Author's Note: Okay, sorry for the delay. The SBF muse is a bit capricious. However, writing this chapter was very enjoyable. I'm really having fun descending into the mob stuff, and as you know I do love me some twists and turns, so this is chock full. In this chapter: Hermione does a little bit of plotting, Draco meets someone from the past while out with his classmates, Lucius gets a little more than he bargained for, and Narcissa loses her temper.

Hermione woke to a strange sound. Rather, it was a strange amalgamation of sounds. It was…a song? She lay still, absorbing the melody. She didn't recognize it, but it was peaceful and complex. Whatever it was, she liked it. Now to figure out where it was coming from…

She sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Ah, there on her night stand, the source of the music was carefully placed. It was a cell phone atop a scrap of parchment, looped over with Draco Malfoy's handwriting.

She picked up the phone. It must be his; hers was very basic and if she wasn't mistaken, it was currently sitting at the bottom of one of her handbags with a dead battery. She was notoriously bad at remembering to charge it. The only people who ever called her on it were her parents, anyhow, and rarely at that. Though she had been talking to her Mum more lately because of the divorce and the slow development of her new relationship; she was thrilled that said relationship was only with one man and that he wasn't old enough to be her father.

Hermione frowned. She still regretted not jumping at her chance to experience the man that was old enough to be her father. There was something to be said for age and experience. But it was obvious that Lucius didn't have the same feelings for her as Draco; she suspected he was always game for some flirtation, yet his heart belonged to someone else, someone he thought was out of reach. Hermione shook her head. His heart belonged to Narcissa, the lucky bitch, and the only people who didn't know it were Lucius and Narcissa.

She wondered if Narcissa's marriage would last. Draco had a few choice words for her fiancé; part of it could be chalked up to loyalty to his father, but the rest of it was just genuine dislike. Lucius was too set on not interfering, thinking that he had already done enough damage, and Hermione wished she could explain to him the circuitous and nonsensical way a woman reacted to being caught between an old love and a new one. Staying out of the way in the name of her happiness was noble and selfless, but at the same time it rankled because it seemed like he wouldn't fight for her. It was hypocritical, antiquated, and absurd, but that was how it worked.

If she was a betting woman, she would put all her money on Narcissa going back to him – if he just stormed in there, professed his feelings, and demanded it. There was something about first loves; Hermione could attest, because in spite of all that Ron had done and how little he deserved any speck of emotion from her, she still loved him. That love was irrevocably changed, but it would never go away. She had fallen in love with and married the best version of Ron and seen him change into something else. There was no hope of reclaiming what they'd had. On the other hand, Narcissa had fallen for a lesser version of Lucius. Now he'd changed for the better and realized what a fool he'd been; there was every chance of reclaiming what they'd had and more.

Lucius was a powerful, passionate man. If he directed that power and passion at Narcissa (instead of his money, politics, or pride), she would fall for him again. All mistakes aside, whatever Lucius chose to invest his energy in never failed to prosper...

Hm. Perhaps she'd have to employ some Slytherin tactics to make that happen. Six months ago she wouldn't have trusted Draco Malfoy's judgment, but she did now. If he didn't think Giacomo Cannavare was the right man for his mum he was probably correct. Lucius was playing martyr and Narcissa was playing denial. Oh, Slytherins and their games.

With a smile, Hermione picked up the phone and poked at the touch screen until the song stopped. It was the same phone Lucius had; silly her, ever thinking that Draco wasn't adept with this kind of technology. He was proving to be a better boyfriend than Ron ever had. He'd set the phone to wake her in time to get ready for the school day. She skimmed over the note.

Good morning, beautiful. I couldn't sleep; I'm all screwed up with these time changes, so I went back to work on some things for school. Plus, I knew that if I stayed I would make you late for your classes and I don't want McGonagall to ban me from visiting you. You were fantastic last night. Just remember, once I've made up all those points it's my turn…

I think Saturday is a good day to start your list. I've got tickets to Samson and Delilah. Wear something nice. I'll see you at 6.

She smiled. Yes, as incredible as it seemed, she had really hit the jackpot with Draco.

Waiting was excruciating. Lucius had never been good at it, but rarely was it this bad. Most waiting was meaningless; standing in line for something, patiently awaiting someone's arrival, watching things change subtly over time…but this was not meaningless. This was his wife. Ex-wife. God, that really was an awful title.

