DISCLAIMER: I do not, in any way, own any part of the Harry Potter series nor do I own any of the characters. I'm just an avid fan who hopes to finish her story some time in the near future. :)

Chapter Eleven

"FINE? I look 'FINE'?" Hermione seethed, Hercules sitting up on the bed, looking at his owner with the most peculiar look. Hermione tossed her handbag onto the bed and slipped off her shoes. "I mean, it's not like I intentionally put this outfit together to impress the man, and it's not like I really even care what he thinks, but I look better than 'FINE'!"

Hercules meowed at her, standing up and stretching his front paws forward, digging his claws into the top blanket on Hermione's bed.

"Stop that, Hercules! You wretched cat. Here I am, trying to pour my feelings into you, and you're ignoring me." Hercules just stared at Hermione.

Hermione was too frustrated to relax on her own, so she quickly showered away her annoyance. Men were torture on her brain lately. Heading into the kitchen, Hermione found a half bottle of Merlot that she'd bought at a local wine store a few days prior and a clean wine glass. Taking her copy of 10,000 Uses for the Oddest of Muggle Contraptions, Hermione slipped outside into her backyard where she read through several hundred uses for the most random common household items – such as rubber bands, plastic soda bottles, and lawn mowers – without a single interruption. Having performed a warming charm, Hermione saved herself from getting cold in autumn night air.

She'd become slightly intoxicated, having finished off her bottle of wine on top of what she had had with dinner, and Hermione only stopped reading when the words began to run together. She'd found it odd that a 'rummer mand' could be used to pull hair into a gony pail and to keep hewsgagers rolled up. She'd later reread this last sentence to find out what she'd really read through was that a 'rubber band' could be used to pull hair back into a pony tail and to keep newspapers rolled up.

Hermione stumbled back into her house, clanked the empty wine bottle and wine glass into the kitchen sink, and fumbled into her bedroom. She fell asleep quicker than ever before, face down on the corner of her bed.

"Fine? That was the best I could come up with? Good God, she must think I'm stupid!" Draco stewed, talking to himself like a madman as he walked from Hermione's house to his own. "She looked far better than just fine...even I have to admit that."

Draco's mind was filled with images of Hermione from Hogwarts, images of her being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange in his parent's home, images from earlier this week, and images of Hermione from earlier tonight, and Draco threw his head backward, taking in a deep breath of cold air. He felt his lungs expand and grow cold, his breath billowing out like smoke from a chimney.

He stopped at the end of the pathway leading to his front door. Draco could see his mother sitting at his dining table, her head in her hands. Her body was shaking, and he could only assume that she was crying. Draco hated that his mother never shared her problems with him, that she never let him in on what was going on between her and her husband.

Narcissa pulled her head from her hands and wiped her face with a napkin. Draco watched as his mother stood and walked towards the kitchen. Taking another deep breath, he made his way up the cobblestone path towards his front door.

He tried his best to clear his mind and sober up as best he could, but it wasn't enough to hide his slight intoxication from his mother.

"Your eyes are too red to hide, Draco," she said, her face completely composed and showing no signs of having cried for who knows how long. "And I'm not saying I don't think you should drink, because you're a grown man, and you can do what you want. Just don't forget you've got responsibilities at home."

"I know, Mother. I haven't forgotten." Draco kissed the top of his mother's forehead. "And thank you for watching Scorpius."

"I'm more than happy to do it, and you know that." Narcissa pulled her coat from the hook near the back door. "You know, you really should have chosen a better name for that boy. Scorpius is such an unfortunate name for anyone, let alone a child. He'll be teased when he gets older."

"Like I was?" Draco asked, eying his mother jokingly. "Besides, he already had the name when Astoria dropped him off to me." Narcissa pushed her arms through the sleeves of her coat and fastened all three buttons. She smiled and hugged her son.

"I'll be off then. Your father will be wondering where I am. I told him to expect me two hours ago." Draco nodded.

"Take care of yourself, Mother." Narcissa gave Draco a weak smile before apparating away.

Draco climbed the stairs feebly, fumbling into his bedroom and out of his clothes. Not bothering with pajamas, he fell into bed in nothing but his boxers, sleep taking over his body quickly.

Narcissa always felt awful when she lied to her son. Lucius wasn't waiting for her at home. She was already in bed when he stumbled into her bedroom, the smell of alcohol hanging heavily on his breath. He fell into the bed and jerked the covers from Narcissa's body, the sudden cold pulling her from her soft slumber.

