Two reviewers have commented that they find this story difficult to read because it is in the present tense. I cannot say I am surprised. The traditional method is to write fiction in the third person and past tense. I knew that in moving away from this norm I would lose part of my potential readership and that many people dislike present tense fics because they find them awkward. I have always enjoyed present tense fics myself and actually, rarely even notice the tenses. But I do understand why someone might feel differently. I have problems reading first person fics and generally avoid them no matter how well they are written.
To those who are terribly bothered by the present tense all I can really say is that I'm sorry but it's not going to change. This is obviously not the fic for you. The fic will be in the present tense from beginning to end. Writing in the present tense is much more difficult than writing in the past tense and that is partly why I wanted to try it. I use this story as something of a learning experiment. I admit that I am very much a novice at writing in the present tense and I have no doubts that I do it incorrectly in some places. But, it is all part of the learning process and with the help of my betas and the wonderful con crit some of you have given me I like to think that I get better every day.
Thank you to all of you who continue read my story. I really do appreciate it. And to all of you who can read no further, thank you as well for at least taking a chance on it, even if you ultimately did not like it. Perhaps some of my future L/Hr endeavors will be more to your taste, as they will be written in a more traditional fashion.
Anyway, I am sorry it took me so long to post this. I meant to have it up more than a week ago but then I got a very bad toothache and I couldn't concentrate on anything for too long.
Thanks again to Adie for helping with this fic!
xxxxx
The drive from London to Cornwall is a long one and it is well into the evening when Hermione and her mother return to their century old farmhouse on the outskirts of Truro. That Hermione is once again living at her Muggle home after leaving Hogwarts isn't much of an accident. It is the result of some carefully crafted manipulation.
Originally, Hermione only intended to stay a week around the Easter holidays. When Hermione first tried to leave, Doris looked at her with sad, doe-like eyes and she agreed to stay another week. One week turned into two, and now, months later, she is still there.
Hermione supposes it has worked out for the best. Previously, she had been living at Grimmauld Place and was beginning to feel like a nuisance. Most of the fighting had tapered off by then and the house was no longer swarming with members of the Order. It had just been Harry and Remus...and her. They never made her feel unwelcome but things had become awkward from time to time.
And Hermione can't deny that it is something of a comfort to be back in the place of her childhood.
Here, there is no Voldemort.
No Death Eaters.
No reminders of the dark days of the past.
Here, she is not some filthy Mudblood usurper. Nor is she the great heroine who stood by Harry Potter's side as he brought down one of the most terrifying wizards the world has ever known.
She is only Hermione, the daughter of the local dentist. For a while, she can pretend she is a perfectly normal girl who hasn't seen horrors beyond her years.
After not getting a wink of sleep the night before, all Hermione wants to do is crawl into her bed and surrender to sweet slumber. Unfortunately, that is not possible. She has another long night ahead of her; a long night of pouring over books in search of information about L'Amour Contractuel.
As she unwinds from the trip, Doris continues to speak animatedly about all the wondrous things she has seen at the Tuckin Hotel and how much fun she has had.
"Though, this certainly wasn't a highlight," Doris says, tapping the scar on her cheek.
Blast!
In her dismay over Malfoy and his courtship, Hermione has forgotten to confront the hotel's management.
Well, they'll get a letter - a long, harshly worded letter.
No, a Howler!
And she'll get Mrs. Weasley to do it. Mrs. Weasley's Howlers are infamous. The Tuckin Hotel will never recover.
After seeing her mother in for the night, Hermione Apparates to the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley is more than happy to help and promises to do her worst. Hermione then continues on to Hogsmeade, arriving at the long road that leads to Hogwarts.
As always, Hermione feels an incredible sense of loss when the school comes into view. Huge, gaping holes and piles of crumbling stone lay where classrooms or dormitories once were. Hogwarts had nearly been destroyed in one of the final battles. Professor Dumbledore lost his life trying to protect the school and there are rumors that he haunts the place, although Hermione has never seen him.
Professor McGonagall will be the new Headmistress. Most of the old professors live there in order to oversee the reconstruction efforts and they hope to have Hogwarts running again in a year. In the meanwhile, all of Britain's students attend Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, or one of Europe's smaller Wizarding schools.
