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Consequences and Complexities	By : ckllsdam Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 16346 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and canon situations belong to the Harry Potter fandom and JKRowling. Plot and OCs are mine. I make no money from this work.

Chapter List
- 18
- 19
Chapter 19 – Satisfaction

The next morning dawned cool and clear, quite typical for an early spring day, and the residents of Malfoy Manor had all gathered for breakfast in the solarium. Narcissa had orchestrated a rather elaborate buffet for a Friday morning, but had “pish-toshed” Lucius’ ribbing when he accused her of catering to their son’s stomach as a means to keep him close for a while longer.

“You forget, dear, that he’s quite capable of producing a fine meal for himself now,” she reminded him. “The food is not what would keep him here, but I’m hoping that the gathered family will have a more compelling effect.”

Lucius lifted an eyebrow in response. “I hardly think the company is less important than the food, no matter the circumstances.” He paused, then added in a stage whisper, “Do you know that I caught him sneaking into Louisa’s nursery last night?”

“Do tell,” Narcissa encouraged. “But hurry; they’ll be here any moment.”

“I was a little hungry after, well you know, and I didn’t want to disturb you, so I was heading down the hall to go ask one of the house-elves to bring a snack to my study. I saw him go into her room, but he closed the door before he could have seen me, I’m sure.”

“Do you know how long he stayed?” she wondered.

“Not exactly, but it was more than a few minutes. I, uh, walked quietly past the door again about a half-hour later and I could hear what sounded like humming.”

“You were tip-toeing in the hallways again, Lucius,” Narcissa accused with a grin, bright blue eyes dancing with amusement. “I’d love to catch you just once; the Pensieve memories would fetch me a fortune on the open market, should you ever decide to throw me over for a younger model.”

“Trust me, love, it’ll never happen. I’ve learned to ‘tip-toe’ with the best of them,” he replied, and although it contained a thinly-veiled reference to his formerly unsavory past, there was no darkness in his comment.

She twisted her lips again and nodded. “I’m quite sure you’re right, although at the moment, I’m eminently more interested in what Draco was doing.”

“When?” inquired a male voice entering the room.

“Ah, speak of the little devil,” Lucius murmured, peering over the reading glasses he’d donned as he grabbed the morning Prophet, as if to taunt his wife with his patented “can’t wait to see how you’ll finagle your way out of this one” look.

And she promptly threw him under the proverbial bus. “Your father was wandering the hallways last night and happened to see you entering Louisa’s bedroom. Was everything all right, dear?”

Draco settled into a chair and reached for the platter of scrambled eggs. Shrugging, he answered, “Nothing wrong. My body clock is still a bit off-kilter with the time difference and I couldn’t sleep. I just thought I’d… visit with her for a little while.”

Narcissa wrapped her hand around Draco’s and squeezed. “That’s lovely, dear. Nothing quite so soothing as watching a child sleep.”

“I’d have to agree. I sat in the rocking chair for a few minutes, watching her and humming a lullaby, and before I knew it, I was in the land of Nod. I think I probably slept there for a couple of hours before waking up with a crick in my neck. Then I went back to bed.”

“And you finally slept well?” Narcissa hoped aloud.

“I did, thank you,” he replied. His attention was immediately distracted by the arrival of his daughter and her mother. He couldn’t help the bright smile that appeared as the little girl bounded enthusiastically from her mother’s grasp into his lap.

“Hi Papa Drake!” she greeted at full volume, following it up with tiny arms flung around his neck and wet pink lips being plastered against his cheek.

Hermione chuckled at the animated display of affection. “Good morning, everyone,” she added, reaching out to remove her little girl from Draco’s embrace.

“She’s fine, Hermione. I enjoy a quick morning cuddle,” he replied, adding a quick kiss to Louisa’s cheek, causing the little one to giggle.

“She needs to eat her breakfast, and she’ll get it all over you,” Hermione warned.

“That’s what Scourgify is for,” Draco answered. “Besides, it’s a special occasion.”

“Oh? And what’s that?” Hermione asked, amused and curious.

“It’s a Friday - last day of the week before the weekend. Clearly, a very special day, no matter what else may occur,” Draco solemnly retorted. “And if memory serves, your half-day of work.” His reminder of their afternoon commitment was as unsubtle as it was unambiguous.

Hermione nodded as she sipped at the cup of Lady Grey tea to which she’d added a ridiculous amount of sugar. “Yes, and I haven’t forgotten our appointment. Just meet me at St. Mungo’s a little after one and we’ll be set to go.”

