Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Fortune Favours The Brave	By : Rumpelyssa Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Lucius/Hermione Views: 5312 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own this world OR make one penny, cent or dime from writing. JKR owns Hogwarts and all who's in her!

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
A/N: Not owned by me. When I write Hermione I have Julia Sawalha in mind. She would have made a great Hermione if the books were written in the late 70's and filmed in the early 80's.Especially as an older woman.
HarryGinny4Eva: Thank you for the comment x I hope to keep this one going, I have chapter four forming in my mind.
Mary_Met: I will write as fast as I can, and yes - fluffy Lucius straight away is a bit of a stretch even for AU! As for the intimately physical bits well, I think you will find that Hermione still has her rat of a husband to get over and he is still ... well, you will see.
WARNING: This chapter contains a story of past sadism. NOT associated with the Malfoys.
Serpentine Charm
OUCH! Hermione found herself waking up in her office, on her couch. Mouth as dry as Professor's Snape's wit. Still in yesterday's clothes. Blinking her eyes gently, Hermione sat up and soon flopped back down on the sofa. Head flat against a pillow wrapping the ends around her ears to keep the tiniest sounds out. Groaning as she felt the contents of her stomach wanting to travel up her system. Immediately Hermione scurried into a seating position and promptly threw up. The stench reached her nostrils eliciting another bout of vocal nausea. What had...? Oh, she remembered. Trembling and weak, Hermione placed her hands on her clammy forehead. The bottle was the indication of what happened. Jack Daniels. The entire bottle. No wonder she felt like the wrong end of a curry overdose.
Shortly after Luci... Mr Malfoy left her office Hermione glanced at the picture of her children and growled with the intention of getting rip roaring drunk to forget for awhile that she was Hermione Granger: The once brightest witch of her age. One of the Golden Trio. A Gryffindor Brave. More importantly, she wished to forget that she was a Witch. Taking her coat, bag and house keys she walked out of her office where she briefly bumped into one of the people she wished to temporarily purge from her mind. Arm rubbing. Here for you. Come stay with us. Blahdy blah blah blaady blah!
What did he know? His marriage was warm. Loving. Successful. He had three beautiful children. A job that actually kept him out of the limelight which he always wanted to have. Harry Potter was no longer the bespectacled boy wonder; but a comfortably well off, fairly average Wizard, who once saved the world. Her marriage was more fiery. All the heat was used in arguing rather than passionate love making. Offering a weak smile sent his way, Hermione let Harry go with a half-hearted: I will think about it.
Once out in the streets, Hermione shrugged her coat on. Slung her bag over her head so the strap crossed along her chest and she proceeded to walk straight to the nearest off-licence or Supermarket to buy the desired amount of high percentage alcohol and take it home with her. That was the plan! On the way to a suitable Apparation Sector she was stopped by several people with clipboards trying to get her to donate to their various charities. Whilst she would normally delve deep for muggle cash and put what she could in the tins, this evening Hermione snapped at all of them – including a boy that looked like Neville Longbottom - to leave her alone in language that would make a sailor blush. By the time people realised not to approach the fire eyed woman she had no energy to Apparate and, efficient though she was, she did not wish to be spliced. She was still depressingly sober. So, she decided to go back to the Ministry. Hiding the drink underneath her coat as it was somewhat frowned upon to have your own private liquor at work. All sorts of mishaps could happen if passions became wrought otherwise.
Hurrying to her office, Hermione could not wait to go on her solo drinking binge. She did not even bother to procure a glass to drink out from. Sitting down on her couch, after judiciously bringing a pillow out from a cupboard she kept here, and a duvet she enchanted to grow the moment it felt air, she curled her legs up. Wrapped the duvet right up to her neck. Laid her head on the pillow and glugged down as much of the bottle as she could in one go. Ignoring the burn with the first gulp. Still, she had set out to drink the entire volume so she did. Not even bothering to nurse the bottle or contemplate the colour or feel the ingredients that made it what it was. Unceremoniously, on an empty stomach, Hermione made extremely quick work. Why? Why? Why? Why? Each swig, tug and pull of the draught she took the question became a muffled cry in her head until, right at the end she did not hear it at all. That was not enough, perhaps she should... Flop! Her head hit the pillow and, as she slept, the grip on the bottle lessened.
The next thing she knew she woke up feeling like Hagrid's beard on fire. She probably looked like it too. Taking her wand, Hermione mumbled Scourgify. Then Parfumier Lavandula, in the air to get the office smelling less like a Babylonian Boozers Bedroom. Then she whispered without using her hand another charm she had yet to patent. All to give this the Office of a clever and normally sober Witch! Not a lush wench. What had possessed her to do that? It cannot have been Luciu... Mr Malfoy. In fact he was practically being a gentleman and... She grimaced – charming at that. The way those eyes delved into her own without fear made her feel semi-desirable. Dressed impeccably. Wonderful charm. Mr Darcy, Hermione thought with a little smirk. He was Mr Darcy.
Walking past a window Hermione caught a glimpse of herself and groaned. She was right. Resembling something of Hagrid's beard when it was at it's scruffiest after the flames. Hermione also noticed her clothes. Someone was coming today... Oh! Merlin's teeth, she groaned. Luci... Mr Malfoy was coming. Not that she cared about her personal appearance that much... Maybe if you had, Ronald would have stayed with you, Hermione's Inner Snape snapped at her. You have looked at his new play thing, haven't you?
“Shut up,” she hissed grabbing hold of her forehead.
What was she going to do? There was only so much magic could accomplish. She could use the showers but she would still have to put the clothes back on. Could she walk out and quickly buy herself some clothes from somewhere like M&S or Debenhams? A quick check of her watch put the kibosh on that idea. Besides, she doubt she'd be welcome in Debenhams looking like that. What about Oxfam, sneered the Inner Snape, you will fit right in.
“Right, you are going to smarten up somehow.” Squaring her shoulders she picked up the pillow and stuffed it in back in its cupboard. After reducing the duvet so it would fit on a shelf, Hermione locked the cupboard door. Tired, Hermione put her wand on her desk. Picking the bottle up she wondered how she could dispose of it without anyone knowing. “Get a grip on yourself and be Hermione Granger.”
“Who are you speaking too?” Hermione squeaked as she turned around holding the empty bottle in her hand. In shock she dropped the bottle and it smashed on the floor.
“Lu … Mr Malfoy!” she stammered. “I did not expect you here so early?”
Arching his eyebrow, Lucius bent down and gingerly inspected the label amongst the shards being incredibly careful so as not to cut his skin. “Have the rules changed since I was here?”
Blushing Hermione quickly grabbed her wand and tried to clean the floor. Lu – Mr. Mal.Foy, she chided herself through gritted teeth, was in the way though and she did not want to hurt him: “No,” Hermione said, “I did plan to take it home but mu – charity representatives kept stopping me on the way to the nearest Apparition Sector. By the time I reached it, I was as near to here as I was to home, I was in such a temper I did not want to risk being spliced so I came back here.”
“This is a muggle brand?” Amazing, not even a hint of sneer.
“Yes,” she hissed rubbing her temples dropping her wand at Mr Malfoy's feet. “Look, I know we made an arrangement for today but I do not think I can cope.”
“I think you need help, Miss Granger,” Lucius sighed, standing up. “I do not wish to sound rude,” Hermione snorted: That's a first. “But sleeping in your office, drinking fourth rate beverages, and vomiting up what little you probably ate for your dinner...”
“I didn't have a dinner,” Hermione mumbled.
Exasperation clearly showed in the Aristocrat's face as he swept a cursory glance up and down the young woman: “I completely understand,” he sighed. Honesty was a dangerous road to go down for a Slytherin but he knew that she would respond to him if he allowed his guard to go down a little. “When Narcissa died, I was bereft upon a lonely shore where the hazy horizon showed only thunderclouds. I felt like I was walking through quicksand with no where to go.”
How could he do it? Hermione wondered. In the midst of this he had taken her hands and examined them. “Your touching me!”
“I am well aware of that,” his eyes deferred to their favourite position. That lovely, teasing peak of rising and falling breasts.