Hogwarts is officially closed, but Hermione is a frequent visitor as Professor McGonagall is her employer and the heavy wards are keyed to allow her entrance. There will be quite a few changes in the school's curriculum when it reopens, including making Muggle Studies a required class for all students who are unfamiliar with the Muggle world.
Professor McGonagall believes ignorance breeds intolerance, and that if wizards are introduced to Muggle culture in a positive way then it may reduce some of the bigoted attitudes that helped a man like Voldemort rise to power.
Hermione agrees wholeheartedly. Not only that, but the Wizarding world's knowledge of Muggles borders on pathetic. Even Mr. Weasley, a man who loves Muggles and whose job requires him to work with their devices, knows so very little about them. She remembers him finding a small Muggle lampshade a few months ago. He wore it on his head for days, thinking it was a hat.
Professor McGonagall plans to do a complete rewrite of the Muggle Studies textbooks, most of which are very out-dated. She has hired Hermione and Dean Thomas to research the Muggle world for her. The pay is really quite pitiful but Hermione enjoys her work. She feels like she is doing something for the betterment of the Wizarding world.
The job is only temporary and Hermione isn't sure what she'll do when it's over. Perhaps something with SPEW. The war and its aftermath has forced her to halt her campaign but she fully intends to start it again. Although, how house-elf liberation translates into a job with an income is something Hermione hasn't worked out yet.
The library at Hogwarts is located deep within the castle and is one of the few places that hasn't been damaged from the war. It looks very much as it had while Hermione was a student.
She goes to the Wizarding customs section and pursues the titles. Pulling out her wand, she performs a simple spell she created herself in her seventh year. It is a variation of the Summoning Charm that will cause all the books with the words 'L'Amour Contractuel' in them to come to her.
Three books float from the bookshelf and Hermione eagerly carries them to a nearby table.
Unfortunately, the first two are entirely in French, and Hermione, having only a rudimentary grasp on the language, finds them utterly useless. In the third, however, a thick, modern tome titled: Love and Marriage in the Wizarding World, she finds a wealth of information.
An entire chapter is devoted to L'Amour Contractuel and she reads over the passages most carefully, seeking out any loophole or clause that Malfoy can use against her.
There are none.
L'Amour Contractuel really is as simple as it seems to be. At first glance, anyway.
But that makes no sense. How can Malfoy harm her through an old Wizarding courtship?
He can't.
Perhaps he truly does want to marry her.
Hermione snorts with near hysterical laughter, feeling foolish for even considering it.
She returns the books to the shelf with a dejected sigh. She isn't afraid of Malfoy, but neither is she dim enough to utterly dismiss him.
He wants something from her - certainly not marriage, that is preposterous - but something. Discovering Malfoy's true agenda is imperative. It is not knowing that bothers Hermione the most.
However, there is someone who may know - someone who lives within these very walls.
Hermione practically runs to the dungeons. She raps loudly on Professor Snape's door until he opens it just wide enough to poke his long nose through the crack.
Snape sneers down at her.
"Why are you bothering me at this late hour?" he asks, without any other introduction.
"Excuse me, sir," says Hermione. She cringes at how timid her voice sounds. Snape still manages to intimidate her. "I wanted to speak with you…about Lucius Malfoy."
Snape's eyes shift back and forth as if he is expecting someone to be spying on them. After a long pause, he pulls the door open so Hermione can enter.
His chambers are a surprise. For a man who takes no care of his personal appearance, his rooms are a completely different matter. Not a speck of dust can be seen. Everything is carefully and neatly arranged with obsessive precision.
Snape lowers himself into an uncomfortable looking wooden chair but does not offer Hermione a seat.
"Well?" he snaps. "Get on with it, girl."
Hermione wrings her hands as she stands before him. She isn't sure where to begin.
"He - Malfoy, that is - has initiated L'Amour Contractuel with me." Hermione pauses. "Erm, do you know what that is?"
"I know enough. And I also know you accepted his gift." Snape looks at Hermione with derision. "Why would you do such a stupid thing?"
"He tricked me!"
Snape chuckles, although it is devoid of any amusement. "Probably so. What does any of this have to do with me?"
