Author's Note: I own no person, no place, no thing – except the plot! If you recognize it, it probably belongs to Ms. Rowling or some other awesome super-human.

P.S. Thank you to the wonderful Phnxgirl for offering to beta-read for me! Without her help I would have posted a much more awkward and confusing version of this chapter!

Chapter 27 In Absentia

To say that Draco Malfoy was jealous would be an understatement. To say that he was aware that his jealousy was misplaced would also be an understatement. It was difficult to be angry with a toothless, incontinent, squashed up little squick of a man like Jamie Weasley, but Draco was still rather miffed that he'd been obviously replaced in Hermione's heart by the little interloper.

Two weeks had passed since Kingsley and Percy had asked Draco and Hermione to witness and sign Jamie's Wizarding birth certificate as well as his Muggle one. It had indeed been Kingsley's main purpose in making an appearance at Draco and Hermione's rooftop celebration, to ensure that the legitimizing documentation could be created and immediately secreted away from the eyes of anyone inside the Ministry. Jamie Weasley's true identity would be filed away in Kingsley's own personal file drawers: a secure place if ever there was one within the Ministry.

Just under two weeks had passed since Draco had purchased Number 4 Privet Drive and then legally signed the home over to Ginevra Weasley for the tidy sum of one Pound. Molly and Arthur had quickly moved their daughter's belongings into the home via the private Floo connection to the Burrow, and Draco had happily instructed George to dismantle and dispatch his and Hermione's bedroom set to Ginny's new master suite. Meanwhile, Hermione and Ginny had sat in various positions of cuddle-uppedness, mooning over that damnably adorable baby.

And while Draco was sure that Hermione was simply lost in a new project, and happy to be safely back in the arms of her former family, he couldn't help but feel like there was a distance between himself and his girlfriend that hadn't existed before Jamie's birth.

But it hadn't started then, had it? No, something had happened later in the evening of that ridiculously busy day, and that something was… what?

Draco was getting nervous. Had Hermione overheard his conversation with the Minister? Or did this have to do with that massively botched and messy conversation about marriage and babies that never should have happened?

Whatever it was, Draco couldn't help but narrow his eyes at the toothless wonder whenever he saw him. The little fucker seemed to be channeling his late father's ability to piss Draco off and steal Hermione's attention away from him, right from the day of his birth.

And to add true insult to injury, Draco's own puppies were fucking fascinated with the baby. They followed around anyone who held Jamie and longed for nothing more than to be in whichever room the baby was in.

Draco had been well and truly abandoned.

He stood in the backyard of Number 4 Privet Drive, trying to encourage his damned dogs to hurry the hell up and have a whiz so they could be allowed back inside. Draco sighed mournfully and leaned his back against the trunk of a largish tree that he mused absently would be good for climbing. He wondered if Potter had spent much time in the branches of the tree when he'd lived in the house.

"Fucking hell, Potter," Draco muttered as he watched his dogs stare longingly through the glass door at the women and baby in the warm kitchen. "You've been dead for nearly a year, and you've still managed to best me. Look at them. My family likes your son better than they like me."

Draco could almost swear he heard a chuckle in the cold breeze that swirled around him. He snorted at the direction his thoughts had carried him, but let his imagination go anyway.

"Feels like old times, doesn't it, Potter? You the center of attention, and me shuffled off to the side and all alone. I suppose it's not so bad, really. I mean your son shites himself on a regular basis, and spends most of his time drooling onto his fist. And I'm sure Hermione will eventually get tired of the lack of intellectual stimulation and come crawling back to me, but still, the irony does not escape me. And don't worry, I'll keep an eye on them all. More than an eye, I'm sure, since it's clear that Hermione plans on spending a majority of her free time here for the time being. Honestly, Potter, you have to admit that you could do worse than me as a Godfather for the boy."

