Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe, though I frequently wish that I did.

It had been a week.

It had been an entire, silent week since Scorpius had left, and nobody knew where he was.

And it hurt.

Seconds after Scorpius had left, Draco had apparated out of the apartment and ran through the Boston streets screaming for his son. It was the first time he had really gone through the city, and he found himself overwhelmed by the swirling artificial lights in the darkness, the pounding rain, the beeping cars, the shouting twats that talked to him without provocation. There was a nearly-nude lady dressed in maroon lace that had walked up to Draco, and asked him for his number, whatever that meant. Draco had pushed past her and ran - really ran, which was not something he had done since his quidditch days, when it was important to him to keep up his fitness - and continued shouting, "Scorpius! Scorpius, where are you?"

Scorpius was nowhere to be found. It was his worst nightmare … and he had been the cause.

After Albus and Scorpius had gotten into their bloody mess with the time turner and almost altered their entire universe, Draco had vowed to himself to keep a closer eye on Scorpius. The thing was, despite the difficulties in their relationship, Draco had always prided himself on being a good father, perhaps even better than Potter himself, the golden boy. After all, Albus felt his father never really loved him, but Scorpius had never had a doubt. Draco made his love known, and it was a hard thing to do for a man who had so little experiences with love. There he was, however, having lost his only son, the one person he cared about more than anything in the world, by saying perhaps the cruelest thing he could've said in front of Scorpius.

Draco had been in a panic by the time he reached a place called Cambridge, arguably far from the apartment complex where they stayed, and realized that Scorpius was gone. How was Scorpius to get to London? Would he try to get to London? It pained him, thinking of Scorpius being by himself. While Scorpius might've lived an easier life than Draco, Draco knew that a part of Scorpius was broken inside by his own actions. Scorpius didn't like being the son of a Death Eater. Scorpius dealt with his own burdens, of bullies at school and outside in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. There was that time on Scorpius's tenth birthday, when Draco had taken little Scorp out for Florean Fortescue's ice cream, and everyone in the shoppe had been staring. There was an old hag sitting in the corner, wearing her purple dress robes and a dropping hat, who snarled at them like a wild animal when they dared to look her way. Such moments were traumatic, and once again, they were all Draco's fault.

Sometime after his grand and fruitless chase, Draco had landed on a bench in some rowdy street, where the drunkards sang and women huddled in their groups. He had laid down on the bench, allowing his aching throat to settle on the wet steel, and watched the Boston scene unfold around him emptily. He had closed his eyes really tight, willing Astoria to show up in front of him.

And she had.

She appeared, manipulating the world around her. The pattering rain turned into a slow, loving drizzle and poured down the locks of her hair like a poetic breeze. The loud noises of the boisterous city quieted into a resting heartbeat. The bench he was laying on felt suddenly warm, as if the presence of Astoria herself had asked the world to be kind to him. As he lay there, staring at her through his heavy-lidded, half-closed eyes, he wondered to himself, had she always looked that beautiful?

Astoria was always beautiful, but this version of her wasn't sick. She wasn't aching for death, and her lips were no longer filled with the urgency to spill her last wishes and last words, like she often did when she was once again rushed to St. Mungo's. Instead, she formed her words slowly, as if she had all the time in the universe to share what was on her mind.

She kneeled towards Draco, Draco calling out brokenly to his beloved, and brushed her lips against his.

"Draco," she called out faintly, in her melodious voice, "I cannot rest unless I know you are happy. So be happy. For me."

Then Draco shot upwards off the bench, and she was gone. The world was back as it was. He looked around him, making sure the drunk people were going about their business and stumbling around in their mead-smelling air, and then he apparated back to the Malfoys' apartment.

He landed on the bed, exactly where he wanted to be, and for a solid week, he had not left. Not when Narcissa pounded on the door, begging him to eat. Not when Lucius threatened to break down the wooden door, an empty threat, as he could've done it easily with his magic. Both his parents, as much as they wanted to help him, were deeply hurt by his words the day Scorpius left. So they tried to help him, but they did it meagerly; always at an arm's reach. Such were the workings of conditional love.

