The Slytherin Redemption: Now Complete

Salvation

Chapter 11

Draco entered the Ministry of Magic with a sense of excited dread. He was uncomfortably aware that Granger was waiting for him in her office. Ghosts of his childhood obsession kept appearing in his mind, arousing and embarrassing him in turn. He took the lift down to the second level, and turned down the corridor that led to Granger's office. When he arrived, the door was propped open. He took a moment to collect himself as he observed the woman she had become.

He had always admired her figure and studious manner. Not much had changed about that, except that she had become fuller and riper with age. Draco thought that by the time she turned forty, she would be stunning. Her bottom lip, always her best feature to Draco, was being bitten in concentration. He suddenly felt the same desire to kiss the savaged surface, as he had longed to do when he had spied on her in the library so many times at Hogwarts. The lines at her brow were deepened, and as he had as a child, Draco wanted to ease them away with his fingers. He shook his head. This meeting was not a good idea, especially given the conversation he had just had with Liz.

Liz. He was not sure he wanted to be thinking about that subject. He had taken the long way to the Ministry so that he might think about what his friend had said. He had concluded, after several attempts at denial, that she was very much correct in her assessment of his relationship with Tish. It may not have started out with him viewing her as a celestial being, but after her death, he had elevated her in his memory. It was harder for him everyday to even remember the little quirks about her. He decided, on his walk, that he would make it up to Liz this evening.

Although, there was still the matter of her date. He wanted to forbid her to go, but knew that would go over like a Muggle-born at a pureblood soiree. He supposed he would just have to bear the idea of Liz being with another man for an evening. It might even do her some good, depending, of course, on how he, Draco, handled the situation beforehand. He was a Malfoy, after all.

He chuckled as he approached the small room and knocked lightly on the door. She looked up at him and her expression hardened. “Malfoy.”

“Madam Granger-Weasley, may I?” Entering the room, Draco sketched a polite bow, motioning to the chair adjacent to her desk, before he sat. He inclined his head politely. “Thank you, for making time for me in your busy schedule, Madam.”

Draco was sure, from the look of disdain she shot him, that she was looking for an insult in the words. She frowned, then answered, “What is it you want, Malfoy? Why are you being so polite?”

“I'm trying, Granger, to speak to you as I always should have,” Draco bit out, suddenly irritated at the chit. She had always been too direct, never giving room for the saving of countenance that was the currency of pureblood interaction. “I have come to ask if you might be able to help me look at the transcripts of my parents' interrogation after they surrendered.”

The brunette frowned. “Why me? Aren't you and Harry friends, now?”

“I need the best for my research, and that would be you,” he stated simply.

Hermione's expression hardened further. “What's this about, Malfoy? If this is an attempt to clear your parents of wrongdoing, I'm not the person you want. I suggest you contact a solicitor.”

Her cold gaze swept him contemptuously as she saw he made no move to leave. “So, tell me, Draco, how many women did you and your father rape in the name of purity?”

Draco stood abruptly, barely able to control his temper. He expected the worst from most people, but he had truly thought that Granger might be different. After a moment of struggle, he offered, “I do apologise for taking up your time. I'll just let myself out.”

“Harry says that you've changed,” she said in a small voice as he turned to leave the room. “Have you, or are you the same arrogant prat who was completely controlled by his parents?”

“Prison was wonderful therapy, Granger. That, and losing my son's mother, helped me see the error of my ways.” He crossed the barrier of her desk, insinuating himself into her personal comfort zone, and grabbed the chair arms. Leaning over her, he asked, “What do you want me to say, Hermione? I've paid for my mistakes. Have you?”

She sputtered indignantly, but Draco continued before she could interrupt. “Did you ever, once, think of visiting Pansy in the hospital after her father Cruciated her into insanity for having the temerity to not take the Dark Mark? Did you ever offer the olive branch to Zabini, the man who not only protected her, but also married her after the attack, knowing what his life would be with her? Did you ever wonder how it felt when Pansy's father used Sectumsempra on Blaise’s wand hand causing him to lose it, or cursed the bones in his leg so that they twisted?