Lucius had his clothes off before Narcissa could register what was happening. She tried to push him off, but her attempts were useless. Lucius was far stronger than she was. He pulled the thin straps of her negligee downwards, exposing the flesh of her breasts. Narcissa simply lie lifeless as her husband groped her breasts violently. Her skin would bruise by morning, and silent tears fell down Narcissa's face.

Lucius slobbered his tongue down Narcissa's neck and chest, licking each breast, biting her nipples hard before sliding the silk hem of her gown up. Narcissa continued to cry in silence as her husband made horrid drunken love to her. She curled herself into a ball when he finished, and she sobbed harder when he left for his own bedroom.

Narcissa tried to remember a time when her husband had loved her, but she had cried her eyes dry in desperation. And what was worse was the fact that she had no way of leaving. None of the Malfoy fortune belonged to her, Lucius had made sure of that. He had either inherited or earned every Knut himself, preventing Narcissa from ever making a Sickle herself. He had said they would wait to have children until they were both far in their careers, until they had both had a chance to experience life.

But Lucius had made sure no form of birth control was used, and Narcissa found herself pregnant just after their first anniversary. After Draco's birth, Lucius took every precaution necessary to make sure Narcissa didn't get pregnant again.

Narcissa had taken her husband's advice when he said it would be better for their son if she stayed at home to raise him herself instead of paying a governess to do it. And Narcissa now found herself with no one in the house to raise, no money to her name, and a husband who treated her worse than dirt.

This is why she lied to her son. Draco didn't deserve to know the truth about his father; she thought it only fair to her son that he believe his father had changed after Voldermort's fall.

Hermione Granger awoke the next morning with a splitting headache, and it was all she could do to pull out the potions book she'd used in her sixth year at Hogwarts. Flipping through the pages and trying to focus through the pain, Hermione finally found what she could easily deem the Holy Grail: a pain remedying potion perfect for curing her hangover.

She always kept herself stocked with enough ingredients for one dose of the potion, and she quickly brewed the creamy blue substance. Drinking its entirety, Hermione felt the pain drain from her body. It was like having a bucket of lukewarm water slowly poured over your head. The sensation began at the top of her head and continued down the length of her body. She wiggled her toes in her slippers as the sensation left her feet.

Hermione followed her cat into the backyard where she recovered the book she'd been reading. The chair was still warm from the warming charm she'd used, and she smiled to herself. It amazed her that even in her state of temporary state of inebriation she could still remember to keep herself warm.

It would be almost a week before Hermione heard from Draco again. He had sent her an owl with an invitation to dinner at his home for Sunday evening. Hermione bit her lip as she read through the scrawled note.

She'd accepted his dinner invitation last time because he had insisted it was only a thank-you for bringing his son back home. Her mind flashed back to their years in Hogwarts. She could easily remember how Draco had undermined her every chance he could, how he had called her some of the most foul names he could come up with, and how he shot her looks of disgust every time he saw her in the hallways and classrooms.

But then Hermione thought back to the first time she saw him in the street. He'd been holding a frightened Hercules as gently as he could. And he'd made no attempt to treat her badly since then. She thought of how he interacted with his son...

Taking a deep breath, Hermione searched the house until she found some paper and pen. She wrote a delicate response accepting Draco's offer. She was nervous already, but Hermione realized it wasn't because she was worried. She was nervous because of how good it felt to accept a dinner invitation from Draco Malfoy, her once sworn enemy.

Recalling her struggle with finding an outfit the last time, Hermione decided on making getting ready this time easy on herself. She pulled her jacket on, slung her purse onto her shoulder, and apparated into the bustling Paris afternoon, appearing in her normal Paris alleyway so as not to be seen by Parisian muggles.

Three hours and countless outfits later, Hermione had found the perfect top, a simple red V-neck tunic-style sweater that she would pair with her favorite dark-wash denim jeans at home. And by the time Sunday afternoon rolled its way around, Hermione had grown nervous again. She kept second-guessing her decision, finally deciding she would go because it would be extremely rude of her to cancel on such short notice.

Gathering as much courage as she could muster, Hermione left her quiet, dark and empty house for the much more lively home down the street, where a three-year-old little boy was trying to help his father cook dinner with far too much enthusiasm.

A/N: I apologize to the greatest extent that I can that it took me sooooo long to get this chapter out! My computer died on me, and it took this long to get another one, but now I've got a new one, and my mind and fingers are ready to keep sharing with everyone!