However, Draco still ate the meals that his mother had left at the foot of his door. They were full, home-cooked meals, delicious and hearty, ranging from soups to chicken dinners to all sorts of pastas. They made Draco wonder who his parents had to imperius now that Draco wasn't the one getting the meals through his own, slightly more ethical ways. He was terrified of finding out. Instead of letting his thoughts wander to the capabilities of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, he allowed himself to settle on his own grief of losing his wife, and now his son. Neither was a fun option to think of, but what else was he supposed to do? He was Draco Malfoy. The world owed him no happiness.

The girl had knocked on their door almost every day.

Every day, she appeared in an outfit more distasteful than the next. They almost resembled muggle pyjamas, especially the set of the matching blue shirt and pants. Narcissa had curled up her nose while giving the girl the once-over, until she had interrupted Narcissa's thoughts, and stated casually,

"They're scrubs."

And then she had gone on and on - so distasteful for a woman - until Narcissa had practically begged the girl to tell her what she wanted.

"I'm just checking in. It's been a few days since I've heard from Scorpius or Draco, and one of them usually comes knocking at my door when I'm not working a shift. I've missed them!" Her smile was too wide. Narcissa could see an uncomfortable gap between the girl's two front teeth. Her eyes had bags underneath them - what did a woman her age have to be tired about? - and she wore the most hideous pair of shoes Narcissa had ever seen, shoes designed for practicality rather than poise. For a brief moment, Narcissa almost snorted in an un-Narcissa-like manner, simply because she almost wished for Astoria to be present instead. Although Narcissa had had her differences with Astoria, Astoria at least knew how to dress like a proper pureblood woman, with her admittedly elegant taste and her tall posture, which often resembled a rosebush during the growing season. The woman knew how to be beautiful. This girl, on the other hand, was like a child, as if she needed somebody to take care of her and tell her how to dress. Narcissa was fed up with the bad tidings this girl had brought into her home: she had corrupted her grandchild, and then her son, making her beloved Draco into a sobbing, lonely mess, nothing like the man he had been.

So Narcissa had huffed in a somewhat aggressive manner, until she noticed that the girl was carrying a magnificent bag that was letting out steam. Her nostrils flared as she smelled onion, garlic, parsley … was that fish? It had been so long since Narcissa had fish, since her and Lucius had been to France to that one restaurant by the pier …

"I hope he's okay. I brought you all food since none of y'all reached out to me."

Narcissa had grimly taken the food and thanked the girl, considering the polite woman she had been raised to be could not accept such a gift without ensuring a proper response. When she made a move to close the door, the girl had moved forward, and had the audacity to ask:

"Is Draco okay?"

As if she cared about her son. Narcissa had sniffed, and was ready to tell the girl to mind her own business. But then she caught a glimpse of her warm eyes … warm, like Andromeda's. It was eerie, how much the dark irises resembled her sister's. Suddenly, Narcissa was swept in a memory of Andromeda, introducing Narcissa to Ted for the very first time, her expression teeming with affection and excitement. In that split second, right between the two apartment doors and in the hallway, with the afternoon light painting her, Farrah's face was bursting with concern and compassion much like Andromeda's had been, and Narcissa could not find it in her to reject the girl. Not like she had rejected her own sister.

She heard herself say: "Draco's been struggling with loss. Scorpius decided to leave … for … for his engagement. Yes, for his engagement in London. Scorpius had not told anyone; he left without warning. Draco's been holed up in his room, and Lucius and I are devastated, and there is nothing we can do or say to bring him out of his room. This is exactly how he acted when Astoria died! I am ashamed of the way he is acting right now, as if he is greater than us, as if he can blame us for what had happened …"

Then she did the unexpected. Narcissa broke down. She slid against her apartment door, letting her legs touch the muggle-infested ground, and sat there trembling. The girl was obviously surprised, by the way she stood and gaped at Narcissa. And Narcissa had loathed it.

Five minutes later, after she had regained her composure and was prepared to pretend nothing had happened, Narcissa stood up in the hallway and turned to Farrah. In her dress robe pocket she found her wand, and prepared herself to whisper obliviate.

However, just as she was about to lift her right hand, Farrah's hand had enveloped her left. Narcissa gaped at the unexpected touch, and her immediate thought was to burn the girl for touching her. She was touching a muggle, for Merlin's sake! Narcissa vowed to scrub her hand with the ferocity of a waterfall. But her thoughts were replaced with a teensy, burst of appreciation.