When was the last time you went out of your way to find out how Bulstrode was doing when her family was murdered during a particularly brutal Death Eater attack? You did know she is half-blood, even though she was an evil Slytherin, didn't you? And speaking of half-bloods, did you ever thank Severus for giving his life to your cause? Do you know how many times he was tortured and came back for more because he wanted to protect all of us from the Dark Lord?” Draco paused, then added, contempt lacing his voice and manner, “I didn't think so.”

Draco let go of her chair. “And don't think for a moment that I was the only one spouting prejudiced dogma. Your husband, Weasley, could be a poster-boy for uninformed hatred.” He turned from his former classmate. “Good day, Madam. I hope your life remains as unblemished as you perceive it to be.”

He made it to the door before she spoke, her voice clear and emotionless. “I'll help you, if you tell me one thing.”

Draco turned to her, his brows quirked. “Yes?”

“Did you truly hate me?” She had lost the self-possession that she had had when he entered the room. Her golden eyes glowed with pain and they were both transformed into the confused children of their Hogwarts days.

“Merlin, Granger.” Draco felt his face warm. The question he had not ever wanted to answer, and he knew only the truth would make her want to work with him. He fixed his eyes on the obligatory picture of Minister Shacklebolt as he sank to the chair he had claimed before. “I wanted to shag you since third year, ever since you struck me. I never hated you.”

The tension broke as she giggled, the sound bringing back a shadow of his old longing. She was still unattainable, but he felt gratified that his discomfort could bring her pleasure. “Slytherins are so... twisted. Now, tell me what you need.”

Draco laid out the bare facts for her, from his father's involvement with the rescued victims, to the locations of the safe houses. Granger became more interested as he told her the stories he had gathered from the women he had interviewed. Not only had Lucius aided them financially, but also Narcissa had provided funds so that they might access private counselling.

After Draco finished, Hermione said, “So, if all this is true, and no offence, Malfoy, but your father doesn't seem the type to do something out of the milk of human kindness; why didn't your parents use this in their defence? I'm sure the Wizengamot would have given them a lesser sentence.”

“That's what I'm hoping to find out,” Draco answered. “And, you are correct in your assessment of my father's sense of self-interest. Malfoys are notorious for that trait.”

“I'll see what I can do.” The Gryffindor stood to usher Malfoy out of her office. “I'm sorry; I think I have judged you too harshly, Draco.”

“That means a great deal to me.” Draco shook her extended hand and then added, “And Granger? Just to let you know, landed Purebloods, as a general rule, don't indulge in premarital relations. We don't want to compromise existing marriage contracts and Fidelity Charms.”

The door swung closed as Draco glimpsed a look of numbed comprehension register on Granger's face.

&*&*&

Toby was having trouble learning to fly. It did not seem natural to him to perch on a little stick and expect it to support him hundreds of feet in the air. Teddy, Victoire, and now Rose had all joined him on the Quidditch pitch in the waning afternoon light to help him learn.

Teddy looked critically at the school issue Comet that Toby had chosen. “Naw, Tobe, this one won't do. It's got too many bristles missing and the shaft is broken. Go back to the store and see if Madam Hooch has anything better.”

Toby huffed noisily. “She doesn't like me. I'll just try with this one.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, Toby,” Rose interjected. “I'll go with you. I don't know why you think everyone hates you.”

The girl held out her hand, and Toby put the broom in it. The dark-haired girl scowled, and then stalked off. Victoire giggled as she leaned in to him to say, “She didn't want you to hand her the broom, you idiot.”

Toby dashed off, embarrassed at Weasley's remark. “Hey, Rose! Wait for me!”

When they returned, Rose was holding his hand. He wanted to take it away because it was sweaty from his nerves, but he did not want to offend her. He noticed that Teddy was sitting close to Victoire as they approached. They broke apart and first Victoire, and then Teddy mounted their respective brooms, and zoomed to flank them.

