Narcissa paced her room at the inn and every few seconds glanced at the clock on the wall. Blaise left hours ago, nearly eight to leave for the school. He told her he would not return to the inn without the identity or at least a lead on the child Draco had fathered, but her impatience was waning thin. Blaise was a smart, conniving individual. How could he have not a simple lead, yet?
A knock on the door tore her from her musings, and she sprinted towards the door, catching a glimpse of Blaise in the peephole. Opening the door quickly, she greeted him with expectancy. "So…what do you have?" she asked breathlessly and then took in his appearance. He leaned forward and to the side, resting his forehead on the doorframe with a frustrated yet miserable expression slouching his handsome features.
She caught of whiff of alcohol on his breath. "What's the matter? Are you drunk?"
"Afraid so. Made a stop at the bar down stairs." He brushed passed her, shirking his vest in the process and dropping it carelessly on the floor. He pulled at his tie and went straight to the bar and started rifling through the chilled box most likely looking for another drink.
"What happened?" Narcissa asked with concern and followed him to the bar to yank the bottle of firewhiskey out of his hands. "Did you…Did you…" she tried asking but was unsure what she should ask. Blaise was drunk and miserable which could be for any reason. He didn't find the child? He did find the child? He felt the lingering loss from Draco's death?
"I'm guessing you had no luck today. That's okay, sweetheart," she tried to comfort and rubbed his hand gently. "There's still tomorrow, the next day, and the one after that. The school is big as is the town. It'll take a few days. Tomorrow, I'm sure-"
Blaise messaged his forehead and sighed resignedly. "I found him," he croaked and stole his hand away from the woman he considered more of a mother than his own. He pressed his fingers into the troubled creases of his face and exhaled gravely.
"Pardon?"
Blaise uncovered his face, now appearing sullen but unnaturally sober. "I found him. It's a boy."
A bubble of something almost foreign rose up within Narcissa. Something she hadn't felt in a quite some time. For the past six weeks, all she had been able to truly feel was devastation, loss, sadness, and fury. To experience something else was unique but not entirely unwelcome.
"A boy? Is he…Is he…" What did she want to ask? A million things but where to start?
A tragic mix of affection and defeat colored Blaise's aura. "He looks just like him, Narcissa. He's…He's…"
"He does?" she squeaked. "So you're sure you saw him."
Blaise somberly nodded. "The same hair, the same eyes."
The bubble inside Narcissa readied to burst. If the boy looked just like her Draco, then she wanted to see him, hold him, talk to him, know him.
Shakily, she whispered, "So you saw him. Did you talk to him? What about his mother…" Narcissa's question fell short when Blaise flinched and a mask of rage painted enclosed on upon his face.
"Yeah, I saw her, too." He walked away from the bar and scratched the back of his head, stopping at the window and looked out at Magical Salem.
"And?" Narcissa urged. "Did you recognize her from any of Draco's previous…lady-friends?"
"I recognized her," Blaise informed blankly, his eyes still on the city below. "But not as one of Draco's conquests."
"So you know her? Or knew her, I presume? Where from? Back home or somewhere else?"
"She's English, and Lucius' instincts were right. She's a Mud…Muggle-Born."
Narcissa had expected as much, but to hear verification burned her ears. Her thoughts wafted back to her grandson of which she had yet to meet and tried to tell herself his Blood Status didn't matter. He was not filthy but simply a young boy.
"What's her name? Did you talk to her? What did she say?"
"I spoke to her, yes. She was upset about Draco. Very distraught. She happened to be at the school when I was. I took her home, and she eventually calmed and told me a little about how she and Draco happened and why they never told anyone about Alex. As for her na-"
"Alex? That's his name?" Narcissa interjected. Alexander was a strong, royal name fit for a prince. The boy was named wisely, and she knew her son must have named him. "It's a nice name. What's hers? You said she was English and you knew her."
"I will tell you, but before I do, I have to explain we are unwelcome. Alex's mother was upset about Draco and was kind enough to serve me tea and give me some information about her, Draco, and Alex. However," Blaise chuckled bitterly, "she made it clear I was unwelcome." He turned to face Narcissa. "She made it clear you were, too."
As quickly as flame could spark, Narcissa's hopes and joy was drowned by a frigid enragement. She bit down on her tongue to keep from shouting. Yelling at Blaise was not going to solve anything nor was losing her temper. This was not the young man's fault. He had done well that day, but she supposed the rest of her plan was going to have to be put on her shoulders.
Digging deeper into her musings and picking notions apart, Narcissa knew she could not fault Alex's mother, either. The woman built a wall to protect her child from those she deemed untrustworthy. If she truly was an English woman and a Muggle-Born, there wasn't wondering why she hid the boy away from her and Lucius and the rest of England. It would have been and still would be a scandal if the media caught whiff of it. This was a rather juicy story any carnivorous reporter would salivate over.
"What is her name?" asked Narcissa.
A knock on the door startled them and Blaise went over and peaked through the peephole to see Lucius standing outside the door. He turned to Narcissa mouthing 'your husband,' and she rushed over to turn the knob.
