Usual disclaimers - the names of the below characters belong to Warner Bros & JK Rowling, etc.
This is ridiculous. Enjoy.
Several months in the sun can bring a dulling of sense and logic, and it was perhaps for that reason that Draco Malfoy didn't owl ahead to the Manor to announce his arrival. He hadn't, admittedly, left on the best of terms with his parents and had spent several months sulking in various different countries following the end of the war. He didn't believe this was unreasonable, given that neither parent had managed to prevent their lives and home being taken over by the Dark Lord. It had taken a year for him to return, a year in which he sent only the occasion confirmation of his continued existence on the earth. He hadn't opened a single reply. In retrospect he would realise the rashness of that action and feel rather silly.
Apparating to the gates, Draco sighed in satisfaction looking up at the imposing pale stone mansion at the end of the drive. Not that anyone drove carriages up there now of course, he reflected; it was considered terribly old fashioned in these Post-War times to do anything reminiscent of the Old Ways of his grandfather's generation.
He wondered if that meant there would be no more balls; he had always rather enjoyed showing off the beautiful house, surprising in its elegance. Most imagined the Malfoys to live in a gothic castle, filled with dark rooms and the heads of house elves mounted on the Dining Room walls or perhaps in their own dark gallery. The reality was a beautiful, Palladian house with light, airy, elegant rooms. It had been extended since then of course- every Malfoy patriarch (and the one Matriarch in 1857-78 when Augustine Malfoy had seized control of the family from her twin brother and ruled it with a impressively stern hand) liked to add their own stamp onto the house and the result was a glorious celebration of centuries of wealth and power. The grounds were expertly landscaped, with a lake nestling in the parkland below the house, which the drive curled around. The gardens immediately surrounding the house were a triumph of terracing, with sweeping stone steps dropping down from each level. The gardens were rather Italianate, he reflected with knowledge garnered from his travels, whereas the house was a French-English hybrid. Perhaps there were lots of houses in England which appeared rather French? He didn't know, having always taken them for granted and indeed many wizarding manors were had much earlier origins, with great walls of stone and terrible heating; very draughty and unpleasant in winter.
He decided to walk up to the house, through the park and past the lake. Usually, he would have apparated but the house seemed so welcoming, and the grounds so exceptionally beautiful in the sunshine, that he rather thought a walk would be nice.
The front of the house was quite formal, with a gravel sweep before the lawns rolled down to the lake. He crossed it, calling out for a house elf to take his magically lightened travelling trunk. The house was quiet, not unusually, although he was surprised his mother hadn't come to greet him yet. His father would be in his Study or in London; best check the study first. One of the famous white Malfoy peacocks crossed the drive in front of him, spreading its tail feathers in a magnificent display of beauty. It really was nice to be home.
As Draco wandered towards the back of the house, he saw that the French Windows leading out onto the terraces were propped open and sounds of talking and laughter were floating through. There was the tell-tale chink of cutlery injecting into the animated conversation. He checked his watch in disbelief; it was eleven in the morning. The happy sounds drifting in to his ears were hardly what he had learned to expect of Lucius and Narcissa's mealtimes; they never ate outside and never so late! His father was up by six o'clock every morning, went for a fly around the estate after a breakfast in his bedroom, which was joined by to Narcissa's bedroom by a shared dressing room, and then spent the rest of the day going over accounts, investments, meeting associates, visiting the various businesses owned by the Malfoy estate and sitting on the various boards he belonged to, such as the Hogwarts Governors or the Wizengamot.
So why on earth were his mother and father eating outside in the blazing sunshine, laughing and talking? It was a far cry from the polite chitchat in the excessively grand dining room which defined his memory of meals at home from the sounds of it. He walked through the pale green and gold morning room and out through the French Windows.
A witch with wild, thick curls was sitting in a dark blue silk robe, sittng side on from him. She was laughing, sitting opposite his father who was wearing his own robe, leaning back comfortably in the white painted iron chair. He was sipping champagne and, as Draco watched, he leaned over and fed the girl a strawberry dipped in champagne in the most indecent manner.
Draco was appalled, a nauseous feeling roiling in his stomach: his father had brought a mistress to the Manor- thrown his mother out- locked his mother in her room- sent her to the French Chateau- left her with nothing- disgraced her- it was awful, shocking… And then it got much worse as he realised exactly who the beautiful, brazen shameless whore sitting with his father was.
Granger, he realised with disbelief as she turned her profile slightly more towards him. Granger. The filthy mudblood, the bushy haired know-it-all Gryffindork, was sitting being fed strawberries, looking thoroughly shagged, by his cold, imperialistic muggle-detesting father. He blinked. There was something very, very wrong with the picture in front of him.
