saturdays?

Draco pondered as he arrived at the Malfoy Manor at a quarter past eleven for his usual lunch with his mother, followed by the (highly expected by everyone else but him) Tea Party at four.

He walked out of the Manor's parlour where he had flooed into, going towards the French doors that led to the back garden, heading to the rose gardens – where he knew Narcissa liked to spend her mornings.

His mind had been in an obsessive loop since the previous night; one huge question begging to be answered: How possible (or impossible) is it that Jean and Granger are the same person?

From the moment Draco had first entertained that thought before bed to the second he opened his eyes that morning, he did nothing but think of all the things Jean had told him.

He knew she was in love with someone that she argued with constantly.

And Granger and I are constantly arguing.

Jean had insecurities regarding her curvy body.

And so does Granger.

The days Jean had argued with the man she loved coincided with days Granger and he had argued.

It was simply too easy to draw a parallel and conclude that Jean Lewis and Hermione Granger were the same person and that he, Draco Malfoy, was the man she loved.

However, there was one huge flaw in his conclusions, something that buried his hopes seven feet under and rubbed one universal truth on his face that forced him to see that all of those were nothing more than wishful thinking: Granger hated him.

Therefore, if She was Jean, that meant he had kissed and made love to the woman he loved and worshipped – but it also opened another can of worms: Jean/Granger was in love with someone else who argued with her just as much as he.

And according to Potter: Ronald Weasley was known for having spoken deprecatingly about her curves before, and they had been a couple in the past, so she had once liked him enough to date him.

Shite. Could she still love him?

"Good morning, my son!" Draco heard the sweet voice of his mother once he reached the beautiful rose garden she enjoyed caring for herself.

He couldn't help but smile as he looked at her relaxed and happy face. "Good morning, mum." He gave her a kiss on her cheek.

"You look tired, Draco." Narcissa waited no time to tell him.

"Yes." he nodded. "I didn't sleep much last night."

"Hm. You should rest before the party. You must look your best then."

He sighed in discontentment, "Do we really have to go through this every Saturday, mother?"

Narcissa shot him an 'I-know-better' glare, "Yes, Draco. You're my only son, and I wish to be a grandma before my eightieth birthday."

"You're 47." he fought the urge to roll his eyes at his mother. "You were 25 when you had me. I still have plenty of time."

"Not if you don't choose a woman to start courting! From courtship to marriage two years or more sometimes are needed, Draco! And getting pregnant may take years!"

And again the urge to roll his eyes had to be fought, knowing he should have already learned that discussing that with Narcissa would never take him anywhere.

She turned her attentions back to the pruning of the rose bushes. "You stayed up til late with the muggle woman from the pub?"

He was taken aback for a moment, but soon shook his head, knowing he shouldn't be surprised she had had him followed.