Chapter 7: Mudblood at the Manor, Part Two
Weren't Gryffindors supposed to be made of stronger mettle than this?
Lucius wondered as he stared down at the unconscious form of Hermione Granger. He stood propped against the doorway to the drawing room, arms crossed over his chest, unsure of how to proceed. He had only meant to frighten the girl – to scare her enough that she would think twice before ever accepting an invitation to the Manor again. He hadn't expected her to faint dead away.
Then again, she is only a mudblood. He reasoned, giving a disapproving shake of his head.
The Malfoy patriarch sighed and worried the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger.
Well, this course of action was certainly proving disastrous.
Lucius had planned the entire ordeal. Irritated by his wife's decision to defy him, he had decided to take matters into his own hands. He knew that it would take Narcissa at least twenty minutes to check the damage to her gardens – which had indeed been caused by his hounds - and return. He had then exploited Ms. Granger's empathy for house-elves to lure her to the drawing room. All it had taken was a terrified Darby, a direct order, and a simple sound amplification charm.
It always amazed Lucius how easily manipulated Gryffindors were. One could always count on them to rush headlong into a trap at the first indication of someone in peril.
How Potter and his friends evaded capture for so long last year, I'll never understand. He mused. Especially if they often pull such foolhardy stunts. My son would never act so carelessly.
But his trap for the Gryffindor girl had not worked as planned.
Or perhaps, he thought, it had worked a little too well.
Lucius had intended to just thoroughly unnerve the child, and then, once she had worked herself into a panicked state, he would have opened the doors as a concerned passerby, feigning that the whole ordeal had been the work of a deeply troubled house-elf (of course, the blasted elf had not been supposed to reveal that he was working on orders, but Lucius would deal with that particular misdeed later). The Malfoy patriarch would then simply escort the girl back to the Heritage room, all the while intimating that should she ever return to the Manor, such "accidents" might reoccur.
Well, he couldn't bloody well do that now, could he?
Even if he had time to enervate the girl, deceive her with a reasonable story, and lead her back to tea - which he didn't - he had not expected her to be so affected, so fragile. She would never compose herself before Narcissa's return. And he couldn't obliviate her – not without time to do so properly; the ministry would certainly begin prying into his affairs if the Granger girl showed up after tea at Malfoy Manor with gaps in her memory.
Was this really the same child who had been the mastermind behind all of Potter's plans? The girl who had faced off against himself and a band of Deatheaters at the ministry a few years ago? The heroine of the wizarding world who had helped defeat the Dark Lord?
In those instances, she had always appeared older than her years – a veritable threat in the war for the pureblood cause. But here, lying inert on the floor of the drawing room, she seemed so young - so young, and yet so damaged.
And he had just driven her over the edge.
But perhaps he was making too much of this. Maybe the girl had been somewhat on edge since she arrived. After all, he had noticed her peering nervously over her shoulder before she entered the drawing room. Yes, he could probably explain away any increased anxiety on the girl's part as merely a side effect of being left alone in the Manor for too long.
"Why Narcissa" He could already hear what he would say in his mind. "How could you be so careless as to leave the child alone? I would have thought that you would take better care of your guests, especially after what happened to the girl only a few months ago in this very house!"
Lucius smirked at his own cleverness, only to have that smirk wiped off his face when he spotted the clock on the mantle.
Narcissa would be returning from the gardens at any moment.
He hastily snatched up his cane from where it lay resting against the wall, only to silently curse when he remembered that his wand was no longer connected to the snake's head, but instead rested inside his sleeve. He and his wife had moved quickly to replace his wand after the end of the war – although this new one did not respond to him quite as well as his original – but actually integrating the new wand with the cane had seemed superfluous when he had been looking at a possible lifetime in Azkaban. And since his confinement to the Manor, Narcissa had seemed somewhat disinclined to undertake any favors for him – at least, if her unrelenting fury with him could serve as a reliable measure of willingness.
