Author's Note: Daria and its characters are the creation of Glenn Eichler and is the property of MTV Viacom. Harry Potter and its characters are the creation of JK Rowling and is the property of JK Rowling and Warner Brothers. I own neither and neither expect nor deserve financial compensation for this story. I am writing for my own pleasure and ego gratification.

Author's note: The Griffin Story series is set in its own alternate universe, not in the canon Daria universe, nor in the canon Harry Potter Universe, nor in my Daria Ravenclaw alternate universe. I am using something close to the Daria canon timeline, but everything that occurs in the canon MTV universe from the inception of the First Wizarding War through Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows occurs eight years later.

A Griffin Story A Night in NYC

It was one of those kinds of visits, with business that couldn't be done quickly and settled during the course of a morning or an afternoon. He'd have to stay over. It was also the sort of visit that required a measure of anonymity, so he chose to conceal himself in crowds and take a hotel room in a Muggle part of New York.

The hotel was bare and sterile, in a way that reminded him of a couple of Muggle laboratories he'd seen while doing the Dark Lord's work. On the other hand, it was clean, the doors' locks were adequate, and when he set the spells, security was adequate enough.

At this point, there was little to do but wait. He wanted a drink. The hotel did have a pub, no, the Yanks called it a "bar," downstairs. He wished the Muggles had firewhisky, but some of the American bourbons were acceptable. He'd set a charm in the men's bathroom on the ground floor, one that would tell him whether the loo was occupied. It wasn't; he apported downstairs.

He exited the bathroom, crossed the lobby, and entered the bar. It was quiet and darkly lit, the light limited to that around the bartender's station, some backlit walls, and pools of light on certain tables. The décor was even more sterile than the hotel rooms, something he couldn't have thought possible.

There were only a handful of people present: the bartender, a busboy, an amorous couple off in a corner, and a fair-skinned woman with dark eyes and long, flowing hair sitting at the bar. He chose a chair several spaces over from her. He sat in well-concealed amusement while she looked him over.

He was a very handsome man, tall, fair skin, and long blond hair. His hair was quite long, long enough to stand out in a crowd, and a buttery shade that approached platinum.

He surprised her when he ordered his drink: English, and "posh," as her English friend from school would describe him, despite his odd clothing, well-spoken, obviously intelligent, and seemingly cultured, despite his acceptance of the bar-tender's suggestion of a lesser bourbon. He sat quietly, taking a sip of his bourbon, then turned over in her direction.

"Hello, I'm Linda," she said.

"Lucius," he said.

"You're obviously from out-of-town," said Linda. "What are you doing here in New York?"

His reply was direct but not curt. "Business," he replied.

"The same," said the woman. "I'm here on a four-day sales conference. I wanted to get away from the rest of them for an hour or two. They're over at a hotel down the street."

At odd moments, he had to admit that some of the things he believed true of muggles weren't always so. They'd taken to bathing, particularly the Germans and the Americans, and also scented soaps, body washes, perfumes, and—strangely enough—a concoction for their underarms they called deodorant. Some of them even cleaned up nicely enough to the point where one might almost pretend that they were something other than the dirty, louse-ridden, smelly wretches their forebears had been less than two centuries ago. Almost.

"Are you married?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, and she actually blushed. "How did you guess?"

"It shows," he said.

"How many children?" he asked.

"How can you tell?" she asked.

"It also shows," he replied.

"Oh," said Linda, very temporarily nonplussed. "Three," she replied. "I have a girl and two boys. How many do you have?"

That was impertinent of her; if the world was the way it should be, she wouldn't dare to presume to address him as an equal. He decided to stay in role and let it pass.

"I have a son," he said.

"What do you feel about adultery?" she asked.

"Adultery is something best left to the adults," he replied. He took another sip of his drink.

She made a low, throaty laugh.

"How about you?" he replied.

"I've thought about it," she replied. "My husband acts like a wimp more than I'd like and I've often wondered what it would be like to sleep with a real alpha male. The trouble is that most of the dominant ones I've met over the years are either boring or expect to be able to come back later for seconds and thirds."

He gave a snort of amusement.

"My wife and I have an understanding," he said.

"Hmm?" she said.

"It's true," he said. He looked into her eyes again and held her gaze. "Or maybe it isn't and I'm lying to you."

She smiled. "I like dangerous men who take what they want without the prissy rules," she said.

"I know," he said. "That was one of the reasons my wife was attracted to me."

"Scruples are for losers," she said. "If you want something, you reach out and take it. If the other guy can't keep up with you, that's their tough luck. They have no business sniveling if they can't keep up. The race goes to the strong," she said.

He continued to hold her gaze and smiled. "I sense a kindred spirit," he said.

"You look like you're sophisticated, yet you look like a dangerous man. How dangerous are you?" asked Linda.

"Very," said Lucius.

"I have a room upstairs. Prove it," she said.

He was gone when she awoke the next morning, the sheets rumpled on the other side of the king bed.

"Oh my G*d," she thought. She'd slept with him. And she hadn't slept with Tom for weeks. She wasn't sure if her protection was working. No, I won't get pregnant, she told herself. But she resolved to have sex with Tom soon to cover her bases.

Mentally gritting her teeth, she decided to face the other danger of having a strange man in her room. Did he steal anything from her? No, her jewelry was still there. So was her cellphone. She opened her wallet. This time she wasn't sure. She decided he hadn't; after all, it was Manhattan and she burned through money like her cousin's Stingray burned gasoline.

No harm done, then. Her decisions made, she decided to put her adventure out of her mind and get ready for the day. There were still two days of the sales conference left and she wanted to look good.