It was times like these that Lucius fervently wished for something to smoke. He wasn't a smoker except for the occasional cigar, but those who were always seemed so entertained by their habit. He'd heard that those who quit had a terrible time with boredom, for smoking was something to do to pass time. And this was Europe, after all; everyone and their grandmother smoked. One would think wizards and witches were more enlightened, but it wasn't so, if the magic folk that bustled around Adriatica Alley were any indication.

He caved and bummed a cigarette from a pretty witch. Frankly, she seemed thrilled that he even spoke to her and tried to draw him into further conversation, but his mind couldn't construct a sentence. All told he left her rather rudely. He didn't care. He lit the cigarette with his wand. Merlin, he hadn't smoked since the age of fifteen. His mother had smelled it on him and not-so-subtly told him that smoking could reduce a man's sperm count. Whether it was true or not, that was akin to blasphemy among purebloods, whose fertility rates were already low without any extra chemical help.

Well, it didn't matter at the moment. Nobody gave a shit if he was shooting blanks, himself included. Right now he only cared about Narcissa. So he sat and smoked his cigarette. It was gone much too quickly and in spite of nicotine's reputation for settling a person down, it did little to calm his nerves.

He was in line at a small shop buying an entire pack of the damned cancer sticks when a snippet of conversation drifted to him.

"Enzo says he's crazy," one man on the far end of the shop was saying. He was short and stocky with sun-burnished skin and dark hair buzzed close to his skull to gracefully fend off his receding hairline. The man he was talking to was his polar opposite. He was tall and lean, his skin several shades lighter than his companion, with dark blond hair in a ponytail.

"He's always been crazy," the paler man said, plucking a bottled drink out of a beverage case.

"Really crazy. He tried to off him."

"You shitting me?"

"That's what I hear from Desi."

Enzo and Desi. Short for Lorenzo and Desiderio. Lorenzo Scattori and Desiderio Mancini. Lucius had already made the mistake of not memorizing the names of his foes once; the minute he'd figured out Narcissa's dilemma, he committed every name on those family trees to rote memory. These two were clearly members of the Milan's hybrid Scattori-Mancini crime family. Not capos or even soldato, because if they were they wouldn't discuss things so freely where anyone could hear. Low ranking enforcement men, then - picciotto. They wouldn't last long if they couldn't keep their mouths shut. However, right now that was working to his advantage.

The two men made their way up to the counter. There were two people between Lucius and them, and three in front of Lucius. The cashier was pitifully slow, a young thing snapping her gum who barely seemed able to count the galleons, knuts, and sickles she was receiving. It was a perfect eavesdropping scenario. Lucius willed them to keep talking.

"Well, Luca always said we should have killed the bastard. Only thing that held him back was Rita. Didn't want to break his cousin's heart, you know?"

The short one snorted. "Rita has a heart?" The two of them laughed. On any other day Lucius would have chuckled with them, because they were entirely right – but not today.

The short one continued once their mirth had passed. "Anyway, Enzo got patched up by that healer. The one who used to take care of Nino."

"Gianluca?"

"Nah, I think it's Giacomo."

Lucius's eyes narrowed. These two were clueless. This was the plague of any evil genius or remotely subversive organization – stupid help. Scattori could have people anywhere. The girl at the counter could work for him, for all they knew. There could be a recording device jammed in a licorice wand, now in strawberry flavor. They were not nearly paranoid enough.

"Oh, yeah, Giacomo, I remember him now. Hot fiancée."

"Yeah, the blonde. Pretty thing. I'd love to have her lips around my--"

And suddenly, Lucius had enough. It was time to teach these half-rate lackeys a lesson. He dropped the pack of cigarettes, turned, stepped around the people that separated him from the morons, and punched the wish right out of the stupid mafioso's mouth. And, much as he'd expected, the people parted, disappearing quickly and leaving him to face two shocked, inexperienced men who had no concept of what they were in for.

Draco felt out of place. His classmates had insisted on going out, even though it was Tuesday. He had mostly gotten over his need to drink himself stupid in University, but he didn't mind having a beer or two and getting to know his classmates better.

He clicked with two of them: the Hawaiian, David, and one of the Philadelphians, Ryan. The two from New York, Gabriel and Ernesto, didn't dislike him, nor he them, but they'd kept mostly to themselves so far. Draco strongly suspected that they were a couple. The Japanese man, Isamu (or Sam – for some reason he preferred that), was reserved and Draco thought he had probably been swayed by the German, Henric. Henric barely tolerated him. In every flick of the European's eye, Draco could see that he was one of many that hadn't forgotten his involvement with Voldemort. He hadn't even given Draco a chance, but at least he settled for simple shunning; in all other aspects, he was professional. The South African woman, Chelsea, spent most of her time on a mobile phone or writing letters to her fiancé. Lastly, there was Telemachus, or Telly for short, the second Philadelphian. He was a loose cannon, the youngest of the group, and at times even Greene became irritated with his slacking. There was no denying his aptitude for potions, though. He was a good guy, but Draco saw a little too much of his younger self in his behavior to be entirely comfortable with him.

