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Soleil	By : T-W-O Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Lucius/Hermione Views: 7427 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I own nothing of HP nor do I profit in any way from these missives. The characters in this story belong to JK Rowling, Scholastic and/or WB. I do not profit in any manner by any means from the publishing or writing of this story.

Chapter List
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“No amount of arithmancy funny business will make this a good deal, Lucius!”
“I understand there’s risk, but risk is where the profit is! Can’t you see that!?”
At that point, the small bundle that had whimpered most of the day without really resting began to weep in earnest.
“There’s no reason —“ Hermione flung over her shoulder as she bent to lift her daughter from the playpen yet again. In her mother’s arms the child seemed to keen softly.
“— for the standup cost to climb like that. For Merlin’s sake, Lucius, that’s 60% more than you paid to construct Soleil I and the property in Paris cost less than half of the London space!”
Her words swelled and diminished as she trooped around the room jiggling the fussy baby, desperate to calm her usually happy daughter.
“I bet you take great pleasure in ruining other people’s fun, don’t you, Hermione?”
The glare she sent had limited impact as Lucius sat preoccupied by her attempts to modestly undo both her blouse and her nursing bra in the hopes the child would finally latch on and quiet down; she’d failed four prior times in the last six hours and suspected the baby was starving.
“You hired me to crank the numbers and provide you with my results. If you no longer desire my recommendations I can find someone more suited to your brand of fantasy!”
“We have a contract!”
“Which allows you — and only you — to terminate me at your pleasure. You’ve been more than generous with me; if the time has come to hire someone more experienced and less intelligent, I completely understand!”
As the real Hermione Granger — genius swot, war hero, loving wife to one of the “Golden Trio”, grieving widow and mother to the next generation of superhero — never capitulated, Lucius ignored her attempt to get fired and merely glared at her.
In the three months she’d worked for him Lucius had found one, and only one, error and it was really his fault. He’d had her floo over to review last minute contracts numerous times and she’d missed a single misspelling under the signature line. Without so much as a stern look she’d place her sleeping daughter in the cot upon arrival, pull the needed document from his hands and flop onto the sofa in her office to read until finished.
He’d observed her as she reviewed each contract. She never paused to put on makeup, not that she wore much. His sensitive nose often caught traces of lilac from her pre-bedtime shower and the remaining mint from her toothpaste (she was the product of two dentists). Many nights she slept in a “Featherstone Rovers Rugby” t-shirt and light flannel sleeping pants, probably her dead husband’s as the legs were rolled up several times. Over this a threadbare robe carelessly dwarfed her petite frame.
Back in the present, Soleil’s majority owner posed a query —
“Your Rose is normally such a sweet child. Has she been ill?”
Struggling with the infant as Rose shook her head from side-to-side to avoid the nipple, Rose’s mother succumbed to frustration and fatigue, slow tears hitting her daughter’s face and raising the volume of the infant’s crying to an uncomfortable level.
“Not that I’m aware. It started this morning. I made an appointment for her for Saturday at St. Mungo’s pædiatric clinic.”
“That’s three days from now! The child needs to be seen immediately!”
Scared, frustrated, tired and alone, Hermione snapped.
“And I need to work, Mr. Malfoy. I don’t have the luxury of taking days off because of a child who might be ill!”
Lucius pulled back in shock at her scolding, placing distance between them on the sofa. Eyebrows arched and eyes wide open, the aristocrat made the perfect picture of someone about to terminate an insubordinate employee. His expression softened when his brain registered her horror at her words and her anxiety that she might have pushed him into firing her.
First came his Scourgify in a harsh whisper, then his command —
“Give the child to me, please.”
The look on the protective mother’s face was priceless. Never had “Are you mental, you dark git!?” been communicated so effectively.
“Please?… I have some experience.”
Only exhaustion could be blamed when Hermione moved the child away from her exposed breast without a second thought to her state of modesty and lay Rose gently into Lucius Malfoy’s outstretched arms.
Lucius promptly stuck his pinky finger in the child’s mouth while keeping an appreciative eye on that milk-filled breast as it disappeared back into the bra. Baby Rose promptly ceased wailing, gnawing on the strange man’s fingertip while her little fingers gripped the digit tightly to prevent its removal.
“She’s teething. Rubbing her gums provides relief. I’m told it’s very painful. Draco howled like a werewolf and drooled on my best robes for weeks.”
His diagnosis and treatment were met with sobbing from a new source. Hermione now sat hunched forward, face in her hands, crying hysterically.
“Oh, bother! What now, witch!?”
“Biim bn mwfl mffr [I’m an awful mother!]”
“No, you’re a single parent - exhausting under the best circumstances. Stay.” he instructed as if she were a misbehaving pet.
When she heard the “pop” of apparition her mothers’ instinct shot her off the couch screaming threats to the wizard who’d just disappeared with her last connection to Ron.
“Merlin’s saggy balls, woman! Do you EVER do as you’re TOLD!”
In addition to the baby, who lay drowsily in his arms, Hermione’s boss returned holding a half-filled flute of sparkling muscato d’asti.
“Drink this.”
“I can’t! I’m nursing.”
“Trust me, half a flute will do you both good.”
“How did you settle her? She’s never refused a feed before.”
“Old Malfoy family recipe — firewhiskey rubbed on her gums.”
After losing a staring contest over the administration of alcohol to her daughter, Hermione snatched the flute from his hand and downed the dessert wine in a single draw.
She keeled over five minutes later as her employer chuckled and wandlessly covered her with a quilt accio’d from the Manor. The sly Slytherin had loaded her wine with a double dose of Dreamless Sleep potion.
Rocking the drowsy baby in his arms, the father and grandfather cooed to the little girl.
“Your mother is quite stubborn, isn’t she, little one?”
The chair fully reclined under the momentum of his sitting.
“We’ll take care of the stubborn, know-it-all swot, won’t we, belle fleur [beautiful flower]?” he crooned to the baby as he nuzzled her forehead with his lips, laying her on his chest to sleep.
The baby delivered a contented sigh before wiggling to listen to his heartbeat as she slept.
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Fight Night
2 oz cognac
1 splash grenadine syrup
2 1/2 oz Squirt® citrus soda
2 slices limes
Pour Cognac in first, then squeeze the two lime slices in the glass, pour the Squirt in, then splash the grenadine on top.
Muscato D’Asti
Moscato d'Asti is a "Denominazione di origine controllata e garantita" sparkling white wine produced mainly in the province of Asti, north-west Italy, and in smaller nearby regions in the provinces of Alessandria and Cuneo. The wine is sweet and low in alcohol, and often enjoyed with dessert. Wikipedia
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Soleil