“You do not mind?”
Briefly, his eyes fluttered up and gazed deeply into her frightened expression: “I have changed, Miss Granger,” he sighed, “you are just as much a Witch as I am a Wizard,” with that he drew her close to his body. Her breath caught in her throat. “In fact I have some ideas I need your help with.” Gulp! This man was just breathtaking when kind. “Firstly,” he wanted to hold her. Protect her. Vulnerability turned him on. Those eyes were so warm, Draco told him to find a purpose. In that instant, sparks fluttered to his heart, his new ultimate aim was now clear. Lucius Malfoy was to be her Dark Knight. The armour may be grubby, he thought, but that meant he fought. Never could he understand the shining armour picture. Even he thought that meant the sign of a true coward. Surely a woman would have preferred to see battle scars for her honour rather a pristine, sparkling pompous dolt? “Floo Network,” he said, grabbing hold of her wrists in one hand and picked her wand up with the other.
“See, I was so messed up, I forgot about Floo Network.”
“Mr Potter Apparated.”
Hermione had missed a clear inference to where he had been the night before as she was still wallowing in her misery. “He enjoys it.”
“You do not?”
“In truth?” she said. Lucius nodded as he opened her door and pulled her out of her office, almost yanking her arm out of her socket. “I hate travelling. No matter what form it takes.”
“Muggle transportation?”
“Just because you grow up with something does not mean you take to it. I was car sick from the ages of five to seven. I prefer swimming in the water than to being on a boat, and I absolutely despise air travel.”
“Does not leave you many options, does it not.”
“I am not car sick now. Bus is not too bad. But air travel still has my stomach fluttering in knots.”
If only he had known that, Lucius sighed. It would have made torturing her easier. Stop thinking like that. No, he should be ecstatic he did not know one of her minor fears. “Draco must have heard about Hippogriffs,” Hermione sighed, “yet he still put on act of baseless fear in front of one just because he wanted one up on Harry and discredit Hagrid.”
“Ah, yes,” Lucius sighed, “I believe that is another misdemeanour I must apologise for.”
Eventually, he stopped in a darkened hall with pale flickering light that held four doors – all led to the same type of room. The hexagonal room showed six fireplaces set in the six walls. Already Employees were stepping out, dusting themselves down. Oh no, Hermione groaned. Please do not let him see me. I do not want to be reminded and I especially do not need that leer. Trying to be invisible, Hermione shrank against Lucius Malfoy. Noticing the woman wilt against him Lucius turned to where her eyes were blatantly failing to ignore.
Stepping out of the opposite fireplace to them was a Wizard that clearly Hermione wished not to see. Tall, lean, dark hair. Pale beautiful skin. Startling blue eyes. Muggle women turned heads. Witches flirted. Hermione had done something that would make all them sigh with envy! Theodore Nott had seen her, despite the fact that she looked like Hagrid's beard had sprouted legs, he dodged past associates and winked in her direction. Inaudibly to Nott, but not to Lucius, Hermione groaned. Unconsciously, Lucius squeezed her hand, something went on between these two and she regretted it. By the looks on his face, Nott didn't.
“Hermione?” Theodore said, grinning as he stepped up to her. “I still remember that night you know.”
Night? With Theodore Nott. Why did Lucius suddenly want to blast the youth to kingdom come? “A mistake,” Hermione replied curtly. “You remember Draco's father?”
“Hello Mr Malfoy,” Theodore said.
The contempt he used to show to Hermione and the Weasley's returned in full force with an ugly sneer at the impossibly handsome younger Slytherin before him. Another sign of how old he really was. “Mr Nott,” he deigned to say.
A short nod of the head by Nott showed he wanted to talk to Hermione again: “So, Hermione, how about it?”
“How about what?” Hermione narrowed her eyes.
“Well now you're truly away from the Measle,” Nott had walked closer to Hermione and touched her jaw with his fingers. “Why do we not carry on where we left off?”
“Do you not have work to do, Nott?” Lucius loved the sarcastic tone Hermione used.
“Oh come on, Hermione, you could not deny we had fun that night.”
“NOTT!” A voice yelled. Someone had a grudge with the man. He blanched and ran off.
Leaving a confused, curious and admittedly jealous Lucius. There were sparks between Hermione and Theodore. I'm her Knight, he scowled. You're just a worm. He felt a gentle tug on his sleeve bringing him back to the present.
“Mr Malfoy,” she said shyly, “where are you taking me?”
Without answering Lucius turned around to the pot of freshly filled powder. Damn it, Hermione thought, can the Wizard do anything and not get dirty? The manner in which he rubbed the flecks of dust between his fingers mesmerized her as she imagined those fingers massaging something else. Damn! Hermione quickly had to cover her breasts to hide the fact that this simple, every day act, was not affecting her. Good luck with that, the Inner Snape returned, this is Lucius remember. Seductive, powerful, handsome...
“Shut up!” she said.
“Pardon?” Lucius said.
“Nothing,” Hermione mumbled. Liar! The Inner Snape sneered again. “Where are we going?”
“My Manor,” he said simply. My Manor. Draco had not inherited the full fortune and would not until Lucius died. Cynically, Hermione wondered that Mr Malfoy gave Draco some control over the say in investments and the several pies the Malfoys had their beautiful, strong, elegant fingers in to stop being murdered in his bed. “I think that it should be...”
All this skipped Hermione for a second as what he said rang in her head. His Manor? “Hellfire!” the epithet slipped out before Hermione could stop it. “Um, sorry,” she coloured.
“No need,” Lucius arched an eyebrow. “You were married to a Weasley for 20 years and knew him before that,” grimacing at the thought that she was a Weasley for that long. When she should have been a Malfoy. Normally, Hermione would arch one back in non communicative response but her head threatened to murder her body. “Astoria will help you restore yourself to your wonderful glory.”
Wonderful glory? Who speaks like that? Not a hint of sarcasm! Seriously, who does... Lucius Malfoy, that's who! “I did not want to get drunk,” Hermione said quickly. Suddenly, she felt the need to justify herself to Lucius Malfoy. “Just that,” lowering her eyes along with her voice, “it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“I told you,” he whispered, stepping into the grate. Tenderly pulling her against him, “I understand.”
Moments later Hermione found that she was stepping out into a light, but still, opulent room. Breakfast room? Hermione turned towards the fireplace she had just stepped out of. Anticipating or sensing her doubt Lucius held her with his arm clamped around her waist. What was so important that he could not wait? When Lucius said she needed looking after she assumed he meant in a fatherly capacity; like Arthur would. But the way he glared at Nott was not how Arthur would have looked upon a Wizard her age asking her out.
“This is the...” the door opened. Oh no, Hermione wanted to be swallowed up whole. It was all very well that Lucius wanted her to be here but her friendship with Draco was still raw and new. Lest so with Astoria. They spoke at functions. Sometimes swapped gossip and, on the odd occasion, Hermione had joined Fleur and Ginny on their extensive shopping expeditions. Astoria had even purchased Hermione the odd trinket as a present. Would that truly extend to allowing Hermione to stay?
“Father I...” he stopped and saw who was standing by his father's side, “... was about to ask what we were going to do...?”
“Is Astoria awake?”
“Not yet, father, I had to slip out before she became... affectionate.”
“What is wrong with that?” Hermione blurted out. Great. That was going to go down well. The last time she had been shown affection was with Nott. Groaning at the memory, Hermione wanted to be killed. Now. Just do it. For the first time she was proud of her bushy hair, it gave her something to hide behind. “I'm sorry that was rude,” she said. Not noticing Draco close the space between them, “It is not like I was invited...” stop blushing Hermione. You are 43 not 13. “This is not a good idea, I sho...” she quickly turned around and was about to Floo back to her office but she felt another firm hand on her shoulder.
With force Hermione was turned around. Kindly fingers brushed her hair against her forehead. Through the slit Hermione furtively gazed into Draco's concerned, sapphire eyes, sparkle warmly at her. At 13 he would have gone boo; or something equally childish, but she was surprised at what she saw. Eyes that used to glitter with cold hard dislike had softened into heart melting warmth: “There is no mistake,” he said.
