41

Chapter 41

Friday 14 March 2003: PM

Nearing the ajar door of the Manor's dining room, Hermione stops short of entering as Lady Malfoy's refined tones resound into the corridor. Placing a steadying hand on Draco's muscular chest as he halts beside her, they exchange a wide-eyed look of surprise as his mother roundly (and loudly) upbraids her husband.

" –what did you think would happen, Lucius? You tore through that door as though you were being chased by an eminence of angry centaurs, carrying that vile publication… and then proceeded to drop it squarely at the feet of our son!"

"Narcissa – my dearest heart, I beg you to listen to me– " Lucius whines.

"And you have the gall to sit there and claim it was not your intent to expose and upset our boy! For the love of serpents, why did you not leave it in your study? Were you hoping to humiliate Draco in front of Hermione? Oh, Lucius!" Narcissa's tongue-lashing ends on a half-sob.

Time to take a leaf out of the Malfoys' playbook and make a dramatic entrance. Hermione sweeps into the chamber with her head held high. Her peripheral vision notes Macdolas and Ruibby guiltily springing apart from their clinch in the darkened right-hand corner of the room; she resolutely sets aside that startling vision as she authoritatively announces, "We'd all like to know the answer to that question, Lucius: exactly what were you hoping to achieve with your little theatrics? Because if you were scheming to oust me from Draco's life, you have failed – spectacularly."

Holding Draco's right hand aloft in her left as though she's declaring the winner of a boxing match, Hermione glares at her old enemy and lifts an eyebrow. "Well?".

"I don't recall giving you leave to use my Christian name, Ms Granger," Lucius sullenly mutters, his posture ramrod straight as he leans on his sinister snake-headed cane, standing at the head of the table.

"Lucius!" Narcissa interjects, as Draco growls softly.

Hermione merely chuckles sardonically. "Come, Lucy – we're well past all those petty formalities, surely?". She ignores his horrified gasp at the impudent sobriquet, winking at Draco as she continues, "I am delighted to inform you that – despite your worst efforts – I am just as committed to my relationship with Draco as I was before you pulled your little stunt."

"I didn't sodding well mean to throw in the cat amongst the pixies! I panicked – is that so difficult for you all to understand?" the former Lord Malfoy aggrievedly protests. "Must my every thoughtless action be attributed malicious intent?".

"I hope that was asked ironically," Hermione incredulously retorts.

Draco sighs, returning their joined hands to a less combative position at their sides as he addresses his sulky father. "Lucius – is that really all it was? A panicked moment of imprudence?".

"Yes. I will admit to feeling somewhat… flustered. I had thought this issue buried, when your mother struck a deal with that conniving Skeeter woman; seeing that confronting photograph, and the accompanying article – it was a shock." Lucius visibly droops as he divulges, "My guilt over the whole dreadful affair has not abated, Draco. It was at my urging that you began drinking at night to ease your terrors; and I failed to admit the seriousness of your problem, until it was almost too late."

He raises his elegiac shark-grey eyes to look at his son. "I am sorry, Draco. And Ms Granger… I did not consciously intend to disrupt our party; I was discombobulated at seeing the Malfoy name dragged through the mud yet again."

Hermione scrutinizes Lucius keenly, wary of his ready capitulation. "Since you have raised the issue: Draco has nothing to be ashamed of. He should be commended and admired for possessing the courage and strength of character to address his problems – not vilified for it. It's well past time your family relinquished this unhealthy obsession with keeping up appearances, and protecting the Malfoy name at all costs," she lectures.

Narcissa crosses her arms and nods emphatically. "I second your opinion, Hermione. Lucius needs to relax his stubborn grip on moth-eaten tradition and elitist idiocies and recognize that Draco has bravely redeemed himself and the dubious Malfoy lineage." She turns an eagle eye on her bewildered son, stepping forward to cradle his pointed chin with her palm. "Come, Draco – have I not told you a thousand times how proud I am of you? And that you should hold your head high and ignore the naysayers? Let the little people hate – J'en ai plus rien à foutre!".

"Narcissa – language!" Pale eyebrows hiked almost to his brow line, Lucius looks as though he's found a hair in his bouillabaisse. Draco chokes on a laugh.

"I don't think Mac and I have yet covered that particular phrase," Hermione drolly observes.

