A/N: Thank you to my readers, reviewers, followers and those who have favorited this fic.

Thank you to: alina290, Angelus Draco, Vaneesa85, meg527, hkmac, Aya Diefair, Jessica682, and Musette Fujiwara for the reviews.

So to clear some things up, Hermione miscarried sometime in late 2007. There will be more details on when later in the story and more details on when precisely Draco found out. The little girl would have been born in 2008, but there will be more information on everything later on, I promise.

Enjoy Chapter 32. Read and Review, please, and tell me your thoughts.

"They're not coming, are they?" Narcissa practically moaned, her eyes fastened on the wall where the ticking clock dwelt. Wringing her hands nervously and cinching her brow together, her heart sank lower and lower into her stomach at seeing the big hand on the fifteen. "They should have been here fifteen minutes ago? Why aren't they here, Lucius? Oh," she brought a hand to her forehead and hunched over her morning tea, "she's changed her mind. She took him back to Salem. We'll have to wait longer."

"It most certainly would have been a wise decision on her part," her husband said from behind The Daily Prophet. Folding up the newspaper and setting it aside next to his tea, he then picked up his pipe and lit, speaking between puffs. "The paparazzi got word that Miss Granger is no longer in the States. I predict they'll be lapping at our wards in a matter of hours, darling. The Owls and the Howlers will increase, I assume."

"Are you not worried in the least?" Narcissa sighed out and picked up her tea to take a sip but lost interest when the cup got half way to her mouth and set it back down on the saucer with a clink.

"She'll be here. If she decided to run away, she wouldn't have gotten far. Blaise would catch her in little, if any, time."

"You're right. I'm being anxious. Eight o' clock is quite early, especially for a young boy. Miss Granger probably had difficulties-"

Mippy Apparated into the dining area and bowed, cutting Narcissa off. The woman squealed uncontrollably, "Oh my Gods, they're here!"

"Master and Mistress, Mr. Zabini and-"

"We know, we know!" Narcissa stood up and clapped her hands together before covering her mouth with them, breathing through her nose to calm herself. Last night before falling asleep, her excitement to see Alex had dwindled because of all the things Pansy had said. Upon morning, that anticipation renewed.

Oh, Morgana! She was going to see him!

"Mippy, make sure our guests find themselves comfortable before leading them here. See to it if they have any preferences for breakfast," Lucius told the house-elf sternly. Mippy bowed and Disapparted and Narcissa sat back down in her seat, her heels clicking nervously against the marble beneath her feet.

"Lucius," she said insecurely.

"Calm yourself. When you see the boy, try not to torpedo over and touch him. I doubt Scorpius would appreciate that, and I know his mother would not, as well. Like we agreed this morning, we are going to do our best to keep away the contention. Even if Miss Granger purposefully starts a fight, we will prove to her that we-"

"Are not ill-mannered people. We will counter her vileness with kindness," Narcissa finished and took a deep breath, smiling gently which fell short when hearing footstep coming towards them.

"Here they come," her husband said and both stood up from their chairs and turned around to face the entrance of the dining all.

The portraits of Malfoy Manor were eerily still and quiet, their eyes watching Hermione and Alex intently as they walked the hallways. The woman felt their questioning stares picking away at her, but she kept her focus on the marble flooring, afraid to look up and recognize something that would bring her back thirteen years ago. Instead, she attempted to place her mind somewhere else far away from the war. Like Alex. He looked so darling in his suit. She had bought it for him at the beginning of school year for his choir performances.

Already holding her boy's hand, she squeezed it lovingly. He looked up at her with watery, red eyes and a trembling bottom lip.

"Oh, love," she whispered to him and let go of his hand to bring him closer to her, his head resting in the curve of her waist for a moment before he stopped walking and raised up his arms, wanting to be held.

"Mama," he whispered, "Please."

Hermione brushed away some strands of his wayward blond curls and then bent down to pick him up. His arms wrapped around her neck tightly as did his legs around her waist. He was not a light-weighted child, but how could she deny him when he wanted to be held? Needed to be held?