“What...”
“I saw you sneak back in last night and you looked like you had rummaged through Snape's underwear drawer,” Hermione dared to glance up into Draco's eyes but lowered again as soon as their eyes met. Something disconcerted her about having Draco care for her. “I witnessed the same look when my mother died,” he glanced up at his Father. “This morning I happened to mention it to my Father,” Hermione wished Draco would stop gazing at her so earnestly. Warmth spread to her neck. God's, if he looked at her like that thirty years ago, she'd have kissed him rather than punched him. Now she took Astoria into account and tried to remember he was married: “He left as soon as he could via the Floo network obviously to see if you were drowned in Ogden's or something...”
“Not exactly drowned,” she mumbled, “maybe waist deep but not drowned.”
As Draco was about to answer; the door opened again. Regal, perfect, and beautiful, Astoria entered. The sight that met her eyes astonished her but she schooled her features into refined composure. For what she saw was her Father-in-law protectively holding what looked like a hedge on legs and her husband seemingly yanking on it's branches. “Please, tell me, this is another one of your pranks, Draco.”
Thank Merlin's socks, Hermione sighed, she knew Astoria would see it from her perspective. No matter how civil the husband could be, she knew Slytherin women. No Slytherin woman would tolerate her in their domain. No matter how friendly they were. “Dearest,” Draco turned around smiling. Immediately allowing her hair out of his hands covering her face. “Not a prank, Hermione decided to drown her sorrows and father found her.”
This would be it, Hermione was not sure if she had her wand with her. Sorely at a disadvantage and feeling the water rise to her chest Hermione was, again, about to make a dash back to the fireplace. Or she would have if Lucius fingers were not digging into her hips. Not only touching but clutching hold of her. What was so important about him gaining this pardon anyway? Has he not had sufficient enough exoneration?
Suddenly, she felt the wind being knocked out of her. Engulfed in a wrap of perfume and silk: “Have the Malfoy's been taking happy potions?” Hermione said suddenly. “I was not aware we were that close.”
“I would be but you seem to put your defences up.”
“Old habit,” Hermione said. “It was not even as if I hated snakes before Hogwarts,” why did she say that? Now there had to be a story. Still, she could leave the unimportant details out.
“Oh come on,” Astoria said, “you have justify that statement.” Was the arched eyebrow a prerequisite for becoming a Malfoy?
“It's a long story,” Hermione said gazing around the three Malfoys.
“We have time,” said Draco looking rather cheeky. A smile that Hermione would have wanted to slap clean of his face thirty years ago. “Do we not father?”
“Of course,” Lucius said. “I think you will find, we Slytherin's are partial to an extensive saga.” Gods, Wizard, Hermione tried to keep her knees from buckling, you should be illegal. “Especially one told by an intelligent and beautiful narrator as I am sure you are?”
Oh dad, Draco smirked his father's way, if we were not here she would have leapt on you. How you made her blush and stutter, you like her, eh! Serpentine charm slithers off your tongue in a silken embrace and Hermione Granger is most certainly not immune.
“Like all children,” she sighed. Astoria led her to a chair. Once seated, Hermione continued. This would be when Lucius left the room... No, he stood behind her chair. Gripping tightly onto the scalloped edging at the top. Draco noticed his Father's fingers entwine in Hermione's hair. “I went to muggle zoo's and some of them had displays and allowed volunteers to hold animals. On a school trip before...” before what? Lucius wondered why Hermione stopped there. “On a school outing, we went to Whipsnade Zoo. There was a Reptile House. Kept lizards. Snakes. Creatures that thrived in hot climes. Anyway,” she sighed. “A handsome, twinkle eyed, zoo keeper that made me realise only men would do” she looked up at Lucius: Straight, she sighed looking in his eyes, I could go straight to you but you would not want me. “Sort of how I imagine you would look with black hair and darker skin,” she smiled. Looking down on her Lucius returned her warmth. “This man proceeded to reveal a massive boa constrictor, he asked if anyone wanted to hold it,” biting her lower lip Hermione directed her gaze to Astoria.
“Go on?” she said.
“The class all held back apart from me,” Stop talking Hermione! Do they really want to know all this? Of course not. They are being well-mannered. “Then again, you know how I would not do that,” rolling his eyes, Draco remembered full well, how Hermione was never backwards in coming forward in class. “I did not put my hand up or volunteer,” she said, “I was just not scared.” Suddenly, she felt Lucius hand on her shoulder. It felt comforting. They were listening to her gabbling. Taking in her words. She allowed former enemies into a story she had never told Harry. “The snakes head kept bobbing up and down. Flicking its tongue in and out, I looked at the Keeper: That is normal, if she sensed fear, she would have tensed up and I would not let you near her. Her obsidian eyes bored right into mine.” Astoria had finally walked to the nearest chair and sat down opposite her with her hands laid on her lap. Eyes gleamed, enraptured by Hermione's story. Draco fidgeted about in his tunic. Lucius closed his eyes and gulped down the need for water: “Little girl, the zookeeper pointed at me. The pretty girl with the brown hair, what's your name sweetie? One boy cruelly yelled out: Geeky Freaky!” Shuddering at the memory, Hermione's expression said all that this hurt her still. “Insufferable Know-It-All for the muggle world I suppose,” a lump formed in her throat. Without knowing it, Hermione reached up and took hold of Lucius' hand stroking his fingers that were pinching hard into her flesh. Taking comfort from his skin. The action did not go unnoticed by Astoria. “The class laughed,” Hermione stroked further up Lucius hand and held on tightly. Yes, Astoria sighed, this is going to be too perfectly delightful. “Anyway I introduced myself, I believe I said: Minimy,” with a sigh and a squeeze on his wrist Hermione dropped her hand. Disappointment quickly flashed in Lucius' silver gaze as he moved his hand further down her shoulder onto her arm. Draco recognised the protective touch when he saw it. Poor Hermione, he sighed. She stands no chance with my wife wanting to have match made my father for awhile now and he knew his wife was beginning to plot. He pitied her.
“Yes, you introduced yourself,” Astoria sighed dreamily. She was so jealous. The closest she got to a snake was the jewellery she owned. “To this how gorgeous a muggle?”
“I wish I could convey how gorgeous this man was,” the way Astoria leaned forward encouraged Hermione to continue with the story. “I was not always the girl that bounced up and down on a chair with her hand flying up in the air. Before that I...” before that, what? Why did she stop there again? “This iridescently; hypnotically, gorgeous boa constrictor wrapped her sinewy body around mine. Hot, heavy, gleaming and silky,” Hermione drifted off into the memory and licked her lips. Lucius saw how her lips darkened with the thought, her skin glow and how her pupils dilated. “Slipping through the keeper's fingers and around my hair,” her voice and breathing became soft and ragged. “The tongue licked my neck and I giggled. The keeper looked at me: Seems she likes you, the Keeper said.” Hermione sighed, “Something had to. Before...” grinding his teeth together Lucius applied extra pressure on her bicep to keep him calm. Slytherin senses kicked in as he realised Hermione had undergone something psychologically terrible between this incident and the letter. “I asked the Keeper the name of the snake,” the Slytherin's had held in their breath. The image of a six year old Hermione with a snake wrapped around her made Draco more fond of her. Damning, for once, the stupid Pure Blood rules that Salazar set in. There had to be a way to bypass that. Hermione should have been his friend. “Liana, was the snake's name,” Hermione sighed. Inside his head Lucius tested the name. Liana Malfoy. He liked it. “I jumped and found Liana wound down my back.” From his vantage point, Lucius saw her cleavage seemingly to grow with each laboured breath, Hermione allowed the sensual part of the tale take over. “Scales slipped against the fabric of my school uniform, the gentle hiss Liana sighed as she writhed and wound. Eventually her head was right by my cheek.” Now Lucius pinched his fingers into her. Wow, this was probably the most sensitized story he had ever heard. Good job the Dark Lord never got to hear about this. He would have ruined Hermione's lovely skin with that rotten mark. “Purples, greens, golds, glistened; shone and gleamed in the sun. Liana was so beautiful,” Lucius felt his throat constrict, suddenly he needed water like never before. Preferably a bucket sized, filled with ice cold water, and poured down his back to cool the ardour growing within. “Variegated hues from lilac to violet, mint to emerald, orange and yellows, pulsated and expanded their circular patterns buried deeply with the crevices as her muscular but comforting body took over me completely. For months I begged my parents for a Boa Constrictor,” she wanted a pet snake? Now Draco was so honoured to know this woman. “I think you should become an expert with snakes, the keeper joked. That snake would quite happily go home with you. I mumbled something like: I do not think dad would like that.” A warm sigh escaped her lips. “I felt so loved wrapped up in that snake,” with a blush Hermione said: “Even at that age I knew how sensual it was and,” she fiddled her fingers in her lap, “I have had certain... fantasies... since.”