Lucius and Narcissa traded a look, each indicating to the other that they knew nothing of the pair’s plans for the afternoon. Narcissa decided to stick her nose in with an offer.

“Do you need me to look after Louisa for you, dear?” she inquired.

Hermione smiled pleasantly. “If you wouldn’t mind, that would be great. Draco and I are going to pick out some furniture.” She nodded her head at the child in her father’s arms, indicating for whom she was shopping while making it clear that she preferred not to be specific about their mission.

Lucius nodded his head sagely. “That’s fine. Just bill it to the household account,” he instructed.

Draco protested the intrusion. “I’ll handle this, Father.”

“I’m sure you’re perfectly able to do that, Son, but I’d already promised to finance any changes that needed to be made. I keep my promises,” he said pointedly, looking over his reading glasses at the younger man.

“As do I, Father. Please. This is important to me.”

Lucius sighed. “Very well, if you’re insistent.” He glanced again at his wife, twitching his lips in amusement for less than a second. She noticed.

“Thank you,” Draco replied with a sharp nod. He turned his attention back to Hermione. “I’ll be there no later than quarter after the hour.”

Hermione acknowledged his comment with a bob of her head as she finished a piece of wheat toast. After a sip of grapefruit juice, she rose from her seat. “If you’ll all excuse me, I have an early appointment with a new patient, so I need to dash off.”

She bent to kiss the squirming toddler in Draco’s arms, causing the young man a pang of angst that he couldn’t claim a kiss for himself. Instead, he hugged the child closer and kissed her. “Be a good girl for Papa and your grandparents, ‘tite chou. Mummy will see you this afternoon.”

Louisa giggled and tucked her face into Draco’s neck, blowing a raspberry against his skin. He laughed, and tickled her belly in return. “She’ll be perfect. Won’t you, princess?” he affirmed with the child.

“I is a special princess. Pépère says so,” Louisa announced, to a chorus of chuckles.

“That you are, my darling, that you are,” Narcissa agreed, extending her arms to take the girl from Draco. While he appeared reluctant to release her, Narcissa would not be denied. “She’s squirming. Time for potty.”

Draco relinquished his hold, turning the child over to her grandmother, and rose to his feet. Somehow, he found himself following Hermione’s trek out of the room and toward the Floo. As she struggled with her brief-bag, wand, and a light cloak, he reached in. “Here, let me,” he offered, taking the bag from her arms as she settled the cloak over her shoulders.

“Oh, thank you,” she mumbled, a little surprised first by his presence and then his chivalrous behavior. She accepted the leather bag from his hand and smiled tentatively. “I guess I’ll see you this afternoon, then.”

“Yes, I’ll meet you in the lobby. Have a good morning,” he offered, then stepped back as she activated the Floo and stepped in, calling out her destination.

He watched as she disappeared into the green flames and stood quietly, hands thrust into his pockets for a long moment after the roar of her departure had waned. Draco shook his head to clear the cobwebs and headed down the hall to the sweeping staircase that led to his suite. Taking the steps two at a time, he had nearly reached the top when he heard his father’s booming baritone calling his name. He halted and leaned over the railing to return a reply.

“Here, Father.”

“Ah, there you are. I’m heading to Diagon Alley this morning to run a few errands and I was wondering if you wanted to join me,” Lucius invited.

“While I’d love to accompany you, I have a couple of fixed appointments that I need to keep, and I don’t want to slow you down. Maybe next time,” Draco replied. He would have enjoyed some time with his father, but the younger man was not yet ready to reveal his broader plans to anyone, least of all the most meddling, if well-intentioned, father in the wizarding world.

“As you wish, then. I’ll be gone most of the morning and it sounds as though you and Hermione will be occupied for the afternoon, so I’ll see you at dinner.” Lucius nodded, turned on his heel, and entered his study to gather the paperwork he needed to take to his own meetings.

Draco climbed the remaining steps, feeling a twinge of uneasiness as he thought about what his father might be getting up to now, but set it aside to focus on his own mission. Since he had had little success on the previous day in learning about whatever twisted manipulations his parents had set into play (and little likelihood of discovering anything further immediately), he’d decided to focus for a few days on his own plans and had contacted an estate agent to look at potential sites for his project. There were three vacant properties in wizarding London that seemed to show some promise, and he would be inspecting each of them this morning. If all went well, he hoped to make a stop at Gringott’s to facilitate payment arrangements before meeting Hermione at St. Mungo’s. He smiled broadly at the thought of a day filled with promise and gathered his leather bag, wand and cloak. He galloped down the stairs and called for his mother as he neared the bottom.

