Disclaimer: Anything you recognize doesn't belong to me. Anything you don't probably does.

A/N: This is the second version of this chapter. Which I think is better. The first version had a ridiculous cat fight. Which I've fixed to a much more realistic war of veiled insults.

Chapter Dedication: My wonderful mother who has sentenced me to staying home all day today, consequently allowing me to write this chapter. Gr…

"My mother-in-law said to me, 'I'll dance on your grave.' I said, 'I hope you do. I'm being buried at sea.'"

A Perfect Day to Elope

CHAPTER ELEVEN

In which Narcissa throws a surprise party and Draco wants to get drunk...

September 25, 2003

"Muggleborn witch and noted house elf liberation activist Hermione Granger was last night seen dancing with her fiancé, one Draco Malfoy, at the new Feugo Pierna latin dance club. Malfoy is the only son of famous purebloods Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Three years ago, his father, a convicted death eater, was released from Azkaban prison on wandless parole. He declined to comment on the nature of this engagement, though rumors are speculating that the reason for this sudden commitment is the soon-to-be third member of the Malfoy-Granger family. That's right, Hermione Jane Granger is– bloody hell…" Draco threw the paper across the room, where it skidded to a halt a few steps short of the dustbin. He was not having a good morning, not at all. For the third time that day he wondered aloud why he had ever thought leaving that cell would fix his problems.

Upon tumbling out of his kitchen fireplace, he had been bombarded by a pack of owls that refused to leave until he'd read and replied to each and every one of their letters, which varied from congratulations to death threats (but which had mostly been death threats). After doing so, he had thought that he could sit down and enjoy a piece of toast with some marmalade while reading the Daily Prophet. However, that hadn't gone well as he had almost instantly (just after reading up on the bludgeoned Bali beater) come across his own leering graduation photo in the center spread. That had been quite a shock.

"That's right, Hermione Jane Granger is pregnant with the newest addition to the Malfoy family," Lucius snarled, he had picked up the paper from beside the dustbin and unfolded it again. "Hermione's close friend, Harry Potter..." Lucius sneered, "also declined to comment on the situation, but his girlfriend, the beautiful Mary-Sue Lyleson, said of the couple 'Obviously there's a lot of controversy around them, but I think it's really cute. They always look really happy around each other. It's pretty sweet, really'. This author could not agree more," Lucius's lip was curled back so far it was in danger of coming around the bend and looking normal again. "Since the demise of he-who-still-must-not-be-named there has been a noticeable tension between the families of ex-death eaters and the families of those killed. Perhaps this is the first sign that the gap is closing,"

"I get it, you're pissed, you can stop now," Draco spat.

"No. you see, I can't because 'Reader's of this article might be doubtful of how long this relationship can last. Granger has run from commitment before and Malfoy is an infamous player. Said Hermione's ex-fiance's sister, one Virginia Weasley, 'When they first came out about it, no one really thought it would last. It was like a… physical thing, yeah? So we all said we'd bide our time 'til she came back to her ex-fiance, Ron,' it's been three years.' I've been getting owls in and out of my office all day, and why? Because you couldn't just marry a Parkinson and get it over with."

"You didn't want me to marry a Parkinson, you said I was a Malfoy and should do better, remember?" Draco took a large bite of his toast and commenced to chew it angrily.

"And that…" Lucius swung the paper around and jabbed at Hermione's photo, "…is better?"

"Yes," said Draco, spreading more marmalade as defiantly as marmalade can be spread.

"Speaking of Parkinsons…" Lucius flipped the paper around and searched the article. "…your ex said something in here as well."

"I would expect as much,"

"Here we go, 'Pansy Parkinson, daughter of Emma Finch-Parkinson and Jonathan Parkinson, was very close with the Malfoy boy a few years back. When approached, she was very open about the whole affair. 'Yeah, we dated for a while. But I dumped him cause he wasn't very… er… mature, if you know what I mean. I'm not surprised he's marrying a muggleborn, especially that Granger. She was a right tart when we were in school,' how's that for good publicity," Lucius drawled, throwing the paper down on the table in front of Draco again. "You're mother was in a right state."

Draco nearly choked on the piece of toast he'd been chewing. His mother had cried for weeks when he'd only gotten eight O.W.L.S.; he could only imagine what she'd do now. "Where is she?" he asked, trying to steady his voice.

"Left, an hour ago," Lucius replied, deliberately dragging out the answer.

"Where?"

"To visit your fiance, I believe. Something about a…" he stroked his chin thoughtfully, "bath, was it?" then added thoughtfully, "Goody, maybe she's gone to drown her."