An owl flew overhead, in the direction of Arabella's house. Draco wondered if it was the messenger kind, or an ordinary owl. He wasn't sure if his Muggle eyes could even tell the difference. In all the months that he'd been in Little Whinging, his magical life had not intersected with his Muggle life outside of the sporadic appearances of the still-absent Mafalda. But now that the Weasley's had descended on Little Whinging, Draco was suddenly being forced to think about things he'd finally managed to set aside for the sake of his sanity.

How had Hermione and Potter done it? The logistics of magic versus science were rather staggering once Draco put his rational mind to it. When it came down to it, magic just didn't make any fucking sense. Straddling the two worlds, and watching the two interact with each other, was dizzying and disorienting.

Draco rubbed his forehead. "Shite, Potter, I don't know why she named me his Godfather, but I can see that he's going to need me. This is a tough road, juggling both worlds. Not one of the Weasley's is strong enough to hack it, outside of Ginny, and maybe Fred. But I can't see him being able to leave George or their shop, so I guess you're stuck with me. I hope you're enjoying the irony of this situation as much as I am. I, Draco Malfoy, have been charged with educating your son to be a good wizard and a good Muggle." Draco chuckled to himself at that and shook his head.

"Ah, don't worry though, mate. I won't neglect the task. I think if there is one thing that you and I have learned in our twisted lives together, it's that ignorance and miscommunication make it hard for one to make wise decisions-"

"Who are you talking to, Draco?"

Draco's head snapped up. He hadn't noticed the glass door opening to let Artemis and Apollo inside. Hermione stood, silhouetted by the ambient light from the kitchen, and looked at him questioningly. He felt his heart shrivel a little, not out of fear of getting caught speaking to his girlfriend's dead best friend, but because Hermione was looking at him more closely than she had in days, and he fucking missed her.

"Er…um…" Draco began, and flushed.

His embarrassment gave way to horror when Hermione's face closed off, and she whispered a quick "nevermind", before quickly pulling back inside the house and shutting the glass door.

"Bollocks," Draco groaned and banged the back of his head against the tree's trunk. "Potter, I swear, I had no problems with Hermione until your son showed up. If you don't give me a hand here, I swear to Merlin and God and wee little baby Jesus Himself that I will raise your son to be the smarmiest little git in all of Britain."

/…../

Hermione Granger was a woman in love. Jamie's tiny and velvety soft sweetness overwhelmed her senses and sent her ovaries into a frenzy of want.

Hermione wanted.

And the basis of that want led her directly in the direction of her rather confused and confusing boyfriend, Draco Malfoy.

He was acting rather oddly lately.

Hermione had tried to push their wretched conversation after the ward-casting to the back of her mind, but the way she'd overheard Draco muttering "fucking horrible" kept replaying over and over in her mind, and it was starting to eat away at her self-confidence. She knew, KNEW, in her heart of hearts, that as a self-respecting independent female of the twenty-first century, she should not be doubting her self-worth based on her nineteen year-old boyfriend's inability to declare his intention to wed her when she basically asked him to do so out of the frigging blue. In retrospect, it had been one of the most embarrassing moments of her life as a woman.

And within that revelation, Hermione felt like she'd just ruined their easy relationship.

The more Hermione hyped up the conversation in her mind, the more she realized she'd essentially begged Draco Malfoy, formerly the most desirable male in their school and certainly the most eligible wizard in all of Europe – minus the effects of the War – to propose to her. Not just to propose, but to have children with her!

It was quite easy to devote her attention to settling Jamie and Ginny into Number 4 Privet Drive instead of towards her floundering self-confidence concerning Draco.

Wallpaper and paint samples, nappies and singlets, long afternoons spent planning the upcoming Spring garden and longer evenings spent reminiscing over the contents of various boxes from Hermione's storage room helped to keep Hermione from devoting too much time to her rising panic, but eventually, she knew she'd have to address the problem. For now, she cherished the incredibly special and singular moments of Jamie's early baby days.

"Do you think he'll have Harry's eyes or yours?" she asked Ginny late one evening that she'd arranged to sleep over. Molly, Fleur, Angelina, Penelope and Hermione had arranged a rotating schedule so that Ginny wouldn't spend any nights alone for the first two months. She and Ginny used these sleepover nights as a balm to talk about Harry mostly, in ways they couldn't with other members of their families.