"Grief isn't easy," the girl had said, moving closer to Narcissa so more light fell onto her face. The more she spoke, the warmer she grew, the kinder. "I've dealt with my fair share of grief. I understand what it's like to hide yourself away from the world. I know what it's like to wish to stop existing … to lay in bed underneath the blankets, wishing that God would just end things for you, so you won't have to end things for yourself. To watch time tick by, doing nothing, because life seems meaningless without the ones you love.

"And I also know that it's easier to shout at people. To blame people, to make them feel bad for things they did or didn't do. It's easier to look outwards than inwards. And it's easiest to hurt the people that love you, because you know, despite it all, they'll still be with you in the end. I'm not saying what Draco's doing is right. I'm sure it's not easy for you, as a mother, to deal with seeing your son grieve, maybe in a way that you don't understand. Excuse me for saying this, Narcissa, but you don't know what it's like to lose the love of your life, do you? Everyone can see that you and Lucius have loved each other for decades. Maybe you're older, maybe you're Draco's mom, but you can't relate to what he's going through right now.

"I don't think he needs to be shamed for what he's feeling, but that doesn't mean his anger is okay. And that doesn't mean he should be taking it out on you. So, I'm sorry that you've been hurting. And I'm sorry that he's been hurting. And I'm sorry that Scorpius is gone, because even though it's barely been any time, I already miss the kid and miss him entering my apartment with basically no permission and commenting on everything I own. And I really hope he comes back to properly say goodbye, because it's not fair that he left so soon."

Then she had finally paused, to take a breath, before continuing.

"Narcissa. Let's go out on a trip. Me and you, Saturday, at 12 PM. I have a shift at 8 PM., so we've basically got all afternoon to hang out. We can grab a bite from a fancy restaurant I know downtown. You don't have a choice, okay? Let me help."

Then she had left, leaving Narcissa absolutely, shakenly, stunned. Because the girl was right. Narcissa didn't know what it was like to lose the love of her life. And somehow, her beloved Draco, still young as a newly bloomed flower, had dealt with a loss that Narcissa herself could not dream of facing. Her soul was deeply tied with Lucius. If one of them died, the other one would surely die too, whether physically or on the inside.

"Ugh, Alice. I can't talk right now," Farrah groaned into her phone. "I told you, I'm going out with Narcissa today, like I promised her a few days ago. You either show up and come with us, or you stop whining."

Alice snickered from the other end. "Okay. I'll come! I'm convinced."

Farrah rolled her eyes as she wrapped her mauve scarf around her face, doing it a few times to perfect the look. Being a hijabi wasn't easy. Scarves were harder to wrap than they looked, and oftentimes, they invited a painful stab from the pins she used to hook them. "Fine. But be here as soon as you can, okay?"

Knock, knock.

"I'm here, bitch!" Farrah swung the door open to find Alice, grinning from ear to ear, wearing her favorite dress with all the red stripes and wearing a bright rose lipstick. "And I'm ready to party."

Farrah threw her arms around her best friend's neck, and the two hugged for a moment before breaking apart. "I'm so glad you're here! This is going to be great. Narcissa needs this. But also … you know we're not partying, right? We're just going to lunch."

"I know. And I need this," Alice huffed, storming through Farrah's kitchen and grabbing herself a candy bar from Farrah's dessert shelf. "If I have to hear Dan talking about real estate investment one more time -"

"Aw, come on. He's just excited about sharing a future with you."

"Farrah, I don't give a shit about real estate," Alice said matter-of-factly. "All I care about is finding a nice house. He finds one, I like it, bam, done. I don't care about all the technicalities."

"The technicalities matter," Farrah said as she plucked the bar from Alice's hand and took a generous bite. "He wants to buy a house with you, Alice. And he wants to know you care. Besides, you're the one who goes bat-shit crazy if he steps a foot in the kitchen while you're working, or God forbid if he uses the wrong napkin fold at a dinner party you're hosting."