Wholly ignoring her scandalized husband, Narcissa gives Draco's cheek a last loving pat and smiles at him through damp azure eyes. "Mon fils, I am upset for you, not because of you; and knowing you as I do, you internalized the shock and pain and tried to push away Hermione, hmmm? Silly boy. She will always share her strength with you, just as you would die to protect her."

"I will," Hermione nods fervently, as Draco gulps before bringing his girlfriend's small fingers to his lips and pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles. His slate eyes never leave her face as he echoes her avid nod.

Lucius interrupts their tender moment as he grumbles, "I assure you all – I am no longer possessed of an overweening compulsion to promote and protect our… warped Pureblood ideals and status… becoming a convicted War criminal does have the inescapable effect of resetting one's philosophy. I am well aware that I am a pariah, a joke. My pride and vanity brought about our family's greatest disgrace, and I shall never forgive myself for it." His scrawny shoulders hunch as his thin mouth droops and his gaze dims.

Well, the broody blond apple didn't fall far from this tree, did it? Hermione sternly instructs her soft heart to listen to her sceptical brain and take Lucius's pathos with a healthy pinch of salt.

"I digress. Draco, I am not mortified by your struggles; I am disgusted with myself, that I subjected my beloved family to trauma, terror, and censure. I share your mother's sentiments… I–I am proud of you, son." He briefly lifts his dull ashen eyes off the fine white tablecloth to meet Draco's wary glance.

After a pregnant pause, Draco inclines his head minutely. "Thank you… Father."

Silence stretches around the table, until Macdolas provides a welcome distraction. "Macdolas commends the Family of Malfoy for standing together in their times of trouble and asks on behalf of his darlingest Ruibby if they are ready for the Gruyère cheese gougères? The savoury puffs grow cold," he declares, with a hint of mild rebuke.

"Always thinking of food, aren't you, scamp?" Draco states, his lips quirking at the corners.

The Scottish steward takes the bait immediately. "Macdolas's girlfriend – the most efficient, organized, accomplished, punctilious, exacting, thrifty, wise and pulchritudinous– "

"Salazar's sins! Has he swallowed a thesaurus?" Lucius snipes.

Mac doesn't miss a beat. "–Ruibby, she labours long and hard over the exquisite menu presented tonight, Master Malfoy! Let not Ruibby's professionalism and perfectionism be in vain!" he shrills.

Hermione gently advises, "Mac, Ruibby – I'm sorry, but I think our appetites may have fled for the evening, given the emotional strain we've experienced." The little sprite's face falls, while Ruibby looks flushed and pettish at the news.

"Darlings, why don't you busy yourselves packing up half of all the courses for Hermione and Draco to take home, instead?" Narcissa's dulcet tones suggest. "Lucius and I can dine tête à tête a little later, perhaps."

Ruibby sniffs her assent, while Macdolas looks resigned but amenable as he confidently lays his midget inamorata's capable little hand upon his arm and practically whisks her out of the room.

Apparently, Lucius's recent humility doesn't re-colour all aspects of his haughty personality, as he huffs, "The staff are becoming increasingly impertinent – though I see you all prefer to humour their effrontery, rather than correct it."

Before Hermione can rip into the sneering patriarch for his snobbishness, Draco speaks up.

"Macdolas saved Hermione's life, Lucius – I'd hand him the keys to the Manor this very moment, if I thought he would accept them. He and Ruibby may run the household in whichever manner they see fit, as far as I am concerned. We are blessed to count them as part of our family." He smiles grimly as Lucius purses his lips but holds his tongue.

"Without our hard-working (and until recently, grossly under-valued) house elves, this ancestral pile would have crumbled to ruins many generations ago, Lucius; mayhap it is a shame it never came to that," Narcissa adds her two Knut's worth to Draco's defence of the elven pair. "Do close your mouth, husband, lest you catch flies in your gaping maw."

"Now, dears – I'm grieved that our pleasant evening has not eventuated; quite the opposite, isn't it?" Narcissa appears drawn and slightly fragile as she gestures at the elaborate, untouched table setting. "I'm sorry, I've been a poor hostess." The stately older witch rubs briefly at her temples.

Hermione doesn't think twice about moving closer to give the fretting matriarch a brief, comforting hug. "Not at all – and I think we should have a quick private chat about how best to… um, rebalance that particular ledger, Narcissa." She significantly tips her brunette head toward the abominable edition of the Evening Prophet that still lies atop the table.

