A/N: Yay, another chapter posted! :)

I got a few concerns about Draco not telling Hermione about Astoria, but I imagined it exactly like that. There's no way Draco Malfoy would ever tell Hermione about a girl he'd been seeing. He'd want to keep it from her as long as possible in hopes of not hurting her feelings despite their concluded relationship. He also kept it from her knowing that would be the final wall in keeping him from getting back together with Hermione.

On another note, I got a concern how the real Hermione would have not let any of this mayhem happen, but all mothers are different and have different methods of trying to do what is best for their children. As for the real Hermione, I'm not sure what she would have done, because I didn't write about that girl who had the happily ever after with Ron Weasley. I wrote about a mentally wounded girl who got pregnant by a near madman with a troubling family and will for a lifetime suffer the consequences. There is no 'real' in fanfiction, only dramatized fantasies in literary form. I know many fanfiction authors try to stay close to accuracy when describing characters, but I'm hoping I'm at least average in my attempts to do so. Of course my Hermione is not the loveable bookworm from the books, but I designed her imperfections for my plot. I don't feel bad about it because it's quite popular to meddle with these characters lives on this website, and I eagerly participate in this trend.

Most of the reviews I get favor either Hermione's side or the Malfoys' side. As the author of this story, I will admit that I'm residing in neutral territory. It may seem that I favor Hermione over Draco's parents, but that's because I find her more likeable than them. Nevertheless, Lucius and Narcissa are stuck in their ways but did love their son so very much. (At least in this fic) They, of course, don't like Hermione. She's a Muggle-Born, loudmouthed tart who did not appreciate the love their son bestowed up on her. They find her unworthy in almost every way. It is true they only tolerate her (at this point) for Alex's sake because they are growing ever so fond of him. I've done my best in writing him adorable and fun, so who wouldn't like him? He's supposed to melt even the most callous of hearts. :)

Anyway, thank you all who have read, reviewed, and put this fic on their favorite list. I sure do appreciate it. Now on with Chapter 46! (Please R&R and I'm sorry for any mistakes. I'll do a sweep through later)

Slipping off the borrowed glove, Hermione offered her hand to the elderly gentleman in front of her. He smiled ruefully and touched her middle and right ring finger, studying them with careful consideration.

"Your hands were so much smaller the last time you came into my shop, Miss Granger," he stated, nostalgia coating his words. Sighing, he lamented, "Oh, how long it's been."

"Mr. Ollivander released her fingers and walked over to a shelf three feet away and slid out a long, rectangular box and mumbled, "Vine wood and dragon heartstring core. Much like your first wand."

"Yes," Hermione answered as the old man returned with the box. It was open and in it rested a wand approximately ten inches, the color of hazelnut.

"I have another," he said. "Go on."

The moment Hermione's thumb and finger touched the wood, she shook her head. "No."

"I thought so," he beamed and shuffled back to the shelf to put away the box. He disappeared behind the counter and returned with another box, this one older looking, battered, and dusty. Ollivander inhaled deeply and blew off some of the particles before opening it.

"Unyielding," the man commented knowingly. "Walnut and dragon heartstring."

Feeling like a child again, Hermione's heart thud in excitement at witnessing the wand inside the case. It looked just like the one she lost. It was perfect. Smiling in gratitude, she went to pick it up but stilled at the feeling of the wood touching her fingers. Morosely, she shook her head.

"Mmm, perhaps not." He took the box and put it away, returning with another, a pensive and inquisitive mask in place.

"You know, Miss Granger, some witches and wizards have second wands."

"Yes."

Ollivander set the box on the counter and gently opened it. With delicate, loving fingers his aged hands took out the wand and brought it closer to his eyes. A sad smile graced his lips and he sighed while caressing the wood. "I had this specially made for a client a while ago, and the poor soul has yet to pick it up. What do you think of it?"

Hermione studied the wand but was unable to tell what kind of tree it came from or what power level it possessed. The length appeared close to eleven inches and exterior was smooth and straight but resembled any other wand.

"It's a fine wand, sir, but it's someone else's. Regardless your client has yet to pick up his order, it will not work for me."

"Go on, Miss Granger. It cannot hurt to try," urged the man.