Before Alice could retort a response - thank goodness - another knock was heard throughout the apartment. Farrah sprinted to the door to beat Alice there, and found Narcissa on the other end. Narcissa was dressed shockingly formal, Farrah noted, wearing the silver dress that Farrah had picked out for her at the mall. It draped along her body modestly, hanging from Narcissa's neck to cover her breasts all the way down to her knees. Still, there was something about the way Narcissa Malfoy looked that made it impossible for her to look ugly. Farrah knew that she could've given Narcissa a garbage bag, and the woman still would've been able to pull it off, all the while making other people jealous about not having their own garbage bags to wear.

"Damn. You look like a MILF," Alice blew through her cheeks. "I never knew you were hiding all that under your strange robes."

"Ahem," Farrah interrupted, guiding Narcissa into her apartment. "Welcome, Narcissa. Ignore Alice. She's here to join us for the day. Also, you look elegant!"

Narcissa nodded, clearly too appalled with their behavior to give a response. Farrah knew that Narcissa had some problem with her, and she was determined to get to the root of it today, hopefully with the help of Alice's ability to defuse a tense situation with her sense of humor. Farrah watched as Narcissa observed her apartment carefully, looking at every single object in her kitchen and dining room and living room, until Narcissa stopped in front of her keyboard.

"What is this?" Narcissa asked. Farrah was thrown off by the curiosity in her voice. Narcissa rarely showed any emotion (minus her breakdown the other day), and so Farrah happily obliged.

"That's my piano! Well, my keyboard. Electronic. It plugs in over here, you see?"

Narcissa gave Farrah an odd look. "Plugs in? And … how do you play it?"

"With your fingers, how else do you play it?" Alice snorted. Farrah nudged her friend awkwardly in an attempt to silence her. Farrah had learned by now that there was something seriously wrong with the Malfoys. They knew absolutely nothing about technology. There was something about the way they acted that told her they weren't fully a part of the world she knew, whether physically or mentally, but she was determined to get it out of them eventually. So she played to Narcissa's curiosity, stepped towards the keyboard, and plugged it into the nearest socket.

"I can play Moonlight Sonata for you," Farrah offered. Then her fingers streamed across the piano the way they had done for years since she was a young high schooler and begged her parents for lessons, each finger producing a note that rang through the small apartment. As Farrah dug deeper into the song, she found herself humming along quietly. Then she brought her hands back to her side where they rightfully belonged, and dared to look up at the Malfoy matriarch. Her face was adorned with surprise.

"How … how?" Narcissa whispered, as if she had never heard of an instrument before.

"I can show you later," Farrah affirmed. "But now we have to go, or else we'll be late."

Narcissa was floored when she stepped foot into the restaurant. A brief glance made her relieved that she had worn the silver dress that was laying in her meager closet at the apartment where the Malfoys were staying. The walls were high, adorned with marbled columns and Renaissance-style paintings, an extremely picturesque scene of cultural and monetary wealth that Narcissa almost felt as if she was back in Malfoy Manor, strolling through the halls of the home she missed dearly. This was clearly a restaurant for the upper class … and Narcissa knew that Farrah could not possibly afford such a place, especially after noticing her shrewd apartment, with all the hanging plants and crooked picture frames and old furniture.

Farrah's friend, the sultry and slightly irritating girl wearing an abundance of red, gallivanted off to the loo. Narcissa was grateful, for it gave her a moment alone with Farrah.

"Child," Narcissa hissed, and then immediately regretted. Somehow, she could not contain her disgust with these muggles, even after she had bared her heart and soul to one.

Farrah, on the other hand, was patient, which irritated Narcissa even more. "Yes?"

"You cannot afford to eat here," Narcissa pointed out, "not when you live in that …"

"Apartment," Farrah finished for her squarely. "Look, I'm not stupid. I know you and your family come from some wealth, because of the way you act, and the way you guys know nothing about our mundane, peasant world. I mean come on, who doesn't know what a keyboard is? Probably somebody who's only ever lived around the finest quality of grand pianos. Don't worry about the money I make, okay? I'm an ER doctor at one of Boston's best hospitals. My salary is about $300,000 a year. Just because I don't spend it lavishly on a beautiful house - because mind you, I'm single and have no children - doesn't mean I don't have money." She smiled thinly at Narcissa and then made her way to the loo to join her friend.

