11

This is for one of the best people I know, Dynonugget. Rawwwrrrr!!!

I arrive back at the penthouse in a foul mood. I enter my study there, intent on drowning my anger and disgust in a bottle of thirty-six year old Kinclaith. That it is only early afternoon means nothing to me. Clenching my jaw as the Scotch hits the back of my throat and exhaling loudly when it hits my belly, I draw another mouthful, knowing full well I will become drunk if I keep on this way.

The first chair smashed against the wall by accident. My wandless magic is more difficult to control the more inebriated I become, and today, I plan on becoming very drunk. Once again seeing Hermione in Severus' arms, I sail the second chair into the mirror. With a wild wave of my arm, I set the couch alight. Soon, I'm flaying portraits off the walls and towards each other, intent on dueling, until Gobby appears and quietly put to rights the damage I have inflicted. I sit at my desk, my chest heaving, the half-empty bottle in one hand, and my tumbler in the other.

"What am I to do?" I murmur to myself, but Gobbert has heard me and comes to stand before me.

"What is wrong, sir? You is been out of sorts these past few months, sir."

"Why do you think that is, Gobbert?" I ask conversationally, the Scotch blanketing my brain like a thick duvet in winter.

"Oh sir, you isn't remembering things, is you? I sees, sir. I do. Little things, sir. I has tried to get them back for you, sir, but I can't. I found your books, sir, hidden in your bedroom, sir. I gives them to you to read, sir, so you can know, sir." Gobby stands still next to me, his concern evident in his tennis-ball sized eyes.

"Tell me what you see, Gobby." I say quietly, hoping not to intimidate or scare him away. He is fully aware of my temper and lack of control of my magic when I drink.

"Everyone is sad these days. You is sad, sir. Miss Hermione is sad. Mistress is sad, although it is sometimes hard to tell, sir, as she is angry most of the time, as well."

I clutch my tumbler tightly and set the bottle of Scotch carefully on the desk.

"Gobbert," I say slowly and carefully, "stand in front of the desk where I cannot see you." I say this for his safety, and he scrambles to do my bidding. If I cannot see him, I will not hurt him. When he is out of sight, I continue.

"Gobbert, I have no memory of the past five years. I've read my journals and I've read my ledgers, so I have a fair picture of what my life has been since then. You will tell me what you know of Narcissa's activities, and then you will tell me why Hermione is sad."

By the time Gobbert finishes recounting events and answering questions, I've destroyed the study beyond repair.

Gobbert vanishes the furnishings, the carpeting and wallpaper, everything but the fireplace and the desk and chair at which I am currently sitting. I am spent, the glorious drunkenness I'd experienced from the Scotch gone, and in its place is coldness and the urge to kill. I have much work to do, and as it is still early in the afternoon, I straighten my robes and Disapparate.

Malfoy Manor has not changed since my childhood, it merely receives fresh coats of paint and paper when needed, new furnishings and floor coverings when desired. Since coming to in the alley a week ago, I have been as disconnected from my life as I am now with this place; and neither feel as welcoming as they once had. To my amazement, I do not miss living here. Everything I now want and desire can be found at my penthouse.

Narcissa is in her sitting room off the music room, and from her steely look, she is not happy to see me. I offer her a small smile, and for a moment, she looks confused before her firm gaze returns. We sit quietly as she calls for tea, knowing I will not drink, but thankful for the extra bit of time to reestablish my sense of purpose.

Before I can say a word, she begins, "I'm glad you called this afternoon, Luc. I believe the time has come for us to discuss the course of our future."

I look upon her: her gorgeous blonde locks, her pristine blue eyes, her fine porcelain features and wonder how such a beautiful woman could harbour such an ugly and calculating soul.

"I want a divorce, Lucius." Her voice is cold and measured, and I am relieved. If she had been screaming or crying, I'd have become angry; instead, I look dispassionately at her, for I know what has prompted her request this time.

"Granted." I drawl coolly.

Her face betrays her shock; she had been expecting yet another argument that Malfoys do not divorce, that we gain more together than we would independently. I am done with all the useless prattle that had once been the mainstay of our conversations; I will no longer stay in a miserable excuse of a relationship, much less the travesty of our marriage. I want more. I deserve more.

"Will you be waiting for Michael Flannery?" The look on her face is fearful. Leaning in close, I whisper Legilimens and learn she has had nothing to do with my attack. She blinks from my sudden intrusion and exit, but she squares her shoulders and the hard look returns.

"No. He is dead to me, now." She is wounded, I see, despite the hardness in her voice.

"Didn't you love him, then?"

She laughs now, and I offer her a small smile of my own.

"Heavens, no. He was a means to an end, as they all have been. You know that."