They had also encouraged Draco to choose a new wand, but the boy had been reluctant to do so with the Ministry's Deatheater hunt looming over their heads. Foolish child. Although, the Malfoy patriarch supposed, that decision had ultimately worked out in his son's favor. After all, Potter had returned Draco's wand - or at least, that's what he thought he had overhead Narcissa telling her sister one day last week.
Sighing, Lucius retrieved his new wand from his robe sleeve and aimed it levelly at the unconscious girl before him, a soft hover charm issuing from his lips. He deftly maneuvered her through the open doorway and into the front hall, careful to avoid knocking her against anything - lest she awaken too soon.
Only a moment or two later, he was guiding her into the Heritage room. But where to place her? Obviously, she and Narcissa had been sitting on the sofa facing the open doorway, but that just wouldn't do if he wanted to have any hope of reviving the girl and escaping without her noticing him.
Coming to a snap decision, he acted the part of a puppet-master, using his wand to gently arrange the girl in an upright position on the sofa facing away from the door. Another flick of his wand caused her teacup and saucer to flit across the coffee table and settle before her.
There. Obviously, Ms. Granger had merely decided to change seats.
Satisfied with his work, he shrank back to the open doorway.
Only one last thing to do.
Aiming his wand at the back of the girl's head, Lucius uttered one word, as softly as he could: "Enervate."
The Malfoy patriarch waited only long enough to see the young woman gasp and clutch her chest before moving quickly down the hallway and out of sight. He headed straight for the front hall, but stopped short when he heard the clear sound of his wife's voice giving orders to the house-elves. Thinking quickly, he retreated a bit and darted down a side passageway to return to his study via a circuitous route.
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Narcissa's heels clicked on the polished marble floor of the Manor hallway as she briskly made her way toward her husband's study. She had just returned from surveying the damage to her prized plants when, upon entering the Heritage room, a rather arresting sight had greeted her. She had found Ms. Granger sitting with her back to the door, on the sofa opposite the one on which they had been seated earlier. As she moved closer, one look at her guest's face – which had turned a pale, ghostly white – told the Malfoy matriarch everything she needed to know.
Lucius.
At this realization, Narcissa had turned on her heels and stormed out of the room.
She knew her husband well enough to suspect that he was somehow behind all of this – to suspect that the gardens had been merely a clever distraction, not an accident. And if her suspicions proved true, then he had just crossed a line.
It was one thing to champion the pureblood cause; to actively work against muggle-friendly legislation; to sneer against those who were impure or traitors against their campaign; even to commit atrocities against muggles, muggle-borns, and blood traitors during a time of war.
But to actually attack a guest of Narcissa Malfoy? Lucius had never before dared such a disrespectful act.
And now, there would be hell to pay.
The force of Narcissa's anger sent the study door opening with a crash, and the woman felt a surge of satisfaction when her husband visibly jumped. Lucius had been standing in front of one of his bookshelves, his back to the door, an ancient volume in his hands. He turned and glanced over at his wife, and Narcissa could tell by the schooled look on his face that he meant to appear as if he had been intently studying the tome.
But he couldn't fool her.
A closer look told Narcissa that Lucius had not quite had enough time to fully compose himself. Oh yes, he had relaxed his facial features, calmed his breathing, stilled his hands – all of which would have deceived anyone not intimately familiar with him. But Narcissa had lived with this man for decades. She had watched him barter, lie, and connive his way out of countless deals and scandals. She knew all his tells. And now, his eyes still held a hint of apprehension that he had not yet hidden behind a mask of indifference; that apprehension spoke volumes to her.
"Why Narcissa –" He began, turning toward her, but the Malfoy matriarch was in no mood to hear contrived explanations. A flick of her wand sent him flying back into the bookcase. A second flick had him immobilized, splayed a foot off the ground with several heavy tomes bearing into his back.
He looked uncomfortable.
Good.