Narcissa tried to grip with her words. What were 300,000 dollars? What were those in wizarding means? Narcissa could convert from pounds to galleons, but she had no idea how to convert from dollars to pounds. She assumed they were about the same. But that meant …

That meant the girl had money. But how? What had she done to warrant such pay? And how could she, with all her finances, act in a manner that was so peasant-like? Of course, such an amount of money meant nothing to Narcissa, whose Gringotts account was bursting with gold and galleons that she and Lucius had spent over the years. Their financial worth was significantly greater, where generations of Malfoys wouldn't have to worry about finances. Still, the amount of money this girl was making - in muggle America, from a healer-type position - was unruly. Average Ministry workers struggled to make the same amount of money, and Narcissa felt that their work was more important than this muggle girl's work.

Which begged the following question. How did muggles heal? How did they deal with broken bones without spells? Feeling ill without potions? How did they remove cancers? Narcissa realized she had more questions than she probably should have, as someone who did not sympathize with muggles, but she was curious. Then it hit her.

She could disillusion herself, and follow the girl to her place of work when she left for the evening. Narcissa would uncover the secrets of these muggles, and put an end to her questions. Once she saw the barbaric manners in which these muggles took care of each other - there was a reason why a wizard's life span was significantly higher - she could rest, and move on, and stop feeling that nagging guilt that told her she should give Farrah a chance, much like she should've given Ted Tonks and Andromeda a chance so long ago.

They were later seated at a table in the middle of the restaurant, and Narcissa had an open view of every muggle around her. It was overwhelming, their presence. She could not look away. While Farrah and Alice, that was her name, searched through their menus, Narcissa's gaze moved from person to person. There was the man in a handsome muggle suit, with silver cufflinks and a neatly trimmed beard, that reminded Narcissa of the type of man she would've gone for had she been a young girl again at Hogwarts and not betrothed to Lucius. There was a woman wearing heels a magnificent height, and she strutted through the restaurant without a stabilizing charm. How was she able to walk without falling? Even Narcissa resorted to stabilizing charms, though she hated to admit it. Still, this meant nothing about the muggles; it wasn't as if they were superior to her for knowing how to walk in heels without charms. They simply did with the meager resources they had. Narcissa had better things to do than practice walking properly in heels without magic.

When their food finally arrived, Narcissa dug her fork into the pasta she had picked out, and found herself delightfully surprised by the taste. She did her best to avoid smiling so that Farrah would not think she was opening up. It was simply good food, and good food could be appreciated. It was as simple as that.

"So, Narcissa. How did you and Lucius meet?"

Alice was looking at her expectantly, her red lipstick dotted with crumbs from her chicken parmesan. Narcissa eyed the girl distastefully, and set her fork on top of her plate as she had been taught to do respectfully as a little girl with her governess lessons. Clearing her throat, she began to fabricate the story around muggle sensitivities. "Lucius and I met when we were younger, around 16 years old. Our families knew each other, and so our parents wrote up a betrothal contract. Lucius and I were happy to marry, as we had fancied each other back then, at Hog - school. We were married immediately upon our departure from school, and two years later, we were blessed with our Draco."

Farrah and Alice were staring at her, their jaws dropped. What was it that she had said? Then it hit her: these women were both old and unmarried. It was traditional amongst muggles nowadays - and as much as she hated to think it, among witches too - to marry later. These women probably thought her oppressed, timid, for having married young. Narcissa sought to correct their obvious assumptions. "I have no regrets," Narcissa continued, perhaps a little too harshly. "My marriage to Lucius has been the greatest gift of my life."

"Of course," Farrah said hastily. Alice soon followed with an unenthusiastic nod.

The three of them picked at their food awkwardly.

"So, Narcissa," Farrah continued, completely ignoring Narcissa's obvious discomfort, "How are you enjoying America?"

Narcissa's nose wrinkled of its own volition. It seemed as if it was doing that a lot lately. "I miss London. I've seen nothing of mug - of America, but I don't find that I wish to. This place pales in comparison to home."

Something had shifted in Alice's behavior. Instead of rolling her eyes or ignoring Narcissa's words, she was staring directly at Narcissa. It made Narcissa uncomfortable. What was it that she had said that warranted yet another judgmental look from Alice?

