STAGES OF GRIEF

CHAPTER ELEVEN:

GUILT

As March was giving way to April, the weather was dismal, dreary and gray and wet, but at least it was finally starting to get warmer. Both Draco and Narcissa still missed Lucius and talked of him often, but they were finally able to have conversations completely unrelated to him without feeling like they were purposely avoiding his name. The Thursday before Easter Narcissa entered the kitchen as Draco was pulling his latest meal practice – lamb chops – out of the oven. She scoffed at the sight of him bent down, wearing an apron and oven mitts, like a middle class house wife.

"You're cooking for this chit again?"

"She'll be here next Friday and I thought lamb would be a nice change." He kneed the oven door closed and breathed in deeply. The chops smelled better than they looked.

"You should serve it for Easter instead. We can eat together, the four of us. I like lamb."

"Together?" He set the chops on the counter and turned to face her. She looked decent today. Showered, dressed, hair brushed. She even wore a touch of makeup. "Are you saying that you, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Queen of the Purebloods, would break bread with the Mudblood Gryffindor Princess?"

"We'd be eating lamb, not bread, and I thought you said I wasn't allowed to call her the Mudblood Gryffindor Princess anymore? I will accept the title Queen of the Purebloods, though. I've always felt deserving of a royal moniker." She sat at the table, snapped her fingers, and informed the house-elf who appeared that she wanted tea. The house elf nodded, bowed, and hurried to work.

"You could make your own tea," said Draco, cutting into the lamb to check the cook. He liked his meat more on the medium side of medium rare, so he put them back in.

"I could make a lot of things if I were so inclined, but as I'm not a house-elf I'd just as soon leave the menial tasks to those that are." She placed a pack of cigarettes on the table, put one in her mouth, and lit it with her wand. Though she'd been practicing, she still coughed on the first drag. Draco rolled his eyes but ignored this.

"You know, Mother, Hermione doesn't think people should keep house-elves unless they're being properly cared for, dressed, and paid. She thinks–"

"Draco, darling, I don't mean to be rude, but I couldn't care much less what your little girlfriend thinks."

"She isn't my girlfriend, Mother. We're friends. That's all."

"Yes, I remember." Narcissa took a longer drag and blew smoke into the air, attempting a ring. Despite Severus' lecture about trading one vice for another, she figured surely this couldn't be as bad as potions and self-injury and liquor.

"You say you 'remember' as if you don't believe me."

"I believe you. If you say you and Miss Granger are 'just friends,' that must be what you are. 'Just friends' who close themselves in the library or the parlor until all hours of the evening doing Merlin-only-knows-what, right under my roof as if I'm not here, as 'just friends' are wont to do."

"You can't be serious!" He looked her over incredulously. "Mother, you're going to lecture me because my friend and I spend time in the parlor and library, meanwhile you've had a man in your bedroom – in your bed! – from dark until daybreak on a regular basis for the last six weeks?!"

"That's different!" she exclaimed indignantly. "Severus and I are... We're..."

"Let me guess? You're just friends?"

Her blue eyes narrowed and he shrunk back slightly, fearing he'd gone too far.

"Sorry, Mother."

"You asked him to help me through the grieving process, didn't you? And that's what he's doing. Nothing more and nothing scandalous."

"Well, Hermione is helping me rejoin society as a positive and productive member, nothing more and nothing scandalous. That kiss was a... it was an experiment. A judgment error on my part. A one-time thing."

"Ah," said Narcissa. She Accioed over a mug to use as an ashtray. "You're saying she doesn't like you."

"Moth-er."

"What's wrong with her, then?" She nodded at the house-elf as it placed the tea in front of her. "Surely there must be something wrong with Miss Granger if she doesn't like you. You're a perfectly lovely boy of good breeding. You have pretty eyes and straight teeth and impeccable hygiene."

He sniggered. "Yes, that's what most witches are after, Mother. Perfectly lovely boys of good breeding who have pretty eyes, straight teeth, and impeccable hygiene. Unfortunately, Miss Hermione Granger is not like other witches. She is only attracted to perfectly repulsive boys of terrible breeding, ones with crossed eyes and crooked teeth who reek of body odor."