“Mother! Where are you?”

He heard her muffled reply from behind the doors to her yellow drawing room. “We’re here, Draco.”

He pushed the door open carefully, being cautious in case Louisa was toddling around nearby, and saw the two blondes, one elegant and the other exuberant, holding hands and dancing to a silly tune that played on the music box which rested on a small cherry-wood table. He marveled at how his mother could still look so regal while grinning from ear to ear and making goofy faces at her granddaughter.

“I’m heading out to do some errands this morning, and I probably won’t be back until late this afternoon, Mother,” he announced.

“No! Papa Drake stay here with me today,” Louisa complained loudly.

Draco dropped his burdens on a nearby chair and swept the girl from the floor into his arms. “There’s nothing I would like better, my sweet. But Papa has business to take care of so that I can then take good care of you. I promise that we can spend all day together tomorrow, and maybe we can even convince Mummy to go on a little picnic with us. Would that be all right with you?” he offered, hoping that he’d made the idea sound enticing. He sweetened the pot with a big kiss to Louisa’s cheek and another promise. “If the weather is good, I’ll even take you on a pony ride.”

Draco looked up at his mother quickly, asking silently whether the stables were still operating. Her smiling nod told him that he could deliver on his vow, and he breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Louisa pouted a little while she deliberated over the offer her newly-found papa had made, and finally deciding that a pony ride with the tall, handsome man was too much to resist, she relented. “Well, okay, but only if Mummy rides the grey horsey. We ride the black one.”

Since she offered no further explanation, Draco again looked to his mother for confirmation that this was a good idea. She grinned, but there was a hint of mischief in it. That was enough for him to add a caveat.

“As long as Mummy approves, that’s fine. If she has a different idea, though, we’re going to have to take that into account,” he added, hoping it would be enough to manage the situation without create future toddler melt-downs and tantrums. The lip-biting that Narcissa was trying to hide did not bode well.

“You be a good girl for Mémère, and Mummy and Papa will see you for dinner tonight. Okay?” Draco said as he set the child on her feet, dropping a kiss on the top of her blonde curls. He gathered up his things and moved to kiss his mother’s cheek. “I expect that we’ll be back sometime around four or five, but we’ll Floo call if it will be any later than that.”

“No problem, love,” Narcissa replied. “Hermione can always call me on the mobile, anyway.”

Draco blinked. “Mobile? When did you get a mobile?”

“Oh,” she waved a hand in dismissal, “at least two years ago. Why?”

Draco shook his head with a smile. “I have to get one, then. Couldn’t afford it while I was in Salem, but all my co-workers had them. Handy little things, and a whole lot quicker than owls. Maybe I’ll try to do that this afternoon if I can sneak over to Muggle London for a bit. With an address in that section of town, I shouldn’t have any problems establishing an account.”

“Good idea, Draco. I’ll show you how to program it, if you like.” Narcissa smiled again, and Draco knew he was being teased over her advantage.

“I’ll welcome the help. Now, though, I need to get my arse in gear if I’m not to be late to my appointments. I’ll see you later.” With that, Draco strode out of the room and toward the main Floo that would connect him with the Leaky Cauldron, and the missions he’d set for the day.

--_--

Four hours later, Draco Malfoy was feeling the effects of a massive headache, brought on by trying to crunch too many numbers mentally in the face of conflicting, confusing, or downright confounding information. The estate agent he’d met with had indeed showed him three properties, none of which had been ideal, to say the least, and only one of which might have been acceptable if it hadn’t been both too small – in fact the smallest of the three buildings – and ridiculously overpriced for the included amenities and less-than-desirable location. The fact that it would also need extensive renovation to meet Draco’s goals and needs, thus adding dramatically to the already excessive cost, made it that much less attractive. In a pinch, he could make it work, but he wasn’t so eager to begin his mission that he couldn’t wait to something a little closer to his vision to come available.

