A/N: According to the World Clock App on my phone, it's technically still Tuesday in some parts of the world. Sorry this is later than usual. We got home last night to a WiFi system that had completely crapped out and I haven't been able to get it up until now.

Out of curiosity, how many of you are still reading this? I feel like a whole bunch of you have dropped off the review-radar recently... Are you getting bored, or something?

xx-Kitten.


Tip of My Tongue

By Kittenshift17


Chapter 28


Rita Skeeter eyed the morning copy of the Daily Prophet with no small amount of distaste and annoyance. Plastered across the front cover was a picture of the ever-stunning Narcissa Malfoy being escorted in handcuffs by no less than the Head of the Auror Department, Harry Potter, and the Minister for Magic himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt, as she was led into custody.

According to the story – written by one of her far-inferior fellow reporters on the news of the day – Astoria Malfoy nee Greengrass had turned up missing and Narcissa had been arrested for the crime. Rita frowned at the image over her morning waffles as she read that, according to the article, Narcissa had been the last one to see the young woman alive.

Except, well, that was exactly true, now was it?

Rita perused the article and the others like it that all touched on the matter of the morning, the scandal gripping the wizarding world in a choke-hold to see so poised and rich a woman potentially fall. Her own article that she'd been drafting to share with every paper who would print it was far more detailed, and far juicer about the inner workings of the Malfoy family and their closely guarded secrets. Indeed, this hogwash was just the perfect platform to set the scene for the exposé she planned to unleash. However, it brought forth one minor detail that she wasn't sure she wanted getting out.

To her knowledge, Narcissa Malfoy hadn't been the last one to see Astoria alive. No, as far as Rita knew, that honour belong to none other Rita Magdalena Penelope Skeeter, herself. And while she was, of course, innocent, it had to be said that Harry Potter was hardly her biggest fan. He was extremely unlikely to believe anything she might have to say. She could hardly go waltzing into the MLE and announce that she'd seen Narcissa leave the room without attacking her daughter-in-law, and that Rita herself had conversed with Astoria before also leaving, unimpeded and unburdened by the unwell woman.

Frowning at the photograph of Narcissa, Rita wondered what she ought to do. Little could come of her confessing that she'd been in the room at the time when Narcissa had left. Indeed, doing so would likely incriminate her as an illegal Animagus. Potter, thus far, had refrained from prosecuting her and from giving away her secret to her success, but she didn't think he'd manage to keep it off the record if she strolled right in and confessed that she'd been the literal bug on the wall in Astoria's hospital room.

After all, if wasn't her responsibility to provide Narcissa with an alibi, and better to profit from selling the story as everyone vied to get their hands on all the juicy details and expose her knowledge of it all that way. Let Potter come to her, as it were. Yes, she'd very much enjoy watching that wretched boy swallow his pride and approach her for answers when Narcissa's arrest proved to be a waste of time.

Oh!

Rita reached for her quill as an idea suddenly struck her to include a few pointed comments about the inadequacy of the Auror department to have arrested the innocent and 'grieving' mother-in-law of the victim. Yes, Rita very much looked forward to exposing the Malfoy's for the pack of ridiculous liars and she most certainly wouldn't mind taking a few pot shots at Harry James Potter to remind him that for all his fame, he'd found himself in a position where public opinion could carry a whole lot of sway. He might not be elected by the people, but if enough people were shouting about incompetence to have incorrectly arrested the wrong woman while the culprit of this kidnapping was still at large, well, the Minister for Magic might have to intercede.

Yes, Rita was going to have a glorious time reminding these ridiculous people that words really could hurt. Scribbling out the additions to her story that she would fine-tune later, Rita hummed happily to herself without a care in the world for the grief, anger and fear the Malfoy family were undoubtedly feeling right at that moment.

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Lucius Malfoy was positively seething in his office at the Manor, pacing backwards and forwards and he muttered angrily to himself. Much to his fury, Potter and Shacklebolt had refused to release Narcissa from their custody and would continue to refuse it until, by law, they either had to charge her with a crime or set her loose.

How the foolish woman had managed to ignore his advice so thoroughly as to have absolutely no alibi regarding her whereabouts at the time of Astoria's disappearance was beyond him. To make matters worse, Draco was wretchedly involved, and it seemed clear that telling him that Dolohov was behind the kidnapping seemed rather a foolish thing that he had done. Lucius's head was still aching from the blow Draco had struck him, his eye bruised and swollen, and his cheek sporting a shallow cut thanks to the insignia ring of their prestigious family adorning his son's fist.

Despite those grievances, Lucius's real fury was focused solely on the fact that he'd just recently found out he had a half-blood grandson and that Hermione Mudblood Fucking Granger was its mother. To make matters worse, Draco knew, and Narcissa fucking knew, and neither of them had told him until Draco had snarled it at him in his office in the height of his panic about Narcissa's arrest.

Merlin's bloody bollocks, this could not be happening. He had just managed to clean up the scandal of Astoria being a foolish little trollop who'd cuckolded her husband. And now Granger was sauntering her filthy mudblood self into his life as the mother of his firstborn grandson. It couldn't be fucking happening. Lucius was ropable.

