June 21, 2009 - Early Afternoon
On a hot and sunny afternoon, Hermione and Harry stood awkwardly under an apple tree in Malfoy Manor's impeccably groomed gardens. Harry had a small plate of canapés, and Hermione held a champagne flute, but their general demeanor was that of soldiers under siege rather than party guests.
Draco approached them, with a smile and fresh drink for Hermione. "You look lovely," he complimented her, admiring the pale green sundress. He looked at Potter and rolled his eyes in a silent commentary on the dark-haired wizard's rumpled khakis.
"Thank you for inviting us," Hermione said, observing the courtesies that Potter could not be bothered with.
"Thank you both for coming to my mother's garden party. It means a great deal to her." In translation, Draco meant that the presence of the two members of the Golden Trio carried enough social cachet to burnish even Narcissa Malfoy's reputation as a hostess.
Hermione smiled back at him and Harry nodded, stiffly.
"Potter, for Merlin's sake, get a drink and relax," Draco said. "No Dark wizards are going to jump out of the bushes and curse you."
"Where's Lucius?" Harry asked warily.
"My father is hiding in his study with all of the good liquor. That's what he does whenever my mother hosts her summer solstice garden party," Draco replied, not resenting Potter's implication.
"Big bad Death Eater Lucius Malfoy is scared of little old pureblood biddies?" Harry scoffed.
"Augusta Longbottom," Hermione murmured, in a pointed reminder.
"That's different," Harry argued. "Neville's Gran took out an Auror when she was seventy-six, went on the lam, and fought Death Eaters at the Battle of Hogwarts."
"Have you heard back from my Great-Aunt Augusta since we saw her for tea?" asked Draco.
Harry gave him a look of newfound respect, the sort of look men give to other men who voluntarily perform dangerous deeds, like scaling Kilimanjaro or wrestling crocodiles. "You went to tea with Madam Longbottom?"
"On my birthday, too," Draco confirmed.
"She sent me an Owl just yesterday," Hermione replied. "Neville and Luna agreed to see me. They'll send a Portkey for next weekend."
"That doesn't leave much time - only about a month until my birthday and Voldemort's return," Harry fretted. "What a bloody awful present."
"What are you going to do with Luna's kid?" Draco asked, practically.
"I'm going to cast every ward that I know on him, to help keep him from being possessed. Just like I've already done for you and Harry and Teddy. And I'll warn Neville and Luna, of course," Hermione answered.
"Do you think that's good enough?" Harry asked.
"Honestly, no," she replied. "I'd rather that we found and destroyed the eighth Horcrux."
"Yeah, well, we tried that and it didn't work," Draco said. Suddenly, a fearful expression crossed his face. "Quick, hide me!" he begged. "It's Pansy's grandmother!"
"Too late, dearie!" crowed a dark-eyed old lady, short and plump, wearing a massive pink straw hat adorned with peonies. She pinched Draco's cheek with her talon-like fingers in greeting.
Hermione glared.
The old lady gave her an evil smile.
"Who's your handsome friend, Drakey?" she asked, eying Harry greedily.
"This is Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived," Draco smirked, more than happy to offer him up as a sacrificial lamb. "Or The Chosen One, if you prefer."
"I'd certainly choose him," the old witch licked her lips. "I'm Peony Parkinson," she introduced herself, extending her wizened hand in a royal manner for Harry to kiss.
Harry shook it instead. Quick as a viper, she snaked her free hand around and pinched his bum.
"Ow!" he yelped.
"Nice and firm," Pansy's grandmother leered. "Play a lot of Quidditch, do you?"
"Er, excuse me," Harry stammered. "Loo, er, Auror business, er . . . I have important Auror business. In the loo!" Quickly, he scuttled away, making good his escape.
Draco shook his head at Harry's retreat. "Some days, I find it hard to believe that he managed to defeat the Dark Lord. I really don't know what Voldemort was so afraid of."