"You'll have to tell us how our Irish pubs stack up to the real thing," Ryan was saying.

"I told you, I'm English," Draco laughed. "I can only tell you about English pubs."

"It's probably like cheesesteak," Telly said. "Nothing measures up to the real, original thing."

"Probably," Ryan nodded.

"I haven't had a cheesesteak yet," David said.

"Neither has Draco," Ryan stated.

"That's crazy talk!" Telly said, doing a double take. "This calls for a trip to Geno's."

"Ugh. Pat's!" Ryan shot back.

"They're right across from each other, let Draco and David choose when we get there," Ernesto said.

"Or have them get one of each and that way they can taste both," Gabriel added diplomatically.

"Pat's," Draco said without hesitation. He had no idea what they were talking about, but Geno's sounded Italian and he'd had quite enough of all things Italian, what with this whole damned Mafia business.

"Much classier," Ryan assured him. "You can't see it from space."

"Don't listen to him, he wouldn't know good advertising if it sucker-punched him in the jaw," Telly fired back.

"You people are so argumentative!" Ernesto bitched. He was right; Ryan and Telly often butted heads, always harmlessly.

"You, sir, will boo anything," Ryan quipped in a strange voice.

"If the dog show came to town, you'd tailgate it," Telly returned, laughing. Everyone else just stared at them, utterly confused.

"Where are Henric and Isamu?" David asked, transitioning the conversation. "I bet they haven't had a cheesesteak either."

"They weren't interested," Telly shrugged. "They're a little too into potions, if you ask me."

"That's the pot calling the kettle black, isn't it?" Chelsea briefly surfaced from her cell phone to interject.

"You know you can't talk on that thing when we're in the bar," Ernesto said, a tad derisively. Draco was glad that he wasn't the only one that was annoyed by her constant chatter. At this rate, the girl was going to get a tumor.

"Leave her alone, she misses her boo," Gabriel chastised. "How would you feel if you were separated from yours?"

"I'm not. My boo is right here."

From there, everyone descended into a conversation about the origin and meaning of the term 'boo', in the amorous sense. Draco had never even heard the word until now; he tuned out. At least his hypothesis that the two New Yorkers were a couple had been accurate. He was starting to like Ernesto and Gabriel a bit more already; Ernesto seemed as catty as a secondary school girl, and Gabriel was tactful enough to smooth it over, with the end result being that they were terrifically sarcastic together. A Slytherin that didn't appreciate sarcasm was about as common as a selfish Hufflepuff.

They were at last arriving at the bar. Draco looked up at it; it was large and painted with a bright mural. He had noticed that there were a lot of murals throughout the city. It was a nice touch in some areas that were otherwise not very nice to look at in the least. He was quickly discovering that Philadelphia was a city of contrasts, but really, what city wasn't?

"Finnigan's Wake?" he read. He knew the morbid Irish folk song; it didn't surprise him that they'd name a bar after it. He wondered if his compatriots had any idea of the origin, or if they thought it was just a clever name.

"Next time it'll be Fergie's," Ryan said.

"No way. Kildare's!" Telly refuted.

"Moriarty's."

"McGillin's!"

"What's wrong with just the Irish Pub?" Gabriel said, irritated. "I haven't been to the one here, but it's good in Atlantic City."

It was moments like these that Draco felt like an alien from another planet. They might as well be speaking Mandarin. A glance at David assured him that he wasn't the only one that felt that way. Even though David was technically American, he was as far removed from his comfort zone as Draco was. Maybe this was why Henric and Isamu had turned down the invitation.

In front of them, the other four were still arguing and listing Irish pubs, and Chelsea was five feet away cooing to her future husband on the phone. Did a city really need that many Irish pubs? Apparently. Sighing, Draco stepped past the bouncer with the realization that he would probably be dragged to every single one before the year was out, and then some.

"That is my wife you're talking about," Lucius growled at the two stunned men. The offender was on his arse, hand clapped over his bleeding mouth.

"You must be mistaken," the tall one said, wand in hand. "You don't want a quarrel with us, friend."

Lucius willed himself to breathe. He hadn't been this angry in a long, long time. When he was sure that the next phrase to pass his lips would not be an Unforgivable, he spoke.