"Dunno yet. Maybe somewhere in between? Can you find that photo album of his Mum's again? I want to take a closer look at his eyes when he was a baby to see what they looked like," Ginny said as she switched Jamie from one breast to another. The baby was, if anything, a good eater. From the very first day, Ginny hadn't had a problem getting Jamie accustomed to breast-feeding.

As Hermione dashed down the stairs to retrieve the album Ginny wanted, she felt her mobile ping from within her back pocket.

To: bibliophile2

From: bibliophile1

Subject: When?

Are you and the dogs ever coming home? I'm starting to feel like I live here by myself, Girl.

DAM

Hermione sighed and chewed on her lip as she contemplated how to answer Draco. In the nearly three weeks that had passed since Jamie's birth and their horrid conversation outside, she'd, admittedly, been spending more time at Ginny's than at home. Hermione knew she needed to go home, she knew she was neglecting her boyfriend, but she just couldn't figure out how to face him!

To: bibliophile1

From: bibliophile2

Re: Subject: When?

Sorry! We were home earlier today and yesterday too, but we left before you got home from the Library. I've got to stay tonight because it's my turn, but we'll be home tomorrow evening for sure. I'm really sorry Draco, I'm not meaning to keep the puppies from you, it's just so convenient to be able to keep them with me wherever I go, especially since the yard is fenced in here. Honestly, potty-training has become a non-issue when all I have to do is open a door every so often. I don't know what I was thinking, bringing two puppies into a flat to live!

LG

Hermione sent the message she'd haphazardly typed up, then she rummaged through the boxes of Harry's belongings until she found the wizarding photo album Ginny'd requested. She dashed back up the stairs to ooh and aah over Jamie's resemblance to his father. Her message to Draco, along with the veiled implication and insult to him, never crossed her mind again.

But it came across to Draco loud and clear, like a blow straight to his heart. Hermoine regretted bringing Artemis and Apollo into their household. She regretted sharing that level of commitment with him, after only a month.

"Right," he said. He'd been sitting on the sofa, staring into space as he waited for an answer from the woman who'd been the center of his fucking universe for the past several months, and felt as rejected as any man could feel.

Well, there was no sense in spending yet another evening moping around the Fortress, as he'd been doing for the past several since Hermione had started sleeping over at Ginny's house. Draco felt like a drink, but wasn't up for company, so he picked up a book and his keys and headed downstairs for the Italian restaurant around the corner.

One thing he'd learned from Hermione: he was perfectly capable of finding meals and entertainment all by himself by now.

/…../

"Is there anything else I can get for you, Draco?" asked the waitress as she set down a fresh glass of the house pinot noir.

"No, but thank you, Lisa" Draco responded automatically without looking up, and thumbed over a new page of the book he was reading. He'd finally gotten around to actually reading Hermione's copy of The Song of the Dodo, which he'd tried to distract himself with months before on that fateful day he'd first seen Hermione play her violin and heard her sing. Just thinking of that day stirred his imagination, but Draco resolutely set those thoughts to the side and pursued the intriguing new world of island biogeography.

"So where's Hermione this evening? I haven't seen her in a few weeks," the waitress asked.

Draco's bespectacled gaze lifted from the pages of the paperback book he was perusing, to view the suspiciously chatty young woman in front of him. She was a friend of Hermione's, so he couldn't dismiss her outright, but he certainly wasn't in the mood to visit – thus the very obvious book directly in front of his eyeballs. The girl was looking at him expectantly… and very oddly.

Draco closed the book and pulled his glasses from his face, then narrowed his eyes at the waitress. "Why do you ask?" he inquired levelly.

Lisa shrugged casually, and tucked a strand of wheat colored hair behind her ear that had escaped from her bun, then surprised Draco entirely when she sat down in the seat across from him.

