War Hero Celebrates 30th Birthday and Then Some the headline read boldly, and the subject of the article looked amused that her photo was being taken, once again.

'... sources close to the Weasley family stated that the youngest Weasley male, Ronald, had a dream—a prophecy of sorts—revealing that his wife, Hermione Weasley (née Granger), will rise up and become the next Dark Lord.'

Lucius Malfoy sat with his son, Draco, at his dining room table, reading the Prophet aloud to their dinner guest. As he haphazardly tossed the paper down next to his empty plate, he scoffed, 'Can you believe this drivel, Severus?'

'Now, now, Lucius, you really mustn't allow silly fables in the local rag to ruffle your precious feathers,' Severus said in a bored tone.

Lucius was not to be put off so easily by his friend's offhanded reference to his regal flock and crowed in disgust, 'As if Granger could ever be Dark Lord material. She's a Mud—' The word died on Lucius' lips at the murderous look he received from Severus.

'You were saying ...' Severus prompted, though his voice carried a steely edge to it.

Lucius had the decency to appear abashed, false though it might be. 'Yes, well ... she is a Muggle-born.' Yet, his distaste at the mere mention of the word was evident by his haughty tone. 'If Granger becomes the next Dark Lord, why I'll—'

'You'll what? Lop off your lovely locks perhaps?' Severus enquired sarcastically.

Lucius looked scandalised, eyes wide with abject horror and face several shades paler than normal at the mere suggestion of shearing a single strand of his golden tresses. 'Blasphemy! To even speak of it is an abomination,' Lucius whispered and cast a sympathetic glance at Draco's receding hairline.

'You, my dear Lucius, should count yourself fortunate that male pattern baldness is inherited via the matrilineal line,' Severus countered with a smirk, following Lucius' line of sight.

Draco, on the other hand, absentmindedly ran his hand through his own hair, glaring at them both.

Lucius ignored his friend's remark about his genetic history and continued to press the issue at hand. 'And she's a slip of a girl at that. I mean, really, Rita must be positively desperate to write such nonsense.'

Severus was about to comment that, at the ripe age of thirty, Granger was hardly a girl anymore, when Draco cut across him.

'I would not discount Skeeter's article too quickly, Father. There have been whisperings within certain circles—innuendo, as it were,' Draco said seriously.

'Do tell,' Lucius invited as he sat back in his chair, sipping on his after-dinner cognac.

Severus pretended to scan the discarded copy of the Prophet while Draco relayed the news.

'Well, Father, as you know, I've been spending my off days at the Quidditch pitch—' he glanced to Severus, who still appeared to be reading, and attempted to gain his attention by adding, '—where the Chudley Cannons practise.' At Severus' belated acknowledgement, he continued, 'There were more fans there than I would ever allow if I owned the team.'

Lucius shifted in his chair and huffed in annoyance. 'Get on with it, Draco.'

Severus snorted into the paper and set it down. 'Yes, please, Draco, do tell your father and me the dirty details surrounding Weasley and Wife. As if we care.'

Draco sniffed, slightly resentful of Severus' disdain, but continued, 'As I was saying, I overheard Looney Lovegood, who has it on good authority from Padma Patil-Thomas, who heard it from her sister, Parvati, who ran into Lavender—'

Severus gave a distinctively bored, long suffering sigh. 'Draco, your father and I do not need to be apprised of the latest dynamics of a gossiping sewing circle.'

'If you would let me finish, I was just getting to the more interesting parts,' Draco whinged.

Lucius pulled his most fatherly tone from his arsenal of vocal inflections. 'Then I suggest you cease with these trivialities and get to the point. Your droning is beginning to give me a headache.'

'Apparently, Weasel is somehow distantly related to some bloke named Coinneach Odhar.'

'The Brahan Seer?' Severus leaned forward, now giving Draco his full attention.

Draco shrugged his shoulders and suppressed a secret smile, pleased to have finally piqued his mentor's curiosity. 'I suppose so, but Lovegood didn't really elaborate on the man himself. She was just told by Padma that Weasel had a series of dreams over a period of a few weeks that ultimately led him to believe he was channelling a prophecy, and the signs unequivocally pointed to Weasel's wife as the newest She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.'

Lucius allowed his cool countenance to collapse and barked with laughter. 'What absolute rubbish! That has to be the most preposterous bunch of gibberish I have ever heard. I wouldn't be surprised if Weasley made up this entire brouhaha simply to detach himself from the bossy cow who is Hermione Granger.'

Severus sat quietly, absorbing the different titbits of information Draco bestowed on his father and turning them over is his mind. While he found it remarkably interesting that Weasley could be related to the famous diviner and wit, he knew deep down Granger could no more be the next Dark Lord than Albus Bloody Dumbledore—though he certainly could have given Tom Riddle a good showing. Granger possessed the necessary qualities, to be sure—an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, a keen percipience and sharp wit, unparalleled magical strength, the ability to lead in even the most treacherous of times, and a cruel streak that rivalled Filch's on the best of days—but Severus knew from his experiences with her that she was earnest and pure of heart and would not harm a house-elf, let alone lord it over an entire society.

No, those qualifications made her much more suited for the position of Minister of Magic.

