Narcissa burst through the Floo, startling her husband who was on his way in becoming thoroughly sloshed. "Mippy! Pack all that we may need for a week's trip. The Master and I are going on a holiday."
"Are we?" Lucius's smile was soupy. "How lovely. Where are we going?"
"Salem. I talked to Blaise, and he's arranging a Portkey for us as we speak. It'll be ready within the hour."
Lucius frowned. "Darling, I've thought about it, and I don't feel it's a good idea to actually go to Salem. I do believe a private investigator would be best."
"No." Firmly shaking her head, Narcissa continued, "We have to do this. This our lineage, Lucius. This is your heir."
"Now you're becoming sentimental," scoffed Lucius and drained his glass. "The child is a bastard. Unless Draco secretly married the woman to whom he impregnated, the child is illegitimate. It could be worse, even. The child may not be pure. The Americans have no sense of posterity and would breed with a rock if it were possible. It does make you wonder why Draco kept this little tidbit in the dark. He was ashamed, 'Cissa, and probably for a good reason."
"So we're just going to ignore we have a grandchild out there?"
"Don't say that word," groaned Lucius, summoning a bottle of scotch and refilling his glass.
"What word?"
"Grandchild."
"Grandchild!" She waved her hand dismissively. "And I'm going to Salem to see for myself. Blaise will have the portkey and will be accompanying us."
"Why in Merlin's name is he coming?!" Lucius slammed his glass onto his desk, the liquid splashing over the rims.
"He wants to meet the child."
"Oh Gods! I'm surrounded by Hufflepuff Hoppers!" Lucius moaned tiredly.
"Please put down your drink. Portkeying to Salem will not go well for you if you're drunk."
"I'm not going!"
Narcissa bit her tongue. "Fine, you don't have to go. You can stay here, and I will go with Blaise. I will most likely be back within a few , hopefully."
"I forbid you to go!"
"I'm going!"
"No!"
"Yes!"
"You go and you will see the child and you will want it! Then you will be Owling me a request to set up a bedroom and a Hogwarts tuition fund!"
"I'm leaving!" Narcissa barged out the office's double doors and Apparated to the Master bedroom where Mippy, Wimma, and Dotty were packing clothes and toiletries into suitcases and bags.
"Are you nearly finished?" she asked.
"Almost, Mistress," replied Mippy.
Changing into comfortable but presentable traveling robes, Narcissa readied herself. "You needn't bother with Lucius' luggage. Keep it packed, but leave it here. He will not be coming with as I had originally hoped," she told the elves.
Another elf popped in and bowed. "Poppy has come to tell Mistress that Mr. Zabini has arrived and is being treated to tea and crumpets in the Glass Tearoom."
Narcissa shrunk her luggage and slipped them into her traveling cloak, tying the set of strings to keep them safe. She Apparated outside of the tearoom and walked in. "I hope you were not waiting long."
"No." Blaise said as he faced the glass wall and stared out at the autumn setting of her garden. "You didn't cast the Resisting Charms."
"I didn't feel like it this year."
"I understand." He nodded. "Are you ready?"
An embarrassing, monstrous yawn escaped Hermione Granger as she carried a load of books towards the back of her shop. Once in the backroom, she placed the books on a table and began sorting through them, most of them being returned by university students who dropped classes and no longer needed them.
Grumbling while flipping through one and finding tears and writing, she set it on the Mark-Down shelf beside her.
"You're here early," piped up Luna as she entered through the back door.
"So are you," Hermione threw back with a tired smile.
"I couldn't sleep. The Andions were keeping me awake."
"I wanted to sort the mess before Matthew came in, and I wanted to leave early today. I have to be at the school at noon for a conference with Alex's teacher."
"No lunch?" questioned Luna with frown.
"Lunch is for the privileged, Luna." Hermione chuckled. "When was the last time I actually ate lunch in your presence?"
"Not for a long time, I think." Luna lifted her finger to her chin like she was trying to recall a memory. "Do you need help with those books?"