Unfortunately, due to holding him, she had to keep her head up and see where Blaise and the house-elf named Mippy were taking them. She prayed they did not have to pass the Drawing Room. A part of her fed lies, telling her she would not recognize the place she was tortured so many years ago, but the dominant part of Hermione knew better.

"You look nice, Granger," Blaise told her, slightly turning his to the side to flick his gaze back at her.

"You're despicable," she called him, a flush warming her cheeks. When waking up that morning with a migraine and a need to vomit, the first thing flooding her mind was remembering that she kissed Blaise after having a few pitiful drinks. Was she truly such a lightweight? Such a slag? Why on earth would she kiss him, drunk or not?

Hermione asked herself these questions but knew the shameful answer. She missed Draco. Missed him dearly. Agonizingly. It was killing her to know he was gone, that she couldn't touch him or kiss him anymore. Yes, she had not intimately touched him or kissed him for over two, almost three years. But there had always been that option. That one selfish option. He would always be around, and she could always change her mind. She hated herself for thinking that way but when hearing of Draco's engagement to Astoria, it had done nothing but make her slightly jealous. Okay, a bloody hell of a lot jealous! Just who did he think he was getting engaged to someone else? Never mind her, though, Hermione knew if she had given Draco the word, he would have broken off everything with that woman. That word being 'yes.' The answer being yes.

Yes, Draco, we can work something out about us living so far apart. Yes, we can tell your parents. Yes, Draco, I'll marry you. Yes, we can have another baby. Yes, Sweetheart, I hope it's a girl, too.

Her lips ached to kiss Draco's, and her hands burned to touch him. Last night in her drunken haze, she saw Blaise beneath her. He looked nothing like Draco. No amount of alcohol was going to change Blaise's dark skin an alabaster white or his close-shaven black hair into blond locks. But he was there, and if she closed her eyes, she could pretend he was Draco.

Hermione was ever so grateful that Blaise had been the responsible one and pushed her away. Not many men would have done that but would have taken full advantage of the situation, but that didn't mean she thought any more or less of him. He was still an arrogant bastard and if she had not been the mother of his late best friend's child, Hermione couldn't help but think he wouldn't have pushed her away so quickly. In fact, she thought he may have not pushed her away fast enough. He saw her coming towards him, and all he did was lay down and practically test the waters!

Perhaps she was overreacting. It was just one small, disgustingly icky kiss that would never be repeated, even if she drank an entire swimming pool of vodka and butterbeer. Never would she be sloshed enough to try again.

"All I said was that you looked nice," Blaise said, tearing her out of her internal rant. "I didn't mean anything by it but to simply complement you and compare your present self with this morning's version of you."

"It's a wonder you ever find companionship, Zabini. Words like that make witches run in the other direction."

"It's actually been sometime since I've seen a woman in the morning. I'm always gone by then."

Hermione gaped at him and Alex croaked, "What's he talking about, Mommy?"

"Nothing, Sweetheart," she quickly said and placed a kiss on his forehead and smiled when his arms tightened around her neck. "Nothing at all. Mr. Zabini is a just a vile, little cockroach."

"Like Daddy?"

"Hmm? What?" Hermione questioned in surprise at Alex's words.

"You once told Daddy he was a cockroach."

Hermione nodded and twisted her mouth in a nostalgic half-smile. "I called him that more than once, didn't I?"

"You always called him mean names," he said in a small voice and Hermione's guilt level escalated again. She could not deny that Draco had been on the receiving end of some nasty words from her these past couple of years. If she could take them back…If she could bring Draco back…

"I never meant any of them," she told Alex and brushed her lips against his forehead, a habit picked up from his infant years. Whilst in her arms, it was only natural to kiss her child when his face was so close to her mouth.

"So do you mean it when you call Mr. Zab...Mr. Zabi...*sigh*...Daddy's friend a cockroach?"

"Yeah, Granger," Blaise piped up, "do you mean it when you call me a cockroach?"

"Yes," she hissed and childishly and belatedly, she added, "cockroach."

"Calm yourself or at least save your hostility for the hosts. We're almost there."

Mippy entered first and then bowed with gesturing arms for those behind her to enter. Narcissa saw Blaise first and was dressed tastefully in a dark suit, and why couldn't he ever wear a tie? Ties were a respectable article of clothing needed to finish off a nice, tailored suit.