How could Draco have let this happen? Worse, according to his son, his wife had known about it for fucking years! YEARS! The woman had crawled into bed beside him every night whilst sitting on the knowledge that they had a half-blood grandson and that Draco had boinked a bloody Mudblood. Lucius almost wished he hadn't made Dolohov vow not to hurt his wife or anyone with Malfoy blood. He could hardly have Dolohov kill the child off now, not without him breaking his bloody Vow.

Granger, of course, was another matter entirely, but Lucius suspected Draco had taken steps to protect the little bitch, already. Of course, he had. He'd been mad for her for bloody years. Lucius wasn't blind. He'd known that despite his ultimatums, Draco's intrigue with the woman hadn't been squashed just because Lucius had forbade the romance. He'd never imagined the boy would defy him so much as to shag the little bitch, and even in his darkest nightmares, he'd never imagined Draco would impregnate the filthy mudblood.

He'd have to kill her.

Of course, that wouldn't go over well, and while Dolohov might be counted on to handle Granger in addition to Astoria, that still left the problem of the half-blood grandson tainting their perfectly pure line with his very existence. Then again, Narcissa had been meeting the witch in secret for five accursed years. She must be fond of the little bitch, too, and the last thing he needed was to have his already furious wife plotting his demise should he kill of the girl she'd decided would be a perfect match for their son. Perhaps he might need to re-evaluate his intentions until after he'd had a time to pry the truth from Narcissa about what in the hell was going on. Until then, there was little he could do beyond pacing back and forth across his office whilst imbibing entirely too much whiskey.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

Wendy Granger almost leaped out of her skin to find Draco Malfoy invading her home at an ungodly hour of the morning.

"Draco?" she frowned at the young man who'd sired her grandson when he apparated directly into her living room despite his never having been to her house before, to her knowledge. "What are you doing here, dear?"

"I need you to pack some clothes immediately, Mrs Granger," Draco said seriously, his face grave.

"Why?" she asked, her stomach clenching in knots at his sombre expression and his tight tone. "Oh, God. Has something happened to Hermione?"

"Hermione and Aurelian are safe," he shook his head, holding up a placating hand to reassure her that they were fine and that that wasn't the cause for his alarm. "However, my ex-wife has been kidnapped by a man who has already attempted to murder Hermione once. He knows where you live, and he will target you to get at Hermione when he can't get his hands on her, directly. Pack some things and I'll take you to Hermione so that you'll be out of his reach and will be safe. I need you to do it quickly, else your daughter will risk her safety by ignoring my directives and following me here to collect you, herself."

In the past, Wendy might've argued or asked more questions as to why there was such urgency and why he'd come alone and why some whack-job might be targeting her or Hermione, but after years of interacting with the magical world, Wendy had decided it was simply best to do what was asked and ask her questions later. Indeed, Draco looked ready to apparate her to where he'd hidden Hermione without waiting for her to pack anything, so she supposed that if she wanted some clean knickers to take with her, she'd better just save her questions for when she was reunited with her daughter.

"Let me get my trunk," she said, beckoning him to follow her as she hurried up the stairs and fished the suitcase from under her bed before hastily throwing things into it. "Will I need to pack warmly?"

"Bring something for every climate," he said seriously. "I can't tell you where you'll be located, but you'll need to be prepared for warmth and cold. I don't know how long you might have to be in hiding. You'll have access to a phone if you need to make arrangements regarding your personal life after you arrive, should you need to hide out for an extended period."

"There's no time to even call anyone?" she frowned, knowing that her friend would worry if she didn't meet them for lunch later, as she'd planned.

"The longer it takes you to pack, the longer I'm delayed in hunting down the man who has very likely murdered my ex-wife," Draco informed her and the tone in his voice suggested that the things he might do to such a man would turn her stomach. Indeed, his expression rather terrified her, and Wendy suddenly understood why her daughter had spent so long warning her that Draco was cold and not a nice man.

"Oh dear," Wendy blinked, before beginning to toss things into her trunk willy-nilly supposing that whatever she was without, she could make do. Hermione would be there, and the girl was a gem for using her magic to make the best of things; she could transfigure garments for her, if need be.

"Ready?" Draco asked when she snapped the trunk closed.

"Let me just get my shoes on, dear," she said, hurrying over to her cupboard and stuffing her feet into her shoes.

"Alright, good," he said. "Now, I don't know if you've ever used a Port-Key before, but I want you to hold onto this as tightly as you can, alright?"

He handed her what looked like crystal paper-weight in the shape of a coiled serpent.

"What will it do?" she asked fearfully.

"It'll transport you to Hermione," Draco told her. "Hold your trunk tightly, and don't drop the port-key, alright? Hermione will explain everything when you arrive. You're going to experience a lot of spinning, so don't be alarmed if you vomit when you land. I've travelled this way many times, and I still vomit, on occasion."

"Oh, dear God," Wendy paled, frowning at the young man for his blunt honesty and thinking that she'd really rather have just dealt with the consequences than having to worry over them before they occurred. She loathed suffering twice.

"Ready?" he asked, eyeing her seriously and showing no hint of sympathy for her fear at his intended means of magical travel. "Three. Two. One. Portus."

He touched his wand to the object she clutched, and Wendy was rather ashamed to admit that she screamed when she began to spin like a top, around and around and around until she was dizzy and sick to her stomach.