"No, friends, I think you will find that it is you who don't want a quarrel with me…"

The feeling of culture shock hadn't abated. Strange, considering this was supposed to be an Irish pub. However, there wasn't much about it that could pass for anything Draco knew. He had been warned that partying in America was not like England; the pubs didn't close early and the dance floors weren't usually separate. However, he still wasn't prepared for the mass of people (it was Tuesday!) dancing up above. Worse, everyone but him seemed to know the words to nearly every song that came on; the crowd shouted lyrics in joyful unity and some even pantomimed the story in the songs as they danced. It made him feel terrifically out of place.

He'd even lost his ally, David, in this, because apparently he liked to dance and was well up to date on current American muggle music. He couldn't blame the Hawaiian; he currently had a leggy, dark-skinned brunette practically wrapped around him. The only partner in awkwardness that was left was Chelsea, and though she was close by, she was quite absorbed with texting her far-away boyfriend. Draco thought about texting Hermione and was reaching for his phone when he realized that he'd left the damn thing with her anyway.

He blew out a sigh. The song had changed and some woman was now singing about an umbrella. The only entertainment provided to him was watching Ernesto and Gabriel dance together. It didn't bother him to see two men grinding the same way David was with the brunette. In spite of his rather biased upbringing, his family had always been surprisingly accepting of various sexual preferences – although that came with the unspoken knowledge that even if he had turned out to be gay, he would be expected to marry and father at least one child to carry on the family line. Otherwise, who he screwed (gender-wise) was up to him. Hermione often said that purebloods were an odd bunch, and in light of this seeming contradiction, he supposed she was right.

Yes, his gay classmates were being cheered on by the majority of the crowd, but there were some who made disgusted faces at them or moved away. Their expressions made him surprisingly indignant. He barely knew Gabriel and Ernesto, yet this prejudice against them sparked a certain irritation. Close-minded gits, he found himself thinking. And then Draco smiled to himself.

He had these moments sometimes. Moments where he observed discrimination at work and felt anger churn in his gut. Then he'd realize that for most of his life, he'd been the other person – the one doing the discriminating. For a few seconds he'd feel shame and guilt, but it always transformed into gratefulness that he had been able to see the error of his ways and move past such petty things. Reactions like the one he'd just had were good. It meant that he was a better person, one who could think for himself.

And, just like that, his anxiety dissipated. He suddenly felt ridiculously happy and like everything was as it should be. It wasn't a sensation he experienced often. With a slightly dazed smile on his face, he bought two more beers. Then he pressed one into a surprised Chelsea's hand and practically herded her onto the dance floor. Once they'd rejoined their classmates, the girl finally put away her phone, and Draco finally put away the last of his reservations about the course his life was taking. He would be absolutely kidding himself if he didn't think that a huge chunk of that serene happiness wasn't firmly rooted in the girl currently in possession of his phone.

He was in love with Hermione Granger. And as far as he was concerned, anyone who didn't like it could go fuck themselves.

He hadn't gotten much from the two brainless wonders in the convenience store. They were low on the food chain and as such weren't told anything of consequence. However, he had gotten a little more information about Giacomo Cannavare.

Apparently, he was a consigliere of sorts. He had accepted the dubious role of healer to the Don nearly three decades before, because his father owed a favor. It had gone favorably for him and he had rapidly advanced among the ranks. He was renowned for having a level head and a will of steel. The two men spoke of him with awe, the kind that said they'd never met Giacomo but knew that he was one of the most trusted and held in high esteem among his peers.

Once Saturnino Scattori passed, he had remained consigliere to his sons. Most disturbingly, Giacomo had played an important role in creating the rift between the Scattori brothers. He had supported the joining of the Mancini and Scattori families and sided with Lorenzo during negotiations with another crime family in Turin. Even Lucius had to admit that Cannavare's judgment on the matter was right. Still, it gave Gaetano Scattori plenty of reason to want to get back at him, and men of his (low) caliber tended to go for what mattered most to a man – wife and family. He'd already proven it by going after his own brother.

That put Narcissa in even more danger. Though his two unwilling confidantes had made it clear that Giacomo's activities with the mafia had dwindled in recent years due to the relative peace, and that was probably why Lucius hadn't been able to find anything on him, he was still in very deep. He'd given up healing and invested some of his considerable income into various things, and was now a successful businessman. However, the two men told Lucius what he already knew; loyalty to the family was paramount and when mob responsibilities reared their head, Giacomo would respond first and foremost to them.