Tossing the old wandmaker a dubious look, her fingers picked up the wand and a surge of warmth spread throughout her hand and up her arm. The sensation rocked her insides, and she exhaled softly with a smile. "It's perfect, Mr. Ollivander, but I can't-"

"Have you forgotten that the wand chooses the witch, Miss Granger? It is yours now and will not work for anyone else. Eleven-in-a-half inches, made from holly, and unicorn hair. It will suit you well. Do take care of it and keep it close to your heart."

Bewildered by his intimate tone, Hermione promised, "I will. Thank you."

"You are very welcome, and may I say it is so nice to see you again."

"You, as well."

She slipped her fingers inside her pocket to pull out her coin purse, but Ollivander held up his hand. "It has already been paid for."

"Excuse me?"

"The wand, Miss Granger. The one who ordered it has already paid."

"Mr. Ollivander," Hermione chuckled anxiously. "If the wand has already been paid for, I should not have it. This belongs to someone else. I cannot have a free wand."

"The customer will not be picking up the wand, Miss Granger, and I have no use for it any longer. It has chosen its master and that is that."

"You seem very sure of yourself. What if that customer strolled in tomorrow and demanded his or her wand? What are you going to do then?"

"Retire. Because that would mean I've worked for too long." The old man laughed and waved his hand at her in a shooing motion. "Now go on. I have an appointment in five minutes that I must get ready for."

Hermione frowned and slowly made her way towards the door but stopped when Ollivander called out to her. "I almost forgot," he said and came up to her with a glossy medium-sized chest. "It's a case for your wand. This was paid for, as well. Good day, Miss Granger."

Without another word, he left the witch a strange new wand and an expensive looking case for it. Everything together should have cost her forty galleons, yet she hadn't paid a single knut.

"What took you so long?" griped Blaise as she exited the wand shop. He was standing at the top of the steps with his hands planted inside his pockets, his chin wobbling from the cold.

"Hold this," Hermione commanded and shoved the box into his arms and adjusted the hood of her cloak over her head. She then slipped the glove back on her hand and then showed off her wand, sticking the tip beneath Blaise's nose. "Do you like it?"

"Sure, what's with the box, though?"

"It's a wand-case. Ollivander gave it to me. It came with the wand, I guess. It was all very strange, the situation. But I don't really want to explain. I'm sorry I took so long, but he wanted to know what happened to my last wand, and I had to hear a sermon of what not do with a wand in water."

"Blast, it's cold out here," complained Blaise as they descended the icy steps onto the snow-covered street of Diagon Alley. As they trudged through the snow, Hermione kept her head lowered and arm link through Blaise's. Adjusting the box in his arms, he asked, "Why don't you shrink this, Granger?"

"Then that will ruin all my fun," she snickered and cast as Shrinking Charm on the box before pocketing it inside her cloak. Her light mood darkened though at remembering how she left Alex back at the manor with Narcissa and Lucius. She tried to comfort herself by saying they wouldn't hurt him, but there was still that fear.

"I want to hurry back, Blaise," she said.

"I thought you needed clothes."

"Well, I do…but…"

"He's fine, Granger."

"I don't know that."

"You're right. At this moment, Draco's parents are filling his head full of lies about Blood status."

"You're not funny," she hissed and punched him in the arm.

"I'm hilarious. Now do be on your best behavior in Twilfitt and Tattings. Don't draw attention to yourself."

"Yes, because I have such a desire to do so."

"We should be so lucky that it's not that busy today and that everyone is too self-absorbed to notice the dodgy looking witch donned in a large, black cloak. From when we arrived, we have passed by several individuals who would recognize you in an instant."

"I doubt that. I look nothing like I did the last time I was in Diagon Alley."

"Let me rephrase. They'll see your hair and then recognize you."

"I hate you."

"Just keep those bloody tresses packed away, you hear me? It's lunch time and already there are clocked-out reporters looking for a meal which they'll forget the moment they catch a whiff of your presence. I hear a picture of you is worth five hundred galleons. A thousand for one of Alex."

"Maybe shopping in Muggle London would be a better idea," murmured Hermione while opening the door to Twilfitt and Tattings, lifting an eyebrow at the interior. It was very…Muggle and modern. Gone with rickety walls and dark lighting. In place were plaster walls painted a warm golden-yellow with lace bordering near the ceiling. Oil lamps ignited the area casting a comforting ambiance around the store. Hermione eyed the clothing on the racks and reached out to touch a dress made for a little girl. The deep red material was sturdy and smooth, and her humble little coin purse squawked in fear.

