(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," Mrs. Malfoy says. She walks into the dark room without hesitation but he pauses to cast a lighting charm. It's a guest bedroom but she's a safe distance on the other side. Harry Potter slinks inside, trying to ignore the bed and find the promised portrait. He sees it above the antique secretary covered by a thin layer of dust. The teenager in a Hogwarts uniform –Ravenclaw- was sneezing.

"Andromeda certainly was an attractive girl, wasn't she? Not to say that she still isn't – an attractive woman, I mean. She's very pretty. Like Tonks. Wow, I never imagined she would have brown hair."

"What color is it now?" Mrs. Malfoy asks, and it is sad that she needs him to tell her what her own sister looks like.

"Gray," he says. "But it suits her."

"Mr. Potter?"

"Yes?" He glances over his shoulder to see her taking off her jewelry and tossing it down on the bed. She catches his eyes and he quickly looks away.

"Will you come over here for a minute?"

"Over there?" She hums her answer. He really doesn't want to, but hopes it might bring the night to an end sooner if he cooperates. "Sure."

"Will you help me out of my dress?" He is so shocked that he can't move, nonetheless answer. "I think I'll go to bed like you suggested."

"Well, goodnight then." He turns around to look for the door. Sometimes he hates how big the rooms are in this house. It is just wasteful and inconvenient.

"Won't you undo the buttons on the back of my dress? I can't reach them."

"Do I have to?"

She sighs. "If you still think I'm trying to seduce you-."

"No, I don't," he says though he's not so sure. He has no choice but to turn around and face her. "I just feel strange about it."

"I have a son your age, Mr. Potter."

"I know but still…" He finally finds the door again but has just enough pride and politeness left not to dash out of it. And she does look so annoyed that he suspects that he might be putting too much significance on things. After all, this is Narcissa Malfoy and he is Harry Potter. It is unthinkable. Perhaps this is just some strange aspect to Wizarding culture that he has yet to come across. Maybe it is only polite to help an older witch out of her dress.

"Come on," she mutters and turns her back on him. Since she is unarmed, he decides it can't hurt anyone. "It's hard for me to reach."

He approaches her from around the bed, glancing at the closed curtains and listening to the sound of an empty house. She sighs again. Harry reaches out and touches her back. She doesn't jump or make anything more than breathing movements. He begins to undo the buttons running down the length of her spine. But by the time he starts to get a view of her moon-white back, his hands are shaking too hard to accomplish more than a couple.

"I can't," he announces, stepping away and raising up his hands as if caught in some crime or calling quits at the face of an impossible trial.

"I didn't say you had to do it by hand, Mr. Potter," she says in tones of culture and disgust. "You have a wand, don't you?"

"Oh." He feels that he might just be the stupidest bloody wanker to ever walk the Earth. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have touched you like that."

"It's perfectly alright."

"Thanks."

There is a long silence filled with his relief and continued distress.

"My dress."

"What?"

"Are you going to finish helping me out of my dress?"

"Oh, sure. Let me find my wand."

"Your back pocket." She reaches toward the back of her dress but, true to her word, she can't reach the majority of the buttons.

"Ha, yeah. There it is. How'd you know that?"

"I notice things." Somehow, when she says that, it sounds less like a talent and more like a weapon. He's slightly scared of what other things she might have noticed. Deciding it best to leave immediately, he casts a quick charm that causes the buttons to slip out of their loops and for the white material to slink away from her too-naked skin. He can see the laces of her corset and the small of her back. It's far too intimate for his liking. Harry Potter turns to flee.

"Thank you."

"Right," he says while rounding the bed.

She finally looks over her shoulder at him and laughs. "What are you so scared of, Mr. Potter. I have no wand or defense. You can't seriously believe me a threat?" He looks back to laugh and offer a quick apology and good night. Instead he sees her pulling down her dress, reveling her breasts peeking over the top of a white corset, matching delicate, white knickers. She's still wearing those purple stilettos and her legs seem impossibly long. Harry is sure he's going to be sick; the blood is pounding so hard in his temple. He can't swallow.

"Merlin's balls."

"That's not a very polite thing to say. Haven't you seen a woman getting ready for bed before?"

"Yes, but-."

He glances toward the door and then the portrait. Andromeda wrinkles her nose at him in disgust and walks away. He can only imagine what things she's going to tell the other portraits.

"I just- It's just." Harry Potter pauses for a breath and tries to look her in the eye. "Look- what would Draco think if he walked in right now?"

"What if he did?"

"It wouldn't look very good, would it?"

"Don't you think he trusts us together?"

"Why would he?" he asks in a fit of honesty. "Why wouldn't he get the wrong idea? Why wouldn't anyone?"