Lucius let them go with little more than a warning. Once they had figured out who he was, they'd assured him that they were in no way supportive of Gaetano Scattori and didn't believe that Lorenzo would harm his wife, and Lucius was well-practiced at distinguishing a harmless lackey from the more dangerous sort. Nonetheless, Lucius had had enough. Poor Narcissa had been through enough of this cloak and dagger shit with him; it might break her heart, but she was not going to marry into the same old thing again, if he had any say in it. Giacomo was the most benevolent kind of mobster, but no man who loved Narcissa should be willing to put her in danger for his own ends. He'd made that mistake once.

So, in the end, he did exactly what he'd distantly considered in the first place. He stormed Giacomo Cannavare's house, thoroughly utilizing the element of surprise, and snatched Narcissa from right between Giacomo and both Scattori brothers. So much for a rift. So much for Giacomo's good judgment and Lorenzo not harming Narcissa. So much for family loyalty…

But it didn't matter now. They were back in his flat, safe and sound. Nothing short of a meteor would be able to break his wards. Narcissa was in his arms. Overwhelmed with happiness at knowing she was out of harm's way, he lowered his lips to hers and kissed her.

She was trembling against him. He had startled her as much as the men that threatened her, but she didn't pull away. Her lips moved softly beneath his and his hands moved to cup her finely shaped jaw. Merlin, he loved her.

Her tongue snuck out to play along his upper lip. He met her in kind and was soon kissing her with fervor, his tongue reacquainting itself with the warm, sweet space of her mouth. At last her arms wound around his torso and he felt his body ignite with want. No. Not just want. Passion. He was going to show Narcissa that he loved her, that he would never harm her, that she was his, and he hers…

And everything was perfect, her lips, her hands, her body, her touch…until he felt a small flare of pain in his neck. It was tiny, a quick bite that faded in a second, but a fuzzy part of his mind knew it had been deliberate. He forced himself out of the erotic haze and took a step back from her.

She stood there, near the edge of the bed, in the dark. Her lips were red and plump from being kissed. The zipper of her dress was undone and it hung too loose on her because of it, exposing a kissable collar bone and the tantalizing shadow of cleavage. In all ways she looked like a woman about to fall into bed with the man she loved, except for her eyes. They were cold.

"Narcissa?" he said softly. His tongue felt clumsy in his mouth. Not a good sign. He didn't want to see this for what it really was. He'd stubbornly hold out hope that it was something else…

But it wasn't. His entire body was going numb. Lucius sunk to the floor before he fell, knowing that if his legs went out from under him, he could be seriously injured in the wake of gravity. This way, he was already on the ground and couldn't crack his head on anything on the way down. There was no use in making a bad situation worse.

Narcissa bent down next to him. "It's a muscle relaxant," she said. "I knew you'd do this, Lucius. I knew you'd try to reclaim me. You wouldn't accept my choice to stay with Giacomo."

"Why? He's…no better," he struggled to speak, aware that he was slurring. "I love you."

"Don't patronize me."

"Not," was all he could say. It was getting harder and harder to form words, or to move at all. A steady anger-tinged fear was growing inside him; this was going to leave him completely incapacitated, except for his mind, and who knew how long he would lay there, despondent, angry, and betrayed...and the one thing he had always been good at was talking, convincing people to see things his way, and right when he needed it, that talent was neutralized.

"You didn't care enough when it mattered. And now that you can't have me, you suddenly love me? I don't think so." There was a rustling sound and she held a scrap of paper in front of him. He could no longer move his eyes; they were stuck in focus above her head, so only by virtue of her holding the paper up could he read it. A thousand questions exploded in his head. It was a marriage license. And it had his name on it – his and hers. What the hell?

"I took the liberty of having this made up. It's an excellent forgery. Now I'm going to fix my dress and take a little trip to Gringotts."

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck! She would have unfettered access to his vaults if the goblins believed she had remarried him. He wouldn't berate himself for not anticipating this. Narcissa had her moments but she had never been malicious. She wasn't…this wasn't right. What would drive her to act like this? To hurt him, to steal from him? She didn't need the money; he'd given her enough in the divorce for the rest of her life.

Blackmail. The Scattoris were holding something over her. She had to do this. There was some great consequence if she didn't. That had to be it.

"I know what you're thinking," she said suddenly. "That Giacomo must be forcing me to do this. That it's some kind of blackmail. I assure you, Lucius, this is entirely by my choice." She leaned in close, near enough to kiss him. "You make me sick," she whispered. "I never want to see you again. I don't want to have to prove it to you any further, but I will if you push me. I don't suggest you do that, Lucius, because I know things about you that could land you right back in Azkaban."

