Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Some Blond Fool	By : AndreaLorraine Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 46886 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 19
- 20
- 21
Author�s Note:� Hm.� Two
chapters in four days � I might be back on form with this story.� Here are responses to those who managed to
leave me some feedback on the last chapter. :)

LeValkyrie:� Yes, ruthless Lucius is on his way.� The muse must have heard you because it only
took me a few days to write this chapter!

Heidi191976: Thank
you!� More where that came from�

Kittycat30:� Narcissa�s not feeling too hot right now, but
she�ll adapt.� I daresay she�ll be back
to her spunky self when the time comes for repayment.

Robyn Hawkes:� Thank you.�
I�m starting to think that my muse is an adrenaline junkie.

Dreamweaver: Yup, I
think it�s about time for the Weasleys� luck to change.� Molly and Arthur are going to have a nice
retirement, methinks.� Glad you�re
enjoying the story!

Catstaff:� Thanks for that info. �I looked at some rather extensive lists of
Italian slang and curses, which did indicate that vacca is sometimes used to
mean bitch (like �vache� in French, which also means cow).� There were so many terms to choose from that
I basically closed my eyes and pointed at the screen and vacca was the
result!� Heh.� I guess my Italian cursing needs work.

Vixen:� Glad you are enjoying the story; I hope you
continue to do so throughout the rest of it.�
Thank you for your kind words.� I
have a lot of fun writing this and it�s good to know that it shows!

Nitesfool:
Impatient, are we?� Hehe, here�s some
more to hold you over.

Narcissa Black: You�re
right about the silencing charm � though he could possibly know how to do it
wandlessly.� I think I phrased it around
a wand, though.� Thanks for your sharp
eye � I�ll change it.� And thanks for
your compliments.� I�m glad I can make
the Malfoys accessible, likeable characters.

Lthilwen: This
chapter should begin to answer some of your questions�happy reading!�

<>

�� What Narcissa�s unconsciousness
prevented her from seeing was that her impulsive behavior had, in fact, spared
the man she was equally in love and in hate with.� Giacomo could never be accused of being
indecisive.� Though every part of him
screamed to stay, to fight for his woman and Lorenzo�s, he knew what end that
would have.� He would be dead.� His battle for Narcissa couldn�t be won by
blind attack, not when Gaetano held so many cards and when neither the boss nor
the advisor knew exactly what was going on in their city.

�� So he lunged for his wand, which sat
innocuously a few feet away from him on the marble floor.� In doing so he evaded a stunner; if he had
stayed upright, he would be as unconscious as his fianc�e right now.� The sliver of wood in hand, he dove for
Lorenzo, who had curled his arm about his youngest daughter and pulled his wand
fiercely.� The look in his eyes said he
had every intention of fighting.

�� Giacomo understood the incoherent
cry of rage that came from the man when he crashed into him, sandwiching
Daniela between them, and apparated.�
This was a battle that couldn�t be won, but one in which Lorenzo�s
losses at retreat had been greater.� He
had been tricked, scorned by his own brother, and lost his wife and daughter to
different, yet equally grievous forms of betrayal.� Giacomo had only the guilt of allowing
Narcissa to become involved to plague him.�
That was powerful, yet nowhere near what was surely going through the
head of Lorenzo Scattori.�

�� He took them to Perugia,
to the house of his paternal grandmother that he had inherited but had been
forced to leave unused upon his initiation into Milan�s underbelly.� No one knew of the place.� They would be safe here until they figured
out their next move.

�� Lorenzo sank to the dusty wooden
floor, Daniela clenched in his arms.� The
little girl was crying.� She was
terrified and disheartened by the way her sister had so callously betrayed all
of them.� She was young, but the language
of duplicity was easily understood.�
Still, it was plain to see that the girl had idolized her older sister,
so this was quite a shock to her system.

�� Giacomo blew out a sigh.� He was worried about Daniela, who was in fact
his goddaughter.� From the moment of her
birth he had known there was something different about her.� She was too compassionate, too sensitive and
trusting, for the family she was born into.�
He knew that there were things that could change that, but he�d hoped
she would never have to encounter them.�

�� Now she had.� Only time would tell how the nine-year-old,
nearly ten, would react.� He had only
Renata to judge by; there were no other Scattori children.� If they made it through this he was going to
tell Lorenzo to ban the name.� It bore no
luck the first time around and even less the second.� There was no use in cursing another girl with
the suffering or the sins of the first two Renatas.

