By the merest chance I discovered that I have completely forgotten to post chapter 3 of this story. My heart-felt apologies to all who were interested enough to read it. Here it is, after all.

Don't scream, don't think, don't scream, don't think, don't …

Aaaiii! Ouch!

Blast.

Narcissa Malfoy reached for her wand on the bedside table. "Lumos," she muttered. Not that she needed the light to confirm that it was true, that Voldemort was dead, and that Draco was safe. Every aching muscle of her body told her where she was.

In their exotic Muggle Hotel, now with assembled furniture.

Narcissa heaved a deep sigh and smiled. This time, there was a difference. Not just in that she knew at once that it had been a dream, that she was no longer in the horror of Malfoy Manor. This time it wasn't just Draco who was safe. She was safe, too.

What time was it? Six o'clock. Not worth trying to go back to sleep, then. She'd get up – very carefully, moving one limb at a time – and she'd make a cup of tea. And think of all the wonderful things that had happened. Not for a letter to Draco. It was far too personal for that; it was hers. Draco just needed to know her final decision, and he'd be pleased about it.

But Narcissa would go over everything, with a cup of tea. Interior Decorator's tea, as Fiona called it ever since the Tea Compromise.

Fiona. Narcissa smiled as she thought of her.

Fiona, who was asleep in the next room. Fiona, who was now her partner in the B&B business. Fiona, who had turned out to be the best friend a woman could have.

Assembling the Muggle furniture was everything Narcissa expected and more.

The first part was easy. The not-so-very-nice man from the shop had put everything in the hall and had turned to leave. "Has it never occurred to your shop that one does not usually put one's bed, wardrobe, and dining room chairs in one's hallway?" Narcissa had asked. "Surely, you're expected to give service"?

"Delivery past the door. That's regulations, Madam," he had said. "Everyone knows that," he had added with quite unnecessary churlishness before slamming the door shut.

But since they were witches, the problem was easily overcome. They Levitated everything in place while the packages were still flat.

Then they started on the dining room chairs. "How difficult can it be?" Narcissa asked. "A chair is a simple construction."

They carefully gathered all parts of the chair and the instruction sheet. "Look, it's with pictures, how helpful," Narcissa said. And so it was; thanks to the pictures they found out that the funny little S-shaped screw was all they needed to put it together. "Amazing," said Narcissa. "Those clever Muggles!"

Each next chair went better than the one before. "There. Wait until I have Transfigured them; it'll be absolutely great. A sort of over-the-top modern version of Louis Quinze."

"I'll have to see it – I mean, I'm sure it's wonderful, but I have no idea what you're talking about," said Fiona. "Perhaps, at the end of the day, you could do just one or two? To give me an idea?"

"A treat to look forward to," said Narcissa. "I can't wait to see the result myself. "

When the chairs were done, they nodded smugly and turned to the tables. "One on the upstairs landing," Narcissa instructed. "It'll make a nice little corner."

The table turned out much less fun. "Do we want to be able to make it bigger?" Fiona asked plaintively. "It's the bit that makes it expandable that is so difficult."

"Sound thinking," Narcissa said. And then they found out that the construction just wouldn't be safe enough without the middle bit.

"How many of these did we buy?" asked Fiona.

"Just two – one for the landing, and one for the white suite," answered Narcissa. "And thanks."

"Thanks?"

"I took it because it hardly needs Transfiguration, and I thought, the less magic the better. But I should have bought a simpler one. And you don't say that."

Also, Fiona had used we instead of you. That was rather novel and pleasant, too. Not that she could say that without being publicly disloyal to her husband. Lucius had said we when things went right, and more often than not it had been I instead of we, even. And it had been you as soon as things went even slightly wrong. You wanted … you decided … your idea. .. your plan. ..

And then things had gone horribly wrong, and Draco, chivalrous, confident Draco, who had been groomed to carry on the Malfoy Tradition, wanted to make up for Lucius's mistake and got the Dark Mark and that impossible task.

And Lucius had said it.

Your son.

That day the world had changed for Narcissa. From that moment on, Draco had been her son, and she had stood between him and the rest of the world. She had used Bellatrix. She had begged Snape. She had accepted everything those people did to the Manor. Everything they did in the Manor. Whatever it took to keep Draco safe, she had done it. She had helped Potter.

She had helped Potter win. She had ensured he could remain still, regain strength, and lash out only when he was truly ready and surrounded by his friends, not alone against an overwhelming majority.

Lucius was in Azkaban because of it, serving his twenty-year sentence. And until these last few weeks with Fiona, that had been the only truly good thought for herself: that her husband was gone for twenty years at least. At some point, during those years or afterwards, she would divorce him. When Draco had a family of his own, when he was well and truly settled in his new life and could cope with a divorce. When everyone had got used to the separation already. When she could say, "we've grown too far apart."

Your son. No-one would ever know it, except herself. She doubted whether Lucius remembered it, even, blaming Narcissa was so much second nature. But divorce him she would. And if that meant taking up a job when Fiona needed her no longer, she would do so and scrub Sick Wards or whatever it was they made her do for the rest of her days. Whatever dreadful job she got would be her punishment. A life-sentence, one suspected. But she would not stay with Lucius.