It was only now Hermione heard nothing but ragged breathing coming from her hosts. Now she no longer knew who was a friend or an enemy. “What fantasies?” Astoria whispered finally.
“I really shouldn't be here,” Hermione sighed about to stand up but Lucius pinned her to the chair firmly from behind her: “I have work...”
“I will explain you are not well,” Draco said. “You're recent trauma should be a reason alone for you to be amongst company.”
“Yes but I'm Hermione Granger,” she sighed. “You know, the one who embarrassed you so much at school, why would you help me play truant?”
In three simple strides Draco had reached Hermione and knelt down on the floor taking her hands in his: “That has no meaning now,” he whispered. “To me you are Hermione Granger; a woman in need of pampering, soothing, and spoiling,” he kissed her fingers, “you are the woman who helped this blond prat see what an idiot he was,” he leaned closer. “You are the one that I should have pursued regardless,” here he reached up and pecked her lightly on the lips. “I owe you so much, Hermione. You have our infinite loyalty.”
“Come on,” Astoria finally took hold of Hermione's hands after her husband released it. Reluctantly, Lucius let his grip drop from her arms. “I will show you to a spare room you can use to freshen up and finish off that story.”
As she walked out of the room with the flushing muggleborn in tow Astoria stopped and pecked Draco on the cheek. Then looked at Lucius. Oh this was perfect, Astoria sighed. Just one little flutter of his eyelids alone gave Lucius away. He was not helping Hermione for any other reason than he was inexplicably drawn to the Witch. Then her eyes flickered down to his groin. That has to hurt, she smirked, never mind. Now Astoria knew her task. This was going to be deliciously fun.
Once the door clicked shut Lucius turned to face his son. “That was... something...”
“She felt comfortable with a snake wrapped around her,” Draco's eyes glinted mischievously. “Now that is something I would have loved to have overheard at school.”
“We have to make her like snakes again,” Lucius said. “Show her that they are wonderful creatures still. That the reputation they hold is unfair.” Besides, Lucius thought as he slowly sat down in the chair she had just vacated gripping onto the arms, it was clear she truly did want to take Liana home with her. Over and over he went over the name, matching it with others. Liana Hesta Malfoy. No. Liana Sabrina Malfoy. That almost worked. Liana Aleria Malfoy. Perfect. Closing his eyes, he smirked, as an image of Hermione Granger with a snake wrapped around her naked flesh. Forked tongue flicking against her skin. Oh hell, he quickly hurried a cloak over his groin. 68, Lucius, you're 68 and you act like a bloody teenager. “You were right, Draco,” Lucius hissed trying to ignore the pain in his loins. “The woman was hungover. She drank some cheap muggle brand. The entire bottle. I was never as bad as that, was I?”
“Six bottles.”
“What?”
“That was how many I found in your bed one morning,” Draco hated the memory. “Six empty bottles of Kell's Wine. Lying near your own vomit and other fluids. You were a wreck!”
“Surprised I am not dead.”
“I suppose the difference is that the prat that she is upset over is still alive.”
“Her heart died, Draco,” Lucius said. “That which meant so much to her for the best part of her life... died.”
“Bastard,” Draco hissed. “If you had a change of heart when I was a child and raised me differently, would you have...”
“Allowed you and Miss Granger to become?”
Nodding Draco sat in the seat recently vacated by his wife. “I would have asked you to have been cautious but, yes, I probably would have.”
“I wonder why she stopped at the word 'before' three times?
“I hate an unfinished story.”
“Something muggle she feels we would not understand?”
“No, Draco, whatever it is...” Lucius sighed, “it frightened her more than the war did.”
♣♠♦♣♠♦♣♠♦
Upstairs, in a room grand enough for Prince William to call a Penthouse, sat two Witches of different backgrounds on a four poster bed. One animatedly talking, the other trying to keep her head together. Candelabras dotted around the room offered all the light Hermione could cope with as the flames flickered, playing with a chandelier hanging on the ceiling. Casting rainbows around the walls. The curtains were closed as Hermione complained that the sun hurt her eyes. The pale lilac walls were all the details of the room Hermione could see before she winced.
One peach silk covered brunette comforting another more shame-faced and hungover one wearing the smart grey robes that she had the day before. Now crumpled. Astoria would have them destroyed. Someone had to make Hermione look as she should. For Hermione had much more elegance than she allowed herself to have. “You could move,” Astoria said: Here, she thought, plenty of room. Stroking Hermione's hair away from her face, “surely you have money to buy another home?”
“A flat, not a home,” Hermione sniffed turning her face away from Astoria's kind eyes, “It would have to be London and I have absolutely not enough for that.”
“What did you get in the divorce?”
“Nothing much,” Hermione said. “Clothes,” she sighed. “Jewellery but they are tied up in other legalities,” shrugging her shoulders, Hermione offered a wry smile: “I guess I did not choose the right lawyer,” then her lower lip trembled. “The assets are split in half. Including our home.”
“Alimony?”
“Yes, but it would not be enough for me to buy somewhere magical.”
“You really want to live somewhere magical?”
“This is my world, my home. I can't go back to the muggle world. Especially not...”
“Not what?”
“It doesn't matter,” Hermione mumbled staring down into her lap twiddling her thumbs. “I just wish I could have either been one thing or the other. I never thought I would say this but I hate me. I hate being a Mudblood...” Hermione found a hard sharp stinging slap land on her jaw. “Astoria...?”
“That word is no longer said in this house,” Astoria hissed. “We are friends.”
“I thought we were kind to each other due to the war but I did not think you'd want some galumphing know-it-all oaf to clutter up the place.”
“Firstly:” Astoria rolled her eyes, “you are not galumphing,” she took Hermione's jaw firmly between her fingers of one soft hand, “secondly:” she sighed, “you no longer know-it-all as we are not in school any more,” Astoria leaned over and kissed her cheek: “thirdly,” she sighed, touching her forehead to Hermione's and smiled. “Friends are not clutter.” Fourthly: she smiled, Lucius Malfoy fancies the knickers off you and I want to get you two together because you'd make one hot scandalously delicious couple. “You are smart, beautiful – you never reached your full potential,” here, rather shocking Hermione, Astoria kissed her on the lips like they were sisters. “Allow me to be your friend, confide in me. I can make you glow!”
“You would have made a good Gryffindor,” Hermione said to Astoria. Meeting Astoria's sceptical smile with an awkward one of her own; Hermione lowered her eyes: “you would,” she sighed.
“Have you been offered a hand of friendship?”
“Harry wants me to talk to him but what do I say?” Hermione sprang up and started pacing around. “I am sure he is hurting just as bad in a way Ron betrayed him too.”
“He has lost his childhood completely with your divorce,” Astoria worked out, “but why do you hold back from him?”
“When we were at school, if Ron and I fell out, he always took Ron's side.” Hermione replied, “It always made me remember...” Astoria sensed Hermione was holding unlocked doors in her mind. So firmly shut tight that the most powerful legilimens could not open them.