"Oh, I got off my shift a few minutes ago, I'm just finishing up your table. But really, I was just curious. Hermione loaned me some books to read last month, and now that I've finished them, I've been keeping an eye out for her so I can return them," the waitress asked as she flipped open her notepad and jotted down Draco's bill.

Draco blinked at young woman's casual and uncomfortably familiar behavior, then reached for his billfold to get his bankcard ready. He didn't want to pursue the topic of Hermione's absence with this near stranger, no matter how good of a friend she was to his girlfriend.

"In answer to your question, Hermione is staying with a friend of hers who just had a baby," Draco said carefully, not wanting to divulge any pertinent or personal information: for example, why Hermione was staying away overnight for days at a time at a house that was a mere ten minute drive away from their own, or why she seemed to only come home when she knew Draco wouldn't be there.

"Oh, well that's awfully nice of her! You know, Draco, I have the books with me. They're just in the back. Do you mind taking them? It's probably not a terribly big deal either way, I'm just paranoid I'll lose them or something, and I know Hermione's told me they're some of her favorites…" Lisa chattered on as Draco handed her his bankcard and wished she'd hurry the fuck up and let him get on with his evening.

It was ridiculous, Draco thought to himself as he waited for the waitress to return with his card and Hermione's books. Here he was, a grown man with a dynamic, feisty, brilliant girlfriend, who was avoiding him. And he was stuck sitting around waiting to be her errand-boy.

Pick up books for her: check.

Keep her flat warm and lived in while she was off gallivanting with her friend: check.

Meet her at the church on Saturday or Sunday mornings with her violin and notes, since she seemed to prefer spending so many nights over at Ginny's: check.

Keep in touch with all of their friends since Hermione wasn't: check.

Shaun and young Renton had seen Draco on his own more times than ever in the past month, as he tried to fill the empty hours of the evenings and weekends with some kind of physical activity. Draco and Michael, their pastor, had joined the club where the other two men had memberships. The four of them made a go at trying a variety of indoor and outdoor sports. Tennis, racquetball, swimming, even basketball. There was talk of golf, and threats of rugby. It was nice to get out of the Fortress and get some sort of exercise, and it really was great to have friends like he'd never had before.

But he missed Hermione.

/…../

"Howdy there, Malfoy! Ready for our big date?"

"Howdy? Really, Renton? What the hell have you been doing this morning, watching Toy Story?" Draco sneered at young Renton as he clambered into his friend's sedan.

"Oi, Malfoy, was that very nearly the most awkward word to ever march past your super-stiff upper lip? Because it sure as hell sounded like it! Say it again! Haaawwwrrr-dee…"

"If you don't shut the hell up I will get out of this car at the next stop and take a cab instead," Draco grumbled, then sneezed spectacularly into a tissue.

"All right, shutting! Don't spoil my vicarious fun time, Malfoy! Oi, and keep your germs over there. You sound disgusting, and you look like hell."

"You're only spoiling it for yourself, you wanker. Look, I need some tea, I've got a splitting headache. Then we have to stop by my bank before we go to the dealership. How about… over there?" Draco pointed out a coffee shop, and soon enough he had a take-away tea in hand for himself and for young Renton, and they were driving up the motorway towards London.

Hermione was busy with Ginny and Jamie, naturally, but even so, she hadn't asked what he'd be doing today, so he didn't tell her. On this fine – well not so fine, actually it was fucking disgusting outside, drizzly, foggy and cold as hell – February morning, Draco and young Renton were riding up to the closest Porsche dealership so that Draco could do what Malfoy's did best: buy ridiculously expensive toys to occupy their time and pre-occupy their minds.

The thing was, the Porsche was actually a sound purchase, which Draco justified on several points.

Point one: Hermione had her car with her at all times, and it was too fucking cold and dangerous to drive his bike to work. Case in point: today's wretched weather.

Point two: He absolutely refused to ride public transportation anymore. It was filthy and everyone seemed to have a head cold – including himself, damn it all – and he was tired of all the hand-sanitizer and tissues he had to constantly carry on his person.