His one unqualified success of the morning had been in obtaining the mobile phone that he had stuffed into his leather bag. It would need to be charged and programmed with the handful of numbers that he’d be likely to call: Hermione, his mother, and… well, he didn’t know of anyone else who had one of these dandy devices. From what his mother had said, it seemed apparent that the electronics did, in fact, function in the wizarding world, although he didn’t know whether that meant there needed to be some minor modification made. If the thing worked “out of the box,” he imagined that a fair handful of the younger witches and wizards he once knew were probably carrying the shiny little devices in their robes. As he thought further about it, the items were rather ubiquitous in Salem, which was nearly as much a wizarding community as Hogsmeade, leading him to conclude that he’d not have any major troubles with the thing. Now if he only knew what an “icon” was, he’d be feeling much more comfortable about using it without blowing it up, at least in a figurative sense. He’d bet half the Galleons in his vault that Hermione could teach him how to use the phone in an hour, recalling with the tiniest shudder how many things she’d taught him in the span of a few days, three years earlier. Shaking off that thought forcefully, he mused that it might be another good excuse to spend additional time with her, as “pals” of course.

Since it was just one o’clock, and Draco was less than two blocks from his destination, he strolled slowly along the street, peering into shop windows and allowing his mouth to water slightly at the wonderful aromas wafting from the bakery, the café, and a little bistro that had apparently opened since the last time he’d visited the area. He hadn’t had time to stop for lunch, and was now regretting that fact. His stomach would growl for the next few hours if he didn’t do something to correct the situation. Thinking like a Slytherin, he decided that it probably wasn’t a bad thing after all. He smiled broadly as he pushed open the door and entered the lobby of St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, and took a seat to wait for Hermione.

Less than five minutes later, Healer Granger strode purposefully out of the lift and into the main lobby, searching the room for a familiar face. One glimpse of the back of Draco’s blond-haired head was the only thing she needed to pick him out from the crowd. She tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to greet her.

“Good afternoon, Hermione.”

“Hi, Draco,” she responded, sounding a little out of breath.

He smiled. “I hope you weren’t rushing. I don’t have anything else planned for the afternoon, so I could have waited if you needed to finish something up,” he offered.

“Oh, no, it’s just that if I don’t get out of here now, someone will invariably find me with something that they think is an emergency but is really just nonsense, or worse, paperwork. So I’d really just like to get going, if that’s all right with you,” she said.

“Not loving your work?” he wondered.

“Goodness, no. Nothing like that at all! I love what I do; it’s the accompanying, often unnecessary paperwork that drives me crazy,” she added.

Draco looked at her incredulously. “Really? Hermione Granger not liking writing reports? Well, knock me over with a feather.”

Hermione laughed at his comment. “I know, the biggest swot at Hogwarts hating reports is a little… out of character, I guess. It’s not so much the reports as the fact that I spend easily three times as many hours on that than I doing seeing actual patients, and that’s what I became a Mind Healer to do. That part can be a little frustrating.”

“I can understand that. As much of a bookworm as you always were, it was my impression that you were never reluctant to dive into the action, supported, of course, by the reams of research you’d already done,” he teased.

“Yes, well, the bottom line is that I want out of here, now!” she retorted with a slightly impatient shift of her body toward the door.

“Lead the way, Healer,” Draco said. As they exited onto the street, he touched her elbow lightly when she threatened to take off at full gallop. “Hey, before we go shopping, would you be interested in grabbing a quick bite to eat? I’m starving because my morning appointments ran long and I didn’t get a chance to stop,” he explained.

“Oh, that’s a marvelous idea! I barely even had breakfast this morning, so I’m pretty hungry too,” she admitted. “There’s a great little bistro about a block from here, in the opposite direction.”

“I saw it on the way over, I think,” Draco answered. “That’s fine by me.”

They reversed their direction and headed for the small bistro, arriving just as several couples and small parties departed. “Seems like we have good timing,” Draco observed.

“Lunch hour crowd heading back to work, I’d say,” Hermione agreed. She waited while Draco requested seating for two from the attendant at the door, who immediately escorted them to a linen-draped table near the large picture window that dominated the front façade.

“Thank you,” Hermione said as Draco held out the chair for her, waiting until she was settled to take the seat opposite her. Within moments, a waiter appeared – tall, dark-haired, and painfully skinny – inquiring about their choice of beverages as he gave them menus to review.

“Hermione?” Draco deferred. His nerves wanted nothing more than a tall ale to take the edge off, but he didn’t want to drink an alcoholic beverage if she had only a soft drink.

“I’d love a nice, crisp white wine. Do you have a pinot grigio?” she asked the waiter.

“Yes, we do. Would you prefer a glass, a carafe or a bottle?”

With a glance at Draco, who offered a smile and a nod, she indicated that a bottle and two glasses would do nicely.

