Breakfast at Natalie's

It was Sunday, nearly lunchtime. Natalie wore her new white blouse and black pants, as well as the new black ballet flats. Emily had insisted.

"Why aren't you wearing your new clothes?" she'd asked yesterday.

"I'm saving them," she'd answered with a shrug. After she'd returned from the shopping trip, she'd folded her purchases neatly and stored them in the large wardrobe in the corner of her bedroom.

"For what?"

Indeed, for what? She didn't really know.

"Well," said Emily, "you should wear them tomorrow."

So here she was, pouring coffee in the new blouse, careful not to stain it. The other employees, including the cook and one of the other waitresses, Shari, had told her how good she looked. It made her happy, but she kept her face and voice expressionless.

"Hello there, Mr. Malfoy," said Emily brightly, as the door swished open.

"Hello, Emily," he replied courteously. His eyes swept the café, obviously searching for something, or someone.

"Natalie, get Mr. Malfoy his coffee, will you? You know how he likes it."

His gaze found her, and he took in her improved appearance with a critical eye, though he appeared to be amused for some reason.

"Hi," he murmured as she approached him. She didn't reply, even though she knew it was impolite. "You look very different today." He paused for a moment, and, thinking that she didn't say anything because she felt insulted, revised his comment. "I meant to say different as in good-different. You look nice."

"Okay, that's it," she hissed, slamming the coffee pot on the table. "Who are you and what do you want from me?"

"My name is Draco Malfoy," he said quietly. Was that just his name, or was that who he was? He wasn't quite sure. "The only thing I want from you is information." He knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words left his lips. Natalie practically growled at him.

"Natalie, is everything alright over there?" called Emily from across the room.

"Just a little spill, that's all," she called back. She whispered back to Malfoy: "What are you talking about?"

"I want to know who you are," he said, reaching into his pocket.

Oh no, thought Natalie, he's got a gun. Or maybe it's a knife. God, help me.

"Here," he said, placing a black and white picture on the table. The woman in the photograph stared up at her. Natalie felt a chill go down her spine. It's a picture of...me. Where did he get this?

"Where did you get this?" she demanded, voicing her question aloud.

"This is my mother," he said.

"Your mother?" She was puzzled. She inspected the picture more closely. It wasn't her, after all. This woman had sharper features and was probably older than she was.

"You look very much alike," he said, stating the obvious.

"What do you mean by this?"

"Who are you?" he asked. 'You say your name is Natalie King, but I've never heard anyone in my family mention you."

"What makes you so sure we're related?"

He gestured at the picture. "Doesn't this mean anything to you?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I've never seen this woman in my life."

"How old are you?" he asked suddenly.

"Twenty-nine," she answered truthfully.

"Two years older than me," he said. "You certainly don't look twenty-nine. Maybe twenty-four or twenty-five."

"Um, thank you?"

"Natalie! What are you doing?"

"I'm taking my lunch break now!" she said, excusing herself from duty for the next half hour or so. She wasn't supposed to take her break during the busiest time of the day, but she figured Shari could take over her shift. Besides, this was higher on her list of priorities. Not that she had many. She lowered herself into the seat across from him, fidgeting uncomfortably. The top few buttons of her blouse had come undone, and she was aware of his gaze.

"Would you like something to eat?" he offered, his cheeks flushing as their eyes met. "I haven't ordered yet."

"I'll take your order before I go on break," she said, ready with a pen and a notepad.

"I'll have a grilled chicken sandwich with a pickle and chips on the side," he said. "And get yourself something too. I'm paying."

"No, that's--"

"I'm paying," he said firmly. What was it with people these past couple days? Why wouldn't they let her pay for herself? She placed their orders and sat back down at the table.

"Do you know what a Muggle is?" he asked, peering at her as he sipped his coffee.

"Of course," she answered. "They're non-mag--"

"Shh," he said. "Don't."

"Sorry," she apologized. "Are you a--"

"Yes," he replied, without even waiting for the rest of the question. Their food arrived and he munched on the pickle. "We can't talk here," he said after a long pause. "We might be overheard."

"Then where--"

"My place," he said hurriedly. "It's just down the street."

"I-I can't," she stammered. "I have to go back to work."

"What time do you get off then?"

"Three," she said.

"I'll be here to pick you up," he said, wiping his mouth on a napkin. He paid for their lunch and left a generous tip. "See you." Without another word, he exited the café, leaving his uneaten sandwich on the plate.