He wished he could speak, but wasn't entirely sure what he would say even if he could. Her words hurt. They hit him right in the gut, harder than any punch ever would. But more than her words, her intent wounded him. This had been a set-up. When he stormed that house, the brothers and Giacomo were preparing her to go to Adriatica Alley and meet him so she could do this exact thing when he brought her back. All he had done was accelerate their schedule a bit. He had been played like a fucking harp.

He couldn't summon the proper anger. He didn't feel stupid, either. If he couldn't see this coming, then it was truly a plot of the highest – and cruelest - caliber. It should have driven the tentative rehabilitation from him, crashed his walls back down, but he wouldn't let it. He had vowed never to revert to the man he'd once been, and not even this would turn him back. Though, that wasn't to say he wouldn't seek to remedy the situation…

Narcissa slid from his sight and he dimly registered her moving around the flat – he could still hear – and he clamped down on his racing thoughts. They would do him no good right now.

It might have been two minutes or a half hour, but finally he heard the door close. He was alone. Paralyzed. About to have the greater part of his fortune stolen by the woman he'd recently fallen head over heels in love with a second time. All he could do was breathe – and hope that the drug, whatever it was, wouldn't affect the muscles that accomplished that.

Draco was a little bit drunk. It felt good, though. Ryan had gone up to buy them another round without realizing that he was out of cash, and much to his dismay the ATM was broken.

"I've got it," Draco said, digging in his pocket for his wallet. He was out of cash, too, but had recently begun to understand the muggle obsession with their plastic substitutes. It was easy to whip out a credit card, and it wasn't like there was any worry about him having to pay it back. That had never been a problem for him, fortunately.

"You sure?"

He waved Ryan off and gave the order to the bartender. She lined up and uncapped several beers and shouted a total he couldn't quite make out at him. He handed her the card. He was talking to Ryan, so he didn't quite register how she'd handed it off to someone else – a short, muscular, auburn-haired man with freckles and hazel eyes. That is, he didn't notice it until the man in question did a double take at the card and then shouted at the top of his lungs,

"MALFOY?!"

Draco would have laughed at the way Ryan jumped and spilled his beer if he hadn't heard the note of consternation in the unidentified man's voice. He tensed and turned. Then, more slowly than he would have if he was sober, he said,

"Finnigan?"

It was Seamus Finnigan, all right. He was a little older, with the rugged, rascally stubble that most women loved, but no slower to anger than he had been in school.

"What the hell are you doing in my bar?"

Draco blinked. "Your bar?"

"It's called Finnigan's Wake, or did that escape you?" the redhead said acerbically. "My uncle Garrett is the owner."

"Then it's not your bar."

"You've really lost your touch, Malfoy, if you're insulting me with the obvious."

"It's not a fair fight. I'm drunk."

Seamus stared at him. Ryan, meanwhile, had just connected the dots.

"You two know each other?"

"Yeah, we went to school together," Draco responded.

"And weren't we just the best of pals," Seamus retorted, his choler growing by the minute. The tone in his voice jarred Draco out of his dreamy buzz. There was nothing like the intrusion of a spotty past to bring on relative sobriety.

"Listen, Finnigan, I'm here with friends and not for trouble. I have no quarrel with you. Now just let me pay for the stupid beer."

Seamus shrugged and stalked away to run the credit card. Draco could feel Ryan looking at him. He blew out a sigh. He knew that exhilarating feeling of happiness was short-lived. It always was.

It was strange whenever he ran into people from Hogwarts. Some forgave him without a word, and others – well, he had been a right git to Seamus more than once. But the Irish were quick to love, to hate, and (very) occasionally to forgive. He could hope that the former Gryffindor's better nature would win out.

When Seamus came back, there was a baffled little smile on his face. "Malfoy, I hate to have to be the one to tell you this, because I'm sure it'll embarrass the hell out of you, but your card isn't working."

Draco frowned. "Are you sure?"

"I ran it three times. Insufficient funds." Finnigan's lips twisted slightly. "Daddy cut you off?"

Draco resisted the urge to impart some choice words upon him. He deserved Seamus's jab. He had to admit, though time had done nothing for his temper, the redhead's sarcasm had been honed to near-perfection.

"No," he responded seriously. Chelsea had now approached, wondering what the hold up with her beer was. "Chels, can I use your phone?"

"Who you calling?" she asked, picking up one of the beers and sipping.

"Hey, he hasn't paid for that yet," Seamus said.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Paddy," Chelsea replied, rather obnoxiously, and handed Seamus a twenty and Draco the phone. Draco couldn't resist a smirk.

