Name Game (completed)

Chapter Nineteen

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So. I did proof read this time, but there may still be mistakes, so please feel free to point them out, as I really don't want to have an inaccurate story. On that point, please also point out any inconsistencies with previous chapters that you may have noticed. In my plan, the next chapter is the last one. But It may not turn out that way. It depends.

DISCLAIMER: Well, you know what I'm going to say here, but I might as well say it anyway. JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, therefore owns most of he settings and characters in this fan fiction.

Hermione took a tentative sip of her tea, and tried hard not to recoil at that taste. It was china tea, and severely lacking in milk and sugar. She set the cup back down in its saucer.

"My husband will be with us shortly." Astoria assured her for the tenth time since Hermione has arrived some time earlier that afternoon.

"Don't worry. I'm in no hurry."

Astoria gave a tight smile. She seemed to be increasingly trepidatious, worried and anxious. Her smiles were strained, faltering and uncertain, and she held herself stiffly in the high-backed chair, as though involuntarily uncomfortable. 

"Good."

A strained silence ensued. Hermione took the opportunity to survey her surroundings and, finally, the timid witch seated in front of her. The Malfoys' current abode was clearly Regency, although enhanced with tasteful Edwardian touches; intricate gilt mirrors, gleaming wooden floorboards, and decorative, yet distinctly uncomfortable, antique furniture. Hermione was no expert of architecture or interior design, but she prided herself upon being able to identify most periods, and was pleased with her observations. Astoria was harder to place. he didn't resemble her son, who took after his father, in any obvious way; a small, slim women with fine sandy hair and a pretty, ivory-skinned complexion. Her eyes were pale violet, big, round and rabbit-like, and when she spoke her voice was light and fluttery, like a breath of wind.

But there was something about the delicacy of her feature, that reminded Hermione of Scorpius. The elegantly straight nose, slightly rounded at the very tip, the acutely defined sharpness of their full, soft lips, and the perfect lashes that framed their eyes, each one jet black and beautifully accented, grouped into perfect, spiky gatherings...

"I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting."

A tall, thin man with fine, pointed facial features, platinum blond hair, and sorrowful grey eyes, entered the room. He shook hands formally with Hermione, the proceeded to kiss his wide tenderly upon her tired, white  cheek.

"Try not to worry so much, dear. This could mean progress." He whispered reassuringly in her ear, before seating himself at her side. "So."

"So."

It was a while before anyone spoke again. You could have sliced cleanly through the atomosphere, so fragile was its division. Eventually, Hermione began to consider making the first move, but Draco, ever vigilant, beat her to it.

"I am sorry for the state your son is in. And for the suffering it must put you through. Truly. You have our upmost sympathies." It was little more than a mere, customary formality, but his expression was one sincereness. 

"Thank you." Hermione heard her voice cracking as she spoke, almost imperceptibly, but not quite. She shook herself firmly, determined to maintain a calm and composed demeanour. 

"Now, the matter of our son and... your daughter. Do you also, think that there is reason to believe they may be found together?"

"Yes." Hermione wanted to get straight to the point. "Is there anywhere Scorpius may have... taken Rose?"