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The Heirloom	By : soldiersgirl0709 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Lucius/Hermione Views: 18477 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. I do not own anything related to Harry Potter or the Harry Potter Universe. All things recognizable belong to JKR and WB. No money is made from the sharing of this fic, only friends and smiles.

Chapter List
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Chapter Five: Accidents

     Lucius Malfoy stood at the end of a cobblestone walk and wondered if he had the right address. The impressive country-house was not what he had expected to find the young witch living in. It was nowhere near the size of any of his homes, but it was nothing to scoff at either. He closed his eyes and felt the soft, undulating warmth of magic warding the property. He suddenly realized that her house was not hidden and hoped that no one had seen him suddenly appear at the end of her walk. The last thing he wanted was a ministry inquiry, they watched him enough already.

     He glanced around him, realizing that the house was fairly isolated; the nearest home to hers was off in the distance. It was quite lovely, in truth. The sun was setting in the distance, casting a soft glow over the rolling hillside that reminded him of a painting that hung in the study at the manor. He smiled a bit at the crackling static-like sensation of her wards as he climbed the short set of steps to her porch. He raised his cane and rapped on the door three times with the heavy silver head.

     He expected a servant—an elf or a housekeeper—to answer and was surprised when the witch herself flung open the door. A wild mane of dark curls surrounded her, flowing over her shoulders and curling around her breasts. He tried not to stare at the nicely rounded globes being hugged so lovingly by the white, waffle-knit cotton shirt that she wore but found it difficult. He allowed his gaze to drift lower to the dark colored denim trousers that clothed her bottom half and the tiny bare feet tipped with shocking pink painted toenails.

“Oh, it’s you,” Hermione said, stunned to see the tall wizard standing on her doorstep.

“Yes, it is me,” he replied with a tight smile.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, I thought you might like to have a conversation about our newly discovered shared history,” he said. “But if you are busy I will take my leave,” he bowed slightly and turned to leave.

“Wait!” she called, stepping out of the doorway. “Come in, please.”

Lucius made certain to wipe the smirk from his face before turning and crossing the threshold into her house. He was startled to see the large home tastefully decorated with rich earth tones and comfortable furnishings.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting company,” she said, closing the door behind her. “I was about to have some tea, would you like a cup?”

“Thank you, that would be nice,” he said, loosening the light cloak from around his shoulders. He looked around, expecting a servant to appear and take his garment. When no elf or other domestic-being appeared; he draped it over the back of the nearest chair and looked around him. Her home was decorated more for comfort than appearance, but he liked it.

He went to the large bay window at the back and stared out over the expansive lawn. She had a nice home; it wasn’t what he had expected of a woman like Hermione. Not that he expected her to live in a shack…well, perhaps he did, but he certainly hadn’t expected her to live in a rather stately home with what appeared to be a significant property attached.

“I inherited it.”

Lucius fought the grin that twitched at the corners of his mouth and turned slowly, his brows arched as he stared at her.

“From my grandmother.” She was carrying a wooden tray with tea and biscuits. “I was sitting on the back veranda if you would care to join me there,” she said, her head jerking towards the back of the house.

“Yes, thank you,” he said, approaching her slowly and taking the tray. The stunned look on her face irritated him. “I AM capable of being a gentleman,” he said, the statement laced with bitterness. “There are some who might actually say that I am kind.”

“I apologize, Mr. Malfoy, but sometimes old habits die hard,” she said, genuine apology in her eyes. He said nothing, responding to her apology with an abrupt nod of his head.

“Do you wish to change into something more appropriate?” he asked, looking pointedly at her bare feet. He watched the saucy grin that crossed her face as she tossed her hair back over shoulder and knew the answer before she even spoke.

“No,” she said simply, turning on her heel and leading the way to the veranda.