"Wait!" she called after him. "You forgot your sandwich!" But the door had already banged shut again. Sighing, she wrapped up the sandwich and put it in a paper bag, resolving to bring it to him later.

------------------------

"Hello, Natalie," said Malfoy. He had arrived promptly at three.

"Oh," she said, turning around. "Can you wait just a minute? I have to lock up."

He waited patiently as she made sure the doors were locked, emerging with a paper bag in her hand. She held it out to him.

"You left your sandwich," she said awkwardly.

"My sandwich?" He looked at her blankly. "Oh, right. My sandwich. From lunch." He took the bag from her. "Thanks."

Then he turned and began to walk down the street toward several apartment complexes. She followed him up two flights of stairs.

"It isn't much," he said, pushing open the door and flicking on the lights, "but it's enough."

"Don't you work?" she asked, surveying the room curiously. She had never seen so many Muggle appliances in a Wizarding residence.

"I'm an Auror," he said, hanging up his jacket. "There wasn't much going on today, so my boss gave me the afternoon off." This was true, but the real reason Kingsley had given him the afternoon off was because he and Charlie had spent the rather eventless day bewitching random items to sing Christmas carols. Kingsley had gotten tired of listening to his colleagues' complaints about their quills that burst out in enthusiastic bouts of the Hallelujah Chorus, so he'd sent Malfoy and Charlie home for the day.

"An Auror," she murmured.

"What you like something to drink?" he offered, remembering his duty as a host. "Water, tea, pumpkin juice, coffee?"

"Just water," she said.

He grabbed a glass from the dish rack. "Aguamenti."

"Thanks," she said, taking a sip. "So you really are a wizard."

"Of course," he said, raising an eyebrow. "You didn't think I was?"

"Well, I knew there was something different about you." She sat down at the kitchen table. "I just didn't know what it was. You seem so...comfortable. I mean, around Muggles."

"It's taken me awhile to get used to it," he admitted. "But I've lived like this for so long that I barely have to think about it anymore."

"You're lucky," she said. "It's hard for me. I just feel like I don't fit here."

"Where do you live?"

"On the outskirts of the city. My father left me his house. He...died, a month ago."

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

She looked away. "He was all I ever had. I never knew who my mother was. It's terrible living in that house, but I can't bear to sell it."

"You could stay here," he said, placing his hand over hers. "I mean, we barely know each other, but if you really wanted, you could stay." He didn't know why, but he felt a connection to her, as if he'd known her all his life.

"That's very kind of you, but--"

"You could stay here during the weekdays and go back on the weekends. It's much closer to where you work and--"

"I'll think about it."

He smiled. "I feel..."

"As if you've known me forever?"

"I--how did you know?" he asked, taken aback.

"Don't you feel it?" she asked quietly. "There's something..."

He stood up abruptly and disappeared into his bedroom. He came back holding several worn photo albums. "This is me," he said, pointing to a small boy holding a toy broomstick.

"And that's your mum?" she said, pointing to the blonde woman standing beside him.

"Yes," he said, turning the page. "That's my father, right there." He opened the most dilapidated album. It was full of wedding pictures. "There's my grandfather, my grandmother...my mum and dad..." Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa leaned against each other, smiling. He'd never noticed it before, but his mother's smile seemed fake, almost a sort of grimace. He detected a trace of sadness in her eyes. Was he merely imagining it?

"She looks unhappy," said Natalie, tracing her fingers over the photograph. So she had noticed it too. "I wonder why?"

Malfoy's mobile phone rang, making them both jump.

"Hello?" said Malfoy into the speaker.

"Yes, hello?" said a deep voice on the other end. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes, boss." He rolled his eyes. He and Charlie had taught Kingsley how to use a phone, but had never mastered the skill completely.

"You know I don't like phones, Malfoy, so I'll be brief," boomed Kingsley. Malfoy winced and held the phone away from his ear. "I need you down here immediately."

"Yes, sir," said Malfoy, but Kingsley had already hung up. He hadn't been joking about being brief.

"Who was it?" asked Natalie.

"My boss. I have to go," he said, throwing on his jacket. "I hate to leave you like this, but can you see yourself out?"

"Yes, of course," she said, placing her empty glass in the sink.

"Don't forget about my offer," he said before shutting the door.