Teddy flew like a demon. He bragged that his Uncle Harry had taught him to fly, and that his uncle had been the youngest Seeker in a hundred years. Toby did not think he would be trying out for the Slytherin Quidditch team any time soon; he just wanted to pass the class. Rose even did better than he did on a broom.

Teddy's hair flared orange, and then faded to a more sedate forest green shot through with silver. Toby laughed along with the two girls at the change. Teddy grinned impishly in answer. “You like? I thought I'd do it for the match this weekend. I much rather Slytherin win than Ravenclaw.”

Rose mounted her broom, smiling broadly. “Thanks, Gryffin-boy.”

“Aw, it was nothing, Slyther-girl,” said Teddy, with a bark of laughter.

“He just thinks our chances are better against Slytherin than Ravenclaw,” Victoire laughed raucously and flew away, with a mad upward spiral, as the green-haired boy gave chase.

Toby watched the aerial brilliance of the two Gryffindors, feeling like his heart was in his mouth. Rose leaned over and patted his shoulder. “Time to mount up.”

Grumbling under his breath, Toby swung his leg over the worn broom. He practiced hovering for a moment as Teddy and Victoire approached. Teddy appraised Toby's seat on the broom. “Much better than yesterday, but hold your elbows a little closer to your body. It cuts down on drag. Now lean forward so that you can balance better.”

Toby tucked in his elbows, feeling and accounting for the shift in equilibrium as he did so. He suddenly felt much more at ease, and gave an experimental nudge forward and upward. “Oh, it's just like riding a bicycle. Why didn't you say?”

“A what?” Teddy asked.

Rose answered disdainfully, “It's a Muggle thing, wizard-born. You wouldn't understand.”

Toby edged higher, feeling the weight and heft of the broom underneath him; he executed a shaky turn before he looped back to his friends who were following him, still talking about his bicycle comment. He turned again, more steadily this time and rose higher. He was now even with the bottom row of the stands, higher than he had ever been before. Once more, he arced up and around, completing a full lap as his friends watched. He could hear Rose's cries of encouragement above the other two.

He moved higher, level with the top tier of the stands when a large object almost collided with him. He spiralled away, nearly sickened by the motion. When he looked back, he saw it was a Bludger. It swung back towards him and he dodged, falling into a swooping and dodging pattern. Teddy and Victoire tore after him, attempting to draw the ball away from the Slytherin, but it stayed its course. Rose darted to his side just as it made another swipe at him. He heard the crack of breaking bones as she yelped and went into a free fall as the ball deflected through a goal and off the field. Without thinking, Toby dove beneath her and caught hold of her robes just before they both hit the hard ground. He pulled up on his broom to soften the impact as they landed in the sand of the pitch, and rolled end over end. Toby felt the handle of his broom give way.

He lay on the ground, stunned for a moment, his head spinning and bright spots floating before his eyes. He was aware of approaching footsteps and he sat, dizzied by the motion. Madam Hooch was grinning at him as she secured Rose to a stretcher. Her yellow eyes glinted as she proclaimed, “That was brilliant flying, my boy. With a little more practice, you could try out for Slytherin's Quidditch team next year. You'd give Gryffindor a run for its money, I'm sure.”

Teddy and Victoire came to a screaming halt beside their friends, kicking up a cloud of dust as they landed. The blonde girl, looking quite pale, asked, “Where did that Bludger come from, Madam Hooch?”

The grizzled witch paused in her ministrations to Rose, frowning. “I don't know, Miss Weasley. Once I get through here, I'm going to find out. It didn't look like a school-issued one, though. Now, please escort your friend up to the Hospital Wing. I want him to be checked out by Madam Hasselnuss.”

When Toby began to trudge back to the storage shed with the pieces of his borrowed broom, the flight instructor shouted, “Don't worry about that, boy, I'll get it later. Now, off with you.”

Teddy dismounted and walked beside Toby, a scowl marring his face. “I don't like this, Tobe. Not one bit.”