"A little small for you, isn't it?" Blaise asked in jest and then sobered, sensing her discomfort. "Something wrong?"

"Uh…" She flushed in embarrassment. "No. Nothing's wrong. I'm just going to look around for something in my size."

Steeling a sip from his flask, Phil Jacobson sighed in content as the liquid fire streamed down his throat. Discreetly, he twisted the cap back on and pocketed it, his eyes trained on the entrance of Twilfitt and Tattings and knew there was little chance of him entering the establishment and collecting more information without getting caught.

The past six weeks had been awful to say the least. Catching Narcissa Malfoy's and Hermione Granger's conversation, presenting damning evidence to Penelope, and then publishing the article should've sent him into an early retirement. But, alas, it did no such sentiment. In fact, by the time the news of Granger's whereabouts and the blasted kid hit the front page, his employer hounded him beyond sanity. For weeks the woman demanded another photograph of Granger and a present one of child, but no luck. He and other reporters, failed in catching such a prize on their cameras. It was literally like the woman packed up her kid, fled to England, and disappeared.

Of course the theories, speculations, and rumors which circulated around the office were always a laugh to tune into. Fact was, no one knew what happened to Hermione and her golden offspring. Many assumed she fled the country again, but others like himself, wondered if she was in that blasted, locked-up Manor in Wiltshire. Owls upon Owls were sent there with no response. The wards on the property were strengthened, and according to sources, only a few were allowed access via Floo.

Ever since Jacobson presented the story for Penelope that previous month, the woman had demanded more information, threatening to fire him soon if he didn't come up with anything. But the weeks flew by and he and the other reporters had nothing, so she took pity and threatened castration if he couldn't get shite by Christmas.

"Find her, Jacobson," she had demanded, pointing her finger at him threateningly. "Find her. I want a picture, and I want it now. I'd prefer the kid, but if you can get me Granger, I just may not rip up your end of the year bonus cheque."

Fortunately, the Nimbus company found themselves in a mess which temporarily deterred Penelope's attention away from the missing war heroin to something else. But when that had blown over, his employer was at his throat again, demanding another story.

"How is it that there is nothing else? Are we not doing our jobs right? Why don't we have another story? For the love of Morgana, we don't even know if this is a tragic love story or a humiliating accident. It's been weeks and my best reporters haven't got shit!"

So Jacobson did what he could which was wait. He wasn't sure what else he could do. His contacts in France, Germany, and Italy knew nothing of Granger's whereabouts. Some of them hadn't even heard of her. Furthermore, he did what he could and that was his job. He got by from nabbing other stories and was able to get an interview with one of the victims of the Nimbus debacle. He also was the first reporter on scene when Pansy Weasley nee Parkinson gave birth to a son as to which Penelope took one look at it and tossed it into the rubbish bin.

"Who the hell cares about that? No on, that's who," she groaned out in boredom. "Unless you were able to get a response from Weasley about where his old friend is dwelling these days?"

"He had no comment," he had mumbled, shrugging. If getting red-faced and throwing profanities credited for 'no comment', then yes.

That had been weeks ago, nearly a month, and as Jacobsen stood from his spot in Diagon Alley, he knew he hit a trail. She was here and had bought a new wand at Ollivander's while travelling with the late Mr. Malfoy's best friend, Zabini, which was interesting to say the least.

Rubbing his chin, he pondered the idea of popping over to the Directory and requesting the address for the Italian wizard just for a quick looksee at the area. The location might come in handy someday.

Phil placed that idea on the backburner to stare at the shop entrance again. He'd already got his picture of Miss Granger, but unfortunately, no story with it. He'd happen to be out in Diagon Alley by coincidence, searching for a spot of lunch before returning to work when he caught the woman's face staring into the display window of the café he was eating in. The moment had been nothing but a few short seconds, but it was enough to catch her unmistakable features partially obscured by the large hood over her head. Her focus seemed to be on one of the teacakes, and her tongue poked out to wet her lips. Soon Zabini came marching next to her and grabbed her arm, tugging her off somewhere down the street.