"Yeah, you're a charmer, Malfoy, having women pay for your drinks," Seamus grumbled.

"You only wish you had my talent," he retorted as he dialed.

"Well, maybe if I was looking to hone my skills as a spoiled git, I'd be envious."

"You're acting like a git right now," Ryan said, barely stumbling over the unfamiliar insult. Both Draco and Seamus's necks rotated toward him. The good-natured Philadelphian continued, "Whatever beef you two had in school, it's over. You're adults. Act like it." It was mostly directed at Seamus. And just like that, Ryan took his beer and meandered away.

Silence ruled in the moment after his departure, or as silent as it could be inside a pub twenty minutes before closing time. Draco was spared the awkwardness of having to look at Finnigan by the phone ringing. He could see that Chelsea was still there, her eyes skewering Seamus in a way that suddenly made him discover a lot more respect for the terminally aloof girl. It felt good to have people in his corner.

The phone rang. And then it went to voicemail. Strange; his father nearly always picked up. He wasn't going to leave him a message now. It was too noisy and living without a credit card for a day or two was no great hardship.

"Weird," he murmured, folding the phone back up and handing it to Chelsea. She tucked it into her pocket.

"You boys going to finish your pissing contest?"

"I think Ryan won," Draco said. She laughed, and surprisingly, so did Seamus. With that, Chelsea took her beer and headed back toward the dance floor. Draco picked up his beverage and took a long sip. When he looked up, Seamus was rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"So what're you doing here, anyway?"

"A doctorate in potions with Finley Greene."

As many people did when they heard that, Seamus grimaced. "The people you're with…?"

"Classmates."

"Hm." Seamus's true words went unspoken, but Draco could imagine what he was thinking – he treated these classmates much better than some of the old ones. "You living in the city?" Seamus continued.

"Yeah."

"Do you like it?"

"It's…different."

For the first time, a smile broke across Seamus's face. "You'll get used to it. It grows on you. Then you can't shake it."

"Do you live here, now?"

"Just for a little while." He picked up a glass and began to dry it. "I used to come and visit every summer when I was in Hogwarts. I decided to reinstitute that policy after my engagement fell apart this spring, so here I am."

"Sorry about--"

"Don't be." Seamus leaned over conspiratorially and said, "You can't imagine how much ass I get here, for the accent alone."

Draco snorted, but smiled. "I'm flattered, Finnigan, but I'm afraid I'm already taken."

"Are you?" He tilted his head. "Cause it would work for you, too. Like that blonde over there – you could say anything to her, I bet. Go tell her that her face looks like it had a run in with surrealist painter on acid, and she'd still make out with you because you're English."

"And you call me charming," he chuckled.

Seamus shrugged, unapologetic, and Draco had to admit that the girl he'd pointed to was wearing about six pounds of poorly-done makeup. It made her look like a transvestite.

"So who's the lucky lady?" the redhead asked.

Draco hesitated and wasn't entirely sure why. Here went nothing. After another gulp of liquid courage, he said, "Hermione Granger."

"Come again?"

"Hermione Granger."

"You're shitting me!" Seamus shouted. "That rubbish in Witch Weekly was true?"

It was Draco's turn to shrug.

"No, you two hate each other! I think Protestants and Catholics might like each other more."

"Times change, and so do people." That was abundantly clear to Draco, especially now; Finnigan had never struck him as the sharpest tool in the shed, but evidently he was smarter and more worldly than people gave him credit for.

"Well, bugger me," Seamus said. It seemed like a good summary. The redhead shook his head in wonder. "You should bring Hermione in sometime, I haven't seen her in ages. I work Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday."

Draco nodded. He probably would, just to surprise her. "I guess I still owe you for this beer."

"Nah, your pretty classmate got you. She single?"

He shook his head. "She's got a fiancé back in South Africa and she's a bit obsessed with him."

"That so? Too bad. I like women who can spit nails."

Draco wondered if he did, too, because Hermione certainly qualified.

"See you around, Finnigan."

"Yeah," the Irishman's eyes were on Chelsea where she danced sandwiched between Gabriel and Ernesto. "Around."

Narcissa's ankle was throbbing fiercely. It was only too convenient; now, even if she did manage to escape their makeshift holding cell (a large, empty pantry), she wouldn't be able to make it out the door without collapsing in pain. Whatever she had done to it, it was bad; it was swollen and bruised, purpled all the way down to her toes, and hot to the touch.

She lifted her head when she heard voices. They were conversing in rapid Italian. Warily she teetered to her feet, supporting her weight on her uninjured foot and leaning against the wall to balance.