If she did not order Hermione to stay here then the Witch would Floo back to the office. “You are staying here,” Hermione was about to object but Astoria held a hand up: “We insist!” All three would, Hermione scowled. Grinning Astoria took hold of Hermione's biceps she gazed into the ex-Gryffindor's eyes. “You need friends, you need comfort. A heated swimming pool. A Library that would take you decades to read through.” The longer Hermione was here, the more she would see of Lucius, and propinquity would soon take effect. The moment that Astoria observed how Lucius was behaving around Hermione was the second it took to make her mind up. Cunning and trickery were part and parcel of being a Slytherin. Romantic intrigues were sometimes just as fun as working out how to steal from a fellow pupil. “I know you are going to hate this,” Hermione narrowed her eyes, “but I have house elves.”
“Would not have expected otherwise,” Hermione sighed, “why would I hate that?”
“I seem to remember a certain campaign you had?”
“Oh that,” Hermione blushed waving her hand, “thirty years ago. There are times when they are invaluable,” with a small derisive laugh, Hermione looked at Astoria: “I am surprised I did not end up dead before the third year.”
Ignoring the last dry remark Astoria continued on unflappable in demeanour. Clicking her fingers, without even uttering a name, a House Elf appeared in the room: “Gerda,” Astoria introduced the house elf: “Miss Hermione Granger.”
“Hello, Miss Gwanger.”
“Hello, Gerda,” to Hermione's surprise Gerda was wearing a pretty, cotton, daisy, flower dress. “Nice dress.”
“Mistress says I can make clothes out of old bitsies of cloth, Miss.”
What? Malfoys allowing House Elves some worth? Since when? “I find it is a compromise,” Astoria sighed. “It's not exactly giving them clothes but they have more dignity.”
“It's a payment,” Hermione sighed. She would kiss the person who brought about this change. “But how...”
“Lucius,” Astoria said. Kissing Lucius Malfoy was not a good idea, maybe a thank you hug. “Seemed after Azkaban he realised what it must be like for them,” Hermione raised an eyebrow. “After the war was won,” she smiled. “Lucius ordered any elf in his employ to make their own clothes.”
Collapsing on the floor in tears, Hermione was level to Gerda. Shaking visibly with unspent emotions: “Oh Dobby,” she sobbed. “Dobby!”
“You are to draw a bath for Miss Granger,” Astoria turned to Gerda, “and find suitable clothing,” softly, Astoria approached Hermione and lifted her up by the wrists gently, and led her back to the bed. “Charm them to fit, please. Make her look worthy.”
“Gerda is pweased to be serving Miss Hermione Gwanger. Miss Hermione Gwanger is kinds, so Gerda hears from Mistress.”
Hermione swung confused glances between Gerda and Astoria. “What do you mean, suitable clothing?”
“Ah, ah, ah,” Astoria said.
Hermione sank down on the bed and shook her head. She felt like she was writing Pavlov's Diary in her head: Day Two: Found drunk. Lord of the Manor dragged me to his home. Now under the scheming machinations of the Malfoy clan. Put my own paw on bell! “Miss, yous should be taking your socksies and shoesies off.”
“I will,” Hermione said, “when alone.”
“Why alone?” Astoria asked puzzled. “They are just feet, Hermione.”
“I don't like people seeing my feet,” Hermione muttered.
“Oh, don't be silly,” Astoria said, “come on, allow Gerda to take your socks and shoes off.”
“Alone, Astoria!” Hermione said dangerously.
“You are the guest,” Astoria smiled as she rose from the bed. Soon to be Mrs Malfoy, if I have any say in it.
The Mistress beckoned Gerda out of the door. Once in the hall she bent down and asked the elf to tell her what was bothering Hermione about her feet.
When Gerda walked in she found Mistress' friend had removed said footgear and her elf eyes enlarged, shining with tears as her ears sunk down the way a dog does when it senses true agony in it's owner. “What happened to Miss Hermione Gwanger's tootsies?”
“I was set alight too as a child,” Hermione tried to sound light and airy. “Had sharp objects poked into me,” she sighed, “that toe there,” she pointed to the second toe in on her right foot, “one particularly cruel kid tried to break the toe,” examining her foot Hermione sighed. “The skin never quite recovered and I found it hard to walk for 6 months.”
“That looks ouchsies,” Gerda rubbed her fingers over the scars on the soles of her feet. “Did you bleed?”
“It was ouchsies, and yes. Profusely,” Hermione laughed bitterly. “That is what you get when you are a muggleborn having to go to a muggle primary school and have muggle children making fun of you, because you are doing things they do not understand,” Hell I did not understand it. She felt the elf on her feet stroking them laying her cheek on them. Tears squeezed out of eyes as if they could fix the scars. “It's all right, Gerda,” Hermione said softly, stroking the elf's head, “I recovered.”
“Was it weally ouchsies?”
“Very ouchsies.”
“What happened to the wicked children who hurted Miss Hermione Gwanger?”
“Nothing.”
“I could findsy them and ouchsy them in return.”
“They probably do not even remember Geeky Freaky.”
“What is Geeky Fweaky?”
“My nickname before I became an Insufferable Know-It-All.”
“Now I have seen everything,” a smooth voice oozed in. Hermione did not even have to look to see the presence of the portrait to know who had spoken. He was part of her Fantasies at one time. In some ways, he still was. “A Gryffindorian muggleborn staying in the best guest bedchamber at Malfoy Manor... Friends with the Malfoy's now?”
“Professor Snape!” Hermione said. Scrambling her feet underneath her legs to hide them from view but it was too late. The portrait glowered at the puckered flesh decorating her toes. Tiny scars led up to the bridge of her foot. If he could see the soles he would have seen worse scars caused by sharp items being pressed in as the... No, she could not bring herself to remember. She had spent the best part of her life blocking out the sheer panic she felt on that awful day. “Astoria said that was an old Hogwart's Headmaster but I thought she was referring to Sirius' ancestor.”
“No, it is I.”
“Why are you here?”
“I heard of your recent situation,” Severus sighed, “but you have not answered my question.”
“I thought we were just acquaintances – sort of civil. I have been kissed by Draco, Astoria and Lucius can't keep his hands off me.”
“If I know them all,” Professor Snape chuckled, “they will be wanting to keep you now.”
“Why?” Hermione asked.
“I have heard Astoria and Draco planning to set Lucius up for some time now, even Scorpius has been asked to scout students for single mothers to set him up with.”
“And my divorce has made me the intended victim?” Hermione said sourly.
“I would not think of it like that,” Severus smirked, “Has Lucius been kind to you?” She nodded. “Wants to look after you?” another affirmative head movement. “Well then, it proves my point all along.”
“What point?”
“Mr Weasley was the most blithering of dunderheads I ever had the misfortune to lay my eyes on.”
Hermione laughed, “Who is the dunderhead?” Snape widened his eyes, “the dunderhead who betrayed the marriage bed or the dunderhead who married him in the first place?”
Something akin to a smile graced Snape's features: “Obi Wan Kenobi, if memory serves.”
“You seen Star Wars?”
“The first one,” he sighed. “I suppose you've got them all memorised off by heart?”
“Used to,” Hermione shook her head. “I believe they made more.”
“You should have said something,” Professor Snape sighed as he took a look at her damaged skin. “I would have salved the area.”
“Why, I thought you would have seen no difference!” Hermione snapped. “You are not the only one with an elephantine memory around here.”
“I had to behave like that, Miss Granger,” Snape said. “There were many a time I wished to behave differently.”
“I do understand,” Hermione sighed, “For what it's worth, I never doubted you.” If she was looking she would have seen a look of genuine shock on his face. “Salving would not have ironed the wrinkles,” she sighed. “Nothing would.”
“What happened, if I may ask?”
“It is a long story,” Hermione said standing up, “and there are two blood Malfoy's and one married one down there. I doubt they would like to be kept waiting.”
“You were not a dunderhead,” Snape said to her. “In fact there were times when I wished you were in my year.”
“Considering I was born when you left that would have been awfully difficult.”
“Yes,” Snape conceded, “not impossible.”
“What?”
“More powerful time turners exist than the trinket you used in your third year, Miss Granger.”