Never let it be said that Weasley isn't a fool of monumental proportions, Severus internalised, admiring the photo of Hermione Weasley leaving the main entrance of the Ministry of Magic. 'It cannot be denied—she's grown into a beautiful woman.'

'Severus?'

'Lucius?' Severus challenged mockingly, looking toward his friend.

Lucius responded by gawping at the Prophet in disbelief. 'Beautiful?' he enquired with uncertainty before humour crept into his tone. 'Merlin, man! What is it with you and your never-ending obsession with Muggle-borns? Salazar is likely spinning in his grave.'

'Why must you always exaggerate, Lucius? It's very unbecoming in a wizard of your stature. I hardly think finding two equally stunning but different Muggle-born witches fascinating qualifies as obsession.'

Lucius looked speculative, a question lingering in his cold, grey eyes. 'Surely you don't fancy her, Severus. She's barely divorced, old friend,' he said. 'There's also society to consider. I would've thought you, of all people, would wish to avoid any sort of scandal.'

Severus scowled at Lucius' turn of phrase. 'Fancy is ... a strong word, Lucius. I would think "am intrigued by" would be more appropriate, wouldn't you? And name one instance, excluding my childhood and adolescence, when I gave a bloody fuck about what others thought.'

Lucius conceded Severus' point with a tilt of his head. 'Fair enough. But—correct me if I am wrong—to say that you are sorely out of practise at this sort of endeavour would be a serious understatement, yes?'

'As if I would take advice from a man who, up until recently, had been married to the same woman for a rather large number of years, the same woman he mooned over like a lovesick puppy the entire time we were at school together.'

Hoping to gain an edge on the situation, Draco surreptitiously listened as his father and long-time mentor traded barbs.

Lucius' laughter was rich and hearty. 'Lovesick puppy? I should think not. Envy doesn't suit you, Severus. Besides, if you truly are serious about pursuing this witch, I may be willing to offer you some insight ... for a price, of course.' Lucius held up his glass, eyes full of mischief, as if toasting and daring Severus simultaneously.

Severus harrumphed and crossed his arms over his chest. 'What possible knowledge could you impart that I do not already have? By all means, please enlighten me.'

Lucius' brow furrowed as he seriously contemplated Severus' rather rhetorical question. He chose his words very carefully. 'Granger appears to be a spirited and high-strung girl. From my experience with such young ladies,' Lucius paused as Severus coughed what sounded vaguely like 'Bollocks!' and then finished his thought, 'she simply needs proper wooing, complete with chivalry, gifts and poetry—someone to shower her with romance and delve beneath her gruff exterior. I think Granger could do well, blossom ... if the right amount of attention were paid to her.'

'Lucius, I never thought I would say this, but you have no bloody clue what you are talking about. Granger is not the sort of woman to be won over with empty romantic platitudes. While I have no doubt she might require some genteel attentions, the likes of which Weasley has most certainly never shown her, Granger needs to have her mind stimulated. Coupled with acceptance and the evidence of shared interests, she could, indeed, blossom, as you so aptly phrased it.'

'When did you become so well-versed in all things Granger?' Lucius leered.

'Oh, get over yourself! Not everything has a sexual connotation lurking behind it, Lucius.'

Lucius' raised eyebrow seemed to suggest otherwise as he sat waiting for Severus to continue.

'I spent six years with her trying to gain my approval by waving her hand in my face, and all the time, I was constantly saving her arse behind the scenes. I think I have a fairly good idea as to what makes Hermione Granger tick.'

'Care to test that theory?' He leaned back, arms crossed in a vain attempt to imitate Severus; a self-righteous look graced his features. 'Unless, of course, you're afraid of a little friendly competition.'

Severus rose from his chair, drawing himself up to his full menacing height. 'When have you ever known me to back down from a challenge? Though I am surprised to see you are even interested in bothering with a Muggle-born—and Potter's Golden Girl, no less.'

Lucius stood, unblinking, to face Severus, stormy sea meeting pools of night. 'In this case, I am willing to make an exception,' he said with a hint of haughtiness.

Severus surveyed Lucius shrewdly before extending his hand.

Lucius grasped Severus' hand and shook it vigorously, offering his Dark friend a Cheshire-like smile. 'May the best wizard win.'

Severus dropped Lucius' hand and proceeded to make his way out of the dining hall. Just before he exited the room, he tossed nonchalantly over his shoulder a smug, 'I fully intend to,' and Disapparated without a backward glance.

Lucius stroked his pointed chin, secretly outlining the beginnings of his machinations and revelling in his own ingeniousness. Soon, he too departed from the dining area for the comforts of his office, oblivious to Draco's presence.

Draco sat in silence, drinking in the entirety of the conversation he had just witnessed, and he wondered if the two men were experiencing a momentary lapse in reason. Competing for the hand of a woman—a Gryffindor woman, and Granger at that—was a rather intriguing anomaly. What could possibly make this particular Mudblood worthy of one prime Slytherin's attentions, let alone two?

Deciding they must be completely insane, he sat forward and stared at Hermione's photo. 'She has turned out to be quite stunning,' Draco thought aloud and then pondered what role he could have in shaking things up. If he played his cards just right, there was no reason whatsoever he couldn't steal the girl from right under their very noses. When all was said and done, he would teach these old dogs a few new tricks.