"Oh! Yes… indeed we should, Hermione. Walk with me to the kitchens? We'll be back soon, gentlemen." Narcissa recovers her poise and tucks her arm into Hermione's; the two witches begin to compare revenge stratagems once they are out of hearing range.

Who would have ever predicted that one day I would be colluding with Lady Narcissa Malfoy to defend her son's honour? Hermione almost chortles aloud at the fantastical turns her life has taken over the past few months.

And despite the continuing drama of roofie conspiracy hovering over us; I would not change a thing. For it brought me to Draco's door – and I cannot imagine a life without him firmly fixed at its centre.

She bends her head solicitously as they walk briskly down the grand hallway.

"You promise, Granger? You won't go anywhere – anywhere – without taking Macdolas with you? Work, therapy, the grocery store?" Draco urges, for only the third time in as many minutes.

Hermione somehow resists emitting an exasperated sigh as she reassures him, "I promise, Malfoy. I won't take any chances. Besides, what need have I for the grocery store, considering how thoroughly Macdolas attends to our every whim? Please, try not to worry – I'll be fine." Missing you like crazy, of course… she thinks, but does not voice.

Draco peers down at her anxiously nonetheless, as his lean hands slide to the small of her back. They are standing before the huge Floo fireplace in the ornate 'Belle Époque' parlour.

You know you're hobnobbing with the elite when they name their rooms, Hermione sniggers to herself. She imagines her father's undoubtedly disparaging reaction to the practice… of course, if she and Draco continue to – well, date, for want of a better term – Bernard Granger may well be invited here himself. Her small, amused smile deepens.

"I'm not smiling about your insistence on proper safeguards – just thinking about my dad potentially riffing about the décor here," Hermione explains as Draco's brows draw together in puzzlement. "He does have an incurable case of foot-in-mouth disease."

"I hadn't noticed," Draco smiles back. His expression shifts to seriousness again as he rests his forehead against hers. Their skin-to-skin contact seriously tests her resolve to spend a few days apart. No. No. This brief separation will serve to gain some clarity about our personal and communal tribulations. Be strong and trust that Draco will come back to you. Hermione wills away a traitorous tear at the thought of sleeping in the big bed without her gorgeous blond lover.

A movement to her left catches her eye; Macdolas and Ruibby are 'saying' their own goodbyes. Yikes.

"Don't look at them directly: you'll lie awake for hours with some truly disturbing imagery running through your stricken psyche," Draco murmurs against her ear.

"Malfoy! They're cute as a button, and you know it… although, I could do without seeing their… erm, more adult behaviours," Hermione admits as she returns her eyes to his disgruntled grey gaze. "If I have trouble achieving slumber tonight… it will be because I can't sleep without my strong, sexy boyfriend cuddling me, anyway."

"Merlin – you're not making this any easier by saying things like that, Granger," Draco complains, as he tunnels his fingers into her lower scalp while dropping tiny pecks to her cheeks and the tip of her nose.

He leans away from her a little, hesitating before he slowly enunciates, "I can't bear the thought of being away from you… but I know I need to work on my issues. I think – I think I am struggling with this public ignominy now because during my previous therapy, I never addressed my desire to – to be worthy of you, to be an equal partner in a relationship… I never thought I stood a chance. With you. Ah, fuck – I am all over the place, I mean to say that– "

Placing a gentle finger to Draco's lips, Hermione beams up at her unusually inarticulate lover. "It's OK. I get it. I do. I support you and I am here for you, but addressing your low self-esteem is something you have to work on for yourself." She bites her lip before slowly continuing, "Draco… I want you to see yourself – truly see yourself – as I see you. I want you to know, to feel that you are my equal (my better, really) in the marrow of your bones. You deserve that, mon coeur. Not for me – for you."

She gurgles a small laugh before she playfully adds, "I do expect a thorough, extremely French ravishment when you return home, though - si tu comprends ma signification?".

"Oh oui - je comprends, ma petite tentatrice sexy," Draco enthusiastically replies, his carbonite eyes gleaming. "Trust me – you will have no complaints."

His mobile mouth descends; Hermione expects him to slant his lips across hers again, but he directs his kisses to her neck and jawline, nibbling sensually until she gasps in pleasure. Turning her face, she engages Draco in a torrid smooch, licking at the outline of his lips before twining their tongues together deeply. She infuses as much of her complicated emotions into their embrace as she can: relief, joy, sadness, hope, and of course the barely-banked lust that has been her constant companion since she awoke in Draco's big white bed a mere month ago.