"My love," She began, her voice dangerously calm, "a situation has arisen in the Heritage room that requires your assistance."
"Darling, I'm quite busy at the moment." Narcissa, had she been in a better mood, would have laughed at his nonchalant portrayal of his current predicament. "I trust that you can handle any situation without my help."
Her response came through clenched teeth.
"Oh no, Lucius. I insist."
With that, Narcissa released him. She allowed her husband a moment to straighten his robes before gesturing toward the door, her intent clear that she expected him to lead the way.
But apparently Lucius was not ready to come so willingly.
"Really, Narcissa, what have I to do with your mudblood?" He asked with irritation. "I have a great deal of work to finish here."
So, this is how he wants to play it. She mused. Interesting.
The Malfoy matriarch leaned back against the desk, arms crossed over her chest, her wand still clutched tightly in one hand. She eyed her husband with fierce determination. "Lucius, you have two choices. Either you can walk through that door with me and we can deal with this situation." She stressed the word just as he had moments earlier. "or I can walk out of this room alone. And I must warn you, if you choose that second option, then I will keep on walking right out the front door and I will not return."
She was bluffing, of course, but she also knew that Lucius had had difficulty reading her since the war's end. While the two of them had been easily legible to each other throughout their marriage – even if they proved decidedly unreadable to most people around them – the Dark Lord's defeat had thrown Lucius and Narcissa sharply out of sync. After an emotionally draining few months for both of them, she knew that her husband could not be entirely certain that she wouldn't follow through, and she was banking on any uncertainties he might have to carry her threat.
Narcissa firmly held his gaze as he turned a scrutinizing eye toward her. She narrowed her eyes slightly, as if daring him to call her bluff. Then, she watched as the wizard before her sighed deeply.
"Have it your way," He all but snarled as he stalked out the room. The woman he left behind turned her eyes to the ceiling momentarily, as if calling down aid or perhaps patience from the heavens, before following close behind.
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Hermione eyed her displaced teacup with intense focus, trying to quell her rather unladylike inclination to kick the coffee table before her.
Ron had been right!
Once a Malfoy, always a Malfoy. She thought, bitterly.
She had awoken a few minutes earlier in a state of confusion. How had she gotten back to the Heritage room? Why was she now sitting on this sofa? Had she passed out? And where was Mrs. Malfoy? Hermione had sat there in shock, trying to process everything that had just occurred, and thus had only been vaguely cognizant of Mrs. Malfoy's return and overhasty departure.
Her processing led her through a whirlwind of negative emotions, and while she was certainly confused, disappointed, and even a bit sad, the emotion that hit her the hardest was anger.
That said, due to her confusion over the situation, she couldn't quite tell who she was most angry at. The house-elf who had manipulated her? Perhaps, although he had mentioned that he was working under orders. And whose orders were those? Lucius'? Narcissa's? Or had the two of them contrived together in a premeditated plot? They're probably off somewhere together at this very moment - the Gryffindor mused – laughing at how they had managed to remind the mudblood girl of her proper place.
The young woman quickly realized, though, that the person she was most angry with was herself.
How could I have been so naïve, so gullible, as to trust Narcissa Malfoy? She thought as she abruptly stood and collected her clutch. The rational side of her brain kept trying to reason that attacking the best friend of the savior of the wizarding world would not be a particularly shrewd move on Narcissa Malfoy's part, especially after inviting the girl personally to Malfoy Manor. Hermione, however, was still shaken from her recent experience in the drawing room, and quite possibly suffering from the effects of PTSD, so that rational part of her brain was not exactly winning at the moment (as rare an occurrence as that might be).
The young witch was just about to turn and leave when she heard footsteps approaching.