Hermione stood up slowly, deliberately, trying not to panic even as the headline before her stayed the same. "Muggleborn Marries Malfoy," she read aloud, rolling the words around on her tongue. It was quite catchy, really. Nobody would soon forget it. A soft hoot to her right broke her train of thought and she turned back to the large barn owl. It was glaring at her in an annoyed sort of way. She quickly fumbled for her purse, grabbed a handful of tiny bronze coins and stuffed them into the pouch attached to the owl's leg. It hooted happily then flew out through her open window and into the world, where it was silhouetted against the last rays of disappearing sunlight. She watched it go and then turned back to her apartment. She suddenly became very aware that she was not alone. Perched on the arms of her couch, the molding on her doors, her lampshades, coffee table, and every available surface, a pack of owls was waiting. They were all watching her with big, unnerving, glassy eyes. She had an unnerving image of herself being attacked by a pack of annoyed owls, but she shook it off and turned to her kitchen table, which she now noticed was covered in rolls of yellowing parchment and the charred remains of howlers. "This is going to be a very interesting morning," she said to the watching owls, picking up the first likely looking letter.

Dear Hermione,

CONGRATULATIONS! Oh my god! Just when I think I've got you figured out. You naughty girl! Just kidding Mione! Ha ha ha. Pregnant AND engaged to Malfoy? Oh my, now you've got me convinced you're Pansy on Polyjuice! Just kidding! Congrats! And give your FIANCE a kiss for me, just kidding again, ha ha ha.

Lavender Brown

Hermione eyed the note uncertainly. Since when did Lavender Brown call her "Mione"? Since when did Lavender Brown call her anything? She shrugged and threw the letter aside.

Mudblood,

You will never be good enough for a Malfoy, or any pureblood family! If you go through with this I will kill you.

You've been warned.

"That was cheery," she laid the letter down on the table and vanished it with a quick wave of her wand. "Alright, next victim,"

Hermione,

Lavender's writing you but I thought I'd write too. Ditto to everything she's going to say in her letter and name the kid after me whether it's a boy or a girl!

Parvati

Hermione threw that note aside as well. She shunted aside the remains of a particularly burnt-looking howler and unfolded the note beneath it.

Hermione,

Congratulations. Harry told me all about the whole thing at the club. It sounds like he blew up on you pretty well. Sorry about that, he's just hurt, I guess. Did you see the article? Of course you saw the article, who hasn't by now? Too bad it had to happen like that but one might wonder when you were going to tell us. Just kidding, I know you were going to eventually. You just can't keep those things secret, Hermione, it doesn't work out very well in the end. But you'd know that, you're living it. See you soon, I expect.

Ron

P.S. Don't expect a letter from Harry, he's not in a writing mood.

Hermione dropped the letter and stood up. It was nice of Ron to write, of course. She just had the nagging suspicion he wasn't kidding. "That was nice of him," she said aloud, more to herself than to the owls. "How 'bout the next one then, eh?"

Granger,

I hope you get this. Narcissa Malfoy's just come by my house to pick myself and mother up for a baby shower. There's about four other girls here, so be prepared for company. We should be there in an hour.

Pansy

P.S. No this does not mean I approve of you marrying above your station. I just despise him more than I despise you, and nothing good can come of this marriage. Burn this letter the instant you get it. It's supposed to be a 'surprise' party. Ick.

Yes, the world had most definitely fallen over on its ear. She looked out the window and half expected to see that the sky had turned green.

Narcissa.

Last time she'd seen Narcissa she'd run the other way. That couldn't have made a good impression. She'd said we. Who was we? Hermione jumped up and took a quick inventory of her flat. Why did she have to come just then? Last time Hermione had been home she'd been running on depression autopilot. Her pantry was flung open and cartons of half-eaten ice cream were strewn over the floor, long since melted and sitting in puddles of chocolate-fudge swirl. "Scourgify" she yelled automatically, flicking her wand over the length of her flat. It did help a little, the puddles of ice cream vanished, and some spots on her tablecloth disappeared, but things were still quite disorganized. "Dammit," she muttered, bending over and picking up the empty cartons, as well as three frying pans and a now-empty cereal box. She dumped them into the bin and then set to getting rid of all the owls, which proved to be a more difficult task than she'd thought.