They break apart reluctantly, moving seamlessly into a tight hug. Head tucked against his heart, Hermione reluctantly whispers, "Malfoy… I have to go, before I forget my resolve and drag you back home with me."

"I know," Draco sounds equally disinclined to detach himself from her person. "Hermione, I–I will miss you, ma petite… will you write to me, please? Just a little note here and there? If– if you feel thusly inclined, of course," he timorously requests. He appears shy and uncertain, glancing at her from beneath his platinum fringe.

"I will," Hermione quickly concurs. " She blinks as her eyes fill with unshed tears. "Would you – would you write back to me, please? I–I love your letters, Draco. I cherish them." As I do you.

Vigorously nodding, Draco cups her elbow to guide her into the Floo; Hermione pinches a measure of green powder before stepping onto the wide flagstones of the great hearth.

"Macdolas – time to go. Come on, leave your petite paramour alone – don't make me repeat myself, please." Draco grouses beneath his breath, "Don't be too soft on him, Granger – he knows exactly how to twist you around his gnarly little finger."

"Soft? Oh, do you mean like how you recently professed that you'd cheerily sign over this stately mansion to your elfish major-domo?" Hermione snickers. "I'll be as hard as nails, never fear."

Draco bequeaths a final, soft-as-silk kiss to her trembling mouth before he steps back, his hand sliding slowly from hers. His red-rimmed eyes never leave hers as he instructs the house elf who now stands beside her.

"Macdolas, I am entrusting you with Hermione's continued safety; I know you won't let me down. Any problems, please advise me immediately. And no weaponry 'accessories', alright? You'll only do yourself a mischief, and you're a mighty powerful sorcerer without them, in any case."

The puckish urchin's initial dejected reaction to Draco's anti-weapons caution swiftly changes to a proud blush as he pops out his scrimpy chest at the compliment. "Macdolas thanks Master Malfoy for his benevolent acclaim – Macdolas promises no harm shall come to Her Grace Lady Granger whilst under Macdolas's fierce guardianship! Macdolas eliminates nefarious assailants without a moment's hesitation!"

"Easy, tiger," Hermione pats his quivering arm. "We'll be fine, Draco. Au revoir, mon coeur."

"Au revoir, ma petite Hermione."

Hermione allows herself one last glimpse of Draco's beautiful face and his melancholic mien before she shuts her eyes and prepares to Floo to the townhouse. Be safe, my darling wizard. Come back to me.

Hermione's first indication that there is something unusual happening in the lounge room of the townhouse is Macdolas stiffening and pushing her behind him as she prepares to step out of the Floo.

The bristling little elf relaxes in a matter of milliseconds as he proclaims, "Her Grace Lady Granger has a cackle of wizards and witches visiting the Townhouse of Malfoy!". Macdolas begins to suck in a huge breath (no doubt required to rattle off an extensive list of honorific titles); Hermione steps out joyfully before he can get swept away on his embellishing tangent.

"Hermione!" the chorus of voices drowns out whatever Macdolas was about to announce.

Was there a party planned that no one bothered to invite me to? Hermione wonders in bemusement. The living area is almost filled to capacity: Harry, Luna, Pansy, Theo and Blaise are seated on the powder-blue sofa and retro armchairs, and appear to have helped themselves to crackers, olives and a selection of gourmet cheeses arrayed on the coffee table.

"Guys – what're you all doing here? Not that I'm not pleased to see you," she pauses to return Harry's side-hug, "…but did I miss two or five owls, somewhere along the line?".

Blaise strolls forward, his merry dark eyes unusually subdued. "Theo, Pansy and I came as soon as we read that odious article in the Evening Prophet; turns out Harry and Luna shared our concerns." He frowns as he squints into the unlit fireplace. "Where's your snarky bleached-blond beau at, anyway?".

"Draco's staying at the Manor for a few days," Hermione quietly responds. "We were at the Manor to have dinner with Narcissa and Lucius when – when the story broke."

"Wait – the dumb bastard hasn't dumped you, has he?" an outraged Pansy bolts up from her middle seat on the lounge, chin jutting pugnaciously as she hurries to stand in front of Hermione.

Luna pipes up. "He tried – but Hermione wouldn't let him, of course." Her dreamy crystal blue eyes crinkle at the corners as her lips form a Mona Lisa smile.

