Denial- is a psychological defense mechanism in which a person faced with a fact that is uncomfortable or painful to accept rejects it instead, insisting that it is not true despite what may be overwhelming evidence. The subject may deny the reality of the unpleasant fact altogether (simple denial), admit the fact but deny its seriousness (minimisation) or admit both the fact and seriousness but deny responsibility (transference).

It took a great deal of restraint to keep from rubbing her temples when the throbbing began, the urge to point out to the witch sitting across from her that her relationships with men were toxic and that maybe she should just give up on them entirely and find a decent witch to settle down with or an ogre, since the blokes she usually wound up with were on the same level. In the same breath she would have told her, 'you are a witch; hex the bastard's bits off the next time he uses you for a punching bag', but that wasn't the way it worked. The client had to come to the point they understood what was wrong and have the desire to work on the issues. Doris sighed and dabbed her eyes with a hankie, looking at Hermione much the way Crookshanks did when he was wanted his tin of food.

"Why are you blaming yourself for last night?" Hermione asked in a neutral tone. "You came home from work and because you opted to bring food instead of cooking you deserved a beating?"

The witch blushed furiously and nodded. "Yes,well, no, I mean…I'm supposed to say I don't deserve a beating. Roger was just tired and frustrated. You know how men are when they get their bits in a wad. I knew he didn't like me to bring things in..." Her words trailed off and she started twisting her hands.

"Why do you place the responsibility of Roger's dissatisfaction of life on you, Doris? Correct me if I'm wrong, but he is an adult. It's not your job to ensure his happiness." Hermione closed her pad, the hour was up. She didn't usually keep tabs of the time like she once did when she'd first started interning but soon learned that you could spend the entire day with one client going around and around in circles. "The only person whose happiness you should worry about is your own."

Doris sighed again and looked down at her hands. "But he makes me happy, really. When he holds me and tells me he's sorry, I know he is. If he could just find a job he likes and if ..."

Hermione tuned her out. She'd heard the 'ifs' often enough to recite them by heart. "Our time is up," she said after the witch's diatribe. "Doris, please attempt to think about what we've said, that you need to focus on yourself and not Roger. He is his own person and needs to accept you are your own person also." She knew it was falling on deaf ears. "And please, take care of yourself." One day she fully expected to find Doris in St. Mungo's from Roger's beatings or worse, in the morgue. Hermione had already informed Kingsley about the domestic abuse, which most Aurors would have looked at her in bewilderment. It was not common to report such things in the Wizarding world; witches could take care of themselves supposedly.

Doris gave Hermione an overly bright smile as she left, and Hermione could tell the witch was no closer to being convinced that Roger was bad for her than the last several visits.

Lighting a cigarette, Hermione began to go through the stacks of letters stacked neatly in the utmost tier of the correspondence box, most in the lavender colored envelopes the Ministry used. There were three more Death Eaters whose solicitors were pushing for parole or dismissal of charges. The political pressure behind this was strong, the new Minister winning his position by promising a new era of forgiveness and restoration. It appeared that the war had been quickly forgotten now that peace was at hand.

Hermione raised her eyebrow slightly at the elegant script on the last envelope; a rich white paper that one would see in a formal invitation and assumed it was to some sort of charity event. Slitting it open, she pulled out the quality paper, faded a bit around the edges. Her eyes widened when she saw the name at the bottom of the missive,

Dear Ms Granger,

I would like to extend an invitation to dinner at your earliest convenience to express my gratitude in your participation in procuring my release.

Sincerely,

L.A. Malfoy

A furrow appeared between her brows and she snorted softly, ready to toss the letter into the wastebasket. Pausing, she put it in the drawer, just in case. What was Lucius up to? Was he inviting her to dinner to show her, the parole board, that he had changed? 'See I can eat with a Mudblood and not vomit.'

Dismissing the idea, she gathered the folders to take home with her and left the office.

Three more invitations arrived from Lucius over the next two weeks, each short, in almost the same words and she added then to the drawer with no intention of ever replying. He'd get the message soon enough that there would be no interaction between them. Unfortunately that notion was dissuaded that afternoon when she received the fourth invitation from Lucius in an envelope from her adviser, Healer Clark who headed the fourth floor at St. Mungo's.