"Then why have you asked for a divorce now?" I do not regret granting her request, but I am slightly intrigued to hear her reason for it.

"And why have you granted it, after all these years?" She counters, and my eyes meet hers. "Is it because of Ms. Granger, then?"

I cannot stop the grin that slowly spreads across my face. I shake my head slowly. "Intriguingly enough, no, it is not because of Ms. Granger, although the realms of possibilities that are now afforded me are exquisite. We both agreed to the terms of our marriage long ago; while finding pleasure for pleasure's sake was quite acceptable, affairs of the heart were another matter. Since you found it as easy to give your heart as you did your body, I believe that is answer enough. Congratulations, as soon as we settle a few matters, you will be free. I do have a request, if possible." Narcissa's eyes narrow, and she leans forward in her chair, as if preparing to attack my person.

"I'd like for you to stay here at the Manor." Narcissa's eyes widen, and a small gasp escapes; her surprise over this pronouncement is evident. "It has been your home for a long time, 'Cissa. Until you remarry, you are welcome to continue living here. Draco will inherit it, after all, and it is not as if you can sell it or remove any of the possessions. What is brought to the Manor stays at the Manor."

I chuckle at the dazed look in her eyes. "Ah, didn't you know that? It is a shame you did not read the marriage contract more carefully all those years ago, my dear. The furnishings, the jewelry, the art... Regardless, I wish you to remain, as long as you desire. I've no use for this place."

I look around the room dispassionately. If I am to move forward in my life, I must make a clean break with my past. I can afford to be generous, after all; all she owns, every piece of property, reverts to the estate should she cease calling it home.

"Just like that, Luc? You are so willing to get rid of me?"

"Why did you ask, if you were not willing to hear my answer then, 'Cissa? Do not worry; I will not stand in your way of happiness, wherever you may find it. I would ask that you do not attempt to move your Muggle lover into the Manor, however; I suspect the house will make its displeasure known."

"Luc," she sighs. "I thought perhaps Mr. Flannery would be my entree into this new post-Voldemort society, but I was wrong. These people are crass and uncouth and completely without the social niceties. I cannot go back to the life I knew, and I no longer know how to move forward." She leans back, closing her eyes. She looks tired and defeated. She is a very good actress.

I leave the Manor two hours later a divorced Wizard. I am unsure of what that means to me, and it will certainly require some sort of adjustment. As Narcissa and I have never had a regular sexual relationship, that won't be an issue. While we may have resided in the same house, we certainly didn't share apartments. In fact, beyond not having a woman on my arm while I attend various functions, I believe I will get on quite well.

I return to my home exhausted, the effects of the curse and all that has occurred leaves me weaker than I'd like to admit. After sending an owl to Draco regarding tonight's dinner plans, I decide to take a quick shower and lie down.

I am dozing, and in that space between dreaming and wakefulness, my fantasies take hold. Hermione comes to me. Hermione, with her long soft curls, her supple skin and wet lips. I lazily reach for my cock, half hard from the mere thought of her. I rub myself slowly, imagining that she is here, undressing and readying herself for bed. She peels off her robes slowly, revealing breasts tipped with dark pink nipples and shapely hips. Her womanhood is nestled in a dark patch of curls, neatly trimmed and glistening with arousal.

I tighten my grip, and I stroke myself as my Hermione reaches up to grasp her creamy breasts in her hands, lifting them and pushing them together. She tucks in her chin and licks her pert nipples. She wets her fingertips and traces them gently, hardening them. I continue to leisurely stroke myself, imagining that I am giving her instruction.

"Pull at your nipples. Yes, that's a good girl... yes, you like that, don't you? Good. Twist them... a little more... a little more... Pinch them for me, Hermione. Imagine them in my mouth, my tongue swirling those pink tips. Drawing them deeply into my mouth. Good girl..."

On and on I go, imagining her against the wall, the same wall that I had her pushed up against just days ago, when she walked into my bedroom. Her hand now drifts down to her wet folds, swollen with desire.

"Spread your legs wider, Hermione. Show yourself. That's a good girl... Look how pretty that is, now spread yourself open. Oh, that's good. Spit on your fingers, Hermione. Yes, get your fingers nice and wet. Good... dip your fingers inside, my love. Feel how excited you are, waiting for me, wanting me inside you. That's it. Roll your clit in your fingers, yes, just like that..."

I can imagine Hermione's breath catching at my words. In my fantasies, Hermione craves instruction, explicit instruction. She is panting, going only as fast as I allow, rocking her hips against her hand, catching that sensitive bundle of nerves with her thumb.

On and on it goes as I stroke myself. I reach down to grasp my bollocks and roll them in my other hand, feeling them draw in close to my body. All too soon, my stomach is hot and slick with semen, and my breath is ragged. I continue stroking, milking myself slowly, determined to draw out each sensation, making the most of my fantasy.