Point three: He'd wanted one for an incredibly long time, at least five or six months – practically forever. Malfoy's were notoriously rubbish at self-denial.

Point four: Technically, Hermione hadn't bought him anything for Christmas, and he hardly ever got to play with his traitorous puppies lately, so… Right. A Porsche. Happy Christmas, Draco!

Point five: He just bought Ginny Weasley a fucking HOUSE. He bloody deserved it.

Point six: Today was a special occasion, and he needed to get out of the Fortress and blow a hundred thousand Pounds so he wouldn't have to think about it. Not yet anyway.

Even though he'd planned on going at it alone, young Renton had jumped at the opportunity to spend some time with the lovely Germans. So, on a Saturday morning that no one had to be anywhere in particular, and Draco couldn't bear to look at the calendar for one more second, he'd dialed up young Renton, and they'd set off in record time.

"So, where's Hermione and the pups today? Still at the ginger-head house?" Young Renton asked lightly.

Draco snorted. "The ginger-head house? Nice one. Yeh, she's there, I guess. Honestly, I haven't checked in over there lately." He sniffed appreciatively at his tea, then wrinkled his nose to hold back another sneeze. Draco had never been so sick in his life, but according to the physician he saw yesterday afternoon, there was absolutely nothing that could be done to cure a common cold.

Young Renton nodded sympathetically. "I can totally sympathize with you, mate. Have you been to Mike and Winnie's house recently? The entire place reeks of nappies and vomit. And they're the happiest couple of zombies I've ever seen in my life. Absolutely terrifying. But Lindy just absolutely loves it over there. She goes completely barmy whenever she sees Gabe. I swear the first thing that baby does is shit his pants whenever she picks him up, because within five minutes of being around him, Lindy's got poo on her shirt and a naked baby laying on whatever horizontal surface she can find. It's bloody disgusting."

"Ahh, you're preaching to the choir, my brother. The last time I went over to see Hermione at Ginny's house, I saw Ginny's naked chest. Not something I really wanted to see, all freckled and pale and complete with a feeding infant. So I turned immediately and went outside, and Hermione followed me out. She tried to give me a hug, but she positively reeked of sour milk. So I got to thinking, how does breast milk go sour, and how did it get on my girlfriend? Ah, you see it was regurgitated breast milk that she'd simply allowed to dry on her shirt and hadn't bothered to clean off. Lovely. I nearly lost my lunch, and had to make a very hasty retreat. I haven't been back."

Young Renton shook his head and chuckled. "We've got to be the worst Godfathers ever, eh?"

Draco shrugged morosely as he rubbed at his forehead. "Possibly. You're lucky; Gabe has a Dad. You don't really need to step in and help out until he's out of nappies and ready for his first league match. With Potter gone, Ginny really does need all the help she can get. It's just… I just… Eh. I'd like our lives to go back to normal now, you know?" Draco grumbled as he pulled a tissue from his pocket to swipe at his nose. Stupid thing kept bloody leaking, and it was driving him mad.

"Mate, I'm starting to think our girls have gone over to the dark side. In my humble opinion, I think this is the new normal, and we're supposed to be happily considering this Godfatherhood to be practice for when it's our turn. Have you seen the look yet?"

"The look?" Draco asked.

"You know, the glassy eyed, baby-lust look that women of child-bearing age get when they hold their friend's new baby. Lindy's got it bad. We're getting a Weimaraner next week, but I'm not sure how long it's going to hold her off."

Draco shrugged, then jerked as it occurred to him what young Renton was talking about.

"For fucks sake, Renton! I'm nineteen! Hell no, Hermione isn't giving me the look. We're just barely adults ourselves! God, what the hell is wrong with you?" Draco snapped.

Young Renton laughed and punched Draco's shoulder. "Oi, Malfoy, I'm twenty-four, and you can't fight biology. At least I'm smart enough to acknowledge what's happening to Lindy, and prepare myself for the worst. You'd be wise to do the same. After all, how long has it been since you've actually seen your Hermione? Nearly a month, right? Just like my Lindy. She's not mine anymore, she's Gabe's Lindy. And Hermione is Jamie's Hermione. They're under a spell, Malfoy, and there's nothing we can do to stop it!"