�� He could hope against hope that the
current Renata would regain her senses.�
Things would never be the same, it was true, but she was young and rash
and perhaps she would see the tinge of her uncle�s insanity before it was too
late.� He wasn�t overly optimistic,
though.� Very few people could deliver
their own mother into the hands of the enemy at wandpoint without so much as a
flinch.

�� Lorenzo was hugging his daughter to
his chest and breathing deeply and rhythmically, attempting to control his
rage.� It wouldn�t do to lose it with the
traumatized girl around.� Giacomo was
glad he didn�t have to remind him of that.

�� It wasn�t that Giacomo wasn�t
angry.� He was, angrier than he had been
in a long time, and he�d come closer to hexing someone�s face off than he�d
like to admit.� The rage was there,
simmering beneath the surface, but he had always been a little too good at
suppressing it in favor of a cool head.�
Eventually it would get the better of him.� Heaven help his enemy then.

�� Somnolenta,�
he heard Lorenzo say.� Promptly,
Daniela�s sniffling calmed.� Giacomo
looked over to see her drooping against her father�s chest, knocked out by the
illegal sleeping charm.� It was illegal
because its most common use had devolved into a way to take advantage of women;
it was the wizarding equivalent of GHB.�
However, given the circumstances and the benign application, Giacomo
felt no scandal in its use.

�� There is a bed,� Giacomo said as
gently as he could.� �Second door on the
right.�

�� Lorenzo nodded and lifted his
daughter.� A few minutes later he
returned.� He looked hollow; only fury
kept his spine straight and his legs strong.�
Giacomo knew what he needed � what they both needed.

�� If there was one thing his
grandmother had been known for, it was her ability to drink � and do everything
else � like a sailor.� The woman had been
around and everyone knew it; she made it impossible not to.� Somehow it just made everyone love her
more.� No matter that she�d been tarting
around well into her hundreds; the general consensus, at least in the village
he�d grown up in, was that if you still had it at that age, there was no reason
not to enjoy it.� The old men certainly
did.

�� Not surprisingly, her liberal
consumption of homemade grappa had caught up to her and she had died of
cirrhosis at 114.� She was remorseless
and in complete denial, of course, and they had all been sure to keep her
thoroughly drunk during her last days.� A
smile twitched at his lips in memory.� He
had been seventeen at the time, her favorite (and only) grandson.� It seemed like another life.

�� He�d bet his left testicle that some
of her grappa was still here.� And, as
she�d believed that no good booze should ever go to waste, it was preserved
with the best of charms.� He only had to
find it.

�� Lorenzo hadn�t even the energy to
look at him like he was mad when he searched for the loose floorboard.� He sat, somehow managing to be tense and
boneless at the same time, in one of the dusty, outdated chairs.� Giacomo�s search was rewarded quickly.� Bless the old strumpet.

�� Is drinking wise right now?� was
all Lorenzo said, and weakly.

�� When you taste this, it will seem
very wise.�

�� Giacomo knew it wasn�t so much
tasting as grimacing and feeling several of your vital organs failing, but that
was just what they needed.� In situations
like this, very strong alcohol often had a mind-clearing affect � in a paradoxical,
brain-scrambling sort of way.� He thought
about searching out glasses but there was no point.� He uncapped the bottle and with only a
cursory sniff (Grandmama�s preservative charms were truly miraculous) he took a
much larger swig than was prudent.

�� He couldn�t control the shudder and
cough.� Sweet Circe, that wasn�t much
better than rubbing alcohol.� It had the
impact of smelling salts � so odious that it jarred him into complete alertness
and chased the shadows out of his brain.

�� That�s encouraging,� Lorenzo said,
observing him.� Giacomo looked his
companion over.� Then he held out the
bottle.

�� Just drink it.�

�� Lorenzo did.� He almost spit it out, but managed to force
it down.� He coughed and looked for a
moment like he was being tortured.

�� Hell and damnation,� he rasped,
�are you trying to poison me?�

�� Would I have drunk first if I was?�

�� Point taken.�� Lorenzo handed the bottle back.� Giacomo capped it and returned it to its
hiding spot beneath the floorboards.�
After fixing the trick board back in place so they wouldn�t accidentally
break their legs, he took the seat across from Lorenzo.

�� All was quiet for a moment.� Giacomo could see that the grappa had the
desired effect.� Lorenzo was calm, his
eyes gone from forlornly furious to calculating.

�� We have to warn the Mancinis.�

�� Giacomo stifled his sigh of
relief.� �Yes.� The question is, how?� And how do we know that they aren�t already
compromised?�

�� I�ll take the risk.�� Enzo�s mouth twisted slightly.� �Desi will not betray us.� I will not�I cannot let their families be put
in danger like ours.�

�� We are severely outnumbered.�

�� Mm-hm.�

�� We could walk into a trap.�

�� Yes.�

�� But we�re going to do it anyway.�

�� Exactly.�

�� And neither man could pretend for
even a second that they didn�t know why.

