Many, many thanks to you who've taken the time to spend time with my little story. Wasn't planning on updating today, but I'm sick so what the heck!

Immortal Memories: bookmark? I'm honored (bows)

Cat Samwise: From the similarities, it sounds like you're remembering my original posting on the HPSS Fest site. If not, I'm sure I'll hear about it. This is the continuation and conclusion of that original posting.

Now, we must have a villain….

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Abigail Mifflin took the opportunity afforded by her companion's absence to fluff her ringlets and adjust her dress. The peach-coloured confection, adorned with strategically placed lace rosettes, set off her pale skin and light brown hair to perfection, she thought contentedly. Small cap sleeves at the point of each shoulder drew the eye down naturally to her ample bust. Abigail smothered a giggle as she recalled the stunned admiration in Harry's--her Harry's, she thought--eyes when he'd first stood to greet her.

She'd swished gracefully across the restaurant, the full skirt showing her Bottacellian figure to perfection. It was, she knew, a complete success; all eyes following her progress and observing the Man-Who-Triumphed bowing slightly over her hand.

Abigail pouted; she'd hoped for a kiss to her hand, but no doubt there would be time for that later. It showed he had restraint, she decided, restraint and decorum, to handle their first meeting so elegantly. He'd been becomingly attentive too, eyes fixed firmly on her face as she'd regaled him with interesting tidbits about their fellow diners, all of them celebrities and heroes.

She lifted a forkful of moussecake and savored it, throwing quick little glances around the room to make sure everyone knew that she, Abigail Mifflin, of much maligned and despised Hufflepuff, was dining at Rene's with Harry Potter. She dimpled when a
man, old from his white hair despite the young face under it, lifted his wine glass to her in salute. She was well aware, when the man turned back to his companions, that he was talking to them about her

Everybody will be talking about me, she told herself a little smugly. Rene's was frequented by the creme de la creme of wizarding society, and that naturally included Harry Potter's wife!

Abigail frowned slightly, beginning to wonder what had happened to her fiance, and in the next instant smoothed the look from her face. Frowns caused wrinkles, Mama said, and a wrinkly forehead wasn't something Abigail wanted.

"Miss Mifflin, isn't it?"

The voice that drawled her name was male, the accent pureblooded and aristocratic. Abigail looked up and met the pale grey eyes of the young-old man from across the room.

Not old, was her first thought, realizing what she'd taken for white was really a blond so pale it looked white.

"Have we met before?" she blurted out and blushed, hearing her second thought escape from between her teeth. "I...I mean...it's just..." She drew in a deep breath, lifting her chest as Mama had taught her, and regained her composure. "You seem awfully familiar, sir."

The tall man half-closed his eyes as he regarded her, giving her equal time to study him. Abigail's wide doe eyes took in the magnificently tailored waistcoat of dark green with tiny dragons figured on it in lighter greens. Lace fell like spray from a waterfall at neck and cuffs, and she wanted desperately to see if his trousers fitted him as well as the waistcoat but doing so would mean taking her eyes off the man's face.

His lips twitched and the blond man made a noise in his throat. "Perhaps you're remembering me from school, Miss Mifflin; I was only a few forms ahead of
you. May I?" He waved his hand at the table and Abigail nodded absently, trying to put the clues together. Her eyes were caught by one of the tiny dragon figures, when it suddenly reared back and breathed tiny crimson flames at one of the others.

School. Hogwarts. Different form, older. Blond hair, pale grey eyes, aristocrat. Dragons.

"Draco Malfoy!" Abigail gasped, starting back against her seat involuntarily.

"Very good, Miss Mifflin."

Malfoy tipped his head in acknowledgement and slid into Harry's seat across from her at the small table. What had seemed romantic and intimate moments before suddenly felt like a closet. She watched Draco Malfoy pour himself a drink from the bottle of wine the steward had left. Abigail felt her eyes widen and she shrank slightly, a mouse avoiding the gaze of a very hungry cat.

Or a snake.

Oblivious to her distress, Malfoy examined the wine in the light, holding it up and tipping the glass slightly before sniffing it. He paused as if considering, then finally sipped and nodded his approval.

"Excellent," he said, but Abigail wasn't sure if it was to her or himself. "The '97, I'd say." Malfoy sipped again, turning the bottle to examine the label. "Right again!"

Harry Potter had faced down He-Who-Would-Not-Be-Named, and Death Eaters, and Dark Creatures, and even Slytherins, but Abigail Mifflin was acutely aware she was not Harry Potter, and the sight of Draco Malfoy, the ultimate Slytherin, so Slytherin even the Dark Lord had not known Malfoy would betray him, sitting across from her at a restaurant trapped her in icy fear.

The blond continued to the study the bottle in his hand for a few moments more. "I had no idea Rene's even carried the '97. I wonder if Potter brought his own, instead?" A slight frown crossed his pale face as he considered.

"Is...is there...something I can...do for you...Mr. Malfoy? Sir?" Abigail heard her voice tremble and knew Draco Malfoy had to have as well.

Malfoy looked up from his contemplation and finally set the bottle aside. "No, Miss Mifflin; actually, I stopped by to offer my condolences."

Abigail clasped her hands around the napkin on her lap, wringing the fine linen tightly.

"Con--dolences?" she whispered.

Malfoy shook his head pityingly. "So tragic, your mother dying like that, just after you and Potter announced your engagement."

His eyes gleamed and his smile widened until just the tips of his teeth showed. Abigail felt the last of the blood run from her face and her whole body began to tremble with fear. Never a brilliant thinker, not even she could miss the threat Malfoy's statement implied.

"Of course it could have been so, so much worse, couldn't it Miss Mifflin? Imagine if it had been both your parents, perhaps during the ceremony," Malfoy leaned forward slightly. "Or perhaps during the reception." He tilted his head, eyes focusing somewhere distant. "Yes, can't you just see it? One second toasting the new couple, the next bang! Face down in the cake. So tragic."

And Abigail could see it, her beloved parents collapsing across the table. She was staring, she knew it, but the horror of the image just wouldn't leave her. She sat as frozen as any statue, not even noticing when Malfoy slid from the table, collected his cloak and cane, and walked calmly from the restaurant.

That was how Harry found her a few minutes later, tears tracking down her face and dropping to the table unchecked.

"Miss Mifflin? Abigail?" Harry set down the dusty bottle he'd gone to the cellar to collect. Curse Rene for cornering him like that! What could possibly have happened?

"Abigail?" he asked again, this time taking one cold, trembling hand in his own. "What's wrong?"

The touch seemed to startle her, and she turned towards him with tear-stained cheeks and reddened eyes. Her mouth opened and closed several times and Harry nodded encouragingly, kneeling down next to her to hide her distress from the other diners.

"Oh...oh, Har-Mr. Potter," she finally started, voice little more than a whisper. "I'm so, so sorry, but I find, I fear, we would not suit."