Harry decides to play at protective big brother. "Is that true, love? Malfoy wanted to break up with you?" he rasps.

Merlin's pants! Hermione forces herself to exhale, long and deep. "OK: before you go flying off the handle, let me explain what happened tonight, please."

She grabs a scowling Pansy by the hand and tows her back to the couch, taking Pansy's middle spot while Pansy smugly moves into Blaise's previous position. The tall Slytherin perches on the wide arm of the lowline couch without comment, while Harry sits back in his armchair. Theo turns his gangly legs slightly, the better to see Hermione's face as she begins her narrative. Luna hitches her own armchair a few inches closer, giving a tiny, encouraging nod.

"We'd just sat down at table with Narcissa when Lucius came flying through the door…" Hermione launches into the account of their fraught evening, attempting to keep the tale as concise and clear as possible. She decides to omit that Draco's Muggle alias is 'Jake Malloy'; it might be best to save that gold humour nugget for a less grave opportunity.

Hermione's voice only wobbles a few times, when she describes Narcissa's mini-intervention in the Muggle hospital after Draco awoke from his near-fatal drinking binge; and Draco's self-sacrificing effort to misguidedly push her away for the sake of salvaging her reputation.

"But Draco never stood a chance against my superior arguments and debating skills, of course," Hermione states decisively.

"More like sheer bullheadedness," she thinks she hears Harry mumble, as Blaise turns a spontaneous laugh into a fake cough.

Glaring at the bespectacled Auror, Hermione turns up her straight little nose as she concludes, "Draco and I have agreed to spend a little time apart, for both our sakes… he needs to come to terms with the fact he's not the 'debauched disgrace' that he has considered himself to be for so long, and also work on his relationship with his parents. And he was insistent that I 'gain some distance from our situation' – so here I am.'

"Well, here we are," she amends, nodding to where Macdolas stands. He is scrutinizing the scrounged spread of snacks haphazardly arranged atop the coffee table, wearing a sourly disapproving expression. The fancy containers of packed-up dinner party food are stacked by his tapping boots.

"I have promised Draco to venture nowhere without Macdolas by my side, so you shan't worry I'll be endangered or lonely here, while my darl– while Draco's away."

"Thank Salazar." Theo's heartfelt expostulation beside her makes Hermione startle; he apologizes immediately.

"I'm sorry, Hermione – but you didn't see Draco raging about St Mungo's, when he first arrived. And I've no wish for another 'light choking' from a maddened Lord Malfoy, should I be found negligent in the bodyguard stakes again," Theo spells out with a remorseful laugh. "He had a point – Blaise and I should have stuck around the courtrooms, regardless of your steadfast refusal."

"No, I was wrong that day – multiple times. Oh, go on, Harry, note it in your diary, if you must," Hermione sighs, as Harry mimes licking a pencil and scribbling down imaginary notes in an illusory journal.

"Leave it out, Potter. We've established that Hermione made a rare boo-boo – big deal," Pansy crisply inserts herself into the conversation. "Now, Hermione: are you certain we don't need to run a posse around to the Manor and smack some sense into your daft 'darling'?". She smirks as Hermione colours pink and drops her eyes to her lap.

"Yes, we all know you two are so far gone on each other, you're in a different galaxy; there's no need to pretend otherwise," Pansy laughs.

"Pansy, space travel is not yet a developed skill of the Wizarding world, though Father believes we may yet see the carefully controlled utilization of the Seraka Neonporter Wormhole, allowing Earthlings to access our neighbouring star systems with comparative ease," Luna imparts, as everyone falls silent.

Blaise rallies first. "Luna – my favourite little Ravenclaw – the depth and breadth of your astonishing intellect never fails to amaze me. Do please ask Xenophilius to inform me as soon as the Seraka Neonporter Wormhole is up and running; I've always had a yen to circulate my myriad talents as far and wide in the universe as possible," he grins.

Had Zabini spoken with the faintest trace of mockery or scorn, Hermione would have had no compunction in blasting him six ways to Sunday; but his tone is sincere and his eyes gentle as they rest on Luna's delicate features.

"I'm the only Ravenclaw you're friendly with, Blaise – naturally, I am your favourite," Luna pertly rejoins, eyes sparkling.