�� Lucius was very comfortable
negotiating.� In fact, it was where he
was most in his element.� He had
negotiated with many Ministers of Magic before Kingsley Shacklebolt.� Kingsley was more and less reasonable in
equal portions.

�� If there was one thing Lucius liked
about him, it was his aplomb.� The man
could walk into a hurricane and be the only thing that came out on the other
side unscathed.� He didn�t bat an eye
when Lucius told him about the mob, Skeeter�s connections to it, and the
current precarious situation.� He did,
however, make a dubious face when it became clear that Lucius wanted to take on
the entire city of Milan
on his own.

�� Even with the freedom being dead
would afford you, it�s incredibly dangerous, Mr. Malfoy.�

�� Please, I think we�re past
that.� It�s Lucius.�

�� Lucius, then � and it�s
Kingsley.� I hate being called
Minister.� It makes me feel old and
religious.�

�� Both dreadful, of course.�

�� Kingsley couldn�t control the uptick
of his lips.� He had expressed a desire
never to see Lucius again, but somehow the man in question thought Shacklebolt
was more entertained by Slytherin scheming than he let on.� What house had he been in at Hogwarts?� Had the imposing man even gone to
Hogwarts?� Lucius frowned.� Those were questions for another day, when he
wasn�t burning through with a mission.

�� He needed no one�s permission, but
cooperation would be useful.� That was
why he was even bothering to run things by Shacklebolt.� So far he couldn�t say if the ex-auror was
receptive or merely a good listener.

�� Lucius, I understand your worry for
your ex-wife.� However, you don�t need to
be a vigilante; the auror department will be more than happy to rescue
her.� That is their job.� They can contact the Italian authorities - �

�� The Italian authorities were most
likely bought off decades ago, and if not, they have definitely been bought off
now.� They will be no help.�

�� Kingsley sighed.� �It is true that you have more experience in
the mindset of these people than me.��
His dark eyes flashed up briefly.�
�I mean no disrespect�or at least, not very much.�

�� None taken.� Your comments are warranted.�� Lucius bit his lip.� �Now, brace yourself, because I�m going to be
completely honest with you � and if you breathe a word of it to anyone��

�� Kingsley quirked a brow.� �What happened to �don�t threaten the
Minister�?�

�� That was for Potter�s benefit, not
mine.�

�� Okay.� Proceed with your honesty.�� Kingsley Shacklebolt was smiling.

�� Lucius was not.� He hated wearing his heart on his sleeve, but
it was necessary.� �I will let no one
stand between Narcissa and I, not this time.�
I will go to Milan
and burn the city to the ground if it means saving her.� I don�t truly need your approval or your
assistance, but I would like to have it.�
I am trying to be a better man but this fight is not one that cares for
scruples; I will overlook some of mine if I have to.�� He sat back, crossing one knee over the
other, aware that he still looked ludicrous in the hospital dressing gown.� �If Gaetano Scattori is successful with his
coup in Milan,
it will be another fifteen years of mafia warfare there.� And since we do not truly know the scope of
the plot, it could, ostensibly, be much worse.�
I don�t think anyone in the European wizarding community can take the
thought of another needless war at present.�

�� What are you asking me, Lucius?�

�� Good.� Shacklebolt wasn�t going to play obtuse.�

�� I am asking you to grant me
temporary auror status and rights.�
Aurors do what is necessary in situations like this and meet with no
punishment for it, as long as it is within certain parameters.�

�� I won�t license murder.�

�� I�m not asking you to.�� Lucius lifted his chin.� �You have my word that I won�t kill
anyone.� Regardless of whatever rumors
you may have heard, I am not a murderer.�

�� I�d like to believe you, Lucius,
but this is personal.� Our passions tend
to get the better of us.� You�ve told me
you would burn a city to the ground to save your ex-wife and I don�t doubt it.�

�� Figure of speech.�

�� Is it?�

�� Lucius stared at him, stone-faced.� Shacklebolt considered.

