(Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the brainchild of J.K. Rowling and thus belongs to her and whomever she sells the rights to, which is not me in this case. This piece of fanfiction is written with the admiration and respect of Harry Potter's creator. I claim no ownership of her creations. The Graduate also does not belong to me and I claim no right to the original work. Both works are gently parodied for the amusement of all and it is done so with admiration for the original material.)

"Here we are." Harry says as he pulls his arm off from around Mrs. Malfoy's shoulders.

"Thank you," she mutters. She sets a delicate hand on her hair, her shoulders, her mouth, making sure everything is without mess. He's so mesmerized by this habit that he lingers a moment longer than he might have otherwise. "Will you come in, please?"

"What?"

"Without my wand, the gates can't be warded, Mr. Potter," she explains even while pushing them open and walking determinedly towards the specter of a house. He follows just to keep up the conversation. "Anyone can walk in and how am I to defend myself?"

"I'll walk you to the door then."

"Thank you."

He focuses on the sound of grit crunching beneath his feet instead of the sound of her breath and his own; mixed together in the silence, it sounds indecent. A white peacock makes a strange, throaty call from the trees. He doesn't have to see it to know what it is. He shivers with the thought as they finally reach the front door. A slab of marble hangs over their heads as she pulls out a key. There's a poem etched into it in one steady stream of letters without space or stop. Old Latin, he imagines, used from when Romans spoke it and before scholars diluted it. He has no hope of understanding it and instead focuses on Mrs. Malfoy opening the door.

"A key? Isn't that muggle?"

"There's a magic to keys, Mr. Potter." She tucks it in with her breasts and he can't help the momentary glance before he realizes what he is doing. "Would you mind walking ahead of me to the parlor?"

The hair on the back of his neck stands on end. The Auror and child in him know better, but he's learned a sort of subtlety over the years. Everything strange isn't a trap. Only a great deal of it is. "Why?"

"I don't feel safe walking blindly into a dark house."

"But it's your house."

"And that's why I don't feel safe." She smiles sharply, and he feels small and exposed. "Don't worry, Mr. Potter. I suspect the good wizards and witches who would hide in my house and wait for the opportunity to kill me would do nothing to you. Well, besides ask to shake your hand."

"Don't you have house elves that could take care of you?"

"Please."

There is some sort of magic in her tone. He imagines it the voice of Queen Elizabeth I commanding him on while he leads the way into Malfoy manor and into one of the parlors. He keeps an eye out for the Spanish. She doesn't ask him how he knows the way. There are many terrible and complicated answers to that question. Once they entered the appropriate room, Mrs. Malfoy walks past him before he has even cast a lighting charm. When he does, she comes into view behind an elegant, cherry wood bar. He blinks, far more accustomed to seeing Draco in such a setting than his mother. She sets two cut-glass tumblers on the surface with a clink and thwack.

"What do you drink?"

"Look, Mrs. Malfoy. I Apparated you home. I made sure you got safely into your house. I was glad to do it. But I have things going on now-."

"What kind of things?"

"Important things. I really have some heavy things on my mind. I'm sure you can understand that?"

Mrs. Malfoy nods from behind the bar, pouring a drink.

"Alright then. Thank you and goodnight."

"What do you drink?" She continues to pour into the second glass. He can only stare at her with shock. She glances up while taking both the glasses in hand. "Mr. Potter, I'm sorry to be like this but I don't want to be left alone."

"Why not?"

"Please wait until Draco returns home."

"How long will that be?"

"I don't know." She walks around the bar toward him, glasses held aloft. "Drink?"

"No."

She pushes it into his chest and he has no choice but to take it. "Bourbon."

"Are you always this afraid to be alone, Mrs. Malfoy?" He takes a sip before remembering himself.

"Yes."

"Why don't you just lock the doors and go to sleep?"

"Would that make you feel safe, Mr. Potter? Laying down half-naked in a giant, empty house unprotected by wards, without a wand to defend you?"

"I guess I would try not to think about it."

"I can't help it."

"Why not?"

"I'm very neurotic."