He Apparated to the ministry and jabbed impatiently at the elevator button. The lift took him up to his office, and he barreled past Miranda's desk.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes," said Kingsley. "Take a seat." Charlie and Tim were already seated, both fidgeting anxiously. "You may remember the assignment that I gave you last week."

"The drug dealers, sir?"

"Precisely." He spun ominously in his leather chair, hands clasped. "These Muggle drug dealers have been selling drugs to unsuspecting witches and wizards. They say they are 'immortality vitamins,' which they are not. These highly addictive drugs are causing our people to hallucinate and perform rash acts."

"Sir?" said Charlie. "What sort of things are they doing?"

"Things like...murder," said Kingsley. There was a collective gasp from Charlie and Time; Malfoy clenched his fists. "Yes, murder. Just twenty minutes ago, I received a report from the Muggle police department where some of our agents are stationed. He informed me that several prominent officials have been found dead with no sign of injury."

"Sir, it's not--it's not You-Know-Who come back, is it?" whispered Charlie.

"Don't be ridiculous, Jenkins," said Kingsley dismissively. "The head of police also informed me that there were plenty of witnesses who saw these cloaked men 'disappear into thin air with a loud bang.' We, of course, know that it was merely Apparition."

"And the Muggles?" asked Tim. "Have their memories been modified?"

"Fortunately, our task force arrived before the crowd dispersed, so they were able to perform Memory Charms on all the witnesses after they had given testimony."

"What do you want us to do, sir?" asked Malfoy.

"I would like you and Jenkins to track down these drug dealers and put a stop to these activities immediately. Watkins, notify Potter, Damien, and Morris. I want them working on this as well."

"Yes, sir," answered Watkins, retreating to his own office.

"Now, Malfoy, Jenkins, I want you to report to me as soon as you find anything. And I'm giving you the go-ahead to arrest these people if you find them. We want this resolved as quickly and as unobtrusively as possible, so don't go making a scene or I'll fire you. And I mean it this time. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," said Charlie, saluting his boss. Malfoy nodded.

"Then get going."

They left the office just as one of Kingsley's eagle-feather quills began a squeaky rendition of "Deck the Halls". It took Malfoy and Charlie a great deal of self-restraint not to laugh until they were in Charlie's office.

----------------------------

Hermione was pacing around the kitchen. It was nine o'clock and Joseph had not come home for dinner. She had tried his mobile several times, but he didn't pick up. At eight thirty she'd decided to put the kids to bed. She'd read them a bedtime story and tucked them in. She was sitting in front of the television, but it wasn't on.

At quarter past eleven, her husband entered the kitchen.

"J-Joseph," she said, yawning. "Where have you been?" She caught a whiff of cigarette smoke as she helped him with his coat. "You've been drinking at the bar again, haven't you?"

"S'none of your business," he slurred.

"It is my business," she countered. "Do you know how worried I was?"

"Ah, shut yer trap, woman." He stumbled toward their bedroom. Hermione hung back, aghast.

"What did you say to me?" she demanded. When he didn't answer, she followed him into the bedroom. "What did you say?"

He turned and slapped her clumsily. She touched her stinging cheek.

"How dare you," she said in a low voice. "How dare you, Joseph."

"I can do whatever I want, you little whore." His trousers slid to the ground, the belt clinking. "I saw you with him."

"Who?" she asked, utterly confused.

"That blond 'un. I saw you with 'im." Was he talking about Malfoy?

"He-he's just a friend," she stammered.

"Just a friend?" he sneered, grabbing her wrist. She yelped as he shoved her onto the bed. "You dirty little whore."

"Joseph, please, you're drunk. You don't know what you're saying." She desperately tried to free herself, hoping that the children couldn't hear them. "Joseph, please, the children."

"I don't give a damn about the bloody children," he said, leaning over her. She instinctively turned away from his hot, beery breath. "They're probably his anyway."

"Joseph, how can you say that?" she asked, horrified. He struck her on the shoulder.

"I told you to shut up!" He yanked her nightgown up past her waist. "It's time you learned your place."

"No, please, Joseph," she pleaded, sobbing. She cried out as he forced her knees apart. "Please, stop."

She struggled and squirmed underneath him, but she was simply not strong enough. She closed her eyes and waited for it to be over. Presently, he groaned and shuddered. He pulled on his trousers and went into the bathroom. She remained huddled on her side of the bed, crying silently. He didn't speak to her as he pulled the blankets over himself. Within minutes, the only noise in the house was the sound of his snoring.