The man nodded his greetings and behind him was Hermione, and Narcissa felt like she understood a bit more as to what her late son saw in her. The girl cleaned up nicely. Though she was no beauty queen or even Astoria, she was a lovely girl. Though, Hermione was not dressed to impress her or Lucius. She wore a simple black, knee-length dress, conservatively cut with white lace at the collar and black tights with flat leather boots. The curls Narcissa had seen tightly secured in a braid at that restaurant in Salem were straightened and loosely held together by a single black ribbon tied into a bow at the base of her skull. And then something dawned on her. Miss Granger dressed for mourning and showing her respect, not to her or Lucius, but to Draco.

A nauseating sensation washed over Narcissa. Miss Granger was going to want to see the grave, and the older witch had not been since the funeral, not out of slothfulness, but out of anguish. The pain was still fresh and prominent and…

Her breath caught in her throat at seeing the little person clinging to Miss Granger's torso. Oh Morgana's soul! He was perfect with his blond hair and grey eyes. The boy looked just like Draco.

Unable to help herself, she started towards them but stopped half way when remembering what she had promised Lucius moments before, so she smiled at them warmly.

"Hello," she said, unknowing at what else to say.

Hermione visibly tightened her arms around Alex when seeing Narcissa rushing towards him with a mad, determined glint in her eye and regretted agreeing to meet the woman and her monster of a husband inside their house of horrors. Thank Godric the woman stopped, though and seemed to pull herself together, but Hermione still kept her arms snug around her son.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Blaise greeted with another nod and then turned to Hermione, giving her a pointed look.

Pressing her lips together and gritting her teeth, Hermione smiled forcedly at Narcissa and said, "Mrs. Malfoy."

"Miss Granger," Narcissa said coolly.

"Miss Granger," Lucius said from the table, and everyone aside from Alex noticed Hermione's left eyelid twitch before she turned to face him.

"Mr. Malfoy."

Ignoring the tension, Narcissa relaxed her shoulders and set her sights upon Alex again, smiling happily at him. "And you must be Alexander."

He said nothing at her, but merely stared at her wide-eyed and blankly.

Narcissa's smile widened in an attempt to ease her grandson. "I'm your grandmother and so happy to finally meet you. Your grandfather," she gestured to Lucius who saluted the boy with his smoking pipe and a curt nod, "is over there at the table."

"Hello," the man said and Hermione refrained from tossing a hate-filled glare at him. How dare that bastard sit expectantly at the table like he knew all along that she would be there standing in the dining room with Alex? Like he knew she would cave and agree bringing her son to this wretched house.

"You all must be hungry. Come sit at the table while we wait for breakfast," said Narcissa breathily, like she was on the verge of hyperventilating.

Hermione stood rigid until Blaise nudged at her arm, silently telling her to suffer through this and sit down.

"Are you hungry, Sweetheart?" she asked her boy who tilted his head back to look at her. He nodded somberly, so she stared cautiously at the table where Blaise and Draco's parents were seated before walking to the table.

The dining table was a long, traditionally styled piece of glossily furnished oak with an elegant satin table-cloth, the color of ivory, draped over it. As Hermione came closer to the two empty wooden chairs with overstuffed seat cushions, she asked Alex, "Would you like to sit in the chair?"

He shook his head and began to climb her, securing his body fittingly around hers. Ignoring the three pairs of eyes staring at them, she replied stiffly, "Alright," and awkwardly pulled out one of the chairs and sat down with him in her lap. When catching the disproving frown from Lucius, Alex's knee in her belly no longer seemed all that uncomfortable. She even pressed her lips against his cheek and audibly smooched him, being sure to apply enough pressure to squish his face. When she was done, he rewarded her with a face-squishing kiss of his own on her cheek which delighted her and eased more of that ache inside her chest.

Alex rested his head underneath her chin as his mother held him closely. From where he sat, he could see the woman who introduced herself and his grandmother. She sat at the end of the table staring at him intently with sad, teary eyes. She was very pretty lady with blonde hair like his daddy's and didn't look like any grandma he'd ever seen or met. All the grandmas he knew were his friends' grandmas or the old ladies who took little kids to the park after school. Those grandmas were plump and had wrinkles and wore robes made of soft fuzzy material. They wore glasses, and their curly grey hair was trimmed short.