     The curved, stone surface was covered in potted plants, some containing flowers, some herbs, and others clearly were growing ingredients for potions. An outdoor dining table with cushioned chairs sat in the center, a swing in a frame stood to one side and a small seating area was arranged in front of an outdoor fireplace that was already laid with a cozy fire.

     He set the tea on a small side table and took a seat in one of the surprisingly comfortable chairs and watched her serve. She performed the task as gracefully as any pureblood aristocrat, passing him a cup before taking her own and climbing onto a wicker settee, curling her feet beneath her. He glanced at the cushion beside her, noting the book—in Latin—lying next to her. It seemed some things did not change.

“It has been a while, I had not expected to hear from you,” she said.

“I must confess, I was a bit thrown by your visit and the information that you provided,” he said, watching her face to gauge her reactions. “Of course I had to investigate such a claim further.”

“Claim?” Her eyes narrowed and her fingers tightened on the cup in her hand. “It is no claim, Mr. Malfoy, there is proof. It has surpassed claim and is clearly fact.”

“So you say, but we both know that evidence is fabricated easily enough,” he said. He was being a snob, he knew it, but somehow had never been able to filter his behavior. It was, perhaps, genetic.

“I do NOT lie, Mr. Malfoy,” she said through clenched teeth. “What reason would I possibly have for making up such a thing? Why would I want YOU, of all people, to be involved in my life?”

“I asked myself the same question,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “Clearly you do not need my money, you seem to be doing fine in that area. You do not need, nor desire my connections as you have more than enough of your own—and to be honest yours are probably far more respectable than mine. So I narrowed it down to revenge…or a desperate desire to have my approval.”

“A desperate… Ahhhhhh!” She nearly crushed the teacup in her hand as her ire rose. She set the cup aside and closed her eyes, breathing deeply through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. Lucius watched, fascinated by her response, enjoying the ‘game’ that he so loved. Manipulating people was a true art. If there was a Machiavellian School of conduct, he would have been the Valedictorian. “I can assure you, SIR, that your approval is neither needed nor is it desired.”

“Lucius.” The desire to grin was nearly overwhelming when she visibly jolted, staring at him incredulously.

“What?”

“Lucius, my name is Lucius,” he said, taking great pleasure in her obvious irritation.

“I know you name!” She snapped, her cheeks flushing in anger.

“Then please use it,” he said calmly. “It is a privilege to call ones betters by their first name.”

“One’s betters…” she sputtered, her emotions quickly rising out of her control. “Your uncle certainly didn’t see himself as ‘better’ than my family!”

“Well, the jury is out on whether or not my dear Uncle Roman was sane,” Lucius said. “He did end up in an asylum.”

“You are unbelievable!” She threw her hands up, her insides shaking with the rage she was feeling. “Are you really going to stand here and deny the evidence?”

“I didn’t say I was going to deny anything, I simply said that I had to investigate the validity of the evidence.” He shrugged nonchalantly, further irritating the temperamental witch.

“Alright…” She closed her eyes and took deep breaths, counting to ten slowly. “So you investigated your uncle’s history. What did you find?”

“I am not certain that it is any of your business, but since you returned a family heirloom I suppose you deserve to know what I found.” He was a prick, he was well aware that he was being a jerk, but it had been so long since he had spoken to—well, anyone outside his family—that he couldn’t seem to control his inclination towards arrogance.

“Thank you for your generosity,” Hermione replied sarcastically.

“Oh, you are quite welcome,” he said. “Now, it turns out that my valet…oh, a valet is a personal servant that …”

“I KNOW what a valet is, Lucius,” she said tightly.

“Oh, yes, well, one never knows what is and is not known by the common folk,” he said with deliberate conceit. “As I was saying, my valet—Arthur—was a young man at the time. He was working in the stables on the estate. He says that Roman was in love and planning to run away with a young muggle witch that he had gotten in the family way.”

“Juliana,” Hermione said softly.