�� I will have your word and more,
Lucius.� A blood oath, if you�re healthy
enough for that.�

�� He nodded.� �The terms?�

�� I expect you to behave as a real
auror would.� You kill no one, unless it
is in pure self defense and that is the last and only option.� No dark magic.� No torture, mutilation, or disfigurement.�

�� Lucius considered.� �I agree to all except the torture.�� When Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow, he went
on.� �Have you forgotten that I was subject
to several long, arduous, and dare I say it, torturous interrogations at the hands of your aurors?�� It was the truth.� That neck brace he�d borne in his Azkaban mug
shot had not been a result of the battle in the Department of Mysteries.� They�d done a wondrous job glamouring all his
cuts and bruises.� Still, they had
nothing on the Dark Lord.

�� I don�t condone physical torture,
Lucius.� I wasn�t the head auror on your
case.�� He tilted his bald head to the
side.� �You told them nothing, anyway, so
it was useless.�

�� Lucius wanted to point out that that
didn�t make it any less painful or humiliating.�
It was definitely the case that a few angry aurors were vastly less
imaginative and vindictive than the Dark Lord, but if he had the choice of
being beaten senseless or not, he�d choose not.�

�� No physical torture,� he
allowed.� �But grant me
psychological.� These people aren�t just
going to tell me what I want to know and right now I have no money to bribe
with.�

�� Kingsley sighed.� �Fine.�
Psychological�tactics are allowed.�
Nothing more.� ��

�� Done,� Lucius said immediately.

�� Kingsley pulled his wand from the
pocket of his robes.� �If you break the
oath, Lucius, you will go back to Azkaban.�

�� He held out his hand, fearless.� If Shacklebolt was looking for a reaction, a
balk at the mention of the prison, he wasn�t going to get one.� As easily as he�d burn Milan down, he�d walk straight into Azkaban
if that was what it took to save Cissa.�
He hoped it wouldn�t come to that but if it did he wouldn�t hesitate.

�� Shacklebolt made the cut with his
wand and Lucius watched the blood well.�
Such a strange thing, blood was; just plasma and cells, but so vital, so
important, and sometimes people made it too
important.� He�d been guilty of that
once.

�� The incantations were spoken, the
conditions elaborated, and then it was done.�
Lucius didn�t feel any different.�
Ah, but everything was different now.

�� All right,� Kingsley said, after
healing his hand.� �As of this moment,
you�re dead.� I�ll have the healer issue
a death certificate and�� here he winced, �glamour a body to look like
you.� Everyone who has seen you alive
will be contacted and placed under oaths to remain quiet.� If you can wait ten more minutes, I will go
to the Ministry and complete the documents to grant you temporary auror status
and get you a license�which will of course have to be done rather discreetly
since you�re dead��

�� Lucius was impressed.� If Shacklebolt hadn�t been a Slytherin, he�d
at least been a Ravenclaw.� And if he
hadn�t gone to Hogwarts, he wondered what institution had produced him.� Perhaps he ought to have sent Draco there, though Draco was doing just fine
nowadays.

�� I can wait ten minutes.�

�� Good.�� Shacklebolt stood, smoothing his robes.� �Oh, and Lucius, once you find Narcissa, be
sure to contact me before you return.�
She�ll be a fugitive and I don�t want any misunderstandings before I can
clear the air.�

�� Lucius nodded, fully aware of what
he was saying.� A familiar thrum of
energy shot through him.� The game was
on, the stakes were high, and he didn�t intend to lose.

�� Draco sighed.� This wasn�t going to be as hard as he
thought.� The stress of thinking about
the madness his father was getting up to was forcing some very convincing
expressions of angst upon him.� He felt
like he couldn�t sit still.

�� It wasn�t that he doubted his
father.� He knew what the man was capable
of.� If anyone could save his mother, it
was him.� But this was twice they�d
nearly killed him and his adversary wasn�t stupid.� Faking his death would give Lucius a
much-needed shroud for whatever he got up to; yet, all it took was one incident
of serendipity and his cover could be blown.�
It all left too much to chance for Draco to be comfortable.

�� He�d agreed, though, and his father
was already setting things in motion.�
Words couldn�t express how strange it was to be brought down to the
morgue and shown a body glamoured to look like his father, with his father, so they could approve it.� It would appear as though Draco had gone
through the same procedure any relative would when a loved one died and they
got that awful letter.

�� That was the story.� Ginny, Harry, and Hermione found his father�s
body when they brought the dogs over to visit.�
They had borrowed Oberon for the last few weeks so that the puppies
could have the benefit of both parents, so it wasn�t unreasonable.� As his father�s flat was in muggle London, no one could
really say that there had been no dogs present when the three of them stormed the house.� And if anyone wanted
to, memory charms worked wonders.