&*&*&

Liz listened attentively as Scorpius prattled on about his day. She had always liked toddlers. It was her favourite stage of development. Scorpius had recently decided that he needed to open all doors for her. She usually ended up helping him, but he manfully attempted each door, punctuating his efforts with small groans and grunts of aggravation. Liz unlocked the door to his flat, and watched as his chubby hand grasped the crotchety doorknob. He gave a mighty grunt as he twisted it to no avail. Liz waited patiently as he tried again, wondering how they had beaten Drake home, when the door was pushed open from the inside.

Scorpius pouted for a moment as he exclaimed, “Daddy! I was openin' it for Aunty, like a gen'man.”

Liz's eyes met her friend's tempestuous grey ones and for a moment, it seemed time stopped. Draco stepped forward as his son blazed past him. Liz had never been on the receiving end of such a heated look. She revelled in his hands as they scraped through her hair and he dragged her to him. She felt the length of his body slide against her as his lips came to hers, at first gently, then with less-practiced fervour. He pinned her against the wall as he pivoted their bodies. Her breath mingled with his as she opened to him, and she shivered with unquenched desire. He trailed his hands up her ribcage, only to stop maddeningly at the fullness of her breasts. His kiss slanted down to her neck, and she moaned involuntarily. He growled in response as he licked and nipped her exposed throat.

Finally, he pulled back, his breath coming in short pants. “I want you.” He ground against her, his eyes stormy. “When is your date?”

Liz swallowed before she could manage a husky-voiced response. “The Yule dance, at Hogwarts. Professor Longbottom asked me this morning.”

“I want you to go.” He clenched his jaw and the working of the muscles there fascinated Liz. “But I'm not going to make the wait easy on you, and I won't share you after the dance.”

He caught her bottom lip between his teeth, nipping lightly, his eyes hooded with desire. Liz nipped at his upper lip in reply and as he let go with his teeth, he said, “Good. It's not going to be easy for you either.”

He leaned his forehead against hers. “I almost bollocksed this up, didn't I?”

Liz was surprised at the wanton sound of her throaty laugh. “You're not out of the woods yet, Drake.”

“Can I at least see the light at the edge of the forest?” He kissed her again, his breath coming in ragged chuffs. Liz slid her hands shyly to his chest, noting the firmness of his flesh under his ordinary clothes. She accidentally brushed over a hardened nipple and he jerked back, his face suffused with a darker tinge in the yellow light of the hallway.

Liz pushed him away. “Maybe a faint glow. Now what's for tea? I'm starving.”


Salvation

Chapter 12

Draco leaned back in the uncomfortable institutional chair. He was in an interrogation room in the Auror's office at Azkaban. After weeks of rejected appointments by Lucius, and an equally fruitless search of trial and official transcripts, he had been summoned for a meeting of undisclosed purpose. He smoothed his hair, which he had left unbound for the interview, a sign of his pureblood status and power. He knew the games of his forebears, even if he no longer indulged in them anymore. He had been waiting for over an hour before a Guard had poked her head in the room and told him he would be seen soon. That had been two hours ago.

The room was rank with old sweat and piss. Odours he remembered all too well from his stint in that asylum. He wished he had thought to wear the cologne Liz had given him last Christmas. It was an inexpensive scent, but better than the foul smell he had to endure at the moment.

Draco wanted to cast the Tempus charm to check the time; Scorpius would be getting out of play school soon, but he felt it would weaken his assumed air of ennui. He heard a small commotion outside the room and then the door swung open. Draco stood as soon as he heard his father's distinctive drawl.

Lucius' cold eyes swept his son. “Draco.”

“Father,” he answered as he gave a curt bow. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Lucius scowled as he was escorted, rather more roughly than necessary, to a chair behind the table in the centre of the drab room. The guard, a man in his late forties with greying, brown hair and a bald patch, loosened the restraints that prevented the prisoner from sitting. Lucius swept as gracefully as he could to the seat as the guard returned to the open doorway warning, “Yeh 'ave a 'alf hour.”