"Hush, Blaise, the grown-ups are talking," Pansy rudely shuts him down. "Look, do we still have to pummel Draco into seeing some sense, or what? You didn't answer my earlier query, Hermione."

"You're quite the bloodthirsty Snake, huh, Parkinson? Don't tell me you're still carrying a torch for Malfoy?" Harry baits the stylish brunette.

"As if, Lightning Bolt… unlike some people, I've moved on from my first crush," Pansy scoffs as Theo and Blaise snort with amusement at her cutting jab.

Even Hermione has to smother a smile as Harry sputters, "That's untrue, Pansy – and–and – my affairs of the heart are not any of your business!".

"Pfft – and who says, 'affairs of the heart'? Some sad old dude who needs to move on, that's who," Pansy jeers.

Oh, dear. Harry is being rather foolish, thinking he can lock horns with Pansy and not get gored. This impromptu gathering is getting out of control at a rapid rate, Hermione worries.

"Guys, please – can we focus on why you're here? No, Pansy – Draco and I are solid. I forbid you – any of you – from laying a finger on Draco, is that understood? Or you'll answer to me." Hermione shares her severe glare equally between Harry, Blaise, and Pansy. She knows that neither Theo nor Luna have the slightest intention of roughing up Draco, but these three…

"Hey, I'm a lover, not a fighter," Blaise holds out his hands, while Harry nods moodily and Pansy clicks her tongue in a non-committal fashion.

"First: do any of you believe that Draco should be ashamed of his struggles with alcoholism?". The resounding chorus of negatives ease Hermione's mild anxiety that Draco's friends may yet judge his past.

"Excellent. I think if you were to tell him that yourselves, it would go a long way towards helping Draco heal," Hermione wrings her hands as her heart squeezes in sympathy for her swain.

"He's borne this burden alone for too long; I'd appreciate your help in making him see… see how phenomenal he is. How loyal, and unselfish, and courageous, and– " Hermione chokes as her emotions bubble over. Pansy drapes her arm around Hermione's bent neck in an awkward loose headlock, while Luna somehow wedges her slender body between the now-crying witch and Theo, wrapping Hermione in a tender hug.

"We're here for you both, Hermione," Luna calmly assures.

Pansy gruffly avers, "You'd better believe it, Golden Girl. No, Blaise – don't you dare, this is not a 'group hug' – piss off, " she warns a sheepish-faced Zabini, who instantly backs away from the women.

"I'm sorry – it's been an emotional evening," Hermione howls.

"It's alright, Hermione – we understand," Theo softly contributes. "I just wish Draco had told us what he was going through, back in '99… we wouldn't have kept throwing temptation in his path, had we realized what he was suffering through."

"Hell – even I feel bad for Malfoy," Harry confesses. "Having Voldemort in my head during random episodes was bad enough; I suppose I never gave much consideration to how difficult it must have been to actually share the same roof as the crazy demon for months on end… and somehow stay sane."

"Draco's control has always been legendary," Blaise's voice is sober and sad. "I used to envy him for that – oh, don't look so disbelieving, Pansy. Even I'm aware that my 'more-ness' can get a bit sloppy sometimes... I mean, it's rare – but it happens. Anyway, I feel stupid and selfish for not realizing how tormented Draco was, back then. Too busy getting my kicks wherever I could find them, I guess."

"No one can ever achieve self-realization until he's ready and willing to see and accept it; your love has provided Draco with the courage to experience this epiphany of his true self-worth, Hermione," Luna affirms, continuing to pat Hermione's back as her sobs dwindle. "I'm glad he's finally at that point. He'll come back from this stronger and wiser – you'll see."

"Luna… did you know about this? About… about Draco's addiction, and rehabilitation? That was what you were alluding to yesterday, wasn't it?" Hermione snuffles, as she carefully straightens and wipes her swollen eyes with the navy handkerchief.

"Draco confided in me when he returned from Paris. He knew I could be trusted to keep his secret. I'm sorry that it was revealed in such a horrible fashion, but it has festered long enough," Luna nods. "Nobody who matters will think any less of Draco for it. And if they do, they won't matter to us anymore."

Oh, Luna – bless your angel heart. Hermione bestows a grateful smile on her one-in-a-million blonde friend.

"Hermione – I have some information I need to share with you," Harry sounds uneasy. "It pertains to Operation Acromantula."

"OK…" Hermione takes a deep breath, surreptitiously crossing her fingers. Pansy and Luna's limbs return to their sides as everyone stares at the sombre-faced young Auror.