�� So yes, they�d dropped by with the
dogs and gotten an unfortunate surprise.�
Draco, too, had gotten an unfortunate surprise, sitting in class in Philadelphia when the
letter arrived.� Now all he had to do to
seal the story was write to Finley Greene and relate that his father had died,
after all.

�� He was having difficulty doing
it.� He hated to lie to them.� It had been so long since he had a real
friend, let alone a half dozen of them, and he knew the fastest way to lose a
friend was to lie (and be found out).� And
this was one of those karmic lies, the kind you should never tell lest they
come true.� Still, lying was much easier
than explaining the whole blasted situation.�
He sighed and sat back discontentedly.

�� Having a problem, Mr. Malfoy?�� Minerva McGonagall�s voice cut through his glum
attempts at correspondence.

�� You could say that,� he
replied.� She didn�t know, either.� It was easier to lie to her, though, as he�d
never considered her a friend.� She
wasn�t an enemy, either.� It was only
natural that she�d be curious as to why he was here, sitting morosely in the
Restricted Section of the library so students wouldn�t bother him.� Hermione had let him in.

�� May I be of assistance?� the
headmistress asked.

�� Draco took a deep breath and
resolved to practice the lie before he put it on paper.

�� Not unless you can bring back the
dead.�

�� She frowned, her face showing signs
that it was something she did far too often.�
�That�s not something within the scope of my abilities.� Hopefully, it is not in the scope of anyone�s;
we have all seen the results of tampering with the natural order of things.�

�� Indeed they had, and his name was
Voldemort.� �I know.�

�� Who is it that you wish to bring
back?�

�� She didn�t beat around the bush, did
she?� For once he appreciated it. ��My father,� he whispered, letting it leach
out of him like a confession.

�� Your father�?� He�s�passed on?�

�� Yes.�� This misery was far too easy.� Draco had the sinking feeling that he wasn�t
really doing very much acting and had no idea why.� �Earlier. �It�ll be in the papers in the morning.�

�� To her credit, she didn�t push for
details.� However like a spinster she
appeared, McGonagall was far from lacking when it came to motherly
instinct.� �I�m sorry, Draco.�

�� You and three other people.�

�� Her lips pinched together
briefly.� �Draco, your father�made his
mistakes.� There are those who will decry
him, but the people who knew him, truly knew him, will mourn him.� Perhaps not outright - there is too much
paranoia and secrecy in your house to permit that � but you aren�t alone in
your loss.�

�� He looked up at the woman.� He was beginning to see why Hermione loved
her so dearly.� Draco decided to ask
something he had wondered about for a long, long time, because this might be
the only opportunity to do so.

�� What was he like?� When he was here, in school?�

�� She leaned her forearms on the table
and her face relaxed slightly as she let herself travel back in time.� �Well, your father came in like anyone else:
young, eager, and impressionable.� By his
seventh year�if there is a male equivalent of the queen bee, he was it.�� McGonagall surveyed him.� �He was a contradiction in many ways.� He had Slytherin house easily in hand, yet he
was never demonstrative or confrontational in spite of his beliefs.� He was a good prefect and an excellent Head
Boy.� By all reports he was fair to
everyone, even halfbloods and muggleborns.�
We weren�t so foolish as to think that he wasn�t terribly clever and
that he didn�t believe himself above much of the student body, but he kept it
to himself and his group of friends.� Many
of us were�quite confused when he aggressively pursued the pureblood agenda
after graduation.� We knew what he
believed but he had never been so blatant about it.�

�� Draco listened to her, processing
her words; they were simple on the surface, but held a wealth of meaning
underneath.� Though he had spoken with
his father more candidly after the war, his youth was still a gaping hole full
of question marks; he simply didn�t talk about it.� Somewhere in there he�d gone from passably
tolerant (or certain of his own superiority, that could masquerade as the same
thing) to a complete hate-monger.� What
brought him to that?� He might never
know.

�� I have no answers for you as to
why,� McGonagall said, seemingly reading his mind.� �I�m not certain that anyone does; anyone who
is alive, anyhow.� Perhaps you should
speak to the portraits of your grandparents.�

�� Draco controlled a grimace.� He�d spoken to his grandmother a few times;
she was pleasant enough.� His grandfather
struck him as an imperious bastard.� If
his father�s placement of his portrait in a distant and rarely used study was
any indication, Lucius felt the same way.�
His grandfather had almost certainly had something to do with it.� A mild feeling of nausea coiled in Draco�s
stomach.� Too many unanswered questions
and too many possibilities always made him feel that way.