"Well," begins Hermione, "You have to admit it's an exceedingly odd thing to do. You're the only person I know who is very familiar with Lucius Malfoy. I had hoped you might know-"
"I could not as so much as hazard a guess at Lucius' motivations," interrupts Snape. "I am as baffled as you. He is the last of the Malfoys, and it is not terribly surprising that he would want to remarry and continue the line. But with you?" He gives Hermione a slow and thorough appraisal, from the top of her head to the tips of her shoes. Hermione feels a blush creep onto her cheeks. From the expression on his face, Snape finds something decidedly lacking. "Frankly, you are hardly his type; even if we were to ignore the fact that you are Muggle-born."
Hermione ignores the insult - there are more pressing matters at hand. "So why would he do it?"
"Confounding, isn't it?" asks Snape, his eyes wide. "One thing is certain, Miss Granger. For one reason or another, Lucius has set his sights on you. It may be worth your life to find out why." Snape smirks. "Quite literally. Lucius is not a man to be toyed with."
And with that dire warning, Snape motions towards his door. "If that will be all."
xxxxx
Little Red Books, in Diagon Alley, is the publishing house that will be printing the new Muggle Studies textbooks when they are finished. The company has graciously provided a room within their headquarters for Hermione and Dean.
On Monday morning, before going to her shared office, Hermione makes a detour to see Eugenia Blackstone, one of the company editors.
Eugenia is an tiny, frail lady who is never without her paisley-patterned robes in shocking shades of pink. She has a warm, grandmotherly manner and it seems more fitting to go to her for milk and cookies rather than legal advice.
However, Eugenia has a sharp mind and has written several books on Wizarding laws and customs. She is a renowned expert in the area. If L'Amour Contractuel can be used as anything other than an avenue to marriage, Eugenia will know.
Hermione politely makes small talk with Eugenia as they share a morning cuppa. She feels a little melancholy when Eugenia discusses her latest litter of pet kneazles. Eugenia breeds them in her spare time and constantly tries to force a kitten on her. Hermione has lost Crookshanks to old age but isn't ready to replace him yet.
"I actually came to you with a few questions," Hermione says when there is a lull in the conversation. "About L'Amour Contractuel."
"L'Amour Contractuel?" repeats Eugenia. "Why would you want to know about that? It's simply not done anymore."
"So I've heard," says Hermione. "But, hypothetically speaking, of course, let's say a man initiated L'Amour Contractuel with a woman he wasn't actually interested in marrying. A woman he knows has no desire to marry him."
"Hypothetically?" asks Eugenia. Her shrewd eyes narrow on Hermione. "Oh, dearie. What have you got yourself into?"
"It's not about me," insists Hermione.
Eugenia does not look convinced but says, "Well, there'd really be no point of it in your hypothetical situation. If the woman involved did not wish to be courted, she would merely return the gift and it would end there. Are you sure the man is not interested in marriage?"
"Quite," says Hermione. "In spite of that, the man tricked the woman into accepting his gift."
"And have the parents of the witch given permission? That condition still stands. When L'Amour Contractuel was first developed, unmarried children were more or less considered their parents' property."
"The man hasn't sought consent yet but it will undoubtedly be refused."
"Does he know this?" asks Eugenia.
"He should."
"Hmmm," says Eugenia. A small frown crinkles her already wrinkled forehead. "This is a very bizarre scenario you've presented."
"Don't I know it," says Hermione. "Is there anything the man might gain by L'Amour Contractuel? Can he use it to seek revenge or hurt the woman?"
"There is only one thing I can think of," says Eugenia. "And this only applies if parental approval is given. Without that, the woman's acceptance of the gift is irrelevant. Though, if the man is willing to go as far as to trick you - excuse me, the witch in question - into accepting his gift then it follows he might try to use some sort of trickery to attain consent. If he succeeds in obtaining it and the woman refuses to see him at least once then the witch and her family are fined. Heavily. Today it would amount to over ten thousand Galleons. Nearly all of this of this money goes to the suitor. A down on his luck wizard might try to use L'Amour Contractuel to exhort money from a wealthy family."
Hermione mulls over it. Malfoy has lost his entire fortune to the Ministry. Is this his way of regaining some of his wealth? Ten thousand Galleons seems like a trifle compared to what she has heard about the legendary Malfoy fortune but she supposes Malfoy has to start somewhere.