“Perhaps,” he said. “Apparently grandfather was less than thrilled that his son had not only lowered himself to bed a muggle but had been irresponsible enough to sully the family bloodline by impregnating the girl.”

“They were in love,” Hermione responded. “Blood purity doesn’t matter when you are in love.”

“Love? Love is an illusion, the fleeting fancy of the young. Roman was infatuated by a girl, bewitched by the first stirrings of lust and the euphoria of sex.”

“That is…sad.” Hermione was astonished. Lucius had been so passionate about his belief during the war. He had shown such determination to save his family, to rebuild their life once the war ended, even if it meant swallowing his pride and shouldering the blame on his own. How could a man who fought so vehemently for his beliefs not believe in love? “You ducked out of public life when your wife died…surely to grieve too deeply for her meant that you loved her?”

Lucius debated on whether or not he would answer her. It was a personal question, one that he had never been asked before. Did he really want to explain himself to her?

“I respected my wife. I admired her devotion to me and to our son. She managed our home and our social obligations expertly, I found no fault with my wife,” he said. “But I married Narcissa at the behest of our families. I offered money and stability to the Black family and they offered lucrative business ties for my family. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Why? I was not unhappy?” he asked her, curious at the pity he read in her eyes.

“No one should marry without love, it is sad to know that you were bound to someone for so long that you had no love for,” she said. “A life without love is no life at all.”

“Love is a luxury not permitted for the wealthy,” he said. “Marriage is a business contract negotiated for the betterment of the families. Nothing more.”

“I loved my husband,” she declared.

“And what is the status of your marriage now?” he inquired.

“We are divorced, but it does not mean that I did not love him. I still love him, just in a different way than before.”

“It was a waste of both your time and energy. You would have been better off seeking a spouse that could offer you something more than a Weasley…though the purity of his magical blood was quite the prize for you.”

“Well, we will have to agree to disagree on that,” she said. “Our families are connected, Lucius. Like it or not a child existed that shared our blood.”

“What evidence is there to support that she was not attempting to push a child on my ancestor that was not his?” He asked.

“Are you really going to continue to try and deny this?” she asked incredulously.   What was wrong with him? Why was he trying to discredit the relationship between Roman and Juliana?

Lucius shifted in his chair, reaching into his pocket to retrieve the letters. With a softly whispered spell the small box enlarged to its original size.

“I am not denying anything, I am simply saying that perhaps it is not as romantic as you would see it,” he said, handing over the letters.

“And I say perhaps it was far more romantic than YOU see it!” She opened the box and grabbed the bundle of letters, removing the last letter that Juliana had received from Roman. “Look at it! I will love no one but you for all of my days, I will make you my wife for always. Do you think he would have written such a thing to a woman who was blackmailing him into marriage?” She stood and began waving the letter in front his face.

“Women have been manipulating men with tender feelings for centuries….”

“For the love of, Pete!” she shouted, her eyes sparking.

“Who is Pete?” Lucius asked, somewhat confused by her epithet.

“Lucius, you are not a stupid man, never in the years I have known you have I ever made the mistake of thinking you were stupid—evil, yes—stupid, no,” she said, struggling to keep her voice calm. “Are you seriously trying to deny this or are you simply fucking with me?”

“Nice language,” he said, amused.

“All my friends are boys,” she snapped.

“Fine, by all appearances Roman did, in fact, intend to wed the mud--erm, Juliana.” Out of nowhere the letter in her hand illuminated, the writing turned bright blue before a thin stream of light shot out, splitting into two and striking both of them in the center of the chest. It burned for a moment, startling them and stealing their breath.

“What in the bloody hell was that?” Lucius swore, rubbing his chest where he was struck. It no longer hurt, but he had an odd feeling that he wasn’t going to like it…whatever it turned out to be.

*****Hi, Everyone....its been a long time...does anyone remember me? Well...here is the first 5 chapters...the story is done, I will update regularly til its all up and ready. Looking forward to hearing from you!
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The Heirloom