Still shocked at seeing Granger, Phil had taken a minute to wrap his head around the fact he just saw the witch out in public. Hurriedly, he paid his bill for his half-eaten, forlorn chicken and dumpling soup and bolted out into the streets, quickly spotting the couple. They were going towards Ollivander's where Granger placed a small hand on Zabini's chest, indicating for him to stay put. She then entered the wand shop and stayed in there for at least fifteen minutes before exiting where she handed a spiffy looking wand case to Zabini and shoved her shiny new purchase into his upper lip. The man was somewhat annoyed and made some comment Phil was unable to hear.

The couple journeyed through the near vacant street, causing Phil to think they had picked a perfect day to go shopping. Only the cuckoo came out in this kind of weather. Speaking of...Phil shivered and shirked some of the snow sticking to his cloak and then cast a Warming Charm on his face because it felt like it was about to break off and roll down the ice-covered cobblestone of the street.

Phil tried to decide his next move while Granger and Zabini were in Twilfitt and Tattings. Already, he snagged several pictures of the bint as well as the wizard, but he had no story. Perhaps he should chance sneaking in and listening upon their conversation. He still had that handy 'need-to-know' spell from George Weasley up his sleeve.

Adjusting his hat to cover some of his eyes, Jacobson entered the clothing store and scanned the area, searching for the velvety black cloak of Miss Granger. He quickly spotted her across the room and ducked behind some racks, slithering past festive gowns to holiday robes all the way to casual-wear. Luckily, the men's department was adjacent to the women's, so he had a spectacular view of Miss Granger. Suppressing a smirk of triumph, he watched Zabini come up next to her. He stole the opportunity and hastily cast the spell and tuned in.

"We should leave soon," Zabini whispered.

"I know, but I need a few more things. I can't necessarily replace my entire suitcase of clothes, but I certainly don't want to cast Shrinking Charms on all of them. That would be annoying, and I couldn't wear them for a long period of time. The magic would wear off after a few hours and wouldn't that be embarrassing? Especially with Draco's parents breathing down my neck."

"You should be more embarrassed by your common taste in apparel, Granger. Honestly, don't you have any pride in your image?"

Phil frowned at Zabini's retort while eying a pair of black trousers. Studying the materials and feeling the folded crease with his thumb and fingers, he perceived that Blaise Zabini may be one of England's most eligible bachelors but if he used words like that to such lovely women, the git was going to remain just that for the rest of his life. Granger may not look like she strode off the runway, but she didn't need frivolous things like expensive, stylish clothing to be pretty. Nevertheless…

Granger was currently in contact with the Malfoys, and they were breathing down her neck. Phil took that as figuratively speaking but couldn't help wonder if the Mr. and Mrs. Death Eater actually were.

Phil also asked himself if that's wear Alex was currently, with his grandparents.

Hermione dryly replied to Blaise's rudeness with a, "I think with the amount of pride inflating your big-arse head is enough to support the both of us, don't you think?"

Blaise chuckled, but from where Phil stood, the report was able to recognize the signs of offence. The man was slightly put off by the woman's quick, viper-like tongue.

"You know, it's words like those that cause me to wonder why it didn't work out between you and Draco."

Now we're getting somewhere, thought Phil while taking the trousers off the rack to eye them up close.

"You're vile," Hermione seethed and stuck up her nose, turning her pinched face away from the man like he smelt awful. She placed the blouse she had in her hand back on the rack and stalked a few feet away, thankfully not of hearing distance for Phil's Charm.

Blaise followed after her and muttered a lame apology, looking sheepish and stuffing his hands into the pockets of his cloak.

"As you should be," the witch huffed and pulled another blouse off a rack, studying it thoughtfully. She held it up and asked Blaise, "What do you think since I have no pride in my self-image?"

Without even glancing at the blouse, the man dryly replied, "It's hideous."

Hermione stomped her foot and violently put the innocent blouse back on the rack and planted her hands on her hips. "Then what do you suggest?"

"I wouldn't be caught Avada'd in the place."

"Yet you're here. I didn't ask what you thought of the place. I was inquiring about clothing, you moronic git."

"And I answered, you insufferable wench. I would never shop here. It's…" Blaise skimmed his surroundings with a sneer, "common."

