Time Heals (D.M. - COMPLETE)

Time Heals // Chapter Six

Narcissa Malfoy does not miss the fact that Draco begins to apparate to London more often. She knows that Dr. Jenkins office is there, but she also knows that he only sees her once a week on Thursday.

She can't think of another reason for him to visit London so often. Narcissa thinks back to her recent conversations with her son; he had seem distracted and she was slightly worried he was relapsing. But her worries didn't match Draco's actions – his flushed face, his bright eyes and the smile that she rarely saw him without. Her son had a beautiful smile; it pleased her to see it again after such a long absence.

Narcissa realises with a jolt that her son is seeing someone.

She interrupts Lucius in the library; reading one of his books on ancient magical tribes of South America.

"Darling, I think Draco has a beau."

"Narcissa, I love you more than my own life but please don't say 'beau' again."

She sighs heavily, "Alright, Lucius. Our son is seeing someone."

Lucius closes the book in his lap, raising an eyebrow at his wife, "How do you know?"

"He's spending more and more time in London; I barely saw him last week. Plus he has a light in his eyes that I haven't seen before, and he's smiling a lot more now. Don't you think?"

"Now that you mention it, he has been distracted when we have our afternoons together. As if his mind is somewhere else... or thinking of someone else."

"He isn't going to bring this up to us on his own."

"No," Lucius murmurs, "He won't. But he did ask for a family dinner on Thursday after his therapy session; he mentioned something he had to say to us."

Narcissa's eyes widen, "I think you're right, darling. I think we may get some answers then."

"He's doing well, isn't he?" He says, holding out a hand to his wife, a silent invitation for her to join him where he sits.

Narcissa nods; sitting on her husband's lap, a hand running through his shoulder-length hair, "He is. He's healing."

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Draco is on her doorstep ten minutes early. And he's shitting it.

He brushes down his black, tailored suit jacket; flattening out invisible creases before fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves.

The butterflies in his stomach threaten to make an appearance as he knocks on (Y/N)'s door.

It takes less than a minute for her to answer; breathless and smiling.

"Draco," She breathes.

"(Y/N)." He greets; his eyes raking shamelessly over her body.

"Come on in." She says, moving to the side, "I just need to find my shoes and we can go."

"Of course," He replies, watching her walk away. The burgundy dress she has chosen to wear accentuates her figure; sitting perfectly on the dips and curves to her body. He swallows when he thinks back to the feeling of his hands on those very same curves.

She returns in no time; a thin jacket now wrapped around her shoulders and a small purse in her hands. She looks exquisite; he tells her so, delighting in the flush that heats her face.

"Alright, you shameless flatterer. Let's go to dinner."

He holds an arm for her, "Let's go to dinner, sweetheart."

Draco's reserved a table at a small Italian restaurant. It sits on the corner of two streets a few tube stops away from her flat. Hermione recommended it to him when he sent her an owl in a panic; apologising for the letter but he needs help. Hermione responded quickly saying that it was fine for her to send an owl to her and that she had made reservations at this restaurant under his name for eight pm the following night.