Hermione's mouth dropped open when she read the letter. Healer Clark made it very clear that she ishould/i make the effort to meet with Malfoy, pointing out that if Malfoy was wanting to try to get to know Muggles and Muggle society that she would be the appropriate choice to help him deal with any issues or questions he might have. Immediately she wrote a long letter in retaliation, citing the code of ethics that prevented therapists from interacting with their clients, even previous clients, and why she couldn't in good conscious meet with Malfoy.

She wasn't surprised when the return letter came from Clark with the not so subtle insinuations that her 'employment' with the department of Ministry was still under evaluation of its validity and reminding her that this was not the Muggle world and that Muggle laws, ethics, did not apply and that if ethics were an issue, why did it not apply to Ginerva Weasley Potter, whom was a patient of Hermione's for six months and to everyone's knowledge, still a friend seen outside the office.

Damn

How could she explain that the sessions with Ginny were for herself as well as her friend, who was having bouts of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome that were exasperated after her brother's suicide.Resigned to the task, Hermione penned a note to Lucius, agreeing to meet him for dinner, at her chosen location.

She was on her second glass of wine when she saw him at the door of the establishment. It shouldn't have, but it amused her to watch Lucius enter the restaurant, a cool confident expression on his face. She was minutely impressed that his attire worked, old fashioned tailored trousers, shirt and vest fit nicely into Muggle society, but in today's society he could have worn his robes and not garnered too many odd stares. Hermione didn't miss the slight relief in his face when he was able to excuse himself from the hostess when he spotted her and made his way over to the table.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said in greeting, not bothering to hide the wry smirk on her face. "I see you found your way."

Lucius took the chair opposite her, raising a frosty eyebrow in her direction a moment before his countenance settled into one of polite humor. "Well done, Ms Granger. I don't believe you could have chosen a place further from my estate without leaving London," he said smoothly.

"Oh, I'm sure I could have, however I chose this place because it is a favorite of mine. I hope you like Chinese." Her eyes danced with a mischievous glint and she didn't care if he knew she had chosen the restaurant because of its distance. He would have been forced to find his way here through Muggle transport unless he'd procured an illegal wand and Apparated to a nearby alley as she had done. Actually, she had hoped he wouldn't show. Nothing could come of this. She knew what he wanted and she was determined to dismiss his offer of telling her what happened to her husband. As much as she wanted to know, it was better she didn't. "Did you have any trouble in transportation?"

"Not at all nor do I foresee any in leaving here, providing a vagrant doesn't decide they need a broom to sweep the dust from the alley," he said smugly.

Hermione raised her glass slightly to him, she'd forgotten about brooms having an intense dislike for them and never using them herself, especially since...

Downing the rest of the her wine, she reached for the half empty bottle and refilled her glass. The waiter stopped at the table for their order. Shooting Lucius a conspiratorial look, Hermione ordered for both of them, a wide variety of dishes. If he truly was interested in learning more about Muggle things, including what Chinese fare he liked, then she would provide him the opportunity. She was not deluding herself; he was not here to eat although she thought he probably could stand a good meal. His cheeks were still sunken in, a hungry look lingered in his eyes and she couldn't help but remember Sirius, how starved he always seemed after the years of deprivation in Azkaban.

Her throaty chuckle was muffled when she took a sip of wine causing him to slightly raise his eyebrows. "Cheers," she murmured, wryly amused at her thoughts. How could she even compare Harry's dead godfather to this man?

"It seems you have found something amusing," he remarked, pouring himself a glass of wine from the new bottle a waitress brought over. "Do share."

Hermione toyed with her glass, shaking her head. "I am trying to discern what you are playing at, Mr. Malfoy."

"I am simply attempting to learn how the 'other' half lives," he said smoothly, his smile sardonic. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

"What I wanted? I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you are the furthest thing from my mind. After our last 'visit' I crossed your name off my to-do list forever."

