CHAPTER 9/AFTERMATH/12 SEPTEMBER 2008

He was stripping aconite root in the middle of his work day, in preparation for the October moon cycle. Wolfsbane was one of his most used brews following the war; Greyback's reign of terror was felt across a number of generations.

It was only due to Hermione Granger lobbying the Minister that Wolfsbane was now subsidised so potioneers could provide the draught to the most vulnerable. Discrimination had also been heavily legislated, with employers found in contrary to the laws fined heavily. It wasn't perfect, not yet, but it was getting there.

The bell on the door of the Apothecary jingled. Draco took care to wash his hands of the poisonous herb and walked out from behind the screen. Theo was leaning against the counter, reading one of the shop pamphlets that warned of the danger of "Alleywitches", the colloquial term for unregistered and unregulated potioneers who sold dangerous or restricted potions in alley street carts.

Theo had been overseeing Astoria's recovery since Draco had missed so much work in the lead up to her surgery and his mother's death. It was good distraction for Theo, who had been nearly as upset as Draco to hear about Narcissa's murder, and it was good for Astoria to have company and assistance with Scorp, whom she refused to hand off to the house elves even as she couldn't stand for more than a couple of minutes.

"Theo," he greeted, "Everything okay?"

Theo jolted up, so engrossed in the pamphlet that he had not noticed him enter.

"Hey Drake," he grinned, "All good. I just told Stori I'd pick up some pain potions and lunch. Scorp fell asleep early."

Draco stepped behind the counter to rifle through the shelves of pre-made potions, selecting a couple of potions that countered pain from curse damage, and a physical pain blocker, "She likes the foccacia's at Ankernel Café."

"Thanks." Theo put the potions in his carry bag, and then examined his nails, suddenly nervous, "Er... Draco?"

He swept his gaze up, noting Theo's foot tapping on the floorboards and his chewed cuticles. His eyes narrowed, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is... wrong, exactly," Theo said, slowly, "I just..."

"Spit it out," said Draco impatiently, "I have aconite root to strip."

"IwanttoaskStoriout," Each word tripping over the one before it, and then Theo clapped a hand over his mouth, mortified.

Draco's jaw stayed agape for a moment before he snapped it closed, "You want to ask Tori out... on a date?"

"Yes."

"And you're asking me... for permission?"

Theo cringed, "I... guess?"

He snorted, then upon thinking on it a little longer, burst into laughter. Theo looked on, stoic, until Draco straightened up and smoothed his face.

"Astoria is a grown woman who can make her own decisions, Theo."

"I know that Draco," he rolled his eyes, "I just-"

"Thought that I might not be okay with you dating the woman who divorced me after 8 years of arranged marriage?"

"Well it sounds stupid when you say it like that!"

"That's because it is stupid," Draco sighed, "I'm not going to pretend it won't be a little weird. But I love Tori very much – as a friend," he hastened to add, seeing Theo's stricken expression, "And I want her to be happy. And I trust you to not be a garbage human."

"Gee, thanks."

"It's a compliment of the highest order. Also I think I asked Granger on a date. Anyway you should be on your way, Tori is waiting." Draco tried to usher him out of the shop, but Theo's brain engaged before he could get the door shut.

"You WHAT?" he sputtered, digging his heels in, "You're not getting rid of me that easy, what the fuck aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing, I just told you everything there is to know," he said, shutting the door on Theo's foot.

"Ow, you prick," Theo shoved back at the door with unexpected force, sending Draco sprawling. He conjured an armchair, locked the Apothecary door with an ominous jingle (if a jingle could ever be described as such), and clasped his hands in front of him, "Explain."

Draco sighed. Theo's attention didn't waver.

"You know she's the one on Tori's case?"

Theo nodded, "For a good Galleon or two, I would wager."

"How much do you know about what she does?"

He rolled his eyes, "Just the basics. She's an over-achiever who didn't want to work at the Ministry past her apprenticeship. Law and Healing, specialist consultancy, highly successful et cetera et cetera. Married, but no brood to everyone's surprise, given that she married a Weasley. Pregnant with her second and probably last child. Separated from the Weasel at last check."

"The basics?" Draco said with a raised brow.

"Yes, the basics," Theo said, "You're the one who has been living under a rock. This was all in the Prophet over the last decade."

"The Prophet is rubbish. I'd more trust the Quibbler, even with Loony running it now."

"Sure, the gossip column is as bad as Witch Weekly," he agreed, "The Quidditch page is good these days, She-Weasel took over when she retired from the Harpies. And it's still the most widely read paper in Wizarding Britain."

"Maybe it's not as bad without Skeeter," Draco begrudgingly acknowledged, "Also they're getting a divorce."

"Because of your torrid love affair?"

"Partially, I guess."

He snorted, "So let me get this straight. A chance meeting because you hired Granger to heal your ex-wife led to rumours of a sordid love affair, which you bonded over and are now conducting an actual sordid love affair?"

Draco groaned, and rubbed the heel of his hand over his eyes, "Simplistic analysis, but yes, basically. Except the only actual time I've spent with her was talking about my ex-wife, or identifying Mother's body, so I don't know if I'd describe it as a "sordid love affair"."

Theo winced, "That's rough. When did you ask her out?"

"Before Mother," he ran a hand through his hair, "After which I found out that she Obliviated her parents to save them from Death Eaters and they have no idea they've got a daughter."

"She told you that?"

He nodded.