"We went back to Flint's home this morning – and we found a few scraps of burned parchment in his fireplace. Our forensics team are still working on deciphering and reconfiguring the oddments of words we retrieved, but we've already found a link between Flint, and the freelance Prophet reporter who cobbled up this hatchet job on Malfoy."

"I thought Rita Skeeter wrote the exposé?" Blaise interrupts. "Wasn't her name on the by-line?"

Harry shakes his head. "It was her name, but Skeeter didn't write the article, and nor did she have knowledge of it. She's hopping mad, and terrified that Narcissa Malfoy will make her pay for seemingly reneging on their prior arrangement."

"So who wrote it?" Pansy demands. "And where does the scum reside?".

"That's confidential information, Parkinson." Harry appears weary as he takes off his glasses and polishes them on the sleeves of his deep scarlet robes. "My point is – we believe Flint's associate paid this dodgy journo to investigate Draco's past, and write the article. Well, it couldn't have been Flint, since he's still comatose."

"Didn't the Auror team seal Flint's house after you raided it the first time, Harry?" a puzzled Theo chips in. "I thought that was standard procedure?".

"It is – someone broke the sealing spells, and planted the parchment scraps – they were burned elsewhere," Harry groans in frustration. "This arsehole is toying with us… playing some kind of 'catch me if you can' sick game.'

"We will find him – and he'll pay, have no doubt of that – but in the meantime, I want everyone in this room to be extra vigilant, until this criminal is locked up, OK? If he's gone after Draco – he could target any of us."

They all nod their compliance, as the atmosphere in the room shifts to trepidation and simmering ire. Harry winds up with, "Does anyone have any further questions?".

"Macdolas asks the friends of the Houses of Granger-Malfoy: who decides to raid the provisions and chooses the wrong platters and bowls for the extemporaneous feast?" the aggrieved high voice cracks the growing tension and causes widespread, infectious laughter amongst the miscellaneous group of peers. The diminutive manservant's big ears jiggle as his petulance grows.

Blaise nearly slides off the arm of the couch as he pleads guilty. "Sorry, Mac – I figured you wouldn't mind, and I was hungry," he gasps, as Macdolas shakes an admonishing finger at him.

"Master Zabini incorrectly uses the soup bowls and the bread platter; he hacks at the Red Leicester cheddar with the paring knife, and picks a dessert spoon for the green olives," Macdolas testily stamps his foot as the hilarity around him increases.

"Oh, Mac – I'm sorry. Blaise didn't mean any harm, though," Hermione bites the inside of her cheeks as she soothes the crabby little house elf. She spies the food containers by his polished Hessians. "Listen – why don't you set this little feast to rights, and then perhaps you could serve up the dinner party portions we brought home? Make a proper supper of it, hmmm?".

Macdolas claps his hands in delight. "Her Grace Lady Granger is a mastermind! Macdolas cannot wait until he tells his darlingest Ruibby of the cackle's indubitable appreciation of her sublime cooking!" and he capers off to the kitchen, effortlessly levitating the stacked containers ahead of him.

Hermione waits until Macdolas is safely out of sight before she lets loose her helpless mirth, clutching at Luna's and Pansy's hands for support. The fellow feeling in the room is a marvellous relief, as the stress of the night dissipates to more manageable emotional levels. Theo hiccoughs as Blaise wheezes, while Harry's chuckles emit in regular bursts. Luna is giggling beside her.

When she is able to vocalize coherent speech again, Hermione gazes gratefully at her companions. "Thank you – all of you – for coming here, and gifting us your generous support, and comfort. You guys are just – just the best, and I love you all for it. Thank you."

"Even though I upset your house elf/attack dog/bodyguard by pilfering your pantry and using the wrong kitchenware for nibbles?" Blaise cheekily qualifies, with a saucy wink.

Managing only a simple nod (lest her faucet of tears twist to 'on' again), Hermione muses at how rich her life is now; she is lucky to be surrounded by friends, family… and Draco.

Smack bang in the centre of her world.

My complicated, wondrous, extraordinary, beautiful young wizard.

My Draco.

French translations:

J'en ai plus rien à foutre – I don't give a flying fuck.

si tu comprends ma signification? – if you understand my meaning?

Oh oui - je comprends, ma petite tentatrice sexy – Oh yes – I get it, my sexy little temptress.