Hermione pivoted quickly toward the door, expecting her hostess to come waltzing into the room at any moment, mouth full of excuses and small lies meant to smooth over any recent nefarious deeds. But the first person through the door was not, to Hermione's surprise, Narcissa Malfoy; In her stead, Lucius Malfoy sauntered slowly into the room, his back straight and his head held high, as if he was deigning to bestow his presence on Hermione. Once inside, he withdrew his wand – an act that had Hermione quietly reaching for her own – and quickly summoned an armchair from the far corner of the room. The girl watched as he situated the chair to his liking - so that it was facing the space between the two sofas - and sat himself down.
And then, for the first time in a long time, Hermione got a good look at the father of her former school bully.
She noted that Mr. Malfoy appeared much more composed than he had since the escapade at the Ministry over two years earlier, although there was still something about his eyes that held a degree of – what was that? Apprehension, perhaps? And though he attempted to display ease and grace in his posture, there was a rigidity to his actions that betrayed his present state of mind.
"Oh, my dear, you are looking much livelier than you did when I left you a few moments ago," Narcissa drew the young witch's eyes from Mr. Malfoy as the matriarch rounded the furniture to settle herself on the sofa across from the girl. "Please do excuse my brief absence. I felt that it was only proper for Lucius to join us after seeing how very unsettled you were."
"Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione began, finding her voice for the first time since the couple had entered the room, "I'm afraid that I don't quite know what is going on."
"Yes, it is about time that we got to the bottom of this." The Malfoy Matriarch said as she flicked her wand, causing the teacups to refill. "Ms. Granger," she addressed Hermione as she performed the action, "can you please enlighten me as to what you experienced when I left to attend to the gardens?"
The young witch was somewhat taken aback by this request – didn't Mrs. Malfoy already know? - but she complied nonetheless. She filled in the older woman on how she had heard the house elf crying after visiting the loo and had gone to investigate; what the elf had said to her before vanishing; how she had been locked in the room and must have fainted before waking up back in the Heritage room. While Hermione told her tale, she noted that Mrs. Malfoy kept her eyes carefully trained on her husband, as if daring him to give anything away.
"Hm, so you ended up back here without any inkling as to how that occurred. I do love a good mystery." The Malfoy Matriarch said, her gaze not straying from her husband. "And yet, I feel this caper has gone on long enough."
She raised her hand and snapped her fingers, issuing a single command. "Darby!"
There was a sudden *pop* and then Darby was standing before them, trembling slightly.
As soon as the house elf appeared, the girl noticed that Mr. Malfoy began eyeing him with extreme distaste, and Hermione couldn't help but pity the small creature, despite the part he had played in locking her in that room. Her compassion for the elf must have shown on her face, because after a moment, she felt a gaze on her. Glancing up, she found Mrs. Malfoy observing her carefully. The two women locked eyes, and Hermione watched as a determined fierceness crept into the older woman's face. And then, Narcissa Malfoy spoke.
"Silencio!"
"What are you do—" Hermione began, only to cut off in the stark realization that she could still hear her own voice. Allowing her gaze to travel from the matriarch's face down to her outstretched hand, she followed the direction of the woman's wand to find an incensed, but silent, Lucius Malfoy at the other end.
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Narcissa was having a hard time remembering when she had ever before seen her husband look quite so angry.
Oh sure, he had been angry when Potter had tricked him into releasing his last servant, and livid when that hippogriff had attacked Draco, and he had even been rather furious that time that a house elf had used furniture polish on a painting of his 3rd great-grandfather (and subsequently erased the man's nose). But he had never leveled such as murderous glare directly at her.
Of course, she had never before silenced him in such a manner either.
And, Merlin, could she imagine what was going through his mind. The Malfoys were an old family, a pureblood family - a traditionally patriarchal family. Lucius was accustomed to being in charge, and she knew the powerlessness he had felt over the last year or so had been particularly vexing to him. And now, having his wife silence him, especially in front of a muggle-born guest? He would view that as a complete affront to his sensibilities.
Not that Narcissa particularly cared about his sensibilities at the moment. He wanted to cut off her funding and terrorize her guests? Well, two could play at that game.
