Draco Malfoy stared at the parchment in his hands, his eyes dark with rage. His breathing was erratic as he clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white. He took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. He snarled softly, crumpling up the letter.

"More," he growled at the bartender, who gave him a wary look before refilling his glass with Ogden's. Draco swallowed it all in a single fluid gulp and slammed his glass down, staring at the bartender.

"More."

He was beyond anger. Pure unadulterated rage surged through him, blurring his vision. Or maybe it was the alcohol. He didn't care either way. How dare she? He chugged his drink again, the sharp tang of the whiskey bringing tears to his eyes as it burned a path of fire down his throat.

The sounds of the bar were becoming nearly unbearable. People laughing, flirting, having a good time. How dare they be happy when he was so miserable? He gritted his teeth.

"Sorry, mate," a young man, clearly drunk, said as he stumbled past with his friends, accidentally bumping into Draco. "My apologies."

In a flash, Draco was out of his seat, his fist connecting solidly with the young man's jaw.

"Hey!"

The man's two friends pounced on him, but Draco swatted them away easily, kicking the largest one squarely in the groin before punching the other in the face. Blood dripped down his knuckles, but Draco didn't stop. He saw red as he continued brutally kicking the drunken young men long after they had fallen to the ground. Strong hands grabbed him, and he turned and swung fiercely at them, too. More hands held him down as someone shouted "Stupefy!"

Draco's unconscious body hit the pavement with a hollow thud as he was thrown forcefully from the back door of the bar into a grimy alley. He laid there until the spell wore off before getting to his feet and weaving home.

Back at the bar, a crumpled piece of parchment sat innocently on the polished counter next to eight empty glasses.

20,000 galleons by midnight tomorrow, darling. Or perhaps Scorpius misses his mummy?

…..

Hermione was ecstatic. Minerva McGonagall had owled her back approving her new teaching contract. At the start of term next year, Hermione Granger would be the new Transfiguration mistress. And this time she planned on actually attending the job.

She sighed happily as she stroked her new owl, a soft tawny bird she called Moxie. Crookshanks perched on her lap, purring deeply even as he occasionally shot disdainful looks at the owl perched on the armrest of the sofa. She closed her eyes and leaned back, a small smile on her face. She was finally feeling better after years of being depressed. She wasn't sure what had finally snapped her out of it, but she didn't dwell too long on it. She was just grateful she was back.

Dinner at the Burrow Sunday night had been fantastic. Molly had, of course, fussed over her, embracing her maternally and heaping seconds and thirds on her plate. Hermione hadn't minded. Everyone there remarked at one point or another great change in her demeanor. Hermione was embarrassed. She hadn't quite realized how morose she had actually been. But nonetheless she had great fun. George had everyone in stiches with laughter as he showed off a few of his newest prank products and Ron had enthralled them all by telling a greatly dramatic story of a duel with a dark wizard accused of war crimes. Harry had spent all of dessert pampering Ginny, rubbing her stomach and feeding her bites of pudding. Little Teddy Lupin had promptly curled up in Hermione's lap, chattering away between bites all night.

"Auntie Hermie, there's a baby in Ginny's tummy! Didja know? And when it comes out, it's gonna be like a baby for me to have. Harry says that it will be like my little brother or sister. That means I gotta teach it stuffs, like how to potty and not to say naughty words or Granny will put bubbles in my mouth, and bubbles taste yuck! Also, Harry says I can calls him daddy if I want, 'cuz he wants to be like my daddy. Did you know my daddy? He fought bad guys. Did you ever fight bad guys?"

Hermione had gotten dizzy with the little boy's train of thought. It didn't help that his hair kept flashing different colors, either. But she had murmured the appropriate responses and snuggled him close, breathing in his sweet little boy scent.

All in all, it had been a lovely night, the best Hermione could remember in a long time. She smiled happily, remembering it. She was so lost in her thoughts that the brisk knock at her door startled her. She jolted, and Crookshanks fell off her lap with and angry yowl and Moxie fluttered up onto the mantle of the fireplace.

Warily, she approached her front door, her wand in her hand. If it were Ginny, Ron or Harry, they would have firecalled. She had no idea who would actually come over and knock on her door. She bit her lip, her hand on the knob. What if it was…

There was another knock, sounding decidedly impatient. Hermione took a deep breath before pulling open the door. She was greeted by a bouquet of flowers in her face.

"Hello there, Hermione," Blaise Zabini said, smiling down at her.