She kicks the dress aside, despite how expensive she had told him it was. Couture, he remembers. He tries to focus on the little things not on her body. At the moment, it included her dress. "I don't see why," she says. "I'm twice as old as you are, Mr. Potter. How could anyone think-?"

"But they would!" His voice breaks for the first time since he graduated Hogwarts. "Don't you see?"

"Mr. Potter – how many times do I have to tell you that I'm not seducing you?"

"I know, Mrs. Malfoy. But please, you have to understand this is difficult for me!"

She bends over and retrieves her jewelry from the bed. He turns away from the sight of her breasts as if physically slapped. "Why is that?" she asks, watching his reactions, noticing the little things but ignoring the bigger picture.

"Because." He searches his mind for something approaching a coherent thought. "Because I lost my mind two years ago, Mrs. Malfoy, and I'm having a very hard time trying to figure out what's real and what's not. I can't tell when I'm imagining things or if it's actually happening. I can't tell if-."

She finally stands up and – for Merlin's sake!- crosses her arms, bringing her breasts higher up to her chin and impossible to avoid. "Would you like for me to seduce you?"

"…What?"

She purses her lips. "Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

Harry opens his mouth to object but gives up. "I'm going home now," he says with exhausted calm. "I'm sorry for what I said. I hope we can forget it. But I have to go home now before this gets any stranger or I say something worse."

She doesn't object and he walks out the door with unhurried steps. He doesn't know what he's waiting for but, at descending the staircase down to the Grand Entry, he finally breathes free air.

"Mr. Potter."

He cringes inside and out. "Yes," he yells back without turning around. He hears her walking down the hall away from him and feels safe.

"Will you bring my purse up to me?"

"I really have to go now, I'm sorry."

"And I really don't want to have to put my dress back on to get it. Is it such a trial for you to bring it up before you go?"

He sighs and looks around him. "Where is it?"

"On a chair in the parlor."

He hears her walk away. Harry jogs down the hall to the parlor, finds the purse he never remembered her carrying, and runs back. Mrs. Malfoy is nowhere to be seen. He should have felt more comfortable but, if anything, he is more on edge with her hiding somewhere.

He begins to climb the stairs. "Mrs. Malfoy?" he yells out, half-hoping and dreading a response. "Mrs. Malfoy?"

"I'm in the powder room!" she calls back. He suddenly wonders where the bloody house elves are. Their disappearance is scarier than hers, but only because they would only be gone if ordered so.

"Well, here's your purse!" He stops halfway up the stairs. "Come to the railing and I'll hand it up!"

He can almost hear her sigh in the silence. "Mr. Potter, I'm starting to get annoyed by all this suspicion! If you won't do me a simple favor, I don't know what! Considering I saved your life, it seems a common enough request!"

"Fuck." He squeezes the bridge of his nose before climbing the rest of the way up the stairs. "I'm putting it on the top step!"

"For Merlin's sake, Mr. Potter, if you're not going to stop acting that way, will you at least set it down in the guest bedroom?"

"The one we were in?"

"Yes."

"Alright," he says while approaching the door with suspicion. He places the purse down on the exact spot she tossed her jewelry. It's very hard to ignore the dress still lying on the floor. Andromeda has yet to return to her portrait. He hopes she doesn't have the wrong idea.

He catches a flash of white in the corner of his eye and turns to see Mrs. Malfoy, all skin, closing the door. "Oh God." He is rooted to the spot by her smile, even as he watches her lock the door. "Let me out."

"Don't be nervous." She raises her hands up as if that might subdue him. He can't help watching how her skin moves.

"Get away from that door."

She puts her hands down and his wretched eyes follow the movement down, down, down. He can't believe she is still wearing those heels. She must have taken his compliment to heart.

"I want to say something first."

"Merlin's balls!"

"Mr. Potter." She did an amazing job ignoring his shock and dismay. She had been all night. "I would like you to know that I'm available to you. If you won't sleep with me right now-."

"Oh my God."

"If you won't sleep with me this time, Mr. Potter, I'd like you to know that you can use the fire to call me at any time and we'll make arrangements."

"Let me out!"

"Do you hear me?"

He is having a hard time with how loud all that skin is but says, "Yes, yes, I hear you. Now let me out!"

"Because I find you very attractive and-."

He hears the crack of someone Apparating; he is sure of it. Despite the fact he will have to touch her, he shoves Mrs. Malfoy aside and runs out the door, jumping down the stairs so quickly it feels like he's flying without a broomstick. He hears the sound of footsteps on gravel and a soft Alohomora. With a sudden flash of insight, he pulls his wand out of his back pocket and Disapparates.

He feels like an idiot that he didn't think of that before.

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