Silence fell again amongst the group, and Farrah, who Narcissa could tell wanted to ask more questions, was suddenly no longer interested. Narcissa felt slightly guilty for berating the girl and speaking to her coldly, but a part of her didn't care. It was the price muggles paid by being muggles, by simply existing the way they did. Wizards and witches did not owe the muggles kindness, though perhaps some degree of civility was necessary. Narcissa shuddered subtly underneath the fabric of her dress, remembering how the Dark Lord had brought in muggles to cruciate in front of everyone, on her beloved dinner table, which after his defeat, was incinerated with many other objects at Malfoy Manor.

"Muffliato."

Narcissa broke away from her food, searching for the source of the spell. Farrah's seat was empty. However, Narcissa noticed the bright mauve of her headscarf bopping away in the direction to the loo … which meant one thing. She directed her attention towards Alice, who wore a menacing look and a curled lip so unlike the smile or exasperated frown she typically fronted. Her shaking hand was pointed directly at Narcissa, hidden between the plates and cups and napkins, holding what Narcissa immediately recognized as a magic wand.

"I think it's time we talked, don't you?"

It was around 6 P.M., and she had two hours until her shift at the hospital. That gave her plenty of time to do what she wanted to do. Farrah dressed in her scrubs, her favorite ones in powder-blue, and her classic, black headscarf. She stood in front of her bedroom mirror, practicing the dialogue over and over again - "Draco, you're going through something difficult right now. Draco, no. That doesn't sound good. Argh!" - until she ultimately figured her practice was worthless. She was an ER doctor, for God's sake. She could work under pressure better than she did preparing for it. So she opened her balcony door, stepped out into the cool Boston evening, and did the unthinkable: she climbed from her balcony to his.

Maybe he would put up a restraining order against her. But the Malfoys didn't know how to do that, did they? Did they really know anything about modern society? Or about Americans? These were questions that Farrah asked frequently but chose to ignore. As curious as she was, she figured the truth was far less exciting than she wanted it to be. She drew a deep breath, ignoring her fluttering stomach, and drew three knocks onto the glass door.

"Draco?" she called out somewhat quietly, "It's me, Farrah. Open up, please."

"God!" Farrah stumbled backwards, knocking over the chair on Draco's balcony in her sheer surprise. He looked like a ghoul, with his pale skin and bloodshot eyes, and if Farrah tried hard enough, she could probably smell his stench from the other side of the glass. The door slid open, and suddenly her waist was wrapped with his arms. Farrah gulped uncomfortably as she clung to him for a good grip, and as soon as she was inside and safe, she exhaled with relief and let, with sorrow, his arms go.

"Thanks," she mumbled awkwardly.

Draco looked at her incredulously. "What in the bloody fuck do you think you are doing in my bedroom? Who - what - why - how did you … what gave you the bloody authority to come climbing onto my balcony and demand that I let you in? Do you understand how disrespectful that is? What if I was bloody naked?"

Farrah stifled a snort, mentally counting the number of times he said "bloody." Still, she felt embarrassed. He was right. It was none of her business. "Sorry, Draco. I was just worried. Your mom told me you aren't doing well, and I wanted to check in on you. With Scorpius gone and everything …"

"Don't say his name," Draco hissed, drawing back from Farrah as if she were a hot flame. As they both stood in front of each other uncomfortably, Farrah allowed herself to observe the room she was in. Mountains of trash bled into each other on the floor. And were those leftovers from her cooking? Farrah felt some satisfaction that Narcissa had indeed not only enjoyed her cooking, but given some to Draco … and he had eaten it as well. There was that bag from the mall against the wall beside his bed that contained all of the clothes they had purchased together a while ago, and Farrah noticed a strange-looking twig on his nightstand. Besides items of furniture which appeared pre-purchased and a few of Draco's own knick-knacks, this room barely felt lived in. There was nothing of Draco in this room. Farrah wondered where his belongings were, if they came from England - even if for a vacation - because where were his suitcases? Did he not own a phone or anything? It hit Farrah suddenly that she had, in all her time, forgotten to ask him for his number. She had grown detached from her cell phone during the pandemic, to the point sometimes she forgot it existed (unless she remembered to talk to Alice or Dan or her family members). She had deleted most of her social media accounts after the pandemic, and since she was so starved for in-person interactions beyond being in the presence of death at the ICU, the fact that Draco was just a door away was a main motivator for her forgetfulness to maintain digital interaction. His physical presence was more than enough. But this … this room was practically empty if not for the bed and trash.