"You're being mean to me." She pouted at him as if hurt while simultaneously flicking ashes into the mug. "Why must you be so snarky? I only want what's best for you, and if that flat-chested frizzy-haired Muggle-born can't see how sweet and special you are–"

"Shall I have you talk to her?" He took the lamb out of the oven again and cut in again. It was cooked well enough now. "How can she do anything but fall in love with me if my mummy thinks I'm sweet and special? You know, her last boyfriend was Ronald Weasley, whose mum thought he was the human equivalent of flaming horse manure, and that's why she broke it off with him. If only his mother had been willing to put in a good word..."

"He might be flaming horse manure, but you're a horse's ass."

Draco laughed. "What happened to sweet and special?"

"You were a sweet and special little boy. Now that you've grown into a man, you're a horse's ass."

Draco walked to the table, kissed her on the temple, and took the cigarette right out of her hand. He stuck it in his own mouth, sucked in, and exhaled the smoke in her direction. She coughed and waved it away.

"Give that back! It's bad for your health."

"I know." He grinned defiantly. "I've decided anything you do to self-medicate, I'm going to do as well, so I can better understand what you're going through. Thus if you intend to smoke..." He took another drag, this time letting it out through his nostrils, which made her shiver. "I shall too."

"I won't then. Put it out." She flicked the pack toward him. "Here, take them all. I'm trying to find a better way to relieve stress, but I've been doing it off and on for weeks now and it isn't really working. My sister Bella smoked you know. Before Azkaban. She started when she was maybe fifteen, sixteen. Used to sneak them up in the Astronomy Tower until Flitwick caught her and gave her six Fridays of detention. She always said she found it calming. I'm starting to think she just liked knowing it bothered our parents."

"Did Aunt Andromeda smoke?"

"No." Narcissa was slightly surprised by the question. He almost never brought up her disowned sister. "Andromeda was actually an exceptionally well-behaved girl, right up until she ran off to marry that Mud- uh... that Hufflepuff. It came as quite the shock, you know. Even I didn't know she'd been dating him, and I considered myself her very best friend. It hurt, knowing she'd been keeping that from me."

"Would you have approved?" He set one of the lamb chops down in front of her, figuring they might as well eat them while they were hot rather than waiting until supper time. He set one down for himself too, then poured them both water, and used his wand to summon forks, knives, and napkins to the table.

"I don't think so. From the time my sisters and I were small, two things were impressed upon us: first, that our virtue was of the utmost importance, and second, that the only thing as important as protecting it was preserving the blood status of our family line. I remember one Christmas at Grimmauld Place when Aunt Walburga dragged us all over to the Black family tapestry and explained that those she'd blasted off were dead to the family, that they'd ceased to exist, and she promised the same would happen to each of us if ever we took up with a Muggle or promoted cross-breeding. She was a Black by birth and by marriage, don't forget"

The reminder that his great-aunt and great-uncle had been cousins made Draco shudder. He was thankful the Malfoys chose marrying half-bloods over marrying blood relatives.

"After she'd left the room, Sirius – he was perhaps six or seven at the time – touched his own name and said, 'When she does mine, I hope she burns the whole house down!' He was always an odd boy. Then Bellatrix said, 'They should've been killed rather than disowned,' and Andromeda said, 'I think the whole thing is a bit silly, to be honest' and before I knew it, they were fighting - a fifteen-year-old, a thirteen-year-old, and a six-year-old! - and little Regulus and I were ordered to pick a side. He couldn't, he just cried, but in his defense, he still had all his baby teeth. So I said, 'It doesn't matter to me what happens to those who get disowned, so long as I'm not one of them.' And that was it."

Narcissa answered a few more questions for Draco about her childhood while they ate (the lamb had turned out edible, but not amazing, thus he'd be trying again soon) but inevitably the conversation turned back toward Hermione.

"If she's just your friend, and no longer your mentor, what is it the two of you do when you're together?"

"We talk. We play chess. We research magical genealogy. It's a hobby of hers. We drink tea. Really, it's nothing all that exciting, Mother. We're both bored and a bit lonely without our old school friends around, so we keep each other company. That's all."