After a quick exchange comparing the relative merits of various menu items, Hermione settled on a grilled chicken Caesar salad, and Draco on baked cod with chips. As the waiter (“I’m Eric, if you need anything”) left, Draco lifted his glass of wine. “To a productive afternoon, hopefully much more productive than my morning,” he proposed with a wry grin while managing to not sound like a whiner.

Predictably, Hermione could not let any curiosity go unexplored. “What happened, or didn’t, as the case may be, this morning?”

“I was looking for a property to buy and saw nothing close to what I needed,” he answered with a shrug.

“I thought you were going to stay at the townhouse for a while,” Hermione replied, her brow creased with confusion. “Have you changed your mind?”

“Oh, no! Not a property to live in, a property for a business venture,” Draco clarified. “I think I’ll probably stay in the townhouse at least until that gets off the ground. As long as that’s all right with you,” he added hurriedly.

“I wouldn’t object to you doing anything at all that you want to do, staying or leaving, Draco. You’re the only one who can decide what’s right for you. But, I do think it’s not a bad idea for you to be deliberate and take your time about all these decisions and changes. You have a lot of adjusting to do,” Hermione reminded him.

“You’re absolutely right, and that’s why I agreed to stay in the townhouse in the first place. It will allow me some time to find my balance again, and time to get to know Louisa, and you, so that we can coexist peacefully, at least.” Draco paused thoughtfully. He’d been very circumspect with her about what his plans were beyond moving into his new living arrangements, but this brilliant woman might be able to help guide him in his mission. He thought, too, that demonstrating his trust in her might help her to learn to trust him.

“The business venture I’m thinking about is a turning out to be a bit more complex than I anticipated,” he told her without further preamble.

“Really? That sounds like a challenge,” Hermione replied. “Tell me all about it.”

He paused for a moment, looking up as their waiter delivered their lunch order. “Thank you, Eric,” he said with a sincere smile. His attention turned back to Hermione, and Draco emphatically stated, “Waiters are hard-working blokes, let me tell you.”

“Oh, yes, you worked in a restaurant while you were in Salem. Your parents mentioned that you spent some time as a waiter before moving to the kitchens,” Hermione acknowledged. Her eyes widened for a moment and she reframed the question she’d asked a moment earlier. “This business venture you’re working on – does it have something to do with a restaurant?”

“You always were and always will be the brightest witch of the age, Miss Granger,” he replied with a grin. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m going to do, but my plan is, as I said, a little more, uh, complicated than that.”

“Do tell,” she urged, wondering what could be all that unusual about operating an eating establishment.

The look on Draco’s face was indecipherable. He seemed to be warring with exactly how to explain his goal. Finally, he set his fork on his plate and folded his hands in his lap. “I want to do something that combines my enjoyment of cooking, the basic business acumen that I learned from my father, and,” here he hesitated, “my desire to atone for the wrongs that I committed while under my aunt’s control. I learned a lot about being in need while I was away in Salem, and my restaurant absolutely must reflect those lessons. That’s why I’ll be operating it as a not-for-profit entity.”

Hermione’s eyes widened again at his pronouncement. “How? Why?” She was clearly confused about what this meant on a number of levels.

“It’s a long story, which started with providing meals for some hungry little ones who were friends with my therapists’ children. Suffice it to say, I saw an opportunity to help and I convinced the owner of the restaurant to work with me on providing food to hungry families in an on-going program. They are still doing it, and before I left, we were working with a handful of other restaurants to join in the effort. I’d like to replicate that here, at least in a small way.”

“Draco, that’s… I’m not quite sure what to say. I’m stunned at your incredible generosity,” she said quietly, peering at him intently.

He laughed shortly. “I know, who’d think that Draco Malfoy has a heart? Well, the last three years have been an incredible learning experience, on more levels than I can possibly count, and I’ve found that it makes me feel good to make other people feel good. You see, it’s all very selfish,” he professed in an off-hand manner, stabbing a chip with his fork with slightly more force than he’d intended. Believing that Hermione could think nothing but the worst of him, he was being a bit defensive.

“Please, Draco, I’m being completely sincere. This is a wonderful thing you’re doing, and I admire and commend you for it. If there’s anything at all that I can do to help, count me in. I mean it – anything,” she retorted, reaching for his hand and giving it a brief squeeze.

Draco swallowed heavily and glanced from the hand she’d held, for the briefest moment, to her soft hazel eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I guess I just default to thinking you’ll believe the worst of me.”