Draco groaned. "Shut the fuck up, Renton. I'm trying to hold onto my youth here, not toss it away. I'm perfectly content with the family that I have, if they'd just -"

"Leave the ginger-head house?"

"Wasn't there a fairy-tale about a witch with a ginger-bread house who lured little children–"

"That's the one, yes," Young Renton said cheerfully.

Draco chuckled humorlessly. "Renton, you have no idea how right you are."

/…../

Sadly, Draco's ability to purchase a vehicle had run exactly like Hermione's. Draco fell arse over heels for the showroom model as soon as he and young Renton strolled through the entrance of the dealership. Within moments after his arrival, he sat down with a sales agent to make the second most outrageous purchase of his life. Naturally Draco considered spontaneously purchasing a home for Ginny Weasley to be slightly more outrageous that buying himself a simple luxury car.

Slightly. Judging from the price tag, not by much, though.

Now, documentation complete, Draco and young Renton were standing awkwardly side by side waiting for the sleek black beauty to make her way out of the building. Rather, young Renton was standing awkwardly.

"For God's sake, Renton, do you need to go to the loo and take care of that?" Draco asked incredulously while very stoically looking straight ahead towards the open garage doors.

"Christ, Malfoy, you can't tell me you don't have the same problem! She's sexy as hell! There's absolutely no way you're not turned on by the sight of that…" Young Renton's moaning diatribe was cut off by the purring growl of the approaching black car.

"Hell no, I'm not while I'm standing next to you, you pervy little git. Now back away from my car, I don't want you defiling her," Draco hissed.

"Oh come on, take me for a ride, Draco…" young Renton whined as he jiggled his leg up and down.

Draco looked at his friend sharply, then narrowed his eyes. It appeared to be time to break out the heavy artillery to cure young Renton's lust-haze.

"So, Renton, seen your Dad lately?" Draco drawled, then chuckled as young Renton flinched and a look of revulsion crossed his face.

"Malfoy, you are a wanker of epic proportions. Why do you want to go bringing up such an unholy memory in the midst of this momentous occasion?" young Renton asked as he swiped his hand across his eyes as if to wipe away a disturbing image.

"What? Wasn't the last time you saw your Dad a momentous occasion? I mean, after all, it's not every day a bloke accidently walks in while his Dad's getting sucked off," Draco said cheerfully. Just as the valet parked Draco's new car in front of him, young Renton walloped him across the back of his head.

/…../

It was nearly nightfall when Draco finally made his way into the storage room. The Porsche was parked next to his Yamaha in the garage, and he'd managed to absorb himself in materialistic happiness for several hours before the glaring date on the calendar intruded into his thoughts again.

He was alone, of course. But unlike most times, he was actually grateful for the solitude at this point. He didn't really want an audience to his melancholic evening, and he wasn't sure at this point how pathetic it was actually going to be.

Draco pulled the cover off of Hermione's mother's piano. He carefully folded the white sheet and set it on top of a stack of containers, right next to the bottle of scotch and his half-empty tumbler.

It was definitely a half-empty sort of evening.

If Hermione had been there, things might have been different. If she'd left the puppies with him, things might have been different. But Draco had been alternating between wallowing in self-doubt and depression and fuming in righteous indignation for too long. He'd done everything he could, he knew that, to make Hermione happy. And if she couldn't see, or wouldn't take the time to see, that he wasn't happy… well then, nights like this were bound to be difficult.

In the time since his mother had passed away, Draco had allowed himself very little opportunity to dwell on her actual loss. The fact of the matter was, she had been separate from him for a majority of his life. It was funny though, how in the calm that had descended on him over the past six or so odd months, he was able to look back over the people and events that had shaped his nature.