�� How can you do it?� he
blurted.� �How can you watch the next
generation come in ready to make the same mistakes as their fathers, over and
over?�

�� McGonagall looked completely
stunned.� �Mr. Malfoy�what a child learns
at his parents� knee is very difficult to contend with.� You can tell someone again and again that it
is all utter tosh, that everyone is equal and happiness and daisies, but what teenager
ever listens, especially when he is surrounded by others who were brought up
the same way?� The change of heart must
occur in the person in question.� He must
find his own opinion amidst the sea of opinions people force upon him.� Some are capable of this and some
aren�t.�� She speared him with a
thoughtful, if sympathetic gaze.� �Both
you and your father proved capable of that change, though in different
timeframes and with different experiences.�
Now it is up to you, Draco, to ensure that your children do not repeat your mistakes, or your father�s, or his
father�s, and I�ll continue to do my best to preach equality to every
bullheaded and entitled teenager that comes through my door.�

�� Draco had to crack a smile at the
tone in her voice.� She was right, of
course.� Bullheaded and entitled were
certainly a few of the kinder adjectives that would describe him in his teen
years.� �I didn�t mean it in a blaming
way,� he said, wanting to be clear on that.�
�I meant it�existentially.�
Psychologically.�

�� Oh,� she said, instantly less
prickly.� �Well, it is certainly
frustrating and heartbreaking at times, but things are changing.�

�� Draco thought of Hermione.� He thought of her face, her brown eyes,
serious and cheerful in equal parts, her pink lips, and the fountain of curls
that were as untamable as she was.� He
wondered if his father thought of his mother with the same fondness.� He must; quite suddenly Draco knew that he
would go to the same lengths as his father if Hermione was ever in danger.

�� He sighed.� Things were most definitely changing.� There could be no more doubt about that.

�� The letter was written and
posted.� In a few hours his classmates
and professor would know that his father had been murdered and that he needed
at least two weeks to deal with everything.�
It had come out haltingly after the conversation with McGonagall.� He knew they would all be supportive � except
Henric, of course, if he was even still there.�
He hoped obliquely that the German didn�t leave the program.� An opportunity to work with Finley Greene was
too good to give up because of a silly grudge.�
Draco didn�t think himself so intolerable that Henric couldn�t just deal
quietly and resentfully with his presence.�
However, he wasn�t in the man�s head and didn�t care to be.

�� Hermione had returned from Harry and
Ginny�s.� All the Weasleys and The Boy
Who Continued to Live had agreed to play their parts.� It wasn�t particularly difficult for them to
do because they weren�t known for liking his father or his family very much.� They only needed to be as bewildered as
everyone else.

�� He was lying next to Hermione
now.� He knew they were both awake, kept
so by worry.� Draco was worried about
what he would have to face in the next few days.� People would be cruel.� People would say terrible things.� There were going to be a hundred Henrics to
deal with.� He was going to have to bear
it with some kind of composure to make what they said meaningless.� That was always easier said than done.

�� Hermione was worried about his
father.� He was, too, but not as much as
Hermione.� In spite of everything that
had happened in their lives, his confidence in his father was still nigh
unshakeable.� Hermione, however, couldn�t
and didn�t share that viewpoint.� He
appeared far too mortal to her lately.�
She was worried sick.

�� They were both scared to death for
his mother.

�� They�ll be all right,� Draco said,
for what was probably the twentieth time.

�� I know,� she replied.� Her small hand covered his where it rested on
her stomach.� �Will you?�

�� He smiled into her curls.� �I think so.��
As long as I have you.� He wished he could say it out loud, but the
time wasn�t right, not just yet.� Draco
shifted, stretching out on top of her and pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

�� They lay like that for a long time,
Hermione�s body cradling his.

�� I want to make love to you,� he
said, toying with one of her curls.� �But
I�m too nervous.�

�� Me too,� she admitted.� She took the opportunity to run her hands
through his hair, so pale and fine and soft.�
�We�ll save it for tomorrow when we�re angry and strung out.� It�ll be better that way.�

�� He wrapped his arms around her and
smiled faintly.� �At least I have something to look forward to.�

�� Kingsley was tired.� It had been a long night.� At first he had overseen the cover-up of
Lucius�s very much alive state.� Then he
had contacted the Daily Prophet and spent hours coordinating with all the
necessary entities � Gringotts, the Auror Department, and others � to ensure
that when the news broke, it would be with a minimum of vitriol.� There were many people who didn�t hold a high
opinion of Lucius Malfoy and they were entitled to that, but he wanted this to
be as easy as possible on the man�s son.�
Whatever was said wouldn�t stick to Lucius, but it would get beneath
Draco�s skin.