"Darby," the woman began, ignoring both Ms. Granger's surprised outburst at not being silenced and her husband's infuriated scowl, "do you find life in my husband's employment rewarding?"
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Hermione's eyebrows raised at the older woman's question, but she remained silent. To be honest, she was intrigued by where this line of questioning might be going.
The house elf hesitated as he turned and eyed his master with trepidation. After a long moment, he turned back to his mistress, and, wringing his hands, squeaked out, "Oh yes, Madam. Darby is knowing Darby is being very lucky to serve a noble family like the Malfoys."
"Of course," The matriarch continued on silkily, "but I inquired specifically about your service to Mr. Malfoy. Do you find such service enjoyable?
Darby immediately took on a panicked expression, as if he would rather throw himself into the nearest fireplace and immolate himself than answer her question.
"Please Madam," he said, pulling nervously at the bottom of his pillowcase to cover, Hermione realized, a rather nasty bruise on his leg, "Darby is not wanting to appear disloyal."
"I see." Narcissa said, tucking a stray tress of blond hair behind her ear. "Yes, Lucius always has been rather hard on the help." She said this last part more to her guest than to the house-elf, as if issuing an apology for allowing domestic affairs to interfere with afternoon tea. She turned her gaze to Hermione, and still seemed rather disinterested in the house-elf when she spoke again.
"But if you insist on covering those bruises, you might as well begin with your arms."
And then, with a flawless grace that Hermione could never hope to emulate in her lifetime, Narcissa Malfoy swept her dragonhide gloves off the coffee table and presented them to the house-elf.
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Lucius was fairly certain he was going to explode at any moment. Once, as a small child, Draco had become so emotional over not being allowed to ride his practice broom in a thunderstorm that his accidental magic had taken over and shattered all of the windows in the parlor at once. Lucius was sure that something similar was about to happen here as he watched the small creature reach forward and accept the gloves. The blasted woman had just dismissed his personal house elf! How dare she . . .
But one look at the Granger girl halted that train of thought. The child was looking at his wife in wonder, as if she, too, could not believe what had just happened. And yet, Lucius knew that the young witch's amazement had little to do with the injustice he was currently feeling. Suddenly, everything clicked, and the wizard couldn't help but be begrudgingly impressed by his wife's ingenuity, even as he carefully kept a scowl plastered on his face.
Ever since the war's end, Narcissa had always been two steps ahead of him.
Lucius knew well from past conversations with his son – which in reality had been tiresome drawn-out sessions where Draco had complained listlessly about the Granger girl and her companions – that the young witch held a certain ridiculous sensitivity to house elf affairs. If he remembered correctly, she had even embarked on some sort of crusade for house elf rights several years ago while she and Draco were still in school – back before Lucius' arrest and the world seemingly falling to pieces.
In dismissing his elf, then, Narcissa had taken her revenge on Lucius by playing to her guest's sensibilities.
Ingenious.
And utterly infuriating. Lucius was not accustomed to a world where he needed to grant careful consideration to the desires of mudbloods. In fact, he had always crusaded against the ministry's penchant for pandering to the asinine whims of those without pureblood stature. But apparently, the world was changing without his consent. And Narcissa, as was her manner, was adapting with grace and style.
Lucius looked to his wife, who was carefully observing the elf as it stood before her, a clear sense of wonder on its face, trying on the dragonhide gloves. Expensive gloves. The man thought, recollecting how he had purchased them for her several Christmases ago.
The wizard was ripped from his thoughts, however, by the Granger girl asking a question. He noted that even though there was a hint of hesitation in her voice, she had raised her head and squared her shoulders, as if prepared to meet a challenge head-on.
"Mrs. Malfoy, what is to become of Darby," the girl said, pausing as she looked toward the small elf.
Narcissa turned her attention to her guest. "Become of him? Why, he is a free elf. He can do as he wishes."