"No, just opening the shop. Darlene and Jackson are readying the café. If you could put the tills in the cash registers, I would sure appreciate it."
Luna left to do just that, and Hermione checked her wristwatch and grimaced. The shop would be opening up in fifteen minutes, and then four hours with her nose stuck in paperwork and books. She needed to make a few Floo calls, too.
Around ten, she ran out the back door for a smoke break, promising herself with each puff, that cigarette would be her last one. But then Marilyn Caldwell, Mac's sister, called and informed that her twin brother was attacked by a ghoul and would need three weeks of time to recover.
And then the coffee delivery arrived…
"Dear Gods!" rasped out Hermione while looking down into the open pouch of what was supposed to be coffee beans. Jackson gave her a nervous look and pointed his wand at the inner contents.
"Should we burn this and all the other packages?"
"No!" she shouted and brought hand to her mouth. "This is bad. This is really bad. I knew the delivery man was dodgy, but his delivery charges were so cheap, I couldn't afford to care."
"What are we going to do with it?" asked Darlene.
"We could sell it," Matthew piped up with a lazy smile.
"Absolutely not!" Hermione choked out. "I don't know about you, but I do not want to get arrested."
"You can't say you're not tempted. We've got over thousands of plinkets worth of blow."
"Why did I hire you?" Hermione frowned at him and then turned her attention back the open bag of 'not coffee'.
"We have this, but I wonder where the coffee is," Luna said.
The coffee incident was postponed because Hermione's Remind Me Planner smacked her in the face and yelled at her she was late for her meeting with Mrs. Fitchell. Cursing, she told Luna to take care of the problem before Disapparating and arrived outside school grounds of the Salem Institute for Magical Developing Children. With single-mindedness, she ran towards the entrance, brushing past a faceless man and muttering an 'I'm sorry'. Sprinting down the hallways, she stopped abruptly in front of Mrs. Fitchell's classroom and nearly toppled over but grabbed the doorknob for balance and stumbled in with sheepish grin.
"Hello," she greeted to the older, thin-lipped woman and her son who was sitting by the teacher's desk. "Sorry, I'm late. There was trouble at work!"
"I understand," said Mrs. Fitchell, but from her tone, Hermione surmised she did not. "Please sit."
Hermione took the empty seat next to her son and playfully tickled his knee and rubbed his back. "So what are the updates? Are there any problems?"
"No," Alex said with a grin.
"Yes," Mrs. Fitchell said with her eyebrows touching her hairline, giving the boy a reproving glance.
"Oh," Hermione said and looked at her son with a skeptical expression. "And whatever is the matter?"
"Nothing," Alex said in a sing-song voice while shaking his head with big eyes.
"He's a smart boy," the teacher began, smiling tightly. "Very smart and very bright. However…" she paused and clasped her hands together and opened her mouth and then shut it with a sigh. "Perhaps we should speak alone."
"I guess," Hermione said, not liking the idea of her son having to be absent from the conversation, but if the teacher thought it best…
"Alex, you may sit outside in the hallway. This should only take a few minutes." The teacher gestured to the door, and the boy grumbled while picking up his bag and walked towards the door with a pout. When he was out of earshot, the teacher continued, "I'd like to talk about Alex's behavior."
Hermione breathed deeply and couldn't help place a wry smile on her face. She had been here before, discussing her son's personality with teachers. "Of course."
"He likes to cause trouble, play practical jokes and pranks on the other students, and on me."
"And you're sure it's Alex who is doing this?" Hermione asked, placing her hands on her lap and eying the teacher carefully.
"Well, I haven't actually caught him..."
"So how do you know it's him?"
"The way he behaves after an incident is proof enough."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"So you've never actually seen him as the instigator nor the creator of these jokes and pranks."
"Well…no, but-"
"With all due respect, Mrs. Fitchell, if you cannot give me any proof that my son is a troublemaker, then I would like to discuss his academics to which I thought that I was here for."