The door was swung shut forcefully, and Draco winced at the finality of the sound. Lucius' look of hauteur fell. “I was told you were looking into my extra-curricular activities during the war.”

“I was summoned from the mainland so that you could question me about that after the countless times you've refused my requests for visitation?” Draco stood up straighter, giving his father a piercing look. Lucius' return glare was defiant and cool as he lifted his chin and peered down his nose at his obviously recalcitrant son.

The Malfoy hauteur has been deployed, Draco thought with an inane wave of mirth.

The two men remained silent for a long moment, neither willing to break eye contact. Finally, Draco came to a decision. His father had taught him, from an early age, never to be direct when approaching a problem, but given the time constraints, Draco felt he had no choice. “Father, during the war, were you working for the Order?”

'I don't know what you are alluding to.” Lucius' gaze slid away from his son's. “Please, don't continue your research.”

“I don't understand, Father, if you helped the Order -” Draco began.

Lucius gave a vicious swipe across the table. “No, you don't understand. Let the matter rest. That is my final word on this entire fiasco.”

“Father, please, I think if the facts were known by the right people, I could get a lighter sentence for you.” Draco hoped appealing to his father's sense of self-interest would make him more amenable to the idea of his inquiries.

“What of your mother?” Lucius dragged a shaking hand over the stubble on his head, an alarming sign of the control he was exerting over his temper. “She is known to have killed her own niece using an Unforgivable. Do you think the Ministry would overlook that indiscretion just because she aided a few Muggles? Leave the matter alone.”

Lucius stood and awkwardly in his bonds and crossed the room to rap sharply on the door, keeping his back to Draco. A flap swung open and the guard's bored countenance appeared. Lucius rasped, “I'm ready to leave.”

Draco stood, his fists clenched in frustration. “Father, I need to know. My friend, Liz, she was one you helped. You rescued her from Uncle Rodolphus, the night you locked me in your chambers. She told me as much. Scorpius' mother, Snape rescued from Aunt Bella and... me. I've talked to other women and many identified you as their rescuer. I've traced the places they were held, and they were Mother's properties. Black properties, from her marriage portion, that she withheld from The Dark Lord. Snape's, Dumbledore's and Scrimgeour's seals are on the title transfer to her cousin, Sirius. All done after his death while you were in prison. I already know much of what you both did.

Please, Sir, I just want to understand why Dumbledore failed to protect you.” The younger man's next words came out in a painful whisper. “Was it because of me? Because of what I was ordered to do to save Mother?”

Lucius' shoulders sagged as he exhaled softly, “Dragon, please, I beg you. Don't look any further, you won't like the answers you find.”


Draco was astounded to hear his father using his childhood pet name; he had not heard that since he was about five years old.

The door swung open and Draco watched as his father was backed against the wall at wand point. The guard immobilised the elder Malfoy, then affixed the chains from his wrists to one secured around the waist and through the juncture of his thighs. As the two left, Draco kicked the chair that he had earlier occupied, across the room in his frustration.

&*&*&

It had been a fortnight since the Bludger had hit Rose. The four friends had come no closer to solving the mystery than they were the day the accident happened. Madam Hooch had found the ball several days after the incident, but it bore no distinctive markings and was seemingly untraceable. Teddy's Uncle Harry had come to the school the same day it was found. After questioning the four children and Madam Hooch, he had left with the object.

Teddy sat on the battlement of the Astronomy tower, throwing a Fanged Frisbee up in the air, and catching it expertly between his booted feet. His broom was propped beside him. Victoire and Rose watched in consternation as he leaned over the tower's edge. Toby was looking at the Giant Squid, its tentacles, waving in tiny arcs, nearly blending with the choppy water of the lake. Two more weeks, and they would all be going home. If Toby lived that long.

Teddy threw the toy at Rose, and she scrambled out of its path, having been bitten by it before. “Stop it! We're up here so we can work on Toby's problem.”

“You still think the thing was after Toby?” the older boy slid down, scoffing. “I told you already, it could have been sent after any of us. We're all unpopular right now. I'm the son of a werewolf, for Circe's sake. I'll never be the most popular bloke.”