The house elf, who had both arms so far up Narcissa's gloves that the open ends bunched on his shoulders, gave a small cry of dismay -"Mistress is being good to Darby, but Darby is a bad elf! Darby is not deserving!" - and began moving toward the nearest piece of furniture to bang his head against it.
And this, Lucius thought, tsking to himself in his bubble of silence, is a perfect example of why mudbloods should not meddle in pureblood affairs. Look at him falling to pieces! House elves know no other life than service. They cannot function properly without it.
At the first sign of the elf's distress and attempts at self-flagellation, though, the Granger girl had surged forward and grasped the creature by the arm.
"I'm sure that Mrs. Malfoy would not want you to harm yourself, Darby. Isn't that right?" The girl said, turning to Narcissa for confirmation while still attempting to keep the elf from launching himself head-first into the coffee table.
Narcissa's reply came instantly, with ease. "Of course not. Darby has always been an exceptional servant. In fact, if he would like to retain his position here at the Manor, I'm sure that adequate compensation can be arranged."
ADEQUATE COMPENSATION! Had this woman lost her bloody mind? Lucius stood abruptly from his armchair, causing the house elf to cut off his delighted squawking of "Mistress is paying Darby?" with a terrified squeak and look at him with trepidation.
He noticed that the Granger girl had also turned a wary eye toward him, but the wizard's focus was on Narcissa, who had not even flinched at his abrupt rising. To the contrary, she eyed him calmly before a small smirk arose on her lips.
"That said, if Darby would like to continue his employment here, I suppose certain proactive measures should be taken." The woman stated as she stood and crossed to the side of the room. Three sets of eyes followed her as she approached a small side table and opened a box on top of it, withdrawing a small, silver ring.
Lucius's eyes widened as he recognized the band instantly. His father had worn it when he worked as undersecretary for the Minister of Magic. She cannot possibly intend. . .
But apparently she did, because Narcissa withdrew her wand and conjured a small silver chain, placing several incantations on it before threading the chain through the ring. She turned back to the group.
"This ring," she said as she approached the house elf, holding the looped chain in an open "O" with her hands, "is enchanted. It protects the wearer against physical assault, although it only works on subordinates against their superiors." She placed the chain with the ring around the elf's neck. "It pays back the attacker blow by blow. If Lucius tries to strike you while you are wearing this," she turned to look at her husband "he will feel the blow instead."
The Malfoy patriarch looked from his wife to the Granger girl, and found them both sporting looks of triumph. He huffed, not that they could hear him, and sat back down in his armchair, exhaling sharply as he turned his gaze away, toward the onyx walls and his ancestry – every ounce of his heritage crying out to him in this momentary defeat. He gaze did not falter as he heard his wife speak again.
"Darby, I believe Mr. Malfoy could benefit from some relaxation, perhaps in the master suite. I trust that you can make sufficient preparations."
The elf squeaked out an affirmation, and there was a sudden *pop* at his departure.
The next thing the wizard knew, his wife was addressing him directly - his dismissal clear in her tone.
"Lucius, if you don't mind, Ms. Granger and I have a tea to finish."
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After leaving Malfoy Manor, Hermione apparated to a house in Heathgate, London. It was a seemingly ordinary house, in an ordinary neighborhood – although not one that she had visited in quite some time. She approached the front door, and pulling a key out of her pocket, unlocked it and stepped inside. The house was empty, silent – and that was just what the young witch needed at this moment.
She couldn't go back to hers and Ron's apartment yet; she couldn't face an interrogation, not until she had a chance to think through everything that had just happened. She had briefly considered going to Harry's and Ginny's place, but while they were both more reasonable than her boyfriend, Harry was far more perceptive than Ron, and Ginny had a worse temper than her brother. She didn't have the energy to fight off an army of one if Ginny decided to launch an attack on Malfoy Manor. Of course, several months ago, she would have gone to Grimmauld place, but considering its current occupant, she felt she had dealt with more than enough Malfoys for one day.
No, she needed quiet, and so she had come here.
