Narcissa had a difficult time getting through the week after the disastrous dinner. She had more engagements than normal to attend in the Wizarding world, which involved her charitable work at St Mungo's. Narcissa recently spearheaded a team of Healers to find treatments for children hit with supposedly permanent spell damage after the battles that raged during the Second Wizarding War. They managed to reverse some of the more devastating effects of some of the spells. Their progress delighted the hospital administration, prompting them to throw a small celebration in her team's honour. And of course, her presence was mandatory.

The party tested Narcissa's patience and brought her to a breaking point. Once again, her personal life took center stage among the attendees. The papers had been abuzz with theories about Lucius' new relationship. His dinner date created enough fodder to fill the front pages of their papers for an entire week. Narcissa wondered if he'd paid the papers to print their stories in some sick ploy to torture her and make her life more miserable. It wasn't unlike him to pay the Prophet to promote his agendas.

Needless to say, Narcissa's mood improved once Friday finally rolled around, giving her a much-needed break from the magical world. Her girlfriends begged her to come to the French restaurant with them. Her girlfriend had indeed caught the eye of the chef, and he invited them all back to sample his newest creations. Narcissa politely refused, simply lacking the energy to put up with more comments about her separation. Also, she didn't want to bump into Lucius or Daphne again. She found safety in Muggle London. Lucius wouldn't dare step foot in that world.

Thankfully, Narcissa's friends seemed to understand and hadn't bothered trying to convince her otherwise. And so, she spent that evening curled up in front of the fireplace in her study. A book lay open on her lap, and a glass of the finest elf-made wine rested between her fingertips. She'd been so engaged in her book that she'd managed to push thoughts of Lucius' far from her thoughts. Yes, some separation is exactly what I need! She decided only to return to the Wizarding world for business purposes. Her girlfriends would simply have to deal with her decision, and she was quite sure she would convince them to understand her reasons.

Narcissa had just gotten to the more thrilling parts of her book when a loud rap against her window startled her. She jumped in her seat, spilling some wine on her robes. She quickly cleaned the spill and returned to her reading, hoping the owl would go away. She wasn't in the mood. The owl rapped again and gave a loud hoot that would most certainly alarm her neighbours.

Sighing, Narcissa plodded to the window and examined the bird, a gorgeous grey owl with striking yellow eyes. She had no idea who owned the bird since grey owls weren't common in Britain. The bird, clearly offended at being left in the cold, ruffled its feathers and puffed out its chest. It took a deep breath, preparing to hoot again. Narcissa shook her head and quickly opened the window, allowing the bird in. The bird extended its leg, allowing Narcissa to unfasten the note tied to it.

Who could be contacting me, Narcissa wondered, taking a seat at her desk. She opened the note, which was held together by a gold seal that glittered in the light of her study. Whoever it is really has the nerve sending an owl like that here!

Dear Mrs Malfoy,

I hope that my letter finds you well and that you are enjoying your time away from the magical world. I suppose having a safe haven is necessary in these times.

It has come to my knowledge that you've separated from your husband. Please forgive me if I'm mistaken, and if so, please feel free to discard this note. The papers have printed several stories, so I assume they've at least gotten some of the facts correct.

Presuming that you are a single witch, I'd like to invite you to dinner this Friday at 7 at Chez Pierre's in Paris. The restaurant overlooks the Seine, and we can take a stroll along the banks if all goes well.

You strike me as a woman of sophisticated taste, and I can personally assure you that you will find the food and wine quite enjoyable. The restaurant is far superior to that pathetic excuse for a French restaurant in Diagon Alley. It's quite a shame people believe that is French food. Plus, I'm certain you'll appreciate the change in scenery.

Please reply to my owl, Orson. Keep in mind that he's a rather persuasive bird. It would be rather cruel to reject him after he travelled so far.

So what do you say, Mrs Malfoy? Have dinner with me?

Narcissa crinkled her nose, and her mouth dropped open. Her azure irises narrowed into slits and flitted across the parchment once more. She crumpled the note into a ball and raised her hand, ready to throw it into the roaring fireplace. This man's got some nerve!

On second thought, she retrieved her wand from a table across the room and cast every revealing spell she knew over it. None of them could detect the note's origins or sender. She changed her strategy and began to inspect the parchment for any runes embedded in the text. Once again, she found nothing. Impressive, she thought, cocking an eyebrow at the parchment. Oh, come on, one more dinner can't possibly hurt. Admit it, you want to know who he is!

She sat still, staring at the mysterious man's note, her mind forming the pros and cons of attending dinner with him. Orson, annoyed at her inability to decide, hopped over to her side and began pecking at her finger.

"Ouch!" Narcissa exclaimed, sucking on her finger, which begun to bleed due to the bird's ministrations. "Insolent bird," she whispered under her breath. She opened a desk drawer and retrieved a piece of parchment, ink and quill.

Truth be told, she was rather impressed by his ability to hide his identity. There must have been a reason to this, and she wanted to learn his intentions. Perhaps he's a Frenchman, she thought as she tied her reply to Orson's leg.

She returned to her seat by the fireplace and shut her book, her desires to read long since gone. Her mind began searching through her clothing to find dress robes suitable to wear in Paris. After all, the witches were far more fashionable there, and she definitely wanted to at least look the part.