Every one of the thirty-or-so owls had apparently been told to stick around until they got a reply. So Hermione scribbled "Thanks for your concern" onto thirty-or-so separate pieces of paper and tied one to each owl until they had all left and just in time too because the instant Pigwidgeon had flown out the window (Hermione had given him a more lengthy reply that "Thanks for your concern"), a huge purple blaze poured from her fireplace. Hermione whirled around and found herself face-to-face with her future mother-in-law.

"Hello, Narcissa." Hermione tried to smile amicably. Narcissa continued to frown.

"Hello Hester," she replied.

"Hermione," Hermione corrected, her smile straining.

"Quite right, Hester," Narcissa continued, clearly not listening as her eyes took in Hermione's flat. "We've come to throw you a baby shower!" she announced, as though the prospect wasn't enormously less preferable to marrying a basilisk.

"Oh, we?" Hermione eyed the women standing behind Narcissa. All of them were tall, thin, and very blonde.

"You're French?" said Narcissa, her eyes lighting up.

"No, you dolt. She wants to know who we are," snapped the woman directly behind her, "and I don't blame her,"

"It was a joke," Narcissa sniffed resentfully and looked up at the woman, who was easily the tallest of the group. "Helen, this is Aemilia Lestrange."

"Enchante" Hermione replied, trying not to laugh.

"Mutual, I'm sure," Aemilia sighed, trying not to take any interest in the short brunette. She had sunny blonde hair and full red lips. She might have been very pretty; but very few people noticed her hair or lips because she had enormous purple eyes. Her eyes looked more like glittering amethysts set into her face than eyes at all.

"And this," Narcissa gestured to the girl behind Aemilia, easily the shortest of the group and clearly no older than seventeen, "is her daughter, Morrisa." Morrisa nodded. "…and next to her over there is my sister-in-law, Loyola Malfoy." She gestured at a slender, white-blonde woman standing at Morrisa's elbow. "And her daughter, Drusilla." She gestured at girl on Morrisa's other side, a girl second in height only to Aemilia and who looked startlingly like the feminine version of Hermione's own Draco, so much so that they could have been twins. "And that…" she gestured at the girl standing behind Drusilla, "is her sister, Kaida, and next to Kaida there is my mother-in-law–"

"Cordelia, but you may call me Mum," the woman who'd been eyeing Hermione's flat apprehensively up until this point snapped her gaze onto Hermione herself. From what Hermione had heard about Cordelia Malfoy, both in books and from Draco, she could hardly believe that the woman watching her with such blatant interest could be the Malfoy Matriarch herself. From what she knew about math, Hermione knew that Cordelia had to be at least seventy, though it appeared time had stopped for her the instant she turned thirty. She had the blonde hair that was, apparently, typical of all Malfoy women– though hers was a darker, more strawberry variety– high, prominent cheek bones, and full lips pursed in an infinitely perplexing simper. Though her face looked no older than thirty, and probably younger, she possessed the air of someone older than a hundred. Her almond-shaped, golden eyes hid the wisdom of seventy years on the earth; and everything from the way she carried herself to the enormous emerald brooch clipped to her hair to her flowing coral dress robes exuded royal authority.

"Hi," Hermione choked out, shrinking slightly under the taller woman's gaze. There was something familiar about that gaze, something Dumbledore-like, though Hermione would never have previously imagined equating Dumbledore with the woman who had single-handedly kept over half the ex-death eaters out of Azkaban after Voldemort's first 'demise'.

"And behind Mum," Narcissa started again, her stride bent a bit but clearly not broken, "is Emma Parkinson, and next to her is her daughter, Pansy, but you know Pansy."

Hermione nodded. "Hallo Pansy," she said calmly, though she couldn't hide the scowl that momentarily contorted her forced grin.

"And next to Pansy," Narcissa plodded on, "is my other sister-in-law, Rachel, she–"

"I married Lux," Rachel interrupted, "I'm his second wife, see, so by 'Malfoy code'" she said, her mellow voice dripping with contempt, "I'm not a 'legit' member of the family, and this lot won't stop reminding me of it until the day they or I die." She glared angrily around at the other women. "But if you ask me it's just cause my name's not insanely rare, I don't quite fit in well on the family tree, you know. I wouldn't worry though, Hermione"… she glared at Narcissa "…you're name's just weird enough, once they learn it."

"Thanks." Hermione laughed, glad to finally have something to laugh at.

Narcissa was not quite done yet, however. "And on either side of Rachel," she said, far more loudly than was really necessary, "is her step-daughter, Claudia." Claudia looked up from Hermione's telephone, which she'd been examining "…and her daughter, that is, Rachel and Lux's daughter, Lucine."