"But we're not wealthy," says Hermione, giving up the pretense. "It'd take years for me to pay that off."
"Yes," says Eugenia, smiling kindly at Hermione. "And the fine is so easily avoided. Are you absolutely positive this man doesn't wish to court you? Because, honestly, in this day and age he has no reason to initiate L'Amour Contractuel otherwise."
"He doesn't," says Hermione, weakly.
The talk with Eugenia merely manages to plunge Hermione deeper into the depths of confusion.
Were it anyone other than Malfoy, Hermione may have thought it a sincere, albeit misguided, attempt to court her.
It simply isn't possible with Lucius Malfoy. His hatred of Muggle-borns is legendary. He'll sooner kill her than marry her.
Then why initiate L'Amour Contractuel? Especially when it won't proceed any further?
Hermione will make sure of that. When she returns home from work, Hermione sits down with her mother and explains the business with L'Amour Contractuel.
"The suitor is a nasty old man, Mum," says Hermione. "His name is Lucius Malfoy. I don't know what he wants from me but when he asks if he can court me, you must say no. It is vitally important that you deny his request."
Doris thinks needing her permission is hopelessly old-fashioned but nods with determination. "Of course, I'll say no. Whatever you want, darling."
Hermione secretly places a spell on Doris that will alert her if a witch or wizard tries to contact her mother in any way. It's not that she doesn't trust Doris to refuse Malfoy's request but Eugenia is right. Malfoy may try to trick Doris into giving him approval.
A false alarm occurs the very next morning when Doris receives a letter from the Tuckin Hotel full of blathering apologies and a voucher for a free stay. Also included is a balm that instantly vanishes the scar on Doris' cheek.
Days pass and not a word from Malfoy.
According to the rules of L'Amour Contractuel, permission has to be sought within a week of the gift's acceptance.
By Friday, Hermione is beginning to think it really is some sort of joke. The necklace, however, nags at her. It is an incredibly expensive gift. One that Malfoy can't possibly afford given what she knows of his current financial state.
No, he cannot afford it, not if it is real. The necklace must be some two Sickle trinket he picked up in Knockturn Alley.
Further evidence, as far as Hermione is concerned, that it is all a big gag.
Lucius Malfoy doesn't seem like a jocular type of man but what does she know of him?
Perhaps he gets his jollies by scaring young women into thinking he wants to marry them.
xxxxx
Friday evenings are always spent with Harry and Ron at a trendy pub called Sally's that is located on Old Compton Street. Surprisingly, Soho is nearly devoid of Wizarding folk and it is for that very reason the place has been chosen.
For a few hours every week, the three of them can get together in public without anyone looking at them like they are God's answer to their every problem. The place is abuzz with Muggles in expensive designer clothing, all trying to 'see and be seen'. Hermione, Ron, and Harry are deemed insignificant in their casual appearance and ignored. In the crowd, they all but disappear.
By mutual agreement any mention of Voldemort or the war is strictly off limits. Instead, they imbibe a little alcohol, play a little darts and bring the others up to date with their latest situations.
Hermione wants to tell Harry and Ron about the problem with Malfoy but stays her tongue. Telling them can possibly make things worse. They'll explode, naturally, and go after Malfoy with a vengeance. Not that she is concerned for Malfoy's welfare but she cannot let her friends get in trouble. Technically, Malfoy has done nothing wrong. And while an attack on him will likely only earn them a slap on the wrist, Hermione is not willing to take the risk.
And it isn't as if they'll be able to offer any additional insight. She loves her friends dearly but they can be quite dense at times. If even Snape is mystified by Malfoy's actions, she'll get nothing from them at all.
Besides, Malfoy's joke will end tomorrow, and if it isn't a joke and he tries something else, Hermione will be ready for him. If necessary, she'll involve Harry and Ron then.
Hermione rubs a hand over the silver bracelet around her wrist. She has charmed it to give her a little tickle if Doris is contacted by a magical person. It hasn't gone off since Tuesday morning.
Maybe Malfoy isn't going to even bother asking Doris, realizing the futility of it.
The scenario is looking more and more likely as the night progresses.
Hermione tries to pay attention to Harry, who is discussing the latest developments in his attempts to become an Animagus so he can trod about with Remus during the full moon.