“Just call me insufferable know-it-all,” Hermione said. She refused to undress in front of Snape, even if it were a portrait. It could still speak and react. “I have had too many Slytherin's be nice to me and it is not even 10am.”
“Why should we not be nice to you?” Snape's eyes narrowed. If she was going to say that word he would find a way to throttle her. He did not know how. But he would. Perhaps he could do it by proxy. “If memory serves the war no longer exists.”
“It will exist as long as our generation is alive,” Hermione said. “Gerda,” she looked down at the elf. “Best have my bath now.”
“Yes Miss Hermione Gwanger. Gerda is getting yous all scwubbed cwean and good for Master Lucius Malfoy.”
“Gerda, I am not here to look good for Master Lucius Malfoy,” Hermione sighed. “I am here because Master Lucius Malfoy practically dragged me here without me having a say in it.” Here she heard a deep throated chuckle from Professor Snape's portrait: “What is so funny, sir?”
“Let me guess, you felt as if your arm was going to disconnect itself from its shoulder.”
“Yes.”
“Oh Lucius, 68 and you still do the same thing.”
“What do you mean by that?”
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Silently, Professor Snape slipped out of his portrait and back to the Hogwarts Headmasters and Mistresses office: “Really Severus,” the ancestor of the once great and noble house of Black sneered. A house decimated and gone with the death of the last male heirs. Where did Purity get them? “Potter, I can just about tolerate. But that Mudblood bitch?”
“You have more in common with your dunderheaded descendant than you realise,” Snape said back, “both of you are irksome company liable to irritate me.”
“Oh yes, and what are you going to do about it?”
“I could take residence in your portrait,” Snape's leer was crystal clear, “and drag you everywhere with me.”
“So how is the wench?”
“Do you dare to call Hermione Granger a wench!” Snape seethed back. Not for the last time he wished he was alive. He was not ready to die. Why could he not be a ghost? At least you could frighten people... And teach. “If the Illustrious House of the Malfoy's can overlook their inbred idyll then so should you, how are your heirs?” he sneered.
That shut Nigellus up!
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“I tell you, Draco,” Astoria dipped her bread in her yolk. “Hermione is holding back.”
“She never holds back.”
“She is now,” Astoria flashed a charming smile to her father-in-law, “do you think you could charm the secret out of her.”
“If you were any kind of Malfoy,” Lucius tilted his head with a smirk that Draco thought he would never see again. “You would have realised that house elves are there to act as spies as well as staff.”
“Yes, I did,” Astoria sighed, “I thought that some of that famous Malfoy persuasion would be in order.” You are going to eventually, you may as well get it over with now. You like her! I know she'd not exactly say no to you.
“Hey, why can I not do it?” Pouted Draco, he wanted to have a role in helping Hermione. Even though she did punch him in the face with a book once. Mind you, he knew now – that it was utterly deserved. “She does talk to me you know.”
“Remember what I said to you if you betrayed me, dearest?”
Wincing, Draco understood now what his wife meant by persuasion. “You know, you really could, Father,” oh he definitely could. It almost made Draco wished he waited for Weasel to make this mistake so he could have swooped in himself.
“Stop it you two,” Lucius sighed. He was still aching for his wife. As lovely as Hermione is, I am not going to replace Narcissa so soon. “I am going to help her in her case at law and nothing else. Besides,” he shifted in his seat. Jaw set straight, lips thinned and eyes hardened: “Theodore Nott is after her. He is more her age. Seems keen on her.”
“Please tell me,” Astoria stiffened also at this news, “Hermione Granger, did not sleep with Theodore Nott?”
“It would appear they did,” Lucius sighed. Did he hear Astoria mutter something nasty about Theodore? Didn't matter, he wanted the subject dropped immediately. “I do not wish to make a fool of myself over her. I chose a side before,” he sighed. “Now,” Lucius picked up a slice of toast and started to butter it, “I am sure there are other things to discuss.”
POP! announced the arrival of Gerda. Sobbing. Angry. Scowling. Fierce. All three turned to the dangerously explosive temperament of this little creature. “I's sorry,” Gerda said. “But Mistress asked Gerda why Miss Hermione Gwanger did not want Mistress to see her toesies?”
“I did,” Astoria said turning around to face the elf, “what is the problem?”
“Its not nice,” Gerda said. “I's not happy. I's want to hurtsy people.”
“We will see,” Astoria faced her elf squarely in the eyes. “Why do you want to hurt people? What people?”
“Muggles,” Gerda spat. “Mistress.”
Exchanging a smirk between them Draco and Lucius shook their heads: “We cannot allow you to do that, Gerda,” Astoria said. “Why do you want to hurt muggles?”
“Not all muggles, Mistress. Some muggles.”
“Gerda, tell me, why was Hermione so precious about her feet?”
“I is not sure the men should hear.”
“Gerda,” Astoria said slowly, “she will need you soon. You must tell us. We like Hermione.”
“I bet she's got chipped varnish or something,” Draco muttered. “Some people have odd quirks like that.”
“You do not feel comfortable unless there is a tub of Lock-In on your hair, Draco,” Astoria smiled sweetly. “This is about something more than chipped nail varnish.”
Scrunching her little dress in her hands Gerda looked as if she was going to cry, scream and curse at the same time: “Miss Hermione's Gwanger's footsies are all ouchsies.”
“Why?”
“Muggles thought it fun to burn Miss Hermione's Gwanger's toesies,” seethed Gerda, “then muggles thought it fun to pokes sharps things in footsies,” the elf glared at Lucius, “muggles thought it fun to twy and breaks tootsies!”
Grinding his teeth Lucius scrunched his hand into a napkin staring straight at the wall ahead of him. “Gerda angwy, Gerda wants Miss Hermione Gwanger avenged.” Gerda tried to remember how Miss Hermione Granger put it: “All because Miss Hermione Gwanger muggleborn going to muggle pwimawy school and doing things they did not understand, Mistress, does not mean Muggles should gets away with it. Miss Hermione Gwanger could not walk for nearly a year.”
Lucius eyes turned dark. Draco knew that look. Hell, someone is going to be in for it. “Excuse me,” Lucius snarled eventually. Silently, he withdrew his chair. Nodded to Astoria stiffly. Smoothing down his casual black tunic, “thank you, Gerda,” his voice holding onto his anger. “You are to keep Hermione content, comfortable. Offer her anything she desires,” he said. Without another word he took off to another room.
“Where is Master Lucius Malfoy going Mistress?”
“I have no idea, Gerda,” Astoria sighed. “Draco?”
“I am at the same loss as you.”
“Was it my faults, Mistress.”
“No, it was not your fault, Gerda. You did well.”
“What does Mistress want Miss Hermione Gwanger to wear?”
“That old robe set I wore the other day. The champagne robe and the butter yellow dress,” Astoria tilted her head. “Find some adornment and make her up,” she finished her breakfast, “I will try and find a potion or spell that could be used to smooth over the skin.”
“That was brand new the other day!” Draco exclaimed. “What is wrong with something you wore last year?”
“They have all been donated, dear.”
Draco choked on his coffee: “It makes me wonder why I bother buying you these things.”
“Not in front of the servants, Draco,” Astoria sighed. “Gerda, you are dismissed,” Gerda left with a pop to finish tending to Hermione. Once gone, Astoria furrowed her brow and sounded genuinely shocked.“Burning her feet, poking things into them. Trying to break her toes. That was extreme for muggles today.
“We really are going to have to apologise truly to her.”
“We, dear?”
“I am really going to have say sorry to her.”
“Better,” Astoria tapped her elegant nails on the table. “Oh well,” she sighed. “I suppose I had best think of ways to cheer Hermione up.”
“Oh just shove her in our library,” Draco said, “she will love it there – you probably won't even know she's here."
“I am going to pretend I did not hear that,” Astoria said, “a girls trip out.”
“You had one of those the same day you bought the robes you want Hermione to wear.”
“I've worn those robes, why should I wear them again?”
May as well give up, Draco thought, you cannot win when she uses that question. “Do you think that is what she meant by... Before?” change tack before you get jinxed.