“No, Draco. That’s not at all true. I can only imagine how hard you’ve worked in the last three years, but you must realize that I don’t think you are the same boy who left here so completely broken. I’m learning about the many new facets of who you are now, and you’ve done a lot that deserves my admiration and respect.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “It’s just that… I’m so impatient to achieve something that will help people to understand what’s really in my heart and soul. I’m not a monster; I want a real life.”

“And you’ll have it, Draco,” Hermione stated firmly. “Your actions today will prove the man you are and will ensure that people will quickly forget who you seemed to be so long ago.”

“Even you?” he challenged.

“Especially me. It seems clear that you are hell-bent to rip your soul bare for me to see,” she countered, but her tone was light and teasing. “Our circumstances seem to ensure that I’ll have a front-row seat at the reemergence of Draco Malfoy. And you seem to have forgotten that I was your first defender.”

“Oh Merlin, that’s something that I never have, and never will, forget. Nor will I ever completely understand it, but I guess that’s part of what makes you so intriguing to me,” Draco confessed.

“As I’ve told you before, it would have done me no good to hang on to anger or resentment for you. I knew on the day we left the cabin that I would never hate you, and that what happened between us was truly and completely not your fault. I don’t want to rehash this a million times, Draco, but you have to forgive yourself fully, because my forgiveness has been freely given. If we’re going to be friends, you have to let it go as much as I have. Now, eat your fish before it gets cold,” she scolded with a hint of a grin.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered with a little salute.

“So,” she began, “are you going to tell me about this restaurant idea or not?”

--_--

Twenty minutes, one completed meal, and two cups of coffee later, Draco had outlined his basic idea and had shared his frustrations about the buildings and locations which had all failed to meet his needs or expectations. Hermione had listened thoughtfully and asked at least a hundred questions to gain a better understanding of both the practicalities and the motivations behind the young man’s mission. When they’d finally concluded with all the particulars, she set her coffee mug down on the table with a heavy thump.

“There’s no doubt you’ve got your work cut out for you, but it’s also clear that you’re determined and motivated. I have no question that you’ll succeed and help a lot of people in the process. There are still many families who were left financially devastated after the war, and you’ll be providing jobs along with your charitable aims. This is a good thing, Draco, and I repeat my promise. I’ll do whatever I can to help you get this off the ground.” Hermione’s eyes were bright with excitement and enthusiasm, and her smile seemed more genuine than it had since they’d been thrown back into each other’s presence such a short time ago.

“Thank you, Hermione. Other than you, I haven’t shared my plans with anyone other than my banker, so that I could be sure to figure out how to finance this project. I’d appreciate it if we could just keep it between us for the next several days until things are a little more settled. I’m not ready to go public, or to even share it with my parents just yet. Is that all right with you?”

“Of course. I’ll keep your confidence. Don’t hesitate to reach out, though, if you need someone to help you brainstorm or solve problems.”

Draco smiled broadly at her. “Thanks again. I’m glad to have you in my corner on this.” He reached into his pocket to dig out a few Galleons to pay for their meal, and left Eric a generous tip for his attentive, yet discreet, service. “That does remind me – I have another favor to ask of you.”

Hermione nodded, indicating that she was listening, as she gathered her things.

“I bought a mobile phone, and I need help to learn how to use it. Mother said that she had one, and I thought it would be the easiest way for all of us to stay in touch,” he explained.

“That’s a great idea. I’ll help you program our numbers in and show you how to make a call. It’s really simple; you’ll be fine,” Hermione assured him.

“Great. Thanks again.” At her amused look, he stared wide-eyed. “What?”

“You don’t have to thank me for every tiny little gesture, Draco. Save it for the big things, will you?” she teased as he guided her out of the maze of small tables.

“Like what?” he wondered aloud.

“Like me allowing you to pay for all of Louisa’s furniture,” she answered.

“And how is that something for which I should be thankful?” he teased back.

“Because you and I won’t be arguing over it. I’ll just let you have your way. That should always make you thankful.”

“I’ll take whatever I can get,” he muttered to himself as they left the bistro behind and headed toward the furniture store that Hermione had said was only three blocks away.

As they entered the showroom, they were greeted by a sales clerk who asked if she could direct them to a specific area.

“We need bedroom furniture for our daughter,” Draco answered.

“Is she an infant or a toddler?” the clerk queried.

“She’s just over two years old, and we’d like a full-size bed for her,” Hermione replied.

“And the remaining suite of items, too,” Draco added.

The clerk smiled broadly, obviously anticipating a decent commission on a pending sale. “Follow me. I’ll take you to the children’s furniture section and show you several samples.”