"I think I am going to be something big," Harry says as he extends his hands out wide. "I feel myself wanting to expand."
"Maybe you'll be stag like your dad," says Ron.
"Could be," says Harry, nodding. "I read that most wizards tend to have the same animal as a Patronus and Animagus form. Isn't that right, Hermione?"
"What?" Hermione asks distractedly. "Oh, yes. Yes, they do."
Harry tilts his head. "What's wrong, Hermione? I've been talking about being an illegal Animagus for the last twenty minutes and not once have you scolded me for doing something so complicated and dangerous without proper Ministry supervision."
"Yeah!" Ron pips in with suspicion. "That's not like you!"
"It's nothing. I just-"
A tickle!
"Damn!" Hermione exclaims, leaping to her feet. "I've got to go!"
"Wait!" calls Harry as Hermione runs from their table.
It is a full ten minutes before Hermione can find a secluded place free of Muggles. She is in a near panic by the time she Apparates to Cornwall, nearly splinching herself in the process. Ten minutes is such a long time. Anything may have happened by then. Malfoy may have already Imperio-ed Doris into giving him whatever he wants.
Doris yelps when Hermione lands in the parlor with an ear-piercing crack. She raises a trembling hand to her chest and says, "What I have told you about doing that in front of me?"
Although Doris has got used to most of the strangeness that goes along with having a witch for a daughter, seeing Hermione appear and disappear right before her very eyes is something that never fails to spook her.
"Where is he, Mum?" asks Hermione, her wand at the ready. "Where's Malfoy?"
"How am I supposed to know?" asks Doris. She picks up a folded piece of parchment off the coffee table. "This just arrived by owl."
Hermione snatches the letter from Doris. As she suspects, it is from Malfoy. The missive is short and to the point, announcing his intention to call on Doris tomorrow afternoon to ask for permission to court Hermione.
"Just like him to wait to the very last minute!" snarls Hermione. "Remember, Mum. Whatever he asks, you must tell him no."
Doris tiredly rubs at her temples. "I know. I know."
The next day, Doris flutters around the house, frantically cleaning everything she can.
"For God's sake!" exclaims Hermione. "We're not getting a visit from the bloody Queen! Just some old, perverted bast-"
"Language!" admonishes Doris, as she runs a vacuum over the rug in the parlor for the third time that day. "Aren't you going to get ready? He's bound to arrive soon."
Hermione looks down at herself, finding absolutely nothing wrong with the old pair of jeans and t-shirt she is wearing. "I am ready."
Doris' sharp look of disapproval sends Hermione straight to her bedroom.
She grudgingly changes into a plain brown skirt and white blouse. As she is standing before the mirror in her bedroom, pulling her hair back with a golden clip, Hermione notices that her chin has got a bit spotty, perhaps from the vast amount of sweets she has eaten all week to console herself.
Hermione goes to retrieve the bottle of bubotubor pus she kept for such occasions. She pauses just as her fingers graze the small vial.
Pretty herself up for Malfoy? Like hell, she will!
Instead, Hermione rubs vigorously at her chin, causing the bumps to become red and irritated.
Much better, she thinks, as she childishly stomps down the stairs.
Doris is now in the kitchen, carefully arranging an assortment of biscuits on the fancy, gold-trimmed platter she only brings out for important guests.
"What kind of tea do you think he'd prefer?" she asks.
"Who cares," says Hermione. "He won't be staying for tea."
"Oh, Hermione," Doris says with exasperation. "He's coming all this way. At the very least we can be polite and offer the man a little refreshment for his trouble."
At exactly three o'clock a soft pop sounds from the outside, indicating that someone has Apparated to their home.
"There he is, Mum!" Hermione says, feeling a lurch in her stomach. "Now, let's go over it one more time. When he-"
"I know what I'm supposed to do!" Doris snaps. "You've told me twenty times already."
"Sheesh! Just making sure," says Hermione, unrepentantly.
Hermione opens the front door just as Malfoy is raising a hand to knock. She is momentarily taken back by his appearance.
Lucius Malfoy...looking every bit the Muggle.
Hell has truly frozen over, thinks Hermione.