And then he screamed.
Hermione dropped her glass in shock as the most god-awful noise assailed her ears. She span round, wand out and saw Draco screaming his head off like a banshee. Weighing up the options she put a silencing spell on him and turned to face Lucius in surprise, almost unable to contain the surprised, nervous laughter bubbling up inside her. Why had they thought it better to tell Draco in person than to send an owl? This was a dreadful, embarrassing way for him to find out! Had Narcissa even contacted him herself? When Draco finally stopped screaming he started gesturing with his hands angrily, pulling his wand out and waving it but apparently too angry to even come up with a spell.
It was hard not to feel glee at his expression; seven years of insults, hexes and taunts more than repaid in that brief moment by him finding her, of all people, with the father he'd idolised all his life, but she did try. All his childhood ideals and beliefs had been shattered in the space of a second and, unplanned and unintentional as it was, she couldn't help but be satisfied. What revenge could have been better after all?
She lifted the silencing spell and hoped Lucius would take over from there, although he had been rather useless thus far.
"Where is my mother, you filthy mudblood whore?" He snarled at her, a tense, caged animal.
Lucius pulled his own wand out of his cane and a split second after the words were spoken he was across the terrace with it pressed to Draco's throat.
"Watch your mouth, boy." Lucius rarely raised his voice, but the controlled, tight tones held a latent threat that was more than equal to Molly Weasley's most furious dressing down to her twins. He removed his son's wand and returned to the table. "Your mother is perfectly content, I assure you. She is, I believe, somewhere on the continent with her lover."
"Mother would never be so… so indecent."
"Ah, Draco," Lucius drawled, relaxing back into his chair, "we did write to you. Several times I might add. Your mother has been in love with your Uncle Rastaban for years and after the war it seemed rather futile to maintain the pretence. Which has turned out extremely well for all involved."
He smiled at Hermione and picked up her hand, laying a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist.
"What the hell have you done to my Father?" Draco snarled at her.
"Draco, you will not speak to Miss Granger in such a manner."
"It's alright, Lucius. He has every right to be angry, I suppose. We assumed Narcissa would have contacted you even if you didn't receive your father's letters… well, she said she had. She and your father have been divorced for three months."
"My gods," he said, appalled. "Three months? You should have found me, brought me home- at least discussed this with your only child."
"I was awaiting your return to England. My apologies." Lucius' voice was utterly toneless, which in Hermione's experience meant he was almost certainly mocking his son.
Draco looked at the nauseating way his father was smiling into his ex-schoolmate's eyes and thought he might actually be sick. What in Merlin's name could have caused this? And his beautiful, pure, wonderful, perfect mother in love with Rastaban Lestrange? He refused to believe it. The man was half French! His father must have done something. But…
"Granger, Father? Really? I thought you had better taste," he sneered.
Lucius laughed softly.
"My dear boy, you know perfectly well you would have given your wand arm to sleep with the delectable Hermione while you were at Hogwarts. Besides, I have, er, 'seen the error of my ways' and there is clearly no place for your bigotry in today's society."
The appalling hypocrite! Draco was outraged. His father, who had taught him everything he knew about hating Mudbloods and why they should be hated, had the audacity to tell him that there was no place for it?
"You sly old dog," he said slowly. "Is this some nefarious plot to gain power in a new manner? Improve the family image."
"No, Draco," Lucius replied pleasantly, his long blond hair shining softly in the sun, "Miss Granger and I are engaged. We're announcing it at the Ministry Ball a week from today."
"Lucius, I think I should give you and Draco some time alone," Hermione interjected. "I think I'll go and have a swim in the lake before coffee."
Lucius pulled her to him as she stood, and gave her a deep kiss. She melted into the embrace and Draco watched, repulsed and attracted in equal measure, as the enticing brunette cast her spell over his father (her robe had slipped! He could almost see her nipple. Gods, how was he supposed to cope with that? A mudblood nipple on a rather beautiful brea... She was wearing an enormous, diamond on her finger, he realied. They really were engaged. How revolting.
And then she pulled away from his father, stroked his hair softly and was gone.
Lucius stared after her for a moment, a sweet smile on his face.
Yes, Draco decided. It really was disgusting. What a horrible shock. He far preferred the home-comings he'd had as a child, lavished with presents by his mother… and now… Granger's nipple!
Well, almost.
Haha poor Draco. Teehee.
I just couldn't resist this. What did you think?