"This is common?" asked Hermione, incredulously and lifted a black and grey blouse from the rack and examined the price tag. "This is more than I make in five hours at work, and this is one of the less expensive I've seen. You and the Malfoys, even Draco, have no idea what it's like to worry about finances."

The dark-skinned wizard frowned at the woman and gently took the blouse out of her hand and returned it to the rack. "You don't have to worry about money anymore, Granger. You know that, right?"

"Why? Because Alex is the next in line? He doesn't have to worry, but the last time I checked, the mistress is overlooked and all goes to the wife."

"As to which Draco didn't have."

"Doesn't matter. Even if it did, I wouldn't take a single galleon from him or his parents. I'd rather die in a cracked cardboard box than accept any kind of financial aid from them."

"They did pay for your healer, and let me inform you on how much Bogrov was. That's not including the sum Lucius paid to keep the fool quiet about your condition and whereabouts."

Jacobson's ears perked at that. Hermione had been ill of some sort, needed a healer, and Old Man Lucius paid the bill. The information only confirmed Phil's assumptions about where the witch and her son had resided these past five weeks.

Un-pocketing a small slip of parchment and his lucky Muggle pen, he wrote down the name Healer Bogrov for future reference. Maybe the bloke could be found in the directory.

Hermione made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat and moaned quietly. "It almost makes me wish I would have died. Not really. But you get where I'm coming from. Now, though, I'm just going to…" She sighed and stepped away from the clothing. "I'm going shrink my clothes. This was a mistake. I'm going back to the manor."

Bingo!

Feeling as if he caught as much as he was going to get for one afternoon, he ignored Granger as she dashed out of the store with Blaise tailing behind her. pulled a small vial out of his breast pocket beneath his cloak and with his wand extracted the memory he'd just made and placing it safely inside. The next stop was work, specifically Archer's office.

Penelope's hair was perfectly coifed into a French twist up-do Jacobson analyzed from his seat across from her desk. It was professional and elegant all at once, but needless to say, her arse was mighty fine and looking away was damned near impossible in that tight pencil skirt. His employer was bent near in half with said fine arse sticking out in his direction while her face was busy drowning itself in her own personal pensieve and had done so for the past ten minutes.

Phil checked his watch and whistled a tune before taking a sip of his coffee and then resumed watching his boss' perfect arse again. Sometimes it wasn't that bad being around her. She'd probably even be a decent shag if she wasn't married and was mute. Speaking of, he should probably ask how the mister was doing along with the kids.

Finally, Archer popped her head up and straightened her spine, her back cracking at the movement. She brought a hand to base of her back and rubbed before twirling around to face him. She smiled in a way that made Phil think he was either going to be promoted or chewed out. It was so hard to tell with the bird.

"Do you like it?" he asked hopefully.

Exhaling, she sat down in her large, cushioned swivel chair and clasped her hands together. Her head cocked to the side and she bluntly stated, "It's not good enough."

"Like hell it isn't," defended Phil, hotly. His cheeks grew warm as his temper rose. Did the bitch really just say that? Nobody in the blasted building had been able to get anything better, and she blatantly tells him it's not good enough?!

"It's wonderful you got pictures," she chimed happily but then sobered. "But I really wanted one of the boy."

"The boy," he sputtered. "The boy is on lockdown at Malfoy Manor. No one is going to get a bloody shot of him. But this," he gestured to the photograph of Hermione Granger in her cloak coming out of Ollivander's on the desk in front of him, "is good. You can't deny it, Archer. You just can't."

"Like I said, the pictures are fine, but I can't be certain we have a story, Jacobson. All I have is a vague conversation that only brings up more questions than answers"

"So there's not a plot in Zabini's and Granger's conversation. Who the bloody hell cares? The people will be content with this."

"That Granger went shopping for a wand and then clothes that were too expensive for her? I may be frigid, but I'm not about to condone an article on how impoverished that woman is." She scoffed and glanced at her nails. "Like anyone would believe that rot regardless if it's really true. Her son just became the sole heir of billions. I want to make the community gasp, gossip, and whisper amongst themselves. I don't want to make them laugh. That's what the Comic Column is for."

"Well, what about the healer then? That sounds dodgy to me," he added.