"Tom Riddle? Afraid of that young whippersnapper?" Peony screeched with laughter. "Everyone knows Albus Dumbledore is the only wizard he ever feared."
Warm brown eyes met cool grey ones in a shared look of horror.
"What exactly did your uncle say, about when Voldemort is coming back?" Hermione asked, in a strangled voice.
"It was my aunt, actually, in the memory she left behind. She said the Dark Lord would rise 'on the date his greatest enemy, the only one he ever feared, came into the world.' I asked Rodolphus if that meant Potter's birthday, and he said yes," Draco related.
"But Death Eaters lie," Hermione noted.
"All the time," Draco agreed.
"Do you happen to know Professor Dumbledore's birthday?" she asked.
He gave her a look. "We didn't exactly celebrate it in the dungeons or here at home."
"I thought perhaps you burned him in effigy. That sort of thing," Hermione explained.
"Dumbledore's birthday? It's today!" cackled Peony.
"Rodolphus and Rabastan aren't here," Hermione noted in an undertone, scanning the crowd. "Should they be?"
Draco nodded and gulped. "Rodolphus at least, since he's family. My mother always tells her owl to lose his invitation, but he still never fails to show up."
"We need to get to Luna and Neville right now, to warn them," Hermione said urgently.
"I agree, angel, but there's this tiny little problem in that we've been searching for weeks and still don't know where they are!"
"Madam Parkinson, do you happen to know where Neville and Luna Longbottom live?" Hermione asked politely.
"Augusta's grandson? Not the faintest idea. Why don't you ask her? Are all Mudbloods this barmy?" the old lady replied scathingly. She stalked away, in search of fresh prey.
"You can see where Pansy inherited her charm," Draco said, in a consoling way.
Hermione shook her head. "That apple didn't fall far from the tree."
"Not this tree," Draco said, patting the trunk. "We call it the Tree of Knowledge, and Pansy's thicker than a concussed troll."
Hermione scrutinized the tree. "Why do you call it that?"
"Supposedly it enhances your knowledge of magic. My mother always told me to eat an apple a day, to keep my marks up," Draco said. Watching Hermione, he could practically see the wheels turning in her brain.
"What happens if Muggles eat the apples?" she asked.
"We've never had Muggles in the gardens. Mother wouldn't stand for it."
"But what if a Muggle somehow got a hold of one of these apples and ate it? What would happen?" Hermione persisted.
"Just one? Nothing," Draco answered. "But if a Muggle ate enough, they would be able to learn magic. There's some old legend about a Muggle woman getting in trouble because one of my ancestors kept urging her to eat the apples. She only had one though, so she didn't become a witch."
"We need to get to Stoke Tadfield, in Devon," Hermione announced suddenly, eyes bright.
"Why this sudden urge to visit the West Country?" queried Draco. "Though I wouldn't be adverse to taking a mini-break with you."
"It's the village Professor McGonagall told me about," Hermione impatiently explained. "They have seven students who will be starting at Hogwarts, six of them with Muggle parents."
"Six Muggleborns? From the same village? That's unheard of! So you think the brats all ate Malfoy apples?" Draco asked, starting to connect the dots.
"Yes! Remember that apple you gave Luna after the Battle of Hogwarts? I think there might be an apple tree in Stoke Tadfield that grew from the seeds of that fruit," Hermione theorized. "And I think the seventh Hogwarts student is Luna's son."
"It can't hurt to try," Draco shrugged. "I drove down from London. With the Bentley, we can be there in a hour or so." His calculations were based on his average driving speed, and bore no relationship to the speed limit.
Hermione frowned. She was very familiar with the Bentley and Draco's driving style, being his favorite passenger, but she couldn't think of any better way to get there. They couldn't Apparate to a place where neither of them had ever been. "What about Harry? Your car only has two seats, and we need to take him with us."
"Potter? That plonker can ride in the boot."