Most of the times she has seen Purebloods trying to dress as Muggles the results have been bizarre and ridiculous. Malfoy, however, got it right. He wears dark gray trousers with a matching jacket over a crisp, white shirt, all of it finely tailored and obviously expensive.
He is better dressed than most Muggles.
For reasons Hermione can't begin to explain, even to herself, this annoys her immensely.
"Hermione," he says with a cordial smile. "It is a pleasure."
"I don't recall inviting you to address me with such familiarity, Mr. Malfoy," says Hermione, frowning.
To her frustration, his smile broadens.
She steps aside so Malfoy can enter. "Let's get this charade over with."
Hermione keeps a wary eye on Malfoy as she leads him to the parlor where Doris awaits.
"Mum," begins Hermione. "This is-"
"You!" exclaims Doris, her eyes wide with recognition.
When has her mother met Lucius Malfoy, Hermione wonders with confusion.
Oh, yes!
In the summer before her second year, when Malfoy and Mr. Weasley got into that scuffle at Flourish and Botts.
Well, that will speed things along nicely. Doris loves the Weasleys. She will remember how Malfoy treated them and tell Malfoy no, he most definitely cannot court her daughter and then show him the door. This sordid business will be over in less than five minutes.
Hermione's dreams shatter when Doris turns to her and grins.
"Hermione," she says. "This is the man that saved me at the hotel."
"What?" shrieks Hermione. Her eyes narrow accusingly on Malfoy. "Why would you do that? She's a Muggle."
"I saw a lady in need of help and I was there to provide it." Malfoy gives a nonchalant shrug as if he came to the aid of Muggles every day. "Simple enough."
"Come in, come in," coos Doris, holding a hand out to Malfoy. "Have a seat. I had no idea you were the man interested in my Hermione. From the way she spoke, I was expecting the very Devil himself."
Malfoys laughs lightheartedly. "I've been called far worse."
Hermione gingerly sits next to Doris. This is not going the way she has planned, not at all.
"Don't you have something you want to ask my mother?" asks Hermione, interrupting Doris as she is about to offer Malfoy tea.
"Let's not be rude," Doris gently chides as she passes a cup to Malfoy.
Oh, how it burns Hermione to see Malfoy sitting there, in her father's favorite chair, conversing with Doris as if she is the most important person in the world. She takes solace in the knowledge that it must be killing Malfoy to be so polite to a Muggle. She wonders if he will bathe after his visit, to rid himself of their Muggle filth.
But for now Malfoy is the gracious guest. He betrays nothing that may indicate his true feelings for Muggles. He compliments Doris on her home and asks about her career.
"I do make a good living," says Doris. "Though I'd be out of business in a second if people took just a few minutes every day to brush. It's really quite scandalous the way some don't look after their teeth." Doris leans in to examine Malfoy's mouth. "Now you've got a very good set of teeth."
Malfoy beams, showing off his pearly whites. "Thank you. I use a magical chew. It's an old family recipe."
"Fascinating," says Doris, then veers off into a long and detailed history of Muggle dentistry.
Malfoy nods when appropriate, giving every impression of rapt interest.
Hermione stifles a snort. Like he gives a rat's arse. But if Malfoy wants to bore himself to death with a discussion about tooth decay, let him suffer. He doesn't know what he is in for. Doris can talk for hours.
And it certainly feels like she does. Hermione's mind wanders as Doris drones on. She sips at her now tepid tea, keeping a close watch on Malfoy's left arm. She can see the tip of his wand poking through the cuff of his jacket. If he makes a move for it, Hermione will be ready.
More than an hour passes before the conversation turns to the purpose of the visit.
Malfoy sets his cup down. He leans in to Doris, looking at her with earnest eyes. "Doris, as you know from my letter, I am here to ask you for permission to court your daughter."
Hermione perks up. This is it.
"I know this must be so very odd to you," continues Malfoy. "But it is simply how things are done in my world. Over these past weeks, I have found myself utterly besotted by your daughter."
"That's a bloody lie!"
"Hermione!" Doris exclaims in a warning tone.
"Oh, you mustn't blame her," says Malfoy, his voice fraught with emotion, "I'm afraid I have given Hermione much cause to loathe me in the past. She has every right to doubt my intentions. That is why I initiated L'Amour Contractuel. It is a very serious Wizarding courtship and not embarked on lightly. It was the only way I thought I could make her believe I am sincere."