"Fuck...I- yeah that's rough. What did you say?"

"I swore... a lot. And," with a grimace, "I don't know, I thought I'd scared her off, but she told me to owl her when I was ready."

"Which you haven't yet?"

"Which I haven't yet," he confirmed, "I need to visit Lucius to tell him about Mother. I've been putting it off, and I don't think I'll be ready until I've done that."

"That's fair enough."

"Visitor for Lucius Malfoy," announced the guard, seemingly to no-one, and then pointed forward, "Straight till the end on the left."

Hermione suppressed a shudder as she walked down the long row of cells. Even without the Dementors standing guard, the entire place was seeped in depression.

Her steps echoed off the stone walls, and she could feel the gaze of the inmates in each cell pressing against her.

"Potter's pet Mudblood, here to play?" a sing-song voice came from her left. Hermione jerked her head to the voice, meeting the feral amber eyes of Fenrir Greyback.

He dragged his tongue over his filthy teeth and his pupils blew wide, "You smell..." his tongue flicked out experimentally and he tasted the air, "delicious."

"You're disgusting," she told him, and he bared his teeth in a menacing grin and nosed the air again.

"The moon is close," he continued as though she hadn't spoken, "Just a taste... many cycles since I've tasted... sampled tender flesh..." he reached a clawed hand towards her, "You could be whelping my pups by new moon."

"Thanks for the offer, but I'd rather die." she replied honestly, side stepping his hand.

Deep laughter came from the next cell, the man shrouded by shadow in the corner of his cell, "Nice try, beastie. Leave the poor girl be."

"Thanks." She responded, shortly, "I can look after myself."

"I never said otherwise, Miss Granger. Or is it Weasley now?" Lucius emerged from shadows and leant against the bars, both his arms through the gap in a picture of casual ease.

"It was Weasley for an 8-year interlude."

"I see," he replied, delicately, "To what to I owe the pleasure of your company, Miss Granger?"

"Do you get the Prophet?"

He laughed humourlessly, "Only when the guards throw the dogs a metaphorical bone; that is to say, once in a blue moon."

"I see," she echoed, her lips thinned momentarily, "There is an ongoing investigation into a number of violent homicides. I am the Healing consultant on the case."

"Congratulations," the senior Malfoy's words were dry but not entirely sarcastic.

"I've identified the attacker as a partially transformed lycanthrope," she watched his eyebrow raise slightly, the only indication of a reaction, "I'm very sorry to tell you that Narcissa Malfoy was the latest victim of these attacks."

Lucius blinked, "I beg your pardon?"

She repeated slowly, "Narcissa Malfoy was found dead inside Malfoy Manor on August 26. The death has been linked to the ongoing investigation and was ruled a homicide."

Lucius sagged into the bars and paled, "Cissa... is dead?"

"Yes."

He didn't cry; to do so would be improper, and Malfoy men were never improper, convict status or otherwise. His eyes did glisten, and his breath hitched. She found herself placing a comforting hand on his arm, and he started, unused to human touch after nearly a decade in prison.

"Draco was very upset," she continued, "I wasn't sure when he would be able to get here to tell you, so I came myself."

"Do you... are you... in contact with Draco?" The question was barely above a whisper, "Is he well?"

She contemplated her answer for a moment, "As well as he can be. Astoria was very ill."

His lips twisted into the semblance of a smile, "The Greengrass affliction."

"We have cured her."

"I'm impressed. And my grandson?"

"Scorpius is also well. He splits his weekend between Astoria and Draco, they are separated."

"Ah," he inhaled, "I told Cissa that he would not be long in an arranged marriage."

"Were you not an arranged marriage, Mr Malfoy?" she asked, curious.

"We were, but by good fortune we were also a love match."

"I would have thought Astoria is a match you would approve of."

Lucius drew back from the bars of his cell front and picked up the single stool in the room. He placed it in front of her and sat. She conjured one for herself and sat, opposite sides of the thick iron bars.

"Maybe once, certainly. The War wiped the last vestiges of superiority I felt from my soul, and with it, any aspirations of grandeur that I ever harboured for my family."

"You're speaking in riddles."

He sighed, "Once upon a time, Miss Granger, my goals aligned with the Dark Lord's." His tongue curled around the moniker and spat it out in disgust, "The war showed me not only the error of my ways, but also the foolishness of pursuing a goal to the detriment of the ones I love."

"He asked me to dinner," she said, suddenly, examining his face for a reaction, "He divorced Astoria, and he'd like to take me on a date."

Lucius regarded her calmly, "Then I hope, Miss Granger, that he will do the Malfoy name proud and atone for the sins of his narrow minded and foolish ancestors."

She stood abruptly, "I'm very sorry about Narcissa. Perhaps I will see you again."

She turned to leave.

"Miss Granger?" he called, and she half turned back, "Tell me, do you have a book I could borrow?"

She put her hand into her bag and withdrew a copy of Jane Austen's complete works. Lucius accepted it with a nod of his head.

And then Hermione fled.

AUTHORS NOTE: Hiiii everyone, sorry sorry sorry etc. Work and home are crazy and we've just moved house and we don't have any internet yet, so I just haven't had the chance to finish up this chapter. Not to mention Draco's dialogue was all wrong and I had to start over about six times - imagine me rolling my eyes here. Damn characters that just won't work properly.

The chapter is a bit longer than usual, so hopefully it makes up for it. Please read and review! Your feedback is my life blood!

~Alycat