�� Dennis Creevey, one of the Prophet�s
star reporters, had proven to be very professional and ethical in the handling
of the article.� Hermione had suggested
him, so it wasn�t much of a surprise.�
Kingsley hoped the tone of the article would stave off much of the
ugliness that could erupt.

�� In the two hours of night that were
left after he finished his meetings, he had sat at his desk, staring into space
and wondering if he�d done the right thing.�
Lucius had sworn in no uncertain terms that he would act honorably in
his quest, but a Slytherin interpretation of conditions was always
different.� He would bend the rules.� People would be left miserable and terrorized
if they got in his way.� However,
Kingsley had to admit that he�d left
some people miserable and terrorized during his prime as an auror, so he wasn�t
one to talk.

�� It surprised him how worried he was
that Lucius would actually die.� Aurors
were team players.� It was disconcerting
for him to know that Lucius was on his own.�
He toyed briefly with the idea of assigning him a partner, someone who
would watch out for him from a distance, but he could think of no one that was
qualified or clever enough.� Besides, the
Italian Ministry would not take kindly to him sending one undercover auror in, let
alone two.

�� That wasn�t his problem.� They were clearly looking the other way when
it came to the Mafia�s dealings.� He
would be justified in his actions because an English citizen was involved and
because two of the members of the organization were wanted in England for attempted murder.� It was the Italians that would look bad,
because of the corruption inherent in ignoring what was happening in Milan.

�� It could sour relations with them,
but somehow Kingsley thought they�d rather be rid of the Mafia war, too.� Only time would tell.� He rubbed his eyes and called a house elf for
a pot of coffee.� Just after the elf set
the pot and a large mug on his desk, someone knocked on the door.

�� Come in,� he sighed.

�� The young woman, all glasses and
teeth, stepped in.� She was the morning
secretary, who worked from 5 am to noon.�
Her name was Eleanor and in spite of her gawkishness, he liked her.� She was a perfect sweetheart and always took
down his messages with obsessive attention to detail, which was more than could
be said for the other two secretaries.�
Not to mention that she�d come in two hours early to help manage the
monumental task of organizing everyone who needed to be involved in this
protracted death announcement and its accompanying scandal.

�� It�s here, sir,� she said, holding
out the morning�s copy of the Prophet.�
�Thought you might want to see it.�

�� Kingsley took the paper with some
trepidation.� It was somewhat ironic that
this, the most shocking thing that had happened in the wizarding community in a
while, was completely false.� But Eleanor
didn�t know that and neither did anyone else who would gape at the Prophet in a
few hours.

�� Thank you, Eleanor,� he
smiled.� �Go take a nice long coffee
break.�

�� She nodded and let herself out.� Kingsley unfolded the paper and braced
himself.

MURDER MOST
BLACK

�� Oh,
Merlin, they hadn�t really used that as a headline, had they?� But there it was, glaring out at him in huge
letters.� The article took up the entire
front page and was framed with pictures.�
The pictures caught his attention more than anything else; they were
chronological and varied, starting on the bottom left with a couple he didn�t
recognize.� He concluded that the child,
pink-cheeked and impossibly blond, had to be Lucius.� The woman holding him and smiling serenely
was his mother, and the man who stood stiffly behind them must have been
Abraxas Malfoy.� Above that was a picture
of three girls, all opposites.� There was
one raven-haired, heavy-eyed girl on the left, a whip-thin, anemic looking
blonde girl in the middle, and a vivacious brunette on the right.� The Black sisters, Bellatrix, Narcissa, and
Andromeda, at ages 7, 6, and 8, the caption said.� Then it went on to Hogwarts portraits, Lucius
typically devastating in his 17-year-old smugness and Narcissa no longer
anemic, but radiant and unquestionably beautiful.

�� Then there was a picture from Lucius
and Narcissa�s wedding.� It had been
quite a society event, naturally.� Both
looked impeccable, if not deliriously happy; they managed an approximation of
contentment which was about all that one could expect of an arranged
marriage.� The delirious happiness came
in the next picture, in which they held a newborn Draco between them.� The pose was almost identical to the one
Lucius�s parents had struck, though there was nothing stiff about the way
Lucius stood and there was a genuine smile on his face.

�� There were a few of them with Draco
at varying ages.� Kingsley had to smile
at the one in the top left corner.� It
was a shot that someone had taken of Lucius and Narcissa standing proudly with
Draco at Platform 9 �, no doubt before his first journey to Hogwarts.� They had their arms around each other and
were smiling placidly.� Draco, on the
other hand, looked positively bratty and annoyed.