They wove through several sections of the deceptively large shop until they reached the section which featured bedroom furniture for children. “Most of the suites of furniture are here, but anything you see can typically be made in several different finishes of wood or even painted to match your room. I’ll give you a few moments to look around. If you need information or help, just send up a spark with your wand,” the clerk instructed.

“Thank you. We’ll let you know when we’ve made a decision,” Hermione told her in dismissal.

Draco was absently opening and closing drawers in dressers and cabinet doors in armoires while Hermione searched for a style that she thought would please her little one, yet still be serviceable for at least a few years.

“What do you think of this one?” she asked over her shoulder.

Draco was by her side in a moment, inspecting the set she’d identified. “I think it looks nice, but it seems a little… flimsy. She should have something sturdier and of better quality,” he pronounced.

He was right, Hermione mused. The set was a little on the cheesy side, but it was adorable, with all its painted characters and girly carvings. She sighed. “Okay, let’s look more.”

He had purposefully made his way over to the far end of the section. “Look at this one, Hermione,” he beckoned. “I think this is better quality.”

He was right about that, too, she noted. But it was a little too… rugged. Louisa had a strong preference at her age for all things frilly and light, despite her mother’s insistence that she be exposed to traditionally “boy” things throughout her young life. It was a losing battle with Narcissa as the tot’s grandmother.

“I agree. But your little girl is definitely into her feminine side for now. She’d hate it.” Hermione shrugged at his amused smile and they both wandered to find another option.

Approaching from opposite sides, they both came to a bleached oak canopy bed, its headboard carved with a unicorn in relief. They glanced at each other and came to a silent agreement instantly. “Let’s pick out the dresser, armoire and desk,” Draco stated.

They agreed on the remaining items quickly and Hermione raised her wand to summon the clerk. Before she could execute the spell, she heard the clerk approach, conversing with a co-worker as they neared. “I just want to check on that cute couple – the ones looking for a bedroom for their little girl,” she said.

While Hermione’s instinct was to correct the clerk’s misinterpretation, and her mouth began to form the words, she quickly came to the conclusion that it really didn’t matter. In fact, it would seem scandalous that an unmarried man and woman had had a child together. She closed her mouth with a nearly audible snap, and looked at Draco. His jaw was tight and his posture rigid. The less said, the better, she decided.

As the clerk came into view, Hermione pasted a bright smile on her face and announced, “We’ve made our selection.”

She left Draco to work out the delivery times and finances, and wandered the shop for a few moments, looking at the vast array of fabrics, draperies, and linens also offered for sale. Hermione selected a set of bedding in pastel colors that would complement both the furniture and the room’s colors. It really wasn’t necessary to repaint; the room’s light baby blue color was perfectly lovely and certainly not too masculine. She brought the items to the front of the shop to pay for them, and was intercepted by the clerk.

“Oh, your husband said to put anything you chose on the total bill,” she informed her.

Hermione bit her tongue to prevent herself from blurting out what was running through her head. He’s not my husband! Instead, she nodded and smiled weakly, leaving the fabrics to be packaged and shipped to the townhouse.

The two of them departed the shop in silence, and Draco wore an expression of anxiety on his face. The tension that had slipped away so easily during their companionable lunch had made an obvious and unwelcome return. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

Hermione sighed. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Draco. They made assumptions, which under the circumstances, were perfectly reasonable. It wasn’t your fault and I’m not angry or offended. It’s just… weird, that’s all. Let’s just forget it; we have things to do.”

Draco seemed confused by her pronouncement. “What do we have to do?” he asked, hoping for immediate clarification about whatever mission she’d decided to take on.

“We need to get the room ready for the new furniture,” she answered, looking at him as though he’d lost his marbles.

“Oh, yeah. Well, I figured I’d take care of that this evening after dinner and finish up tomorrow. The new furniture won’t be delivered until Monday afternoon, so I’ve got plenty of time.”

“Nonsense,” Hermione interrupted. “Louisa is my daughter, too, and it’s not fair to ask you to do everything on your own. I’m helping you.” She didn’t need to say the “and that’s final” part,; it was clearly understood.

Draco chuckled. “Yes, dear,” he teased, hoping that she wouldn’t take further offense at his presumptive remark.

She punched his shoulder and laughed, and he reasonably assumed that he’d not stepped in it, at least this time.

“Fine. So when do you want to do this?” he probed.

“No time like the present,” she replied. “It’s only just after three, and dinner isn’t until about six thirty, so I’d guess we can get quite a lot done in three-plus hours. Is that all right with you?”