Penelope rolled her eyes. "People get sick, Phil, especially around this time of year. Unless you were able to prove she had something viral, then you're doing nothing but creating untrue drama."

"You create untrue drama all the time," he accused.

She waved her hand dismissively, and he could hear her high-heeled shoe tapping against the floor. "That's when there hasn't been any in ages, but you know what? I'll let you play. Give me a five hundred word article on Granger's and Blaise's day out. Make it seem scandalous. Make it appear they have little thought about the passing of Draco Malfoy and are moving on rather swimmingly. I did it with Greengrass, and now I'm going to do it with them. Thank you for reminding me of my talents, Phil. I think the holiday season is making me soft. I'm visiting Mum more often, and she's requiring regular church attendance on the weekends to get her semi-pagan daughter in the Christmas spirit. So sorry." Smoothing a wayward curl from her face, she gave Phil a pointed look. "Chop, chop, Mr. Reporter. I want that article on my desk by six o' clock. It may just be on the front of the Daily Prophet tomorrow."

Tugging at the hem of her grey polo sweater, Hermione sulked at her transfigured attire and reckoned she had another hour or so before the spell wore off. That should be plenty of time to say a quick thank you to Theodore Nott, have dinner, and return to the bedroom upstairs.

Narcissa had not liked it one bit that she had returned to the manor with nothing more than a new wand, wanting to know where the clothes were. Hermione, refusing to explain to the women her reasoning for not purchasing any, simply told her she changed her mind and would humbly suffer through transfigured apparel.

Hermione cracked a smile at the memory of Narcissa nearly fainting at the confession. The woman had blanched and put a laced glove to her chest, appalled at the idea. Said woman was sitting across from her in, what she said to be, the smallest tearoom in the manor, but there was nothing trifling about it. It was a third of the size of Hermione's home back in Salem and had soft lavender-hued walls with intricate lace bordering. The chandelier above her head was modest in size compared to the one in the dining hall but bright gold and the shimmering crystal lights were bitterly breathtaking as were most of the rooms in the manor. It was as if the most vicious creature (not man) had never tainted the walls with his hate and dark power.

The ivory-colored sofa was plush and comfy beneath her bum, and the glass coffee table in front of her was elegant with golden trimming. Hermione reached towards it and curled her finger around the china teacup, carefully bringing the piping hot beverage to her lips. Her healer had suggested a healing tea to speed up the restorative process, and thankfully the drink tasted fine. It was soothing after spending some time in Diagon Alley during a blizzard.

"Miss Granger, I really do wish you would have chosen to purchase new robes while at Diagon Alley. It's unseemly to transfigure one's clothes to fit them," Narcissa commented in a woebegone tone. She set her cup of tea on the coffee table and sighed, flicking an interested look at the chaise near the window where Alex was laying on his stomach and reading The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

"I think we both know, Mrs. Malfoy, that I prefer being unseemly," Hermione said in a low voice so her words would not reach her son's ears. She resisted the urge to bare her teeth, but honestly, she preferred being able to see Draco's portrait some time that day. If she was required to stay here, then her gracious hosts should make it worth her while. Maybe at midnight she could sneak out of her room and have a late night chat with him. There was still so much to discuss. The previous day, seeing him between those frames made her so incredibly distraught, she was hardly able to yell at him properly.

Narcissa placed her teacup back on the glass table and primly laid her hands flat on the tops of her legs. "Miss Granger, your…behavior confuses me. Since Draco's portrait has been active, I've talked with him and most of the topics are about you. He tells me that you actually grew up in a well-to-do family. According to my son, you attended some sort of Muggle finishing school program during your summers between Hogwarts. If they are anything like magical ones, then I'm befuddled why you are the way you are."

Jaw unhinged, Hermione openly gaped at Narcissa's 'go for the jugular' tactic with Alex only a half-room away. The woman probably assumed that once she was in the boy's good graces, she was in for life. But for the love of Merlin, what kind of person springs something like that on someone?

Hermione coughed at glared at the older woman in dismay, the desire to silence the woman overwhelming her. "Well, Mrs. Malfoy, I'm not sure what Draco told you about me, but I will confess a few things. The manners, ethics, and etiquette my parents instilled within me, I destroyed by barhopping across Easter and Western Europe and willingly participating in relationships with men I knew wasn't going to end well. I tossed responsibility to the wind and did everything my parents forbade me ever to do. Because of that, I got pregnant. By the time Alex was born, it was useless to revert back to the way I was before the war."