Lucius leaned back in the chair, amusement clearly etched in his face. "Pity. I have thought of you often these last weeks," he remarked, his lips curving more at her attempt not to look surprised. The waitress brought the food, inquiring if they needed anything else. Hermione shook her head before Lucius had a chance to respond, her mouth pursing. The bastard had caught her off guard again and she despised him for it.

"Before you tuck in, I'm going to lay some ground rules for this meal. One, we will only talk about the weather, the food or the state of the current economy. Two, there will be no mention of our personal lives, present or past tense, nor will we speak of our world here. Clear?" She saw the glint in his eyes, the brief flare of ire perhaps, yet there was something else there also, and she blamed the wine for reading too much into it, for she could have sworn that it was a look of admiration.

Lucius inclined his head, smirking slightly. "Agreed. While we dine there will be only light, inane conversation." He picked up his silverware and began to choose from the various dishes offered.

They ate in silence, punctuated by his inquiries to the food offered and as agreed, the weather. Hermione barely touched the food, opting to nurse another glass of wine instead becoming lulled into a false hope that he would eat and go. His gaze bothered her, each time she looked over at him she caught him studying her, reminding her of an animal stalking its prey. Again, she shook off the notion, secure in the fact that he would never act in this setting.

Laying his silverware down, his plate clean, Lucius leaned back in his chair and reached into his vest pocket. For a brief moment she tensed, half expecting him to draw a wand, feeling foolish when he withdrew a cigar.

"There's a no smoking policy here."

"Really?" he drawled, a slow lazy smirk curving his lips, putting the cigar back into his pocket. "And you are the type not to break the rules? I believe when you agreed to this dinner that you broke several of your code of ethics, which I find highly intriguing. Why did you agree, Hermione?"

It irked her to hear her name on his lips for some reason. "You were very persuasive. I could hardly keep turning you down, could I, Lucius?" she returned, letting his name slide off her tongue in a mocking manner.

Lucius' laughter rang out, causing several at a near by table to look over at them. "You are a poor liar, my dear. My attempts would hardly constitute persuasion." His eyes glittered at her, a veiled cunning reflecting in the stormy gray. "Why did you come?"

"I believe we agreed to keep personal inquiries..."

"Ah, yes. But as you can see, we are done with our repast and I agreed only to keep the conversation boring while we ate," he interrupted smoothly, leaning forward a little. His steel grey eyes glittered, calculation hidden within. "I want to know why you came."

Hermione pursed her lips, the repeated question deserved to be denied and she fiddled with the fortune cookie that was placed by her plate. "Morbid curiosity," she said finally, her tone flat. "I wanted to know why in Merlin's name you would seek me out given your stance on people with my heritage."

He looked highly amused. "I believe I owe you something, and I repay my debts in full. Surely you haven't forgotten?"

"You don't owe me anything," she said flatly, the cookie breaking open in her hand. "I was only doing my job..."

"Yet you came tonight," he said silkily. His gray eyes pierced hers. "You came because you wanted to know."

She shook her head, smiling ruefully. "No, I really don't, Malfoy. Hate to disappoint you, but I prefer to forget, not try to relive a painful part of my life. Also, I believe you made sure I had no choice but to join you tonight. I see you haven't lost your touch in influencing those in the Ministry."

"You want to know who did it, who needs to be punished," he continued in a soft, almost seductive voice, acknowledging her last with only a devious glint in his eyes that was quickly veiled. "It's why you do your job, Hermione, why you seek out those in that miserable prison, to find the ones that created so much distress in your husband's mind that he chose to end his life rather than to deal with what they'd done. That is why you are here, because I have the answers you seek."

Staring at him for a long moment, Hermione looked down at the broken cookie and picked up the sliver of paper from inside, opening it. A wise man does not look to the past to find the future.

She laughed dryly. "There is your answer, Mr. Malfoy," she said, handing him the fortune. "Let the past stay buried."

"Just like your husband?"

Taking her napkin from her lap she laid it on the plate. "Thank you for your concern, but it's neither warranted nor wanted," she said, getting up. He rose from his seat and she held up her hand. "Stay. Finish the wine." Hermione picked up her purse, rummaging in it and put some bills on the table. "Good night, Lucius, and I trust our paths will not cross again."