Alex stood outside the classroom, scuffing the toe of his right tracker on the floor with a protruding bottom lip. He knew that old hag was telling his mom all kinds of stupid things. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, his belly growled and he whimpered petulantly. It was time for lunch, and it was pizza day in the cafeteria, and Fitchell would most likely take forever in telling Mom all the bad things he supposedly did.
Not sparing the door behind him a second glance, he headed towards cafeteria; each step closer, he could smell the baking bread and the sharp scent of cheese. His mouth watered at the idea of pizza being right around the corner, but a tall figure walked in front of him, casting a shadow up on him. Alex glared up at the tall, dark-skinned man and said, "Excuse me; I have to get to the cafeteria. It's pizza day."
The man stared down at him blankly with narrowed eyes and stepped aside. "I apologize," he said in an English accent, much like his mother's. Alex stopped from going further, the man's accent intriguing enough to postpone a slice of hot, pepperoni pizza. His mother and father and Luna were the only people he knew who spoke with an English accent. Everyone else, including himself, spoke American.
"Where are you from?" Alex asked, folding his arms and cocking his head to the side. The man said nothing at first, making the boy feel like he was under a microscope.
"You shouldn't talk to strangers, but since you asked, I was born in Italy and raised by an English woman." The man paused and gave him a slight smile. "What about you?"
"I was born here, obviously," Alex said slowly like he was talking to a younger child. "But my mom is an English woman, too."
A few students filtered out of the cafeteria, drawing Alex's attention. Licking his lips, he forgot about the stranger and jogged away.
Hermione left the classroom with Mrs. Fitchell guiding her out, both whipping their heads back and forth in search of Alex.
"Now where did that boy go?" Mrs. Fitchell scoffed and tapped her foot impatiently.
Hermione checked her watch. "He may have gotten hungry. I'll check the cafeteria for him."
"Send him back as soon as possible. He has lines to right for me. And remember what I said, Ms. Granger. Your son needs a consistent male figure in his life."
Hermione refrained from rolling her eyes and smiled tightly and made a face at the door when Mrs. Fitchell disappeared behind it.
Hermione ventured down the abandoned hallway and turned a corner and saw someone standing in front of the cafeteria facing the entrance. Probably a parent. As she walked closer, her pace slowed and her eyes widened in recognition.
"Blaise Zabini," she whispered to him, and he turned, a look of utter astonishment lighting up his face.
"Granger?" he said back, his brows cinched together
"What are you doing here?" they both asked in unison.
"I live here." Hermione made a motion with her hand pointing to the ground, her own brow drawing together tightly and something dawned on her. "You're here with Draco, aren't you? He told you."
Horror flashed across Blaise's face, and something feeling very close to dread seep into her bones. "He didn't tell you. Then why...?"
"You're the girl," he mumbled and staggered sideways to lean against the closest wall, shaking his head.
Hermione pursed her lips in question and had no idea what to say or do as Blaise muttered incoherently to himself.
"Blaise," she said, feeling her throat constrict and swell, like it was becoming in-tune with the dread inside of her. "Are you here with Draco?"
"Draco," Blaise repeated with a mirthless chuckle, which sounded damp and emotional. He drilled his eyes into her, and Hermione felt like running away. Like grabbing Alex and fleeing somewhere where nothing could touch them or hurt them because something was wrong, and she could not afford emotional conflict.
Maybe she should sell the 'not coffee'.
"He's not here," Hermione stated in a very low breath. "But you are. Why? I-is he okay?"
She watched the man's mouth open only to have nothing come out. He shook his head no.
"He's not okay? Will he be? Is he sick or hurt? Does he need anything? Does he-"
"I'm sorry," Blaise whispered hoarsely.
Her stomach rocketed towards her throat where the swelling became unbearable, and the choking sob had to be released. Tears poured down her eyes as she brought a hand to muffle her weeping.