She pulled the door shut behind her, and placed her clutch on the sideboard before turning toward the stairs. She ascended slowly, so deep in thought that she didn't pause at any of the stagnant photographs that she passed on her way up. Late afternoon sunlight lit the upstairs hallway from a far window, illuminating the dust particles that wafted through the air, no doubt stirred by her movements. Taking a deep breath, she strode forward from the stairwell and pushed open a door that stood slightly ajar.
Here she paused, drinking in the sight before her.
Her childhood bedroom. A space that had only ever been hers.
Like the rest of the house, the room was devoid of occupants. On the far wall, next to the window, rested a bed with a floral quilt, and the side wall was lined with bookshelves. A dresser stood near the door. In the center of the room lay a large rectangular rug. All in all, it looked like an ordinary bedroom, but Hermione found comfort in it just the same.
Or perhaps it was that ordinariness itself that she found comfort in. It stood as a relic of a time before life became so complicated – before the war, before she had wiped her parents' memories, before she spent her days having tea with those who, until recently, had been her enemy. Now, she wasn't quite sure exactly where the lines were drawn.
She crossed to the center of the room and kicked up the corner of the rug. Pulling out her wand, she muttered an incantation and watched as one of the floorboards disappeared, revealing an oaken box underneath. She reached in and retrieved the box, replacing the floorboard with a flick of her wand. Crossing to the bed, she began rummaging through the contents, pulling out a stack of old photographs from the bottom.
There, staring up at her from the top of the stack, were her parents. This particular photograph had been taken years before she was born, when her parents were not much older than she was now. They were seated at a café, her mother laughing at the photographer as her father pulled a funny face next to her. Hermione smiled at the picture, and then moved on to the next one. In this one, her mother stood alone, hair blowing in the breeze as she had her picture taken on some mountainside in Europe. Her hand extended downward, and the young witch stared at the blank space next to the woman. Anyone unfamiliar with the photograph wouldn't notice anything missing, but Hermione knew better. She picked up her wand and mumbled an incantation over the photograph, and then watched as a form began to take shape next to her mother. After a moment, she found herself looking down at a small, grinning bushy-haired little girl of no more than 6 or 7. She smiled, and then wiped at a stray tear that had escaped down her cheek.
She had wiped her parents' memories and then orchestrated their relocation to Australia, but apparently now the Ministry was having trouble tracking them down. She had been tempted several times to go look herself, but had been dissuaded from that course of action by Ministry insistence that she remain in the country - there were still pockets of pureblood ideologues abroad that would love to see her dead, and the Ministry felt she could not properly be protected on foreign soil.
Sighing, she lay back on the bed, looking through the stacks of photos and musing on times gone by, as the minutes and then hours seemed to pass around her unnoticed. Some time later, after the sun had begun to set, her eyes grew heavy, and she fell asleep.
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That evening, Lucius paced the floor of the master suite. With one hand, he held an ice pack to his head, an injury that he had obtained when he had tried to strike Darby in an earlier fury and had received a knock on his own head for his trouble.
Contrary to his house elf's best intentions, Lucius had not spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing. Instead, he had fumed for hours about his wife's actions, and had spent a good portion of the last few hours trying to figure out how to best get back at her. And he had plenty of ideas.
After all, he was Lucius Malfoy. He always had a scheme or two up his sleeve.
The trouble was, though, that the wizard wasn't entirely sure he wanted to go through with any of them. In all honesty, he was growing tired of being at constant war with his wife (and, if he was even more honest with himself, he wasn't entirely sure he could best her).
There was only one thing to do.
Making up his mind, he deposited the ice pack on his armoire before stalking out of the door to the master suite and down the hall to another door at the far end. He rapped on the polished wood three times and then waited with bated breath.
"Enter," Came the command from inside as the door began to slide open on its own. Lucius stepped inside, and found Narcissa sitting at the vanity, preparing for bed.