"Lucy, please. They will insist on keeping your name insanely rare as well," Lucy snapped. She seemed to fit in with this crowd even less than Hermione or Rachel. True, she was blonde, tall, and impossibly thin, but she looked like she would be more comfortable at a rock concert than a baby shower. Her platinum blonde hair was streaked with black and it looked stiff, as though it had just been taken down from platinum-blonde and black spikes. She had heavily lidded eyes rimmed with thick, black, kohl eyeliner and a glittery silver ring in her right nostril. She didn't look like someone Hermione would want to meet in a dark alley.

"Isn't that the truth," Rachel muttered. "Shall we?"

Lucy nodded and the two of them commenced to walk around Hermione's flat, waving their wands over the length of it so that somewhat cheery-looking, if a bit deflated, decorations covered everything. The other women sufficed to help by creating large silver platters covered in hors d'oeuvres while grumbling loudly about house elves.

"Presents!" one of the girls, Hermione thought her name was K… something, squealed. Hermione noticed that all the women seemed to be holding gift-wrapped packages in varying degrees of impressiveness.

"Not a baby shower without presents," Cordelia hissed at the look on Hermione's face; and Hermione felt herself being forcefully steered into her loveseat.

"Oh, well…" she stumbled as Cordelia sat on her right side, her venom-red nails digging into Hermione's shoulder. Narcissa sat on her other side and assumed the same pose, so that Hermione felt more like a prisoner than a guest of honor.

"Open mine first," Cordelia cooed. It was a command, not a request.

"Alright." Hermione took the long, slender box that was handed to her. It wasn't wrapped, but was covered in a thick, black velvet. She hesitantly snapped open the lid, wondering how small a space an accomplished wizard could fit a basilisk into.

"It's gorgeous, but I hardly think it's appropriate for a baby." She gasped. Inside the box was a necklace, a more brilliant necklace than Hermione had ever seen. It was hung on a simple silver chain; but the jewel hanging on the chain was a sparkling explosion of diamonds arranged around a large square emerald that glowed against the box's black velvet lining. It was stunning.

Aemilia started to say something, but she was cut off by Cordelia's piercing stare.

"Oooh…" Kaida said, her awe slightly forced as Hermione lifted the necklace.

"I don't know if I have enough green to carry it…" Hermione grinned. No-one laughed. They were all watching Mum.

"Why don't you try it on then?" Cordelia's smile was manic.

"Could you help me?" Hermione handed it to her soon-to-be grandmother-in-law.

"Of course, dearest." Cordelia took the necklace, the Malfoy women held a collective breath. Hermione felt Cordelia's enamel nails brushing the nape of her neck, there was a soft click, and gravity pulled the necklace down over her heart.

"It's kind of heavy…" Hermione reached back for the clasp, which had apparently disappeared. "Where's the clasp?"

Silence pressed down on the room, a better answer than they ever could have given.

"It's not coming off, is it?"

"Of course not, dearest." Somehow, Cordelia could make 'dearest' a poisonous insult. Hermione cringed as Mum's nails bit into her shoulder. "You didn't think we'd give you any ordinary necklace, did you?"

"Oh no, of course. It had to be special somehow."

"No, this necklace won't come off until you break my grandson's heart."

Hermione saw where Cordelia was going. "So… it's never going to come off?" she said defiantly.

"Of course, if you never break his heart. But it does give you some incentive, doesn't it? It is a heavy necklace." Narcissa purred, saying more than her words might have meant.

"What a lovely present." Hermione gulped.

"If you have enough green to carry it." Pansy added.

"I can by some green dresses… shirts… pants… scarves… It really is a lovely necklace." Sheer willpower held her frozen smile.

"And when you're done with it I can have it…" Aemilia yawned.

It took a moment for the comment to sink in. Hermione bristled.

She might have told them what vindictive little wretches they were. She might have told them exactly how many Outstandings she'd gotten on her O.W.L. exams. She might have petrified them all into next week, if a blur of dust and blondeness hadn't tumbled from her fireplace just then.

"Excuse me, ladies, mother, Mum." Draco stood. "I know you've all just had such fun, but Hermione and I actually had dinner reservations at…" he faltered, seeing the emerald on Hermione's neck. "Oh, I see you've done presents. How 'fun'." He sneered.