He can only blink. The way she said the word made it sound like, "erotic." Harry wonders what's in the bourbon and sets it down on the bar. She glances back at the sound but with a motion of her hand, the drapes close, leaving them in a half-light darkness.

"May I ask you a question, Mr. Potter?" He stares at her, desperately trying to understand what is happening. Both his Auror training and his natural instincts are hissing for him to, "Get out, now!" but he has learned to look at the situation from an unemotional eye before reacting. He tries to imagine what Hermoine would think of the situation. He imagines she'd be telling him to get the hell out too. "What do you think of me?"

"I don't understand the question."

"Certainly you have formed an opinion."

He honestly can't think of a polite answer to that but doesn't want to insult her if possible. "I always thought… you wore really great shoes."

She takes a seat at the bar, crossing her legs so the purple stilettos bounce for his attention. "Did you know that I was an alcoholic?"

"What?"

"Now you understand where Draco learned it. Do you think I destroyed him or do you think Lucius did it first?"

Harry Potter begins to think Draco slipped something in his champagne back at the ministry and this was some huge hallucination. He does not find it the least bit funny and resolves to punch the bugger in the ear the next time he sees him. "Look, I think I should go."

"Sit down, Mr. Potter."

"Mrs. Malfoy, I don't mean to sound rude, but you have to admit this conversation is getting a little strange. I'm sure Draco will be home soon and -."

"No."

"What?"

"It's become his habit to return home late. I suspect he's found himself a secret paramour." She pulls her leg up and sets her stiletto against the stool she has asked Harry to sit in. The slit in her robes, so elegant and almost demure back at the ministry, began to creep up her thigh. "No one else should be home for hours."

"Oh my god."

"Pardon me?"

"No, Mrs. Malfoy. No." He puts a hand up and takes a step back though she hasn't made a move towards him. Her eyes are enough for him to feel pursued. He takes another step back.

"What's wrong?"

"Mrs. Malfoy, you didn't – you can't expect-!"

She smiles lazy. "What?"

"You can't possibly think I'd do something like that – this- that!"

"Like what?"

He blinks and searches for how to say it without saying it. "What do you think?"

"I don't know," she says and is all cultured curiosity.

"For Merlin's sake, Mrs. Malfoy. Look at us. Here we are, you got me to take you home, come into your house with you, and you offer me a drink. You close the curtains, strike a very revealing pose, and tell me no one will be home for hours!"

"And?"

Harry Potter takes another step back and raises a pointed finger in her general direction. He feels extremely rude but is too embarrassed to hide behind an armchair. This pointed finger at least puts something between them. "Mrs. Malfoy, you are trying to seduce me!"

The quiet is terrible. He expected some reaction but all she does is stare at him and blink. "Aren't you?"

She smiles slowly, shaking her head and sipping from her tumbler, and it's worse than a laugh. "No, I hadn't thought of it that way. But I'm flattered that you-."

"Mrs. Malfoy, I'm so sorry. Can you forgive me for saying that?"

"I understand." She finishes off her drink and picks up his. "That's fine."

"It's not fine. It's a terrible thing for me to say to you."

"Sit down," she says, setting his glass back where it was, even while pulling her stiletto off the seat. She moves to refill her tumbler.

"Please forgive me," he mumbles while sitting down and taking his glass in hand. She twirls the top off the bourbon bottle with familiarity. "You didn't deserve that. And I don't think of you that way. I guess I just got mixed up."

"I understand. Now finish your drink."

He raises the glass for a gulp but pulls it away to say, "Mrs. Malfoy, how could I say such a thing?" He takes a sip and puts it down. "It makes me sick that I actually said it."

"Forget it now. Finish your drink." She raises her own tumbler and gulps down half of it in one go. He watches with terrible fascination.

Harry shakes his head. "What's wrong with me?"

"I hear you are a friend of my sister, Andromeda."

"Yeah, we raise Teddy together."

She nods her head and finishes her bourbon. "Would you like to see a portrait of her as a girl?"

"Her portrait?"

"Yes. It was done when she was sixteen. You might find she resembled her daughter a great deal." She does not look to him while saying this. "Would you like to see it?"

"Very much." He summons the enthusiasm for a smile. She doesn't, but leads him from the room with resolve.