"Lucius, you came."
"I did," he said and entered the room and gave Blaise a firm nod. He removed his travelling gloves and eyed his surroundings with interest.
"It's a suitable inn, isn't it?"
"Hmm, yes," Narcissa said. "What changed your mind?"
Her husband went straight for the bar and found the vintage firewhiskey she had taken from Blaise, pouring himself a glass before answering. "After you left, I rifled through more of Draco's earlier bank statements with similar patterns. At the beginning of each month, there was an automatic withdraw from his account. Not fifteen hundred galleons worth but enough to know he had not only paid for a child's tuition but was supporting one in other ways. With all honesty, I was rather intrigued. My 0curiosity overruled me, I guess you can say."
"I'm glad you're here. I knew you would come eventually," Narcissa warmly spoke to her husband. "And you've come at the perfect time. Lucius, we…we have a grandson."
Lucius arched an eyebrow and took a swallow of his drink and then replied, "Do not be so hasty as to put a label on the child, 'Cissa. And a boy, you said?" The older wizard paused, his eyes heavy with deep consideration but soft enough for his wife to know she saw acceptance in them.
"That's what Blaise has informed me. He saw the boy today."
"Had you?" inquired Lucius to Blaise.
He nodded grimly. "I regret to inform you, Mr. Malfoy. You and Mrs. Malfoy may not get the opportunity in the near future to meet him."
"And why is that?" Lucius asked in mild alarm.
"She is a Muggle-Born, Darling, as she is English. She is aware of our history," explained Narcissa resignedly.
"What is her name? Maybe I can talk to her and sort this all out. I'm sure once we're all in the same room behaving like civilized people, negotiation will be in store," Lucius said confidently and turned to Blaise who was eyeing him with heavy dubiety. "Don't you agree?"
"With unintended disrespect, I do not. You have met her before," the younger wizard informed cautiously.
"We have?" Narcissa asked while blinking in surprise. "When? I hardly ever converse with any Muggle-Borns. I haven't spoken to one in years."
Blaise flicked his gaze to Lucius and saw something akin to realization wash over the man. His eyes widened slightly, and the back of his teeth clicked together loudly where his mouth formed an uninviting, disappointed line. He set his drink down and rapped the bottom of his cane against the floorboards before summoning his travelling gloves and tugging them on.
"Lucius," Narcissa started in befuddlement, "are you leaving? You just got here."
Ignoring his wife's question, he asked Blaise, "Where does Miss Granger live these days?"
"Miss Granger?" She goggled, her brow furrowed. "Hermione Granger? Harry Potter's Mudblood friend from the war? She hasn't been heard from in ages."
"I know," stated a snarling Lucius and glared at Blaise. "Where does she live?"
"I'm not going to sleep at all tonight!" Alex hopped up and down on his bed, his arms flailing up in the air. He paused his jumping but only to turn around and waggle his bum in his mother's direction. Hermione smiled a miniscule one and walked over to playfully swat her son on his wiggling backside.
"You have to, Alex. Birthday Boys only get birthdays if they go to bed."
Three more hops on his bed and he flung himself at his mother and wrapped his arms around her neck, nearly knocking the wind out of and almost losing her balance at the blow.
"Oomph," she noised and held her boy close to her body and squeezed him firmly as he rested his head on her shoulder. "You're getting too big for Mummy to carry you. One day I won't be able to hold you like this."
"Then I'll hold you, Mom," he said into her neck in a matter-of-fact tone only a near eight year old could muster. This time she truly grinned, and the sickly, sour knot residing in her chest loosened a smidgen.
Placing Alex back on the bed, she laid him down on his mattress with his dragon printed sheets given as a gift from Draco last Christmas. The dragons varied from origins and were Charmed to fly and breathe fire upon making contact with Alex's body. As her son resided in his bed, the dragons slowly tired with him and would eventually fall asleep when he did.
Once tucking him in, she smoothed his blond curls away from his forehead and kissed him goodnight.
"I'll see you in the morning."
An hour later after putting Alex to bed, Hermione was in the kitchen wrapping the last of his birthday gifts with tears streaming down her face. Every once in a while, she would pause her working fingers and wipe at her cheeks. Her mind was heavy with Draco and her chest ached with heartbreak. She mentally abused herself with 'what if' notions. What if she had accepted his marriage his proposal the first time he asked or even the seventy-second time he asked? What if she had gone back with him to England? What if she had squashed her pride and begged him to stay with her in Salem? Would he be here now? Would she be with him? Would she have demanded his constant presence on September 21th instead of letting him go play Quidditch with his friends? Would he have still died? Would she ever not feel this way? Would the regret ever leave her?
In the middle of curling the ribbon with a pair of scissors, she heard a knock at the door. She checked the clock with a frown and wondered who would dare bother her after ten o' clock. Taking a swipe at her cheeks again to clean away the tears, she went to the front door and opened it and her breath hitched at the sight of Lucius Malfoy standing at her doorstep on her welcome mat.