"Hey Draco." Lucy waved from the floor. He gave her a confused sort of wave and then turned back to the other women. "I think what he's trying to say is," she continued before he could say anything more. "We all ought to leave so…" One-by-one she pulled each woman off of her chair or position on the floor. "Let's go. It is… after all… his dinner reservations. And you absolutely can't ever miss a dinner reservation." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm but for some reason they all followed her lead. Here was a girl who'd obviously dealt with these women all her life. One by one she shuffled them through the fireplace and to their respective homes with a cordial "It's been lovely, really…" and "See you at the wedding." Once they were all gone she turned to Hermione. "They're really not that awful… they just don't like you." She shrugged.

"Thanks Luc," Draco shouted as she followed her relatives out of Hermione's flat.

"No problem, cuz," she replied as she flew up the fireplace.

"Well, that solves that," he yawned. "Sorry about that love, they're really lovel– Granger?"

He found Hermione stroking her neck in front of the bathroom mirror.

"Yeesh, Granger. Didn't know you were the necklace type." He sneered, then added, "Stop looking so down, you'll find a way to get it off."

"I know," she replied, but didn't stop stroking the emerald.

"Then what is it? You've suddenly turned into my mother." He shuddered.

"I don't think I have enough green clothes," she said thoughtfully.

"Laugh a minute, Granger, laugh a minute." He smirked, "Now come on. We've got the entire evening to ourselves. Let's go out!"

"I don't much feel like going out right now, thanks." She laughed.

"Then let's stay in!" he declared, "Rent a VDV, make some popcorn, snog each other senseless."

"What?"

"You know, whatever muggles do on Friday nights."

"Well we certainly couldn't get a DVD, I don't have a telly."

"Right… I'll just pretend I understood the logic in that."

"You do that."

"I will." He laughed. "You need a drink, witch."

"Do I?"

"Yes," he answered decisively, then hurried off in the direction of the kitchen. "Where do you keep your wine?"

"I don't have any," she replied. There was the sound of something breakable breaking. "Fix that, would you?" She came out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, where he was looking down at the broken remains of a glass something. "For Christ's sake!" she snapped. "Reparo" The pieces of glass flew back into a shapely vase and she smiled smugly.

"No wine?" he asked, as though it were a new concept.

"I don't have any need. Where would I get money for booze, anyway? I own a house elf clothing store, remember? My number one and only customer is Dobby!"

"Dobby comes in every other day, though, doesn't he?" Draco teased.

"Yeah." She laughed.

"You'll be wanting me to go out and buy some wine, then?"

"Probably." She stood on tiptoe to kiss him apologetically on the cheek. "My treat."

"Yeah, alright. I'll get some muggle wine. It's better than the crap we pump out."

"Alright, but be careful, right?"

"Of course." He nodded. "So you said your treat right?" he added, pulling the spare dragon hide jacket he kept at her flat from the foyer closet.

"Right." She fumbled for her purse. "You think five pounds will be enough?"

"How should I know, I don't know muggle money." he laughed at the ridiculousness of the idea.

"Right, it should be. So you can pay for your own transportation. Just take the knight bus, right? Right."

"I'll be fine," he assured her. He stole one last kiss and then walked out into the hall.

Draco walked down the aisles of red and white wines. Champagne, White Zinfandel, Merlot, Bordeaux, he ran his hand down the various labels with growing excitement. He knew there was a reason he was born wealthy. His eyes lit up as he saw it, a bottle of rosy pink champagne. He picked up the blanc de noir by its bronze foiled top and carried it past the shelves of lesser wines up to the cashier.

"That'll be four pounds and five pence," the little man declared, taking Draco's five-pound note with a grumpy sort of nod.

"Keep the change," he said decidedly, anxious to get out of the dingy store and back to Hermione. He took the bag the man handed him and slipped it into his jacket, practically running out of the store.

In fact, by the time he got outside he was running. So much so that his foot caught mid-step on something decidedly solid and he tumbled forward. There was a painful crash that told him he'd landed on the wine. He sat up, picking jagged pieces of glass out of his jacket as his glorious blanc de noir ran down his shirt-front. He desperately needed to see if that was champagne or blood. He reached in his pants pocket for his wand, and found to his great displeasure that the champagne bottle wasn't the only thing that had broken when he fell. "Dammit." He spat, standing up shakily. He looked down to see what he'd tripped on, but couldn't see anything in the palpable darkness. "No wine, no wand, no muggle money, no Her–" he stopped mid-sentence. Draco might not have been the brightest crayon in the box, but he had taken Muggle Studies and so he knew a gun when he felt one pressed against the back of his head. He knew the sound one made when someone prepared to fire it.

"Put your hands behind your head," said a gruff voice behind him, "and don't dare turn around."

Shit.