Hermione snickers. "Sincere, my arse! Do you really think we are going to fall for this drivel?"
Doris glares at Hermione then gives Malfoy an encouraging pat on the hand. "Do go on, Lucius, please continue."
"Yes, please. Do go on. Let's hear what else comes out of your lying mouth!"
"I am warning you, Hermione! If you are rude to our guest one more time…"
"Don't, Doris," says Malfoy. "I have earned every bit of her contempt."
"I doubt that!" huffs Doris.
Protest is on the tip of Hermione's tongue but she finds herself dry-mouthed and unable to speak. The color drains from her face as Doris and Lucius chatter.
So certain, she has been, that Malfoy will try to use magic to coerce her mother.
No…
He doesn't need magic at all. He already has Doris completely bewitched, under a spell of a different sort, but one just as powerful.
"I am not so deluded to think Hermione will ever feel for me as I feel for her," Malfoy is saying to a enraptured Doris. "It is my only desire that Hermione should get to know me through L'Amour Contractuel. I want the chance to show her I am not the man she thinks I am." Malfoy turns his gaze to Hermione, looking enamored yet forlorn. "It is a great torment to know the woman I feel so deeply for detests me so. I know nothing would ever truly come of any attempt to court her but I had hoped to gain her respect, and if I should be so fortunate, her friendship. That will not be possible without you, Doris. If you tell me I cannot see your daughter I will leave immediately and not bother either of you ever again."
God, he is good, but it doesn't matter. Malfoy can charm her mother all day long if he wants. Doris knows how important it is to refuse him. Hermione has pounded it into her every day. She will never betray her daughter.
She won't.
She can't.
She does.
"Of course, you can see her," said Doris, "I'm sure what ever misunderstanding occurred between you two can be worked out in no time at all."
Desperately, Hermione wants to believe she has misheard, but the smug triumph shining in Malfoy's eyes is too great to ignore.
Hermione is still and silent, willing herself not to erupt, not scream at her mother. She cannot, not in front of Malfoy. A cold, shivery sensation courses through her veins, numbing her as she dazedly listens to Malfoy gush his most heartfelt thanks.
How very quickly Malfoy makes his leave after that, now that he has obtained what he wants.
Doris sees him out, with invitations for him to call on them again soon.
"Well, he was a nice, young man," she says when she returns, oblivious to her shell-shocked daughter.
"He's not, Mum," Hermione says in a rough whisper. She lets out a harsh, ragged breath that feels like it is ripping her chest apart. "He not nice, nor is he young. He's older than you are."
"Is he?" Doris says with amazement. "He didn't look it."
"That's hardly the bloody point!" screams Hermione. "Why did you say he can see me? You were supposed to say no!"
"Oh, sweetie," Doris begins contritely. "He was so very taken with you and I didn't want to break his heart. You don't have to see him if you don't want to."
"Yes, I do, Mum! You knew! I told you so many times!"
Several seconds pass before Doris answers. In a small voice, she says, "I forgot. I'm sorry."
"You're sorry? Sorry does me a fat lot of good!"
Heavy tears, blackened by mascara, roll down Doris' face.
Guilt instantly cuts through Hermione. She has never made Doris cry before.
No, Hermione thinks doggedly. She will not let her mother's waterworks move her.
Without another word, Hermione turns on her heel and runs to her room. There, she sits on her bed, determined not to cry. Vision blurred, her eyes travel to the large photo of Reginald Granger resting on the stand next to her bed. A plump, ruddy face topped by a thick thatch of strawberry blond hair grins out at her.
Hermione cradles the picture in her arms, wishing her father were still alive. He would have seen right through Malfoy. He would have never agreed to let him court her.
She wipes away the wetness from her eyes. She can't dwell on what would have been. Now is not the time for weeping but the time for thinking.
As she is returning the photo to its place, Hermione can hear Doris' soft footfalls drawing near.
Hermione can't bear to look upon her mother just yet. She pulls out her wand and Disapparates.
xxxxx
And there is chapter three. Let me know if you enjoyed it. Let me know if you didn't. As always, con crit is welcome and appreciated.
I have to have dental surgery on Wednesday and I will start working on getting chapter 4 up after I have healed from that.