"Why, Lucius," his wife said, looking up at him in the mirror, "to what do I owe this . . .pleasure?" The manner in which the final word was spoken made it clear that she meant the exact opposite.
The wizard sighed. Where to begin?…Might as well jump straight in. He thought.
"I was curious about something, and I was wondering if you could illuminate matters for me" He said as he took a few steps forward, arms crossed over his chest.
"Go on."
Lucius came forward and placed one hand on the vanity, leaning down so that their heads were level in the mirror. "Did you plan to dismiss my house elf this afternoon?" He asked, his eyes narrowing.
"What? Of course not." Narcissa picked up her hairbrush and began carding it through her hair.
"I only ask because, well, we both know where that ring is normally kept, and it is not the Heritage room"
His wife paused her brushing strokes and flashed him her false innocent smile in the mirror. "Lucius. if there is anything that I've learned after living with you all these years, it is to be prepared for all possibilities." She resumed her brushing, but kept her eyes locked on his. "I know you. I knew that you might not be able to resist pulling one of your schemes."
Well, she had him there.
Lucius straightened up, sighing softly as he changed the subject. "Don't you think it's time you gave up this insanity," he gestured to the guest bedroom around them, "and return to the Master suite?"
Narcissa slammed the brush down with a degree of force on the vanity before standing and approaching him so that they were nose to nose. "Is that a demand?"
The wizard, both eyebrows shooting up at her sudden ire, raised his hands in a pacifying move. "Merely a request, my love."
"A request?" She raised a single eyebrow as she thought over the concept. A small smirk appeared on her lips. "I suppose I could be persuaded," She said before turning and making her way over to the room's armoire.
Lucius inhaled sharply. He drummed the fingers of one hand on his thigh for a moment before responding. "Name your terms."
His wife looked up at him the instant the words were out of his mouth, eyes narrowing at his sudden acquiescence. "Alright," She said. She approached, circling him in much the same manner as she had earlier in the week.
"Term one: you will give up your ridiculous feud with Draco."
"Need I remind you that he punched me?" The Malfoy patriarch said through gritted teeth. "Not to mention his insulting treatment of me last week."
He suddenly found himself eye to eye with his wife. "Nevertheless, you will overlook those slights. He is our son; not a crusade to win." She said.
"Fine." The wizard spat. "What else?"
Narcissa tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Term number two: you will restore my access to the Malfoy account." Once again, she narrowed her eyes at him. "And you will not say a single word when I decide to renovate the east wing, likely in a few months time."
"Didn't you just finish renovating the east wing two years ago?" He began to protest, but she held a finger up to his lips, effectively silencing him.
"Not a single word." She said, raising an eyebrow.
"Alright," He acquiesced, not really fond of the first two terms but also not finding them particularly taxing. "Anything else?"
The Malfoy matriarch moved over to the guest bed and leaned against it, arms crossed.
"My final term," she said, "is that you will write to Ms. Granger and formally apologize for your actions today."
"Apolo—" He began, but she cut him off.
"And, you will offer to make reparations, in whatever manner she so chooses."
"What!?" She could not be serious. Purebloods did not apologize to their inferiors, much less make amends.
"Those are my terms, Lucius. Take them or leave them."
The wizard looked at his wife incredulously. "And what if she takes my apology to the Ministry and they use it to revoke my sentence?"
To his ire, she smirked. "Oh, my dear. I trust that you know by now how to word such things to avoid such a circumstance"
Lucius looked to the heavens. "Can you least tell me why you want me to apologize?"
"You can puzzle out my reasons for yourself, Lucius." She said, as she pushed off the bed and approached him. "Now, please tell me, do you find my terms acceptable?"
The Malfoy patriarch played the charade of thinking over her demands before cupping her face with one hand and drawing her in for a kiss. "Does that answer your question?" He asked with a smirk before turning and leaving the room.
If he had stayed a moment longer, he would have heard her quiet murmur of "Thank Merlin!" before she followed quickly after him.