The door to the pantry opened. She had to squint against the light it let in. There were two men dragging a woman in between them. She was dazed, but not unconscious; she was also an exact doppelganger for the woman already in the pantry. Narcissa's eyes widened. Suddenly, she had a very, very bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

And the two men were not leaving. She didn't recognize either of them, but they had the look of thugs. Hesitantly, Narcissa hopped forward and eased herself down to look at the mystery woman where they'd deposited her. She was definitely Polyjuiced; they'd probably gotten hair from her brush. This was not good. Not good at all. Her mind couldn't even begin to generate all the wicked things someone could do posing as her.

This woman evidently hadn't satisfied with her impersonation, or else why would they dump her here? The transformation was wearing off. Her skin rippled as she began to change back to her true identity. Narcissa's observation of the change was disrupted as a third man cast a shadow over the narrow doorway.

She threw a hateful glare at him. It was Gaetano, the one who had beaten and hexed Lucius within an inch of his life and probably ordered the hit on Draco. In spite of his assertion that it had been a Mancini plot, she had yet to see proof of that. Until then, the Mancinis were innocent until proven guilty.

Except, of course, the one who had just materialized in front of her - for when she returned her eyes to the woman on the floor, it was Rita Skeeter, nee Mancini. Narcissa's mouth fell open.

Rita looked around once and immediately shot to her feet, swaying dizzily.

"Gaetano! Gaetano, what are you…?"

"You've served your purpose, Rita."

"What are you saying? I'm your wife! You can't do this to me!"

Gaetano waved the other men out of the room, and without further ceremony, he slammed the door. Both women heard several locks being fastened and wards being cast.

Narcissa was pressed against the wall again, struggling to process it. Rita Skeeter had impersonated her. It went without saying that she hadn't been doing anything good. Rage sparked in her, the likes of which hadn't been felt or seen in a long, long time.

"You," she said through her teeth, "what have you done?"

Skeeter turned to her, her face streaked with shocked tears. Narcissa was pleased to note that there was an appropriate amount of fear in her gaze, as well. The woman had just realized that she was trapped in a small room with someone she had done serious and unprovoked wrong to.

Ah, but she had underestimated the woman's rancor. Rita's face turned ugly and she glowered at Narcissa.

"Your dear, heroic ex-husband came to rescue you. He got me instead, but he couldn't tell the difference with the Polyjuice…and he's quite the lover, Ms. Black."

That was it. That was all she could take. For once in her life, she would channel Bellatrix. Just once. Rita was not at all prepared for the other blonde to lunge forward, or for the substantial impact of Narcissa's hand as she was thoroughly bitch-slapped.

"If you touched my husband, you heinous bitch, I will kill you!"

"Ex-husband, honey, you gave that up!" Rita shot back, grabbing for Narcissa's hair. Narcissa managed to evade her, well-versed in that move from interactions with her sisters.

"YOU," Narcissa shouted, "are an evil whore who thrives on other people's misery!"

"And you're an inbred twat!"

"I swear to Merlin, if any harm comes to Lucius or my son, you will regret ever being born," she vowed darkly.

"What are you going to do, choke me with your ugly designer dress?" Skeeter taunted.

"If it comes to that," Narcissa snarled. And she was one hundred percent serious. In fact, it was time to give the other woman a scare. Narcissa undid the sash that cinched the waist of her dress and wrapped the ends around her fists.

"Want to play, Rita?"

Author's Note 2: Okay, this is going to be a long one. 1) Finnigan's Wake is a real place in Philadelphia. Of course everything about Seamus's relation to it is purely my imagination at work. 2) The joke between Ryan and Telly is based on one of the Bud Light 'Real Men of Genius' commercials – the Ultimate Philadelphia Sports Fan. If you're in the mood for a laugh, youtube it. You might not get it, though, if you're unfamiliar with the city and its, er, reputation. 3) Pat's and Geno's are the center of a cheesesteak debate – as in, which one has the best steak in Philly. I'll keep mum on my preference. 4) Lucius was dosed with a muscle relaxant, specifically a neuromuscular blocker; what this does (in layman's terms) is paralyze the muscles so that the person can't move. However, they're still cognitively aware and able to feel pain and other sensations. These kinds of drugs are used often in surgery (along with anesthesia) to ensure minimal complications. They can affect the diaphragm, so people who are given these drugs usually get put on ventilation to be safe. 5) Does anyone need a lengthy explanation of mafia hierarchy? 6) All (or most) questions will be answered or at the very least clarified in the next chapter. 7) I had way too much fun writing the cat fight – and it isn't over yet.