Narcissa was quiet for a moment, her blue eyes hard. She shook her head and said, "Not useless, Miss Granger. Furthermore, I think you are confused. You may have no class, but even the classless must have manners."

"I'd prefer having a lesson on good manners from someone else, please," Hermione quipped snidely. "Someone less prone in letting themselves get worked up so easily. I remember how you acted in that restaurant back in Salem, Mrs. Malfoy."

"For which I have apologized for."

"Then perhaps we should both take lessons in certain ethics. I shall learn manners, and you shall learn how to give a proper apology."

"Maybe you need to take a separate lesson on how to accept them."

Hermione clenched her hands into fists and fumed at blonde, wanting nothing more than to leap over the perfect coffee table and strangle the witch, but Mippy's appearance deflated her anger and replaced it with resentment.

"Mippy has come to tell Mistress that Mister Theodore Nott has arrived. Shall Mippy escort late Master's friend here?"

"Yes," replied Narcissa. She stood up from her chair and exited the room without a word.

Hermione tugged at the hem of her polo sweater again and stood up to smooth the wrinkles out from it and her black trousers. She then walked over to Alex and peered over his shoulder and brushed a light kiss against his darling little ear. "What part are you on?"

"Babbity-Rabbity and the Cackling Stump," he announced slowly as to pronounce it perfectly. He then beamed up at her and laughed, "It's funny. Daddy used to tell me the story sometimes."

"I didn't know that," Hermione said and rubbed the boy's back. "I thought you only liked to hear The Outsider and the Dragon."

"I did, but that one isn't as fun to listen to."

"No, I imagine not," Hermione softly agreed. "But listen, sweetheart, when Mr. Nott arrives, you can give your thanks, but I need to speak with him alone afterwards. Will that be all right?"

Alex shrugged and nodded. "About grownup stuff?"

"Unfortunately," she drawled with faux boredom dripping off her tone. "It'll be rather dull, but what you can do for me is find the kitchen. Mummy is not so impressed with her meals and wants to know where she can find the good stuff."

Alex gasped. "But grandmother said…"

Hermione winked. "What she doesn't know won't hurt. Sweetheart, I haven't had a spot of ice cream in six weeks."

Her son's eyes widened at the revelation and he worried his bottom lip. He rolled of the chaise and faced her, his head bobbing up and down. "Okay, I'll find it for you. I think there are a couple kitchens, but I'll find the one with the most desserts."

Kneeling down, Hermione cupped her son's face adoringly and said, "And that is why I love you so much."

An 'ahem' sound from across the room met their ears. Both she and Alex turned their heads to see Theodore Nott at the threshold of the tearoom. He entered silently as the young boy sprinted over to him and stopped a foot or two away from him and stared up at his face. "Thank you for saving my mom, Mr. Nott."

The man regarded him with a blank expression before giving Alex a firm nod. The boy gifted him a tiny, grateful smile and then scampered passed him and down the hallway, his steps echoing off the walls.

Hermione walked the distance to the sofa and slipped her hands into the back pockets of her trousers, awkwardly standing, the woman unsure where to start or how to go about anything with this man. She supposed she could start with a thank you.

"Thank you for saving my life," she managed to say but couldn't help what came tumbling out afterwards. "But I hadn't pegged you for the idiotic type. Honestly, what were you thinking?"

Theo's mask of cool collectivity flinched in the slightest and then puckered into a glower. "Are you saying you would have preferred drowning?"

"Of course not." She strode towards him, shaking her head and folding her arms. "But you could have died. I thought stupid, self-sacrificing heroic acts were for the Gryffindors, Mr. Nott."

"I can't let them have all the fun, can I? Aside from that, I thought it would have been deeply tragic for your son to lose both of his parents at such a young age."

"Yes, because you were thinking of him when you dove in after me." She stole another step towards him and noticed for the first time how tall he was. He most certainly was taller than Draco and Blaise. She felt ridiculous standing next to him.

Standing where she was a foot away from him, she smelt that he'd recently burned through a few smokes before arriving. Beneath that potent scent was the lightest whiff of cologne which smelt remarkably like the one Draco wore. Honestly, someone needed to tell these gentlemen that their choice in musk was abhorrent.