“Yeah, and your godfather is Harry Potter. Get over yourself, Teddy.” Rose snorted derisively and rolled her eyes towards the heavens.

“I think it was after him,” Victoire seconded her friend's opinion. “Didn't Uncle Harry tell us about a Bludger that was charmed by a house elf to go after him in his second year?”

“Great, all we have to do is question all the house elves working at Hogwarts and see which one has a murderous rage against me,” Toby said bitterly. “Maybe then my life won't be in danger.”

“Ah, Tobe, come on,” Teddy retrieved his Frisbee from the floor. “I don't think anyone is out to get just you... “

“I'm tired of thinking about it,” Toby spat off the edge of the tower, watching the blob fall until he could not see it anymore. “I wish I had never come to this stupid school.”

He tore out of the area, ignoring the girls' cries of concern.

He found himself at the doors of the library and he entered quietly. The feel of the room always eased his mind. It smelled like the museums that Uncle Drake and his mum liked to take him to on the weekends when he had lived at home. He made his way past Miss Abbott, turning his face from the kind woman. He did not want to speak to anyone at the moment.

Toby flopped down on the floor in the Muggle section. No one ever came here. It was the ideal place to hide. As he settled in, his mind went over the same question he had been asking since the first attack. Why?

He had made sure he learned the etiquette lessons his uncle had drilled into his head. He never asked impertinent questions, never greeted anyone without a bow, and always behaved himself, unless he was alone with his friends. Professor Zabini would not allow him to break any rules of the school. Toby was sure he had not offended anyone.

Maybe it was his friends. He was grateful for his friends, but maybe they were the problem. If two Gryffindors had not befriended him, maybe the older members of the House would not hate him so much.

On the other hand, it could be that he was a half-blood and the son of a Death Eater. He still was not comfortable thinking about how he had come about. He wondered if his father was still alive or in Azkaban.

It was strange, really. Whenever he thought about what his father looked like, he always looked like Uncle Drake. He wished Mum would marry his uncle. That would make it impossible for the Gryffindors to hate him. Uncle Drake was good, even though he had the Dark Mark. He decided that he would talk to his uncle during the break. Maybe if Toby told him about his difficulties, Uncle Drake would marry his mum. That would make things better.

Feeling confidence resurge with a plan of action, Toby went out in search of his friends. They all had some investigating to do.

He went back up to the Tower, but realised they must have already left. On his way back down, he passed the Professor's Lounge; the door was slightly ajar. He considered knocking to see if one of the Professors had seen the trio, but his motion was arrested by two voices.

The first, Professor Longbottom said, “I don't care if I have to hex every one of them to get them to stop the attacks. These children are innocent of any wrongdoing. And, that boy in particular faces enough obstacles, without having vigilantes trying to kill him.”

Professor Zabini laughed, a soft sound that held the unmistakable air of disbelief. “I can't believe you, a Gryffindor, would be so concerned about one little snake. Things certainly have changed.”

“Don't mistake me for a Weasley, Blaise,” the Gryffindor Head said, his tone anything but warm. “You may not have fought alongside us, but you did your part. If you hadn't helped me ward the Room of Requirement, we would have lost quite a few more students than we did. I will always remember that, even if you never received the recognition you deserved.”

“Leave off, Longbottom. I just couldn't stand to hear you Gryffindors whinge every time you were Cruciated. It was selfishness that motivated me, nothing more,” Professor Zabini stated, his voice a rough rumble. After a moment, he continued. “Pardon me if I don't believe your interest in the boy doesn't have more to do with his mother than you're letting on. What will Miss Abbott think?”

“You know very well that she broke it off with me this time, you git.”

“Ah yes, the vagaries of an inter-House relationship. That's why I thank the gods everyday for Pansy. You would have been better off with the Weasley girl. Too bad she fell for Potter,” Zabini's voice continued over the loud squeak of a chair. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a young snake I need to deal with.”