�� From there the pictures were less
positive.� One of Lucius during the
Chamber of Secrets scandal, during which he�d been integral in getting
Dumbledore temporarily dismissed as headmaster of Hogwarts.� Sitting in the Minister�s box at the
Quidditch World Cup, where he�d later taken part in the attack on the
campsites, or so it was speculated � he�d never confessed to it.� Then his Azkaban mug shot.� His guilt hadn�t been solidified until then.

�� Then there was a picture of the
small family huddled together in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, post battle,
shell-shocked yet refreshingly human.�
Lucius handing his wand over to the Wizengamot.� Separate shots of both Lucius and Narcissa
during their divorce proceedings; both of them looked tired, drawn, and
miserable.� Narcissa standing in front of
the Leaning Tower of Pisa with her paramour, Giacomo Cannavare.� Lucius in muggle clothing, walking two grey
dogs unassumingly, and another shot of him coming out of Tesco with a few bags
� how long had the paparazzi been after him?�
Then the infamous shot of Hermione in his arms outside that restaurant,
where he looked simultaneously surprised and defiant.� Toward the end, there was one of the pictures
of him playing muggle football, attractively sweaty and athletic with a smear
of dirt on his leg. �

�� The last two pictures were of
Draco.� In one, he sat in the waiting
room of St. Mungo�s, his head in his hands.�
In the last he was embracing Hermione, his distress clear in his posture
even though his face was mostly turned away.�
Kingsley sighed heavily.� The
pictures were well-played; they showed Lucius as the flawed human he was,
neither excusing nor berating the course his life had taken.� It was the same for Narcissa, but she would
unquestionably come out as the villain in this � though there were probably
some who would congratulate her on a job well done.

�� Taking a large sip of his coffee
before it went cold, Kingsley settled in to read what Creevey had written.� No matter what was printed, it was going to
be a very long day.

�� Narcissa woke fuzzily and instantly
wished she hadn�t.� Her head was
throbbing, an excruciating pound that made her gasp.� She moaned and brought a hand up to cover her
eyes.� Then the pain in her ankle made
itself known once again, adding to her rude awakening.

�� Thank Merlin, you are awake,� a
soft, accented voice drifted over her.

�� Against her better judgment, she
parted her fingers and looked for who it was.�
There was an olive-skinned brunette leaning over her, with mottled hazel
eyes and pillowy lips marred by chapping and cracks.� Jocasta, the woman she was supposed to be
traded for.

�� My head,� was all Narcissa could
force out, on the verge of tears.

�� Yes, he hit you very hard.� I cleaned your wound so it won�t become
infected.� There isn�t much I can do for
the concussion, though.�

�� How long?�

�� About ten hours.�� The other woman sat back on her heels and
shook her head.� �I was beginning to
worry that you would not wake up.�

�� Details began to trickle back to
her, detached flashes of everything that had happened.� She remembered the green light of death, the
way it had been averted, but Giacomo and Lorenzo were outnumbered and had a
little girl to protect�

�� Are they dead?� she whispered.

�� No,� Jocasta said.� �They escaped with Daniela.� You probably gave them the distraction they
needed.�� She looked away for a moment,
and when her eyes returned they were glassy with tears.� �Thank you.�
Thank you for caring for my daughters and thank you for being brave
enough to fight.�

�� Narcissa said nothing.� What could she say to a woman who was the
reason she was here, yet she pitied so intensely because of her daughter�s
betrayal?� There weren�t any words for
it.� She closed her eyes, trying to
weather the pain.

�� Don�t fall asleep,� Jocasta said a
few minutes later.� �It is dangerous.�

�� Narcissa made a sound of
acknowledgment.� The pain began to settle
into a dull, steady pulse as she acclimated to it.� As long as she breathed and willed herself to
be calm, to be blank, she could bear it.

�� Jocasta settled herself against the
wall next to her.� The woman�s presence
was comforting, even if Narcissa�s feelings about her were in a raging
conflict.� She supposed she might as well
get used to her; they would be seeing a lot of one another, being that they
were imprisoned together.� And really,
none of this was her fault.� Men did
strange things for love, to be sure; however, that left Narcissa to wonder
whether Giacomo�s behavior meant that he loved Lorenzo and the Scattoris more
than her.

�� Time passed in that measureless way
it did in captivity. �Narcissa tried to
stay awake and wished she could just drift off into the dizzy ether that
settled behind her eyes.� A foot away,
Jocasta sat stewing, wondering if her husband and his advisor would be able to get
their act together and save them or if she would just have to do it her goddamn
self.� ��

��
- 19
- 20
- 21
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Some Blond Fool