"I was," he stated evenly and brushed passed her to get further into the room. She turned on her heel to follow suit and watched as he sat down on the sofa. Confused by his remaining presence, she slowly walked towards him and sat down in the chair Narcissa vacated minutes before.

"Are you sure about that?" she questioned.

He fished out his metal box of cigarettes and a lighter. She reached over and enclosed her hand around the case and stared at him pointedly. "I can't be around secondhand smoke. Healer's orders." She extracted the box from his grip with a yank and set it down in her lap, dodging the bemused expression from the wizard.

"I'll share," he offered.

"I can't smoke anymore either, but if you are insisting on hanging about then we should discuss something I think is necessary."

Theodore cocked an eyebrow in intrigue. "Go on."

"Mister Nott," she began and chuckled dryly, "I'm not blind or completely oblivious. I've become aware that you may harbor…feelings...towards me and I plead forgiveness for my discourtesy, but could you possibly try your hardest in not making yourself so obvious." Her rant faded quicker than she thought due to Theodore's alarmed state. She blinked at his rounded eyes and parted mouth and felt almost honored having caused such a reaction out of him.

"I thought I was." His shifted his focus away from her, appearing ashamed. Hermione suddenly felt stupid bringing everything to light, but it had sounded like a clever idea at the time. Now all she had accomplished was making things more awkward between them

"I'm sorry," she tried with a wince. "I shouldn't have mentioned anything. Um…" She cast a wistful glance at the doorway. "I'll leave you alone. Thank you again for saving me, but I really should-"

"Wait," he interjected and ran a hand through his hair, his entire body twitching like it was having an allergic reaction from being out of control. "I have to speak with you about something."

"Whatever it is, I'm sure it would be better left unsaid," she replied.

"No, it's not about…that. Lucius and Narcissa came to me yesterday. If you don't know, Miss Granger, I'm a solicitor and sometimes I take care of family affairs."

"Oh Gods," Hermione whimpered, her heart dropping like stone into water. She had feared something like this would happen, but couldn't bring herself to believe that Draco's parents would actually go through with it. "They're going to sue me for custody of Alex. I knew it. I just knew it!"

"Miss Granger," he said, interrupting her bluster, "that is not it. It has to do with legalities concerning the welfare of your son if something tragic were to befall upon you once again, only more permanent."

"They're going to kill me?"

"No, Miss Granger, their intentions are less predatory. To put it plainly, they want you to name them as legal guardians over your son."

Bristling at his words, Hermione leapt to her feet. "And they asked you to coerce me into doing so, is that it?"

"More or less."

Fuming at his confession, she planned on marching through the entire manor seeking out Narcissa and Lucius and declaring war. Those imbeciles, how dare they?!

"And you! You're all right with this?"

"It doesn't matter what I believe to be all right, Miss Granger, but if you already have someone in place for the boy's guardianship, then you have no need to fret."

"I'm not fretting!" she shrieked and doubled over, her lungs quaking at the extraneous use. She hacked for a good fifteen seconds before catching her breath and wheezing, "I'm angry. They went behind my back and sought you out. Such cowards that they couldn't even speak to me about it. Not that it matters. I would've said no then like I am now. Alex has a godmother, and she will remain his guardian until her last breath. I had this taken care of years ago. It's magically bound and sealed. If I would have died in that river, she would have known instantly and come to collect what I left her."

"If that is the case then, Miss Granger, then I do apologize for stealing your time." He rose from the sofa and straightened his tie. "I'd rather not be present when you tear into Draco's parents. The less witnesses the better."

Hermione glared at him and went to stomp out of the room but visibly deflated and whirled around to face him once again. "Look, Theodore, I suppose I'm flattered from your interest, but I doubt my words would be falling on deaf ears if I told you that nothing will ever happen between you and me."

"Oh, believe me, Granger." He smirked and walked towards her. "If I wanted you that much, I would have had you."

Unperturbed by his somewhat impolite statement, she patted him on the chest, her hand still enclosing the cigarette case. His hand came over hers, brushing over the back of it before taking back the box. She smiled sweetly and said, "No you wouldn't. Have a good evening, Mr. Nott."