Sometimes Nathaniel would invite Alex over to his grandma's house on the other side of town. Grandma Li was an elderly lady who was only a head taller than himself. Her hair was white, and she wore soft white fuzzy robes which she always covered with bright blue kimonos. She was really nice, at least Alex thought so. Grandma Li couldn't speak English but only Canta…um…Canta…some funny language, so the boy was never sure what the old woman said.

Daddy's mama was tall, thin, pretty, and did not have wrinkles. Her hair did not have a strand of grey and was long and shiny and straight, and most importantly, she did not offer cookies. If she was really a grandma, where were the cookies?

Snuggling deeper into his mother's embrace, he thought it was sort of promising for his…grandma…to offer breakfast. It wasn't cookies and milk, but it would do.

"So, Alex," the lady said with trembling smile, a tear slipping down her cheek. "I hear you're going to Salem Institute for Magical Developing Children. Do you like it there?"

That was a silly question, Alex thought and blinked owlishly at her. Who on earth would like going to school? He remembered asking Daddy the same question, and he had laughed loudly and told him that his mother had loved school and learning and reading loads of books. He understood the 'reading loads' part, but his mom was too cool to like classrooms and mean teachers.

"No," he mumbled in response and saw her eyebrows reaching up towards her hairline.

"Really? I thought it was a good school."

Why did grownups always put the words 'good' and 'school' in the same sentence?

"It is," his mom said firmly and rubbed his back comfortingly. "But Alex is like any other eight year old and doesn't enjoy sitting at a desk for the majority of the day."

"Oh, I see." Narcissa nodded, recalling complaints from Draco's tutors about how her eight year old was refusing to sit still and learn about potions and arithmancy.

"I just want to play, Mummy," Draco had said and grabbed at the skirt of her robe and peered up at her pleadingly. "May I please go outside and play? Please, please, please!"

"So what do you like to do?" she asked and didn't miss the annoyed eye-roll of Hermione.

"Play and eat cake."

A soft laugh sprung up from everyone at the table, even Lucius who wanted Alex to turn his head and look at him. The boy was so very much like Draco, in looks and in personality. Draco, too, had been quite attached to his mother. Smiling at the memory, Lucius remembered when the boy had stuck himself to his mother's robe and sobbed uncontrollably when she unstuck him. And Narcissa, oh that woman could never say no to the boy.

"Mummy, Daddy, I had a bad dream," his son had whimpered at the foot of his and Narcissa's bed. "Can I sleep with you?"

"Absolutely n-"

"Yes, Darling. Come to Mummy, Dear, and I'll kiss all the bad dreams away," his wife had interjected in a sugary sweet tone and had held out her arms as the boy jumped up on the bed and crawled towards her, settling between them. When the boy had fallen asleep, he let Narcissa know of his disproval.

"We were supposed to make love," he had quietly hissed at her.

Lucius tore himself out of his past musings when Alex turned his head away from his wife's direction and then stared at him as if waiting for him to ask his series of questions.

"So…ahem…Alexander," Lucius began, thinking that maybe Blaise and Narcissa were correct by addressing the boy by his middle name. "Do you like to fly?"

"Fly?" the boy squeaked.

"No, he doesn't," Hermione said sternly and shared a brief look with her son before he returned his gaze to Lucius.

"Mom says I'm not allowed to fly until I get my wand. My…dad bought me a broom last Christmas, but I wasn't allowed to fly it. Even with him on the broom. So he bought me a toy broom for Easter." Alex sighed and pouted up at his mother who kissed his forehead. "I wasn't allowed to fly that either."

"It's too dangerous," his mother stated crisply. "You could fall off and hurt yourself, and that would make Mummy very sad."

"That's ridiculous," Blaise and Lucius said in unison and Hermione narrowed her eyes at the younger and then swiveled them and pinned them loathingly at the older.

"That's what Daddy said!" exclaimed Alex and wiggled on his mother's lap so he could sit up straightly. "He said that, too! Did you let him fly when he was eight?"

To be continued…