"Why are you here?" Draco asked sternly. He waved his hands aggressively around his face as he spoke, and as he did, a flash of silver burned Farrah's eyes. He was wearing two identical rings, the same she had seen on Lucius's hand. He must be wearing Scorpius's ring, Farrah mused.

"Draco," Farrah sighed, "like I said. Your mom's worried about you." When Draco said nothing in response, Farrah tried again. "Fine. I'm worried about you, okay? I thought we were becoming friends, and then you basically disappeared off of the face of the earth. I thought I'd check in on you, but honestly? I didn't want to face your parents. Your dad scares the shit out of me, and your mom was acting super weird after lunch to the point I drove her home and she didn't say a word to me. I figured I did something to offend her or whatever, but I don't want to see her right now. I only wanted to see you, and your balcony was the only way to do that. So could you please talk to me?"

Without uttering a word, Draco shuffled the various trash items and clothes on his bed to make space for her. He sat down and she followed, her legs a mere inch from his. Though he smelled bad, a part of her heart swelled at being this close to him. Draco was beautiful, she thought, staring at him as he sat. His faded hair - clearly not brushed - had somewhat maintained a healthy glow. The lines of his jaw, nearly perpendicular to each other, was set in a handsome grimace. He was an attractive man with unfortunate luck. As her gaze made its way slowly from his face to his torso, she saw, with horror, that his left arm was covered in a horrendous red gash, as if he had purposely cut his arm to cover a tattoo.

"You're bleeding!" Farrah cried out, like a child seeing blood for the first time. Then she shook her head, physically bringing her back to her senses, and then hoisted Draco up into her arms. Despite the strength with which he had helped her earlier, he felt weak in her embrace. "I'm taking you to the hospital, right now."

Before Draco could protest - and it wasn't as if he had strong resolve, in the moment - he was stuffed into the backseat of her car, dripping blood onto her white, leather seats. As she drove through the busy streets, Farrah glanced occasionally at him through the rearview mirror. She could see his eyes glaze over every few minutes. The man did not protest. He sat quietly, his alabaster fingers wrapped tightly around his red-stained arm, waiting for Farrah to make the next call.

Many minutes later they were in the ER and Debbie, their secretary and Farrah's good friend, was typing away slowly at her computer.

"Insurance?"

"He doesn't know," Farrah almost cried out with frustration. "He's from Europe, for God's sake. I don't know what kind of insurance they have over there, universal healthcare or whatever - does this really matter right now?"

Debbie smiled knowingly. God, she can see right through me, Farrah thought as she watched Debbie pick at her keyboard with the speed of a dying animal. "Debbie, please. He needs to be seen, now."

"Something wrong?" Farrah twirled around, and of course he was there. Fucking Karim, just who she had been avoiding for a while now. He had never accepted her apology, or responded to her texts, and he was ignoring her at the workplace unless it was a professional matter. But this was no professional matter. It was a personal one. Farrah wanted Draco Malfoy to be taken care of, a man that yes, maybe she had grown to care for, and Karim was there to witness it all - the man she had ditched him for - in a painful turn of events.

Within seconds, Draco was transferred under Karim's care. Farrah settled into the waiting room, eating a bag of chips she had bought from their vending machine. She was at least grateful for Karim's work. He was a good physician, whether she could stand him or not. As she sat in her rigid chair, tapping her feet aggressively to the sound of her own heart beating with worry, Farrah watched the world move around her. There were babies crying, men who were slouched over in their own chairs. There was an elderly couple, and a toddler who was stumbling around the place and wiping his snot on the furniture.

Had Farrah looked just a few feet to her right - and had she had the powers of a witch - she might just have noticed Narcissa Malfoy, disillusioned with the help of an anti-muggle charm, watching her.

Author's Notes

Hey readers!

I hope you enjoy this latest chapter! And so the plot thickens ...

Let me know if you have any feedback! I really appreciate constructive criticism - it helps me become a better writer for you to enjoy!

If this story still feels too muggle for you, don't worry! I'll definitely be bringing in more magic soon. The first few chapters were introductory, but it's going to get serious soon. I hope. But yes; please tell me what you think! Sending you readers all my love; I enjoy writing for an audience!

dreaminginsilver