“Sure. I have no other plans. Shall I meet you there, or would you like me to take you Side-Along?” he offered.

Hermione deliberated for a brief moment. She’d only been to the place once and wasn’t entirely confident that she could Apparate safely to the still-unfamiliar location. They were also nowhere near an available public Floo connection. By way of answer, she grasped Draco’s forearm. “I’m ready.”

Moments later, Draco steadied Hermione as they arrived in the foyer of the townhouse. She thanked him briefly and removed her cloak, leaving it and her bag on a chair against the wall. “Let’s go evaluate what needs to be done,” she said, taking charge of the situation as she was wont to do.

Draco trailed after her as she climbed the curved staircase and moved to her left into the room. She rolled up her sleeves and recaptured her hair into a short ponytail, clearly ready to dive in. Draco followed suit by removing his jacket and turning up the cuffs of his shirt. He watched as she turned in the room with her arms akimbo, surveying what was there.

“Shall we tackle the closet or the furniture first?” she proposed.

Draco deliberated for a moment then made his own decision. “I think we clear out the little things all over the room and in the dressers; that will allow us to deal with the furniture,” he reasoned.

“Of course. You’re absolutely right. Do you have any boxes that we can use?” Hermione asked, wasting no time.

“I’m sure there’s something we can use in the basement. I’d like to box things up by category so that we can donate, save, or pitch them as the case may be,” he answered. “I’ll head downstairs to see what I can find, if you want to start pulling clothes out of the dresser.”

She nodded, and got to work, opening drawers and laying the items on the bed for Draco’s inspection and decision. He returned a few minutes later with one trunk and three small, open crates.

“Whatever I want to keep should all fit in the trunk. I’ll just banish anything that needs to be tossed, and the rest we’ll divide into the crates for appropriate donations. Sound okay to you?” he asked.

“Perfect. Take a look at the clothes on the bed, and I’ll help you pack it up,” Hermione offered.

Draco began to sort through the items that he’d not seen or used in nearly a decade, his wand at the ready to dispense of pieces that were not suitable for further use. As he was weeding through the stacks that Hermione had piled, he came upon a royal blue cotton sweater and laughed aloud.

“What?” she wondered as she watched his face light up.

“This sweater. My mum gave it to me for my thirteenth birthday, and I wore the darn thing day and night for weeks,” he answered through his broad grin. “It was my favorite, because she picked it out for me when the two of us went away for a weekend together to celebrate,” he told her. His expression turned serious as he continued, “That was about the time my father really started to get dragged back in to… everything, and I remember relishing the time away from all that darkness.” He cleared his throat abruptly. “Anyway, the weekend was a great memory, and this sweater was something of a talisman for me at the time – a reminder that someone cared for me and was looking out for me.”

Hermione smiled softly. “Your mum is a wonderful woman on many, many levels. She can be as cunning and manipulative as any Slytherin would hope, but she’s got an enormous heart and a clear sense of what’s right and wrong. No one has been more supportive of me in the last three years than Narcissa, and with losing my own mum during the war, she really has been as much a mother to me as I could have ever hoped. So, I know what you’re feeling, Draco. If I could have let her adopt me, I’d have done it in a heartbeat. You should keep that; it’s a great memento.”

Draco agreed with a nod and smile, and folded the sweater neatly in the old trunk. For the next three hours, Hermione and Draco waded through the contents of drawers and cabinets, chatting about memories and making decisions on the disposition of each item, and finally exhausted by their efforts, decided to quit once all the clothing, papers, and decorations had been sorted.

“I’m knackered,” Draco announced. “I’ll come back tomorrow after breakfast to finish up.”

“I’ll come with you,” Hermione offered. “It’ll go quicker with the two of us working.”

Draco couldn’t help the grin that graced his face. “That would be lovely.”

--_--

“Narcissa!” Lucius called from the study. “You won’t believe what happened.”

Upon hearing her husband’s excited, exuberant call, she put Louisa in her play area to investigate what had him so worked up.

“What happened, love, that has you screaming through the halls,” she teased with a laugh.

“A second indicator was triggered.”

“Nooo… Seriously?” Narcissa was stunned, but clearly pleased by the news. “Which one?”

“Family affiliation. Hermione must have said something identifying herself as a member of the Malfoy clan,” he informed her gleefully, a sight that few would have believed if they’d had the opportunity to witness it. His expression turned smug in a flash. “This won’t be so hard, after all.”
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Consequences and Complexities