Pierre was sitting at his desk, scowling over some paperwork when a knock sounded at his study door. Sighing, he waved his hand to bring down his wards and wasn't surprised to see his daughter walking in, her wary expression was one he was intimately familiar with...

"What is it, Angel?"

Sitting down in the crushed green velvet wingback chair across from her father, Hermione wrung her hands slightly before explaining, "I'm in need of a favor."

"Oh?"

"Yes," she began, "I invited Draco to attend the ballet with me and I know there will be speculation in the Muggle World as to our relationship, Papa..."

"As you knew there would be, Angel," Pierre interrupted admonishing lightly, "when you invited the young man to attend with you."

"I know."

"So what's the issue?"

"The Ardante, Papa."

He lifted a questioning eyebrow, and even though he suspected what his Angel was going to ask, he was rather amused by her reluctance to verbalize such things.

Hermione however, just scoffed at her Father's demeanor—he was enjoying her discomfort a little too much.

"You're the worst, you do know that, right?" She challenged, which caused Pierre to smirk knowingly.

"I'm an Alphonse, Angel—we practically wrote the book on subtext and cunning."

"Lucius Malfoy might disagree with you."

This caused Pierre to chuckle deeply, before he quipped out, "Please do not compare that puffed up puffskin to our family, Angel. Lucius Malfoy has all the subtly of those preening peacocks he adores so much."

"True," she admitted with a small snicker, "doesn't change my situation though."

"No, I don't suppose it does," he offered softly, "but you're worried about what the Ardante might mean publicly?"

"Yes," she replied, "and we never really discussed particulars either."

Pierre sat back and mulled over the possibilities, then explained kindly, "If you're wondering how widely known the Ardante is, Angel—those within the French Magical Aristocracy are familiar with the legend as are many outside of France—within the high Pureblood elite however, the origins of how the Ardante came to be, are not something that is known but to a few. My best guess is due to the wars that Voldemort campaigned throughout Britain over the past twenty years, and the decimation of the Sacred 28, there are likely very few there, who still know of the old legends."

"How are people going to take it when this comes out, Papa?"

"Triads aren't unheard of in the Wizarding World, Angel—but the Ardante triad is something quite unique. It was said that back in more unconventional times, when plagues and wars ravaged the lands, a wizard would take more than one witch to wife—sealing a triad bond which in most cases, would lead to the death of the lesser bonded of the unit once a child were sired and born. It was why witches tended to die in childbirth."

"Because their Magic wasn't equal?"

"Yes, because Magic is sentient unto itself, and the ruling class was very patriarchal and still is, to a great extent. The Ardante is different in that a singular witch is bonded with two wizards, and that is how the distinction has always been made."

"And my ancestress?"

"Niniane, of course she had Magic and her descendants have always been the witches bonded within the Ardante. The blue wizard's descendants were also magical, and those of the House of Elendil (which descended from the Numenor), they also had some inherent Magic, as they could live to a much more advanced age than most other mortals."

"So a Wizarding triad wouldn't ever work long term, unless all three were descended from each of the three lines?"

"Yes, and from what I've read over the decades, it's only by the rejoining of the Ardante bonds, that allows Magic to continue to flourish on this plane for another age."

"Why is that?"

"I'm unsure of the exact particulars, but from what Niniane had shared with me after the death of your Mother, I do believe that this world was never meant to have Magic, Angel. At least, not in the ways in which it does now. I do believe it's why Muggles fear it so, even though they write stories and speculate on what it would be like to have Magic—they are inherently distrusting of what they can't quantify by logic and science alone."

"Not all Muggles are that way?"

"No, this is true, but the majority are—very much so—which is why we will need to be mindful of your ventures with Mr. Malfoy out in the Muggle World. He is your betrothed, yet he has no presence within the Muggle British World, and that is not likely to change with having Lucius Malfoy for a Father."

Hermione grimaced at that thought, as it was one she hadn't considered.

"So what do we do?"

"I have considered several options, but have yet to discuss them with Lucius directly. When is your outing?"

"Next Saturday."

"It doesn't leave me much time, but I suppose I can make due."

She nodded, knowing that her Father would do whatever was best for this situation. She probably should've discussed her plans beforehand, but once she'd made the conscious decision to try and honor her betrothal with Malfoy, she'd committed to her course of action prior to thinking about any unforeseen consequences.

It was quite unlike her.

"How are things going with young Draco?"

"Surprisingly well, which has been odd. He's intelligent, which I've always known—but he also has a rather pointed sarcastic wit that can be quite charming, when he's not sneering and smirking in his normal prattish way."

"And Mr. Potter?"

"I spoke with him a few nights ago, and he seemed rather subdued. I think, he's struggling with trying to figure out where he fits into my situation with Draco, and I can't exactly blame Harry for his sense of unease with it all. He and Malfoy have an even more contentious past than my own with Draco."

"You did mention some of it when you'd come home from Hogwarts, and I can't imagine for someone like Draco Malfoy, it was easy being placed in the shadows of Harry's fame and raw magical talent."

"No, Draco has always had a rather vicious jealousy streak."

"And now those tendencies will either be expounded upon, or somehow the two wizard's will have to come to a meeting of the minds."

"And magic."

"That too."

Hermione sighed, staring over her Father's shoulder as she contemplated several things simultaneously. Harry and Draco were both very different in some ways, and scarily similar in others. Both were stubborn, brash, powerful, and competitive. But where Harry was also hot-headed and tended to be more reactionary, Draco had tempered much of those brutish impulses after fifth year. He was more subtle with his words, and his actions. He didn't react without thought—except when it came to Harry. Their duel in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom sixth year proved that.

"I just don't know how to be a bridge between them both, Papa? Never in my wildest dreams did I ever consider that I'd have to appease both my Gryffindor best friend, and his Slytherin nemesis."

Pierre smiled slightly, as he stared at his daughter's expression, which was rather telling. Her emotions were always easy to pick apart, probably because she'd never tried to hide too much from him, and even when she did, her choices rarely surprised him.

"Tell me, Angel—how do you truly feel about Harry?"

Amber eyes shifted towards him in shock, and then they softened noticeably, as she replied, "I love Harry, Papa."

"Are you in love with him, Angel?" He then put his hand up to stop the rhetorical answer he knew she'd give him, and pleaded, "Before you give me your practiced answer, I want you to ponder on this question for the next few days. I know you love Harry, Angel...but what you feel for that wizard is complicated due to all you've shared and suffered through together. You tend to overthink things, it's true," at her slight scoff, he just smiled and finished with, "but in this one instance, I think you need to do some true soul searching."

"You think I've been lying to myself?"

"I think," he offered, "that you've been denying your emotions, because you couldn't give yourself permission to act upon them. Whether it was due to your true heritage being a secret, or the situation with Mr. Weasley...I can't say. But I do think that you owe it to Harry, Draco and yourself to be honest with yourself about what you feel and what you want."

She just nodded again, as there was nothing she could say at this juncture that her father wouldn't consider empty platitudes, so all she did say was, "You'll let me know what you and Lord Malfoy decide?"

"I will, Angel."

"May I be excused?"

"You may."

Pierre watched his daughter leave, and once the door closed, he pulled out a piece of parchment and wrote out a quick missive...

Lucius,

It would seem we need to speak. Please let me know what time tomorrow you will be able to receive me.

Pierre

Tying the scroll to his Eagle owl, he watched it head off into the night with a small frown on his chiseled face.

He wasn't looking forward to having this discussion tomorrow at all.