Draco was employing Occlumency as he spoke, as he didn't want his mother to inquire about W.W.A.M.M., and he was even less keen on her finding about that Hermione had performed fellatio on him for the first time the night before while in the library. (Like kissing, he'd found her enthusiastic in this act, but presumably inexperienced... certainly no expert.) He felt the slightest twinge of guilt over having lied to his mother, but really, it was for her own good. She was better off not knowing.

In London the next afternoon, over a late lunch after back-to-back Mentoring sessions, Hermione was the one feeling a twinge of guilt.

"So you've kept seeing him even though you don't have to keep seeing him?" asked Harry. "That doesn't make any sense!"

"I'm with Harry," said Ron, speaking with a mouth full of corned beef sandwich. "Why spend more time with Malfoy than you have to?"

"He's not bad once you get to know him!" she insisted, but inwardly she was cursing herself for agreeing to this get-together. While she and Ron had agreed to put their past behind them, chalking the short-lived relationship up to the excitement of the end of the war and teenage confusion, this was not a conversation she was interested in having with him. Or with Harry, for that matter. "He's lonely since the war. He lost one of his best friends to Fiendfyre and another to prison and was shunned by two more for having defected during the Final Battle, plus his father was executed, and his mother is depressed, and so... and so he needs a friend, someone to talk to, to listen, like I did as his Mentor and like I still do! That's all!"

"Is he really reformed, though?" Harry asked skeptically, tucking into his own meal. "How can we be sure he's not lying to avoid Azkaban? He's always been good at sneaking around. You can't trust him. Remember sixth year? Those Vanishing cabinets?"

"If he'd just been lying to avoid Azkaban, wouldn't he have stopped seeing me as soon as he was released from the program?"

"So he's seeing you?" Ron sprayed bread crumbs as he spoke. Hermione made a show of picking one out of her hair, hoping he'd get the hint to chew with his mouth closed. No such luck. "You said you're just friends!"

"We are just friends! But he wouldn't be seeing me as a friend if he wasn't genuinely reformed!"

Though she asked them to drop it, the topic of Malfoy came up three more times during the course of their meal, and each time, she doubled-down in her insistence that she and Malfoy were not only just friends, they were barely that, and would never be anything more.

And every time she swore it up and down and sideways and backwards, she felt more and more guilty, because the truth was, she'd now done more with Draco Malfoy than any boy she'd ever dated, and she was fairly certain they'd end up doing even more than that, and, truth be told, she liked it. She liked it, and she liked him. And though she'd told him she wanted to go slow, she couldn't deny she considered him much more than her 'just friend.'

Which meant she was lying. She was lying to her friends. Her best friends. The best friends she'd ever had.

But she had to. She wasn't ready to tell them the truth, and she was sure they weren't ready to hear it either.

Thus, it was better this way.

The day before Easter, it was Narcissa's turn to battle the overwhelming unpleasantness of guilt. But it wasn't her fault! Well, not entirely her fault. Half her fault, maybe. Or thirty percent, more like. Yes, that's it. It was thirty percent her fault and the rest of the fault – and, therefore, the rest of the guilt – was entirely on him.

They'd spent the night together again, as was becoming more and more of a regular 'thing,' to the point that he was now sleeping at Malfoy Manor more often than he was at his home on Spinner's End. He hadn't fallen asleep in the chair beside her bed in weeks, however. He preferred sleeping beside her in the bed, on his back, with her head on his shoulder.

They weren't like a couple, though. He stayed on top of the covers, while she burrowed under them, only pushing them down far enough to free her left arm and part of her torso so she could better cling to him. She slept on the left side of the bed, Lucius' side, and he stayed to the right, as it could never feel acceptable to let him take Lucius' place, not there.

She was starting to rely on this nightly contact and found it exceedingly difficult to sleep on the nights he did not stay. She also found herself wondering, on those nights, why he'd left, what engagement could be more pressing. Was he sharing his own bed with a woman on those nights? Was he someone's lover? She wanted to ask him, but knew it was not her place. What he did in his own time was his business alone.

The morning of the day before Easter, he asked if she minded if he showered before leaving Malfoy Manor. He'd never done this before, but he explained he had an appointment at Gringotts Bank – something about getting a loan – and he wanted to look presentable.

"Do you need money?" she asked. "I'll give you money. How much do you want?"