Draco had been raised with what the Muggles referred to as a silver spoon in his mouth, but of course there were other, less savory details that went along with the privilege - especially for a young boy. Manicures and facials, dancing lessons and etiquette, and his mother's personal favorite: piano lessons, were all part of Draco's early childhood development as much as learning to how fly a broom and how to hate Muggles and every other living human whose status was beneath his own.

In the center of all of the awkward footsteps and stiff collars, his mother's hand had rested lightly on his shoulder, guiding him so that he could follow her lead. Where Lucius led Draco around with his wand and a raised eyebrow, Narcissa's confident yet gentle demeanor soothed Draco's childish fears and anxieties. Like a statue of an angel, she was simultaneously divinely beautiful and cold. She rarely coddled Draco, but she was his constant companion – when Father was not around. Narcissa was devoted to her husband, to be sure, but she was wholly dedicated to her role as a mother.

For all of her flaws that others may have seen, Draco loved his mother. And here on her birthday, the first of many that he would presumably experience in her absence, he had decided to do what Narcissa always so loved for him to do for her. He would play for her.

Draco didn't particularly enjoy playing the piano. It wasn't dreadful. It was rather like tying ones shoelaces, or folding trousers: it was a function that he could perform, and he could take it or leave it. He'd never mentioned to Hermione that he knew how to play, because Draco knew damned well she'd be begging him to play bloody duets with her; or even worse, she'd announce it to the entire congregation of their church and he'd be dragged onto the stage to play hymns…

Draco shuddered.

Abso-fucking-lutely not.

He tipped back the remaining contents of his tumbler, then, noting with some surprise that his glass had suddenly become empty, he set about refilling it. Mission satisfactorily accomplished, he turned back towards the piano and settled onto the bench seat. Draco was fully aware of the mass of music books Hermione kept stuffed inside the bench seat, as well as the helpful bin of books (alphabetically sorted by composer name, then within chronological order – typical Hermione) sitting on the floor next to him, but he had no need for books this evening. The music he planned to play for Mother was ingrained in his memory, as it was something she'd always liked for him to play for her. Many years of evenings and holidays had passed in that way, and it was in nights like this, where the silence wrapped around Draco and his head simultaneously ached and buzzed, that he allowed his maudlin thoughts to carry his actions.

Draco positioned his hands, and sighed. "I think," he whispered, then licked his lips. He acknowledged that he was more than a little drunk, but that would help, not hinder, his solo performance this evening. He began again.

"I think I hate this as much as anything else I've ever been forced to do in my entire life."

Draco's eyes blurred just as his fingers began to move across the keys. As the music seeped out of him, memories of his mother lapped at his nerves, stinging and stinging and stinging, until the alcohol made it all numb. And still he played.

/…../

Hermione keyed through the second door and allowed Artemis and Apollo ahead of her into the stairwell. She was truly grateful, as late as it was, that the puppies weren't the type of dogs that barked incessantly. As excited as they were to be home, she really hoped they didn't wake Draco up.

Or was he still awake? Did he have someone over? Hermione heard piano music drifting from the storage room. Who on earth did Draco have over at ten o-clock on a Saturday night, playing her mother's piano?

Hermione let the puppies into the flat, and hung her day-bag and overnight bag on the nails next to the door. Then she turned back towards the stairwell and unlocked the storage room.

He didn't even have a light on. He sat in the dark, completely alone, and played. His shoulders were slightly rounded, as if he'd been sitting there for some time and was beginning to get tired. His head was cocked to the right, as if he were listening to someone, or for someone.

"Good evening, Ms. Granger," he slurred. Hermione was surprised to hear that Draco was incredibly drunk. He turned his head back to his task as he said, "So nice of you to join me this evening."

To Be Continued.

Author's Note: I know it's been a month since I last updated, but I had this chapter 70% written and hated it, so I scrapped it and started over. I'm so much happier with the way this turned out. You know why? Because some of my previous early-planted plot bunnies are finally going to start coming into play. Yay! I'm looking forward to leading these out for you all. Thanks for hanging in and waiting, and please review and let me know how I'm doing!

acro