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The Heirloom	By : soldiersgirl0709 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Lucius/Hermione Views: 18478 -:- 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 NINE

                Lucius adjusted his cloak and affixed his hat atop his head, smoothing his hair so that it lay neatly along his shoulders. His eyes held a little bit more life than usual and he had a spring in his step that had long been missing. Not only had he slept remarkably well for a change, but he felt a deep seeded satisfaction and an optimism he had not known in years. He didn’t want to credit the little muggleborn witch for that, but he couldn’t deny that the experience they shared had been more than just two people fulfilling contractual obligations. Maybe it was her age, maybe it was the taboo nature of their joining or maybe it had just been too damn long since he had a woman, but it had been deeply satisfying for him to lose himself inside her body. Both times.

                He tucked his cane beneath his arms and grabbed the bouquet of flowers that lay on the table in his foyer. Arthur smiled and opened the front door.

“Good day, Sir,” he said.

“Good day, Arthur,” Lucius replied before stepping out into the crisp, fall air. He followed the walkway towards the edge of his property, his eyes skating back and forth over his land, reminded of how much he had always loved his country house. When he reached the gate it took a simple wave of his hand to momentarily dissolve the wards and slip through, immediately disapparating.

He reappeared on the edge of an expansive, well-manicured lawn on the edge of the small village of Dragon’s Keep. A cobblestone walkway curved up the gentle slope of a hill, atop of which sat a large red brick building bathed in the late morning sun. Lucius made his way up the walk where he was greeted at the large French doors by an elderly woman in a white uniform.

“Hello, Mr. Malfoy!” she said cheerfully as she closed the door behind him.

“Hello, Nancy, how are you?” He asked politely.

“I’m well, thank you, Sir,” she said, smiling warmly. “Go on in, she will be pleased to see you.”

                Lucius nodded and headed down the long corridor, passing a large reception area and moving towards the back of the building. He found his way to suite 401 and quietly entered the rooms. He stopped at a gleaming mahogany dresser and withdrew his wand to dissolve way the flowers beginning to wilt in a crystal vase. Another spell replaced the water before Lucius dropped the fresh bouquet inside. As he entered the large, open suite he immediately found the woman sitting in a rocking chair by the window, a knitted blanket draped over her lap.

                Ariadne Malfoy was nearing the end of her second century. Time had changed her from a beautiful young woman into an old woman but could not erase the noble way that she held herself, spine stiff, chin up—she was a true lady. Her once platinum blonde hair was now silver, pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head. Her silver-blue eyes were sharp, but from time to time they clouded with confusion as her mind began to deteriorate.

“You are late,” she said, turning her head to look at him.

“I apologize, Mother,” he said softly as he approached her. “But maybe this will explain why.” He held out the garnet ring, the sunlight through the window caught the facets of the diamonds that encircled the blood red stone, casting little reflections of light onto his dark cloak.

“Oh, My,” Ariadne softly exclaimed as she reached out for the ring. Her once graceful, elegant hands were twisted and swollen with arthritis, but her skin was as soft as ever as she brushed her fingers over his. “I never thought to see it,” she said.

“Neither did I,” he said softly. “Turns out it was neither lost nor stolen. It was bestowed upon a young witch by the name of Juliana Granger by Roman Malfoy before he was institutionalized.”

“Then the rumors were true,” she said quietly, turning the ring over and over in the light.

“What rumors?”

“That Roman was in love with a muggle,” she said, looking up at her son. “Of course Orpheus denied it until his last days and Abraxus, well, he never spoke of Roman and forbade anyone else from speaking of him as well,” she said. “How did you come to be in possession of this?”

“Hermione Granger found it in an old trunk from Beaux Batons, Juliana was a relative.” Ariadne extended her hand and gave him back the ring.

“So you married her in gratitude for returning a family heirloom then?” she asked, gesturing towards the newspaper on the table beside her open to the society pages.

“So you saw that?” he asked on an exasperated sigh. “We were hoping to keep it silent until it could be resolved.”

“I was very sad to hear that my only son was married and I had not been invited,” Ariadne said with a pointed look and a teasing smile.

“I tried to deny the truth of the story about Roman and Juliana, but between the evidence that the little witch dug up, Roman’s journals and Arthur’s memories I had to acknowledge that our families had once been bound to join, when I did I unwittingly legalized the contract between Roman and Juliana and obligated our family to be wed to a Granger. Since Draco is already married and Scorpius is just a baby that leaves me as the only unwed Malfoy male. So we came to an arrangement, we marry, fulfill the contract and then in six months we divorce,” he said it as if it were simple. But it wasn’t so simple, not really.

“I see…so no more grandchildren t bounce on my knee, then?” she teased him

“I am afraid not, Mother,” he smiled.

“Alright, then Luc, come sit with me awhile,” she said softly.

“Yes, Mother.”   Lucius walked to the dresser and retrieved the silver brush lying on a mirrored tray.   He returned and slid to the floor at his mother’s feet, his back resting against her knees. Then, as he felt the soft, natural bristles begin to run the length of his hair he closed his eyes, drifting back to his childhood and the long evenings spent at his mother’s feet while she brushed his hair.
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The Heirloom