“What do you mean?”
“Three times she hesitated after the word: Before...”
“Could be, though what led to it?”
“What indeed,” Draco said, “I believe I heard some rumour about her setting Professor Snape's robes on fire once."
“Does the rumour give a guess as to why?”
“I don't know, perhaps she hated him that much,” Draco said. “I have to work to keep you to the style you have become accustomed,” he smoothed down his mulberry tunic. “Goodbye, try and weedle out more information.”
“How?”
“You're a Slytherin,” Draco said. “Think of your own intrigue.”
“I do not think that is going to go down well.”
“How do you get recipes out of Mrs Potter?”
“I do enjoy her food.”
“Yes, she has an excellent palate,” Draco agreed. “I ask again, how?”
“Well, I compliment her. I speak warmly to her. I ask what is that flavour, what is that nuance. Flippancy comes in handy, especially when it comes to asking: How much of this, that and the other.”
“She falls for that?”
“Ego comes to the fore, eventually she cannot help but cave in.”
“I have something to tell you,” Draco sighed. “Harry invited us over for dinner this weekend.”
“I hope you accepted.”
“I did,” Draco said.
“Excellent, would it not be amazingly amusing if we came with your father and Hermione,” Ginny always cooked an excessive amount this soon after school started. “Hermione would have to look the best of course.”
“Something tells me you and my father are going to turn her into your shared pet.”
“Not quite,” Astoria said, “we will show the world exactly what an idiot that Weasley is!”
“I suppose it is no use arguing with you?”
“None,” Astoria sighed, “I do hope Lucius returns soon. Hermione will be furious if she thinks he has abandoned her here.”
“You are a silver tongued serpent, my sweet, cool her down with calming words.”
“Work hard,” Astoria said as she watched her husband vanish into the Floo.
Now, she sighed, how to matchmake one stubborn Gryffindor with one irascible Slytherin... simple, she smirked. With telling Hermione that the Malfoy elves were allowed to dress themselves, even if they had to work to make the clothes: was a start. Now, what other ways... find out her causes. Her new fights. Her passions. Convey them to Lucius in private moments. If Lucius really was serious about his declaration that he is ready to hand her over to Nott that could easily be dealt with. If Nott asks her out again, have Hermione accept him.
That was Hermione sorted out. Extolling Lucius virtues would be tougher, Astoria had to admit with a heavy sigh, especially to one who had suffered at his hands in this very house. Devoted to his grandchild that was true but that would remind Hermione that his grandchild and her daughter were in the same year of school. Not a way to help them see beyond that boundary. There was nothing for it. Hermione would have to do the majority of the work under Astoria's guidance. Then again, the cloak and dagger nature of Lucius Malfoy would make certain that, once either realises what is up, they would be too busy rocking bed posts to care!
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“Would you like another cup, dear?” Molly asked her husband. Their home was no longer called the Burrow. Torn down, rebuilt, remodelled after the war – it was now a comfortably warm, inviting bungalow cottage. Phoenix Farm was now the name of their home. “It looks to be a lovely day, dear.”
Staring vacantly in the air Arthur sighed: “No, I'm fine.”
“What happened last night?”
Lucius Malfoy, that's what. Standing at our daughter's home like he owned it. Threatening to jinx me. “Nothing,” he muttered.
“You're moody,” Molly said. Normally Arthur was smiling. Laughing over a joke only he could hear. Now she was gazing into the face of a man who was tersely pursing his lips and looked – scary! “Something happened.”
Blankly, Arthur turned to his wife. Did not even melt under her worried gaze: “Don't you miss the war?”
“No,” Molly said, and meant it. “I hated it.”
“Just that, there is something boring about life lately.”
“I welcome the boredom,” Molly said. What the war did to her family. Both times, she shuddered. It was odd that her husband wanted another war. “If there were another war, goodness, I do not think we'd be asked to fight.”
Suddenly their cottage kitchen lit up with green light. Without the chance to find out who had interrupted their breakfast Arthur found himself being thrust hard against the nearest wall by a blazing mad blond Wizard snarling in his face: “You had her in your care!” he growled slowly. Steel grey eyes turned to thunder. “You had time to find out about her!” his voice deepened to rumbling growl. Mirroring the thunder in his eyes. The intruder slammed Arthur so hard his eyes rolled inside his head. “You were supposed to be her friend!” he shouted. Soon, Arthur found himself being flung against the kitchen table, scattering plates everywhere. Splattered with scrambled eggs, baked beans, and spilled tea, Lucius started hitting Arthur's head against the table. Pulling the man by the back of his hair. “YOU,” bang, “SHOULD,” thud, “HAVE!”
Turquoise sparks shattered in the air and the man looked up to a definitely improved Molly. Eyes afire and mouth set thin. “You remember what I did to Bellatrix I can easily do to you, Lucius Malfoy, if you do not release my husband from your grip and tell us what you are so angry about!”
Slowly, Lucius slid down and let go of Arthur's throat and hair. No power on Earth was going to gainsay Molly Weasley. Least of all Lucius Malfoy. “I'm sorry,” he snarled down at Arthur, in a manner that was begrudgingly truthful. Standing up Arthur raised his hands to his sore throat. Completely shocked that he had been attacked in his own home for no reason whatsoever.
“I will see you in Azkaban for that.”
“Arthur!” Molly snapped. “Shut up and let me do the talking.”
“I was the one that was attacked without provocation.”
“Lucius,” Molly pointed her wand at the man's jugular, “sit!” she whisked her wand and the chair moved allowing enough room for Lucius to sit down. The moment Molly saw how broken the man was inside her heart went out to him. Whomever he was defending, she was of their acquaintance, and one he cared about. “Sit down, Lucius!”
Stunned Lucius obeyed Molly's command. We really did focus on the wrong people, he thought to himself. Then again Molly always did have an element of the serpent about her. Those children had to keep her mind sharp. Wary of their next, rebellious, childish schemes. “Molly,” Lucius tipped his head regaining his charming countenance. “I would never disobey you.”
“Right,” she straightened her newish purple and silver robes, and sat down next to him. “What was this about?”
“Did Mrs... Miss Granger, ever talk of her pre-Hogwarts days to you?”
“No,” Molly sighed. It was something they had been trying to do for years “Arthur did try to prise open information from her past, but she was not very forthcoming.”
“Why should you care about Hermione's pre-Hogwarts days?” Arthur scowled suddenly suspicious. “She's a muggleborn, remember.”
“I am well aware of her heritage, you oaf.”
“Lucius...” Molly trained her wand on Lucius jugular, eyes turned flint hard, prepared to hex him senseless, if he did not behave. Lucius wanted to live. Gods, Molly, Lucius gazed into her earnest eyes, I miss you. “I'm warning you.”
“I have taken her to my Manor...”
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO HER!” Arthur roared interrupting Lucius before the blond could explain himself, jumping out of his seat in a rash act that could have cost Arthur a trip to Azkaban. “I SWEAR, MALFOY, ONE TOUCH ON HER HEAD...”
“LOOKING AFTER HER!” Lucius roared, flushing with indignant anger, “WHICH IS A DAMNED SIGHT MORE THAN WHAT YOU CLEARLY HAVE DONE!”
“Sit. Down.” Molly said slowly.
Just as slowly, Lucius sat back down as did a doubting Arthur: “Again, I apologise,” he simpered to Molly. “My wonderful daughter-in-law, Astoria, got her own private house elf to convey why Miss Granger would not take her shoes and socks off in front of her.”
“Probably wanted to protect herself.”
Rolling his eyes Lucius fingers were twitching to his cane. If only he could have just talked to Molly. That would have been the ideal tête-à-tête situation.
“Arthur!”
“Sorry, love.”
“Gerda, Astoria's elf, was angry – I could not believe my ears.”
“Get on with it!”
“Arthur!”
Cowed by his wife, Arthur shrank into his seat. “Yes dear.”
“Carry on, Lucius.”
“The muggle children at her – what do they call schools for their pre-teen youths?”
“Primary schools,” Arthur answered. “I think they're a good idea actually.”