Replete, I cast a quick Scourgify and drift off to sleep, a smile on my face. It won't be long now.

Waking an hour later, I quickly shower and dress then Apparate to Draco's flat. My son's flat is well proportioned and comfortable, tastefully decorated in soft chocolate browns and sage greens. The flat suits him as a bachelor.

As quickly and succinctly as possible, I inform him of the divorce. He is unable to smother his surprise, but he is not upset, and for that, I am thankful. He informs me that he had been waiting for this day. I assure him that his mother is still provided for, living at the Manor, in fact, since it has been her home longer than any other residence. That I can easily relegate her to the status of 'his mother' is telling. Perhaps he is correct in thinking the move has been a long time in coming.

"So, you are living at the penthouse full time, then?" he asks as we sit down to a remarkable lobster bisque with French bread. It is simple fare, but somehow fits the evening. "Will Hermione be joining you soon?"

My hand stops halfway to my mouth. Slowly I lower my spoon. "How do you feel about it?" I ask, stalling for time. But my son is clever, and he can read the clues as easily as me.

"Yes, I know about Hermione. Remarkably, she and I have become close over the past years. I once thought of dating her, actually, but then I'd met Diana, and you were beginning to demand more and more of her time, ..." He ends the sentence with a shrug of his shoulders, and I am left to deal with the uncomfortable feeling of lusting and fantasizing and, gods help me, falling in love with my son's schoolmate. Former schoolmate, I remind myself fiercely.

I will not talk to Draco about my relationship with Hermione, not yet. I've more important matters to discuss with him, although one day very soon I want to hear his thoughts on gaining Hermione as a stepmother. I swallow a choking laugh at the thought. From Draco's sharp glance, he may have deduced my train of thoughts.

Over snifters of brandy and cigars on the patio, I begin relating to him the events of the past week, including the ongoing investigations and PW's findings. His eyes grow round at the news, but he handles it remarkably well. He will also talk with Misters Potter and Weasley; from what Draco says, he has a good working relationship with the men. He asks good, solid questions, and without being melodramatic or pitifully sympathetic, my son expresses his concern.

In return, Draco fills me in on the last five years of his life: the women and his burgeoning career as a restaurateur. He has built a good life for himself, and my pride is well justified. By the end of the evening, I am content. I've shared a warm, filling meal, excellent brandy and a more-than-adequate cigar with a son any man would be proud to claim. Winning three-hundred galleons from him didn't hurt, either.

I bid my son a good night, promise to return the following week, and step out into the crisp night air and Apparate home.

Later, getting ready for bed, I hear a woman screaming vicious expletives. Instantly recognizing Hermione, I grab my wand and burst into the study. I come to a stop as I see her standing in the middle of the bare room, tears streaming down her face, as she looks around wildly. The wall sconces illuminate the empty space with a soft glow.

Seeing me standing there in my black silk pajama pants, she runs to me, and reaching out, she slaps me. Hard. "You bastard! I thought you'd left again. What the hell happened in here? Why is everything gone?" Her breath hitches, and angry tears begin to fall.

My arms reach around her, pinning her arms to her sides, and pull her tight. "Shhh... Hermione. My love. I'm here. I'm right here." I reach up to stroke her hair. Looking past her shoulder, I see a folder on the bare wooden floor, its contents scattered over half the naked surface.

"I Floo-ed by to drop off the final paperwork for the Mi -MicroCeltic sale. When I saw the empty room..." her angry sob choking off her words.

I stroke her hair and back, long smooth strokes meant to sooth and calm her. "I thought I'd redecorate," I tease. I've no wish to relay the true happenings of this afternoon. She has been through much these past few months, and I've no wish to add to it. I've forgiven her for the interlude with Severus, and while I know it will be brought up at some point, it will not be tonight.

Taking her face in my hands, I press a gentle kiss to her lips. Immediately her mouth opens under mine. I know she is reeling from shock. I feel her relief acutely, to have her in my arms is heaven. I cannot help but delve into her mouth; like a flower soaks up the rain, my senses fill with her. She wraps her arms my neck, her fingers tightening in my hair. She is ferocious in her kiss, her tongue willing to duel with mine. In one flowing movement, I sweep her into my arms and carry her down the hall.

"Where are you taking me?" she asks, immediately suspicious.

"My bedroom." I cannot contain the smugness in my voice. I will finally have her where I want her.

"But why?" For a remarkably bright witch, she is slow to catch up. I cannot hold back the husky timber as I chuckle softly.

"One guess."

A/N: We all know what is coming next, right??

Thank you Sc010f for your extra special attention to this chapter. Thank you Wildcatcdc for the polish and shine!