The door swung wide, opening on Toby's red face. Professor Zabini smirked. “Come in Mr. Cowell. I know you have some questions.”

&*&*&

Liz met Ginny for a late lunch at a Muggle restaurant located a few blocks from the office. She had lunched with Ginny often since the trip to Hogwarts, and they were quickly becoming good friends. Ginny sat with her hand on a saltcellar, fiddling with the intricate glass pattern.

“So, let me see if I have this straight: You have a date with Neville for the Yule ball at Hogwarts, but are being snogged senseless by Draco every time you see him?” Ginny pulled the salt container closer to her. Liz would make sure to check her friend's bag before they left. The last time they had been out, an irate waiter at the exit had stopped them and Ginny had had to hand over a container of artificial sweetener. That had been quite embarrassing.

Liz pulled the shaker from Ginny's hand, placing it well out of her reach. She worried the inside of her mouth between her teeth. “I'm a slut, aren't I?”

The redhead rolled her eyes heavenward. “Can I ask you something personal?”

“What?” Liz asked over the sick fluttering in her stomach. If Mrs. Potter wanted to ask her something about her rape, she would make sure the woman knew how inappropriate the line of questioning was.

Ginny sighed. “Are you sleeping with both of them?”

Liz's face flamed and she jerked forward, spitting out, “No! What the hell do you mean by that?”

“Then stop calling yourself a slut. I hate that word,” the redhead hissed. “I know very well that you haven't been in a relationship in years. And now you have two attractive men after you. It's about time.”

Liz looked away, embarrassed by her outburst. After a moment, Ginny asked, “So have you decided on a dress for the ball?”

“No. I don't even know what you people wear to things like that.” Liz worried her cheek nervously. She had not thought of that. She supposed she could make do with one of her new outfits.

Her friend clapped happily. “I know just the colour for you, and I would love to design your dress. My Mum sews, and she could whip it out in a couple of days. Please, let me dress you. It would be so much fun.”

“That would be nice, but I don't want to put your Mum to any trouble,” Liz demurred.

Ginny waved her hand attempting to catch the waiter's attention. “Don't be silly. She's got nothing to do since the foster children went to Hogwarts. Plus, it will keep her from pestering Neville about not being married, at least for a while.”

&*&*&

Liz watched Drake make dinner for the three of them, his movements fluid and precise. He had changed out of his work robes and wore a crisply pressed shirt. The attractive blue oxford cloth was rolled to his elbows and was unbuttoned to the crest of his sparsely haired chest. Idly, Liz remembered those arms around her the previous evening. He truly was not making it easy for her to wait for the Yule Ball to be over.

She knew his meeting had not gone well, but he refused to talk to her about it before Scorpius was in bed. She offered, from her seat at the table, “Are you sure you don't want me to help?”

Drake's brow smoothed as he glanced at her. “You know, kid, I think I could use some help.”

He motioned her to him, and she complied, a little breathless as his eyes swept her body. He stepped back from the hob, handing her the spatula he was using to stir-fry the vegetables. As she began stirring, his arms encircled her waist. He leaned down to her neck, planting small kisses that raised goose bumps over her arms and midriff. Liz gave a low moan as he rubbed his pelvis against her bottom. It was evident that Drake was just as eager for the ball to be over as she was.

“Drake, I'm going to burn the food,” she moaned.

His strong arms pulled her closer, and then he reached past her and switched off the burner. “Sod the food. That's why restaurants were invented.”

He continued the exploration of her neck, with the enticing addition of his hands moving up to cup her small breasts. She fell back into his embrace as he slid his hands under her jumper.

“Daddy!” Scorpius called from the living area. Liz pulled away reluctantly from Drake, and turned on the burner again.

She chuckled darkly as Drake sat hastily at the table when the boy rushed into the room. He gave her a hard glare as he answered the urgent summons. “What is it, son?”

“A lady's in the Floo. She says she wants to talk to you.”


Thanks for Reading, and please review. Voldemort may be dead, but this author isn't.