“When Miss Granger was at Primary School,” the words did not roll off Lucius tongue the same way as they did Arthur's. “The insolent youths had such base effrontery to burn her feet – she still bares scars,” he looked up into the tight lipped Molly Weasley who also looked like she wanted to murder someone. “They must be terrible because Gerda wanted our permission to find the muggles that did it and kill them for it.”
Molly's eyes practically became obsidian in their anger: “My son said something about Hermione being shy about her feet,” she recalled, “but that sounds terrible for her. Did you get the full story.”
“No, but I know Astoria is working out how.”
“Why did you see fit to attack my husband?”
“Because he is the muggle loving hippy around here.”
“Why does it matter to you anyhow?” Molly asked, narrowing her eyes, placing a hand on his knee. “Arthur has a point,” Molly sighed, “why should you care about what happens to Her...” she stopped as light dawned in her eyes. Broken. Angry. Defensive. Vengeful. Lucius Malfoy had, for some reason, in a short space of time, come to care for Hermione. Why? “Scrap that,” she sighed, “Lucius, you can't just enter this residence and attack unprovoked. What did you expect to get out from it?”
“Some kind of satisfaction long since overdue,” Lucius was not sure why he was here if he was being truthful. The moment he heard he saw red. More accurately, he saw a red headed buffoon with glasses. “I was wondering if you could ask her parents.”
This was met by stunned silence. The couple gazed hard at each other. “Well.” Arthur puffed out and clapped his hands underneath the table.
“You see, Lucius,” Molly tried to be as tactful about this as possible. “The war damaged all of us. Muggleborn children had to find ways to protect their non magical relatives. Hermione was no exception.”
Tears entered his voice. Like Draco, Hermione had to make her own dark choices, what was her sacrifice? “What did she have to do?”
“Obliviate,” Molly sighed making sure she was not holding her wand. This was met by an angry growl of frustration from Lucius. Why did she not say anything? No wonder she wanted to drown her sorrows. “They are in Australia,” Molly said stroking Lucius knee now in an effort to calm him down, “retired, enjoying the sun and a new life but...”
“They have no memory of ever having a daughter?” Lucius snarled, spittle was falling from his lips. “We were bastards weren't we,” tears strolled down his cheeks, Molly remembered how she once found him crying when they were younger. Before Arthur. Before Narcissa. Before YOU-KNOW-WHO! “Sacrificed her parents and still saved my sons life?”
“Your son was not the Dark Lord, Lucius,” Molly sighed being as gentle as she could. A man was learning compassion at a late time in life. The words, no matter how right they were, said wrongly could tip him off the edge: “It was Hermione's decision to make.”
“Why did she not reverse it after?”
“You and I both know that is easier said than done. Sometimes,” Molly looked at the ceiling and counted to twenty under her breath, “the Australian Ministry of Magic sends her letters of how they are doing but she can never see them again.”
Rubbing his hands over his face Lucius gazed at Molly's kind eyes: “I sometimes wish you were the one that had not got away.”
This was the first time either said that to the other. The first time in fifty years Lucius and Molly spoke of their past that only one other person knew: “It would never have been a companionable union, Lucius, you know that.”
“Yes,” his eyes twinkled. Almost, it brought them both back to that time. How they had to sneak out and try and hide in crevices. Not get detentions. The odd little snatch of forbidden passion. A small part of Lucius wanted to grab Molly and kiss her so passionately, one last kiss, but he dared not. Not that he was scared of Arthur. Molly would probably hit him with jelly legs. “We had fun though,” he winked. Blushing Molly lowered her eyes and realised her hand was a little further up Lucius thigh. Immediately, she withdrew her hand, “did we not?”
Arthur coughed: “Leave it.”
“When did she wipe her parent's memories?”
“Just before my eldest son's wedding,” Molly sighed.
“I cannot begin to imagine what it would have done to Draco had he had to have made a similar choice.”
“He was forced to make a worse one.”
“Yes, oh Molly, what can we do for Hermione?”
“Why is it so important to you all of a sudden, Malfoy?” bringing up his wife's past was not endearing Lucius any more to Arthur, “you tried to kill her!”
“A life time ago,” Lucius said. “You have no idea how grateful I am that I failed.”
“Tell me,” Molly said tenderly.
“I think that there is nothing to say,” Lucius said. “Nothing can happen anyway. Sorry for disturbing your breakfast,” with that he got up, grabbed the Floo powder and got back to his Manor.
Leaving an elderly red haired couple blinking at each other. “Well,” Molly said, getting up tidying the seats and eating the rest of her breakfast that was not smashed into broken crockery and smudged on the floor, “you had a taste of the War again just like you wished.”
“Why did he take it out on me? What could I have done? We did not even know about her when that happened!”
“Doesn't matter to a man who clearly is beginning to learn how to love, again.”
“What do you mean, again?”
“Ginny Owled me earlier,” Molly said biting into her toast. “He finally admitted to giving her that book last night and he apologised for it too. She said that he said that he had time to think over his past and,” here Molly took a sip of tea, “that he wants to help Hermione with gaining full custody.”
“What for, we can do that!”
“No, Arthur, we can't,” Molly said. “We just can't!”
♣♠♦♣♠♦♣♠♦
“BLOODY HELLFIRE!” Harry yelled. His phone vibrated with a message which he opened promptly. The message elicited this shocking cry. Why? Why now when Ginny had told him some really excellent news. “This is not good!”
“What?” Ginny blinked.
“Dudley.”
“What about him?”
Silently, Harry, with trembling hands; turned the phone around and showed Ginny the link that Dudley sent. Scrolling down revealing name after name of his friends, people he heard about, ones he loved. Some extremely personal. With the message: “Harry, I think you should see this. Mum said you might be able to do something about it. Just know I am on your side whatever happens. I meant it when I said I did not think you were a waste of space. Piers, on the other hand, well see for yourself!”
♣♠♦♣♠♦♣♠♦
Somewhere, in the UK, a man was sitting on his sofa remembering his own past. How a child his age once humiliated him in front of the whole school. He was looking through his Facebook page finding others of like minds to join him in his own quest for revenge.
The words: Geeky Freaky were startling in their white cold font. There were several thousand hits, likes, shares and post. Most posts were shared around the UK – men and women country wide had their own strange tales to tell. Wanted their own piece of revenge. One, a most ardent supporter, was called Piers Polkiss. Even children as young as 13 were putting videos up of the time when they caught one of their playmates doing something... strange.
One name that Piers mentioned over and over was of a weird, little kid with unruly black hair. Cheap glasses. A boy with a lightning bolt as a scar on his forehead. A boy that could talk to snakes. The name Harry Potter was becoming just as famous in the muggle world as it was in the Wizarding world but the one that really took momentum... the one that many children recounted from his old school was: Hermione Granger.
Though hers was not the only one: Lily Evans. (Red haired bitch turned my nose purple!) Justin Finch-Fletchly (posh prat made my bag of sweets fly through the air!) some weirdo's named Creevey's (milk had sometimes gone sour with no reason). Dean Thomas (black creep turned my pen to elastic). Remus Lupin (sure I heard this weirdo howling). Seamus Finnegan (Irish, whaddya expect, turned my sister's bicycle wheels into two four leaved clovers before exploding her eyebrows!). Severus Snape: (Hung around with that Evan's bitch, they say like attracts like!) amongst others. One, sent shivers down the man's back though he did not understand why, heard from dark whispers from grandparents, was Tom Riddle (he stole, tripped, trapped, hurt, and lashed without actually touching anyone, like the Potter kid, he could talk to snakes).
Any Wizard or Witch with a muggle background had strange stories attached to them. But the one that meant most to this man was: Hermione Granger.
“This will show her,” the man muttered. “I haven't forgotten you, Geeky Freaky, and I know there are more of you. I will finish it this time. Finish the whole lot you!” Sitting back he rolled his sleeves up where a tattoo of the man he admired grinned insanely from his forearm. “This is in your name, Matthew Hopkins. You inspire me to end your work...”
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Fortune Favours The Brave