Lucius stepped in front of her. "I will walk you out," he said in a quiet commanding tone, taking her arm.

It was only the fact that she didn't want to make a scene that she acquiesced, seething inwardly at the strong grip of his hand. Once outside, she jerked her arm away, glaring at him. "I don't know whether to be impressed that you actually could bring yourself to touch me or angry that you dared do so," she said sarcastically, wanting to be away from here, to be alone so she could dissuade the notion that she did want to know...

His rich baritone laughter rang in the night air. "I believe that you are the prejudice one here, Miss Granger," he remarked, still chuckling, looking far too amused for Hermione's liking. "Did you not believe me when I said I'd seen the errors of my ways?"

"Frankly, no," she said unapologetically.

"That, my dear, is the first honest answer you have given me tonight," he remarked, his voice taking on a rich velvet quality. He lifted his hand and touched her hair, laughing again when she jerked her head back. "See. I don't recoil from touching someone of, ah, your background." He shook his head, pulling a cigar from his vest pocket. "Would you be so kind?"

Flushing, Hermione's eyes narrowed but she pulled her lighter from her pocket and offered it to him. "Keep it. I'm sure it will be useful to you," she said coolly. "Again, good night." Turning on her heel she started down the sidewalk, ready to Apparate back to her flat when she was well away from Muggle eyes.

"Hermione."

Her steps slowed, and she warred with herself to continue, not to turn back. Curiosity was a wicked master. Stopping, she slowly turned and looked back at him.

"When you are ready, you will come to me," he said softly, his lips curling in a knowing smile.

The night sky sparkled with thousands of stars, diamonds against a velvet backdrop. Cold clear air made her nostrils sting and carried her shrieks of laughter over the still landscape far below. His arm tightened around her waist, his breath hot against her ear as he murmured all the naughty things he planned on doing to her once they arrived home, making her clothes far too warm and restrictive and wanting nothing more than to turn around to kiss his jaw. Fear of flying kept her from moving though his skill and strong arm was secure. Her laughter echoed in the night as he nuzzled her neck, removing his hand from the broom.

"Don't, we'll fall," she chided breathlessly.

"Never. I'll never let go of you, love," he said, a hint of laughter behind the husky voice.

"I'm going to hold you to that," she said, leaning back more, feeling his heartbeat strong and steady against her back. His lips on her neck sent fire licking through her and she dared to let go of the broom to reach back, to touch his face. Fear flooded through her when her hand met empty air and she turned, the broom dipping precariously. She was alone. The stars went out, leaving her shrouded in darkness and in the faint light from the sliver of moon she saw him falling fast to the earth below.

"No!"

Taking firm hold of the broom, she pointed it down, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She couldn't reach him in time. In slow motion she watched him hit the ground, his limbs twisted unnaturally, his head at an odd angle.

"No!"...

Her cry woke her, her heart beating so fast that it made her chest ache. It had been a long time since she'd dream of him. Crookshanks yellow eyes glowed like pinpoints in the chair across from the couch. Apparently she'd woken him also.

Getting up, she went into the kitchen to heat the kettle, her body trembled with the emotions welling up in her. She hadn't dreamed of him in over a year, but the pain was still fresh, piercing through her. The whistling kettle made her jump and with shaky hands she poured a mug full of water, adding a tea bag.

He'd left her, left her without even a goodbye, had selfishly decided she was better off without him. With a cry of bitter rage borne of despair and loss, Hermione threw the mug with all her strength, hot tea splattering against the plaster, the solid mug bouncing unscathed off it and hitting the floor with the same kind of resilience. Sobbing uncontrollably she sank to the floor, his name a mournful wail on her lips. "You did let me go! You left me!"

Covering her face with her hands, she rocked back and forth, letting the pain pour forth, something she hadn't done since those first horrible days. All because Malfoy had brought it to the surface, tempting her with the knowledge she did want, retribution to those that tormented her husband. "Damn you," she cried, unsure if she were cursing Lucius or her husband.