"I don't want your money," he'd replied. "I'll make my own, thank you."

"Have it your way, you stubborn mule. Enjoy your shower," she said, a touch of annoyance in her voice. He'd helped her so much over the last few months, but he refused to allow her to do anything to return the favor.

While he had the water running, she opened the last of the Chocolate Frogs from her birthday bouquet. When she peeled back the wrapper to see the card inside, the person on the front made her gasp.

"Dilys bloody Derwent!" she breathed, hugging it to her chest. He'd asked her every day whether she'd found a Dilys Derwent and every day she showed him an Albus Dumbledore or a Morgana Le Fay, a Newt Scamander or a newly printed war hero Hermione Granger.

"You should give that one to your son," Severus had said, tapping Hermione's face just before she disappeared from the frame. "Maybe he'll sleep with it under his pillow."

"Oh, is that what you would do, then?" she'd teased. "Sleep with a preferred card under your pillow? Is that the real reason you want this allegedly rare Dilys Derwent? You've been fancying her since your tenure as Headmaster, and now, without being able to see her portrait on your wall every day, you simply must collect her in card form?"

"Yes, that's exactly it," he'd deadpanned. "You've caught me. I'm madly in love with former Headmistress and Healer Dilys Derwent, dead some two-hundred-thirty years. She's the reason I've never married; no living woman could ever possibly compare."

Narcissa had laughed, even though she couldn't help wondering if there was a kernel of truth in his statement – though Lily Potter, and not Dilys Derwent, was obviously the dead woman with whom no living one could compare.

With a contented sigh over finally having something she could give him in return for his kindness, she settled on the edge of her bed to eat the frog.

When he finally emerged from the loo, fully dressed, she stood, held the card behind her back, smiled coyly, and said, "I've got something you want, Severus Snape."

He looked her over from head to toe and back up again in such a discerning and yet strangely sensual way she felt her stomach flutter and wished she'd changed from her nightgown into something more... suitable for company.

"What's that?" he asked.

"This." She held up the card.

"Another Phineas Nigellus Black?"

"Guess again."

He stepped closer, squinting to see. "It's a woman, isn't it?"

"Well done! It's about time you exhibited the ability to tell the difference between men and women! Someday maybe you'll even learn where babies come from."

Ignoring her snark, he took another step closer. Now he could clearly see the image on the front of the card. He was almost close enough to grab it. "It's not... It is!"

"Indeed it is!" She kissed the back of the card. "Too bad it's mine and not yours, you poor, sad, Derwent-free man."

"I want it." Another step.

"Nope. Mine."

"You've known all along that I wanted it." Closer still.

"I know." She grinned, a Cheshire Cat grin. "I like knowing that you want it. That's what makes me want it. Though I don't collect them in album like you do. I'll probably just use her as a coaster. Or sleep with her under my pill... Oh!"

He'd stepped close enough to grab her arm, which he did, and immediately she began to squirm, to keep it away from him. Without thinking about what he was doing, he tickled her side, making her release her grip on the card, but since she was now clutching his wrist when she fell over he did as well. They landed on the bed as she managed to grasp it again, trying to hold it above her head, even though she was flat on her back and his arms were longer. He lightly pinched and tickled her side, making her giggle and writhe, as his other hand closed over the card. He tickled her once more, and she released it.

"Got it!" he announced, but the high of triumph was short-lived, as both suddenly became keenly aware of their close proximity and intimate positioning, her on her back, her breathing quick and ragged, him on top of her, his chest pressing against hers, their mouths mere inches apart. They stared at each other for a long moment, both breathing heavily and yet feeling like they were hardly breathing, unable to pull away despite knowing they should.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"It's alright," she whispered back. He released her hand, but still did not move. She reached up to brush back his hair, her fingertips stroking his cheek. "It's alright, Severus. I think it's alright."

She pulled him closer.

She closed her eyes.

She tilted up her chin.

And then, a second later, his lips were on hers.

A/N:

Since no one seems to be against it, I'll definitely be upgrading this fic to M just to be on the safe side, as there are a few future lemons, but even then it won't be anything too super graphic so if you're not interested in smut it'll be easy to skip.

Thanks!

-AL