"Cissy? Cissy, are you still with me?"

Narcissa looked up. "Look, I think I've figured it out. Could you hold this bit?" Fiona asked.

"I'm sorry. I was … I'm sorry for being so unhelpful, really."

"Never mind. And you weren't unhelpful. Now, if this works, I suggest we take a coffee break."

"Good plan. And then we'll do the second table and the wardrobes. Surely they can't be as fiddly as this?"

At first, the wardrobes got an 'Outstanding' for utter unfiddliness. Top, bottom, long sides, backside, door. Everything was so simple and logical. Within minutes, it began to take shape.

"See? We're good at this," Narcissa enthused.

"Now this bit," said Fiona. "The funny one. It's not a shelf. Oh, I see, it's part of the front – look at the picture."

They looked.

"Damnation. That should have been put in place before we fastened the sides. Who invents these things?"

But they decided it was a beginner's fault. The next wardrobe would be easier. As furniture went, it still merited an 'Acceptable'.

All in all, it took them till well after lunch – a quick Ryvita-and-marmite affair – before the wardrobe was finished. Fiona carefully Levitated it in place, and they stood back to admire.

Everything was perfect. Everything except for the funny little bit, which was put in back-to-front. And it showed.

"That's not keeping things affordable, that's a dirty, rotten, mean trick," fumed Narcissa. They looked at each other , at the little S-shaped screw, and at the wardrobe. And then Narcissa smiled. "Thank Merlin we're witches. We'll Transfigure. It needs work anyhow. But when I think of those poor Muggles! And this shop is really popular?"

"It is," said Fiona, smiling relief. "Especially among young couples who just start out together, I think. And among divorced people."

"One can see the connection between that place and divorce," said Narcissa. "If one wants to put this together and remain married, one has to be really good friends as well as lovers."

Or just really good friends, she thought. Fiona and she had been in this together. Neither had blamed the other for anything, not even when blame might have been given. How I will miss this place when the decorating is done. How I will miss Fiona.

At around five o'clock, they had all the dining chairs, the two tables, and two wardrobes. "And we've gained lots of experience. We'll work our way up to chests of drawers and beds. By the end of the week we should have finished," said Fiona.

"And if I can still lift a wand by that time, I'll start on the Transfiguration. I say we call it a day now. I'll go and Transfigure that table and the two chairs on the landing. You get us two glasses and a bottle of wine, and we'll celebrate in style."

When Fiona returned with the bottle and glasses, she nearly screamed. "It's fabulous! It's absolutely fabulous, you're a wonder, you're a miracle, it's amazing."

They sat down. Not even on the chairs, but on the floor, against the wall, the better to admire Narcissa's arrangement. Fiona poured, and they toasted each other.

Narcissa smiled as she thought about the next bit. The amazing bit.

They had taken their first sip, and then Fiona had cleared her throat. "There's something I want to ask – well, to discuss – to propose, really. You must promise to be perfectly honest and tell me if you hate the idea. But I've been thinking …"

"Yes?" said Narcissa, encouragingly. Fiona had been as good as her word, and Narcissa had been allowed to make all the decisions on her own. If Fiona had a little decorative idea now, she, Narcissa, would listen carefully and try to incorporate it. She owed her friend that much. Owed her much more than that, even.

"When the B&B opens – it's bound to be a success, just look at what you did! Well, there'll be a lot of work. Maintaining the place. Making sure it keeps looking great. Receiving our guests. Making them feel welcome. Perhaps, in due course, we'll even have staff to manage.

"I've been thinking, Cissy. All that is, in a way, what you've done all your life. On a much grander scale, of course. Not for money. You did it for real. But … well, you're good at it. I mean, I'm good with money. And investments. And I know how to make a bed and clean a room, of course. But you're good at being a top-notch hostess.

"Have you ever considered … that is, would you consider … staying on? As a full partner in this affair, I mean. I wouldn't offer you wages, we'd be in this together and share the profit. It would give you a place to live. And something to do while Lucius is … away. What do you think?"

For several seconds Narcissa had been speechless. For several seconds too long, as it turned out.

"You hate it. Sorry. Forget I ever said anything."

"Hate it? Hate it? It's heaven on a plate, that's what it is," Narcissa had said, stumbling over her words.

And that's what it was. Heaven on a plate. Fiona and she would run the place together. They had agreed that they would each have a bed-sitting room on the top floor. And they'd have a shared office, with two desks and a sitting area.

Narcissa thought that somehow they'd spend more time in that shared sitting room than in their own rooms. She'd make sure the office part didn't look too businesslike. Elegant cupboards for their binders and papers. Good-looking desks. And wonderfully-comfy chairs. That Ikea place had a line that looked soft and plump. Mind, the colours would have to be changed …

But that was rushing ahead of things, really. Right now, it was enough to know that this was where she would live and work. With someone who truly was a friend.

Draco would know his mother had her own life. And at some point she'd deal with her marriage. It was not a priority. Chests of drawers were urgent. Lucius could wait.

Narcissa smiled.

All was not well yet. But life definitely merited an 'Acceptable'.