A/N: This is my longest chapter yet (it could have been two… but the first would have been kinda boring), so you'd better get a drink and possibly popcorn to sustain you while you read of the latest adventures of our dynamic duo. The ice cream they have is Berthillon, and it really is fantastic. I don't know if there actually is a Berthillon stand in that part of Paris, but I beg you to allow me this artistic license (grin). If you ever get a chance to try some, you absolutely must!
On a more serious note, I may be on vacation for most of next week, so there's a distinct possibility that the next update will come rather later than usual. But don't you doubt it; there WILL be a next update. I'm having way too much fun with these two to give them a break just yet!
ON TO
Chapter Fifteen:
Lucius blinked, but to Hermione's intense relief, he did not gasp or exclaim that she was insane or, worst of all, laugh. For that alone, she could have kissed him. "Marry you? You believe that the best way for you to withstand the fallout from the discovery that you are in fact alive and well after several days in my power is for you to marry me?" His lips curved in a small smile. "Forgive me if I've being especially dense, but you'll have to elaborate."
Hermione was silent for a moment as she gathered and organised her thoughts. As she mused on her next words, she sipped her tea and glanced outside at the summery day warming the landscape. "As I see it, it may not be the best way for me to handle everything… that would be for me to concoct a melodramatic tale of capture and cruelty and no few tears I would sob through at every successive questioning. It would make for a very moving trial, should it ever come to that."
At her description of such a charade, Lucius grinned widely. "If nothing else, I admire your perspicacity. Why, one might almost suspect you of possessing the second sight after all." At her inquiring look, he picked up the newspaper from where he had laid it on the table and handed it to her.
After a quick perusal of the headline article, she gasped. So for, the media had remained silent on the subject of her disappearance, probably because the Order wished to keep their search quiet. Silent until today's edition, at least.
"Yesterday," Le Sorcier declared, "the Wizengamot announced that it would begin trying Death Eaters in absentia, beginning with the infamous Lucius Malfoy. Le Sorcier has learned that Malfoy was not originally scheduled to be first for prosecution, but he is now believed to have added kidnapping, and quite likely another murder, to his litany of crimes. This time his victim is a bright, young witch, Hermione Granger, who until recently was working at the forefront on the war against You-Know-Who." The article went on to list her many virtues and accomplishments and then to resume Malfoy's many vices and crimes.
She paled. "And if I go back, I'll have to testify." Her eyes were wide as she lifted them to her companion. "I won't lie to the Wizengamot, and they'll never believe that you saved my life. We have to do this. They'll think I was magically compelled or under the Imperius curse or something, but I can worry about that later."
Until now, she had never thought to regard the legal prohibition against forcing one spouse to testify another as useful, but as she saw it, she had three choices before her. The most obvious option was that she could tell the Wizengamot the truth at Lucius's trial: that he had saved her life as she had saved his, that the only murder he had committed in her presence had been of self-defence (and had saved her life as well), and that at no point had he forced her to do anything. Having thus admitted to aiding a fugitive and failing to report his whereabouts to the Ministry and coming dangerously close to further confessing very improper conduct with the Death Eater, she would be lucky to find herself merely ostracised from society at the conclusion of the trial. If she outright refused to testify, she could add obstruction of justice to her own charges.
The second option, which remained quite tempting despite her proclamation that she would do nothing of the sort, was to lie through her teeth. It would be so easy to create a ghastly scenario the Ministry would eat up despite a complete lack of physical evidence to corroborate it. She had cried crocodile tears before to further her own ends before and would probably do it again if the situation called for it, but then, she had believed the target deserving of her deception. In this instance, she could not condemn Lucius for crimes he had not committed.
This third option, which was just beginning to coalesce in her brain, was something of a happy medium. As his legal spouse, she would simply refuse to say a word, and the Wizengamot would have no legal recourse to either force her to speak or to punish her for her silence. The media would not feel such restraint, of course, but she had been the victim of slander before and had weathered it intact. As time passed and she refused the benefits of the Malfoy name, people would forget the scandal and assume that she had been tricked into the marriage. Of course, there would be a problem if she ever wished to marry anyone else, but that was a long ways in the future.
He regarded her for a long, quiet moment as she pondered all this. Nifti was chattering to herself as she cleaned, and the birds chirped outside during the interval. Finally, he gave a small nod.
"I assume you mean to be married in the Muggle fashion. A wizarding magistrate would hardly consent to wed the infamous Lucius Malfoy and the saintly Hermione Granger. They'll want a lot of papers we do not have, which will necessitate a very large bribe."
He rose in search of parchment, apparently too impatient to wait for the house elf. He squeezed her hand. "I can do this for you, but you must be absolutely certain that it is what you want."
She swallowed and squeezed his hand back, gazing up him. "It is."
"Very well," he said brusquely, "then I have several things I must attend to in a short period of time." He released her hand and began to leave before pausing to turn back. "In order to convey your desired impression to the Ministry, I think it would be best if I destroyed some of the… more telling traces of your stay here, namely your robes."
Hermione thought about it and nodded. He was right, of course; it would not do for investigators from the Ministry to find a wardrobe full of new robes for her. Her circumstances were suspicious enough as it was.
"What about Nifti?" she asked. "If they ask her about us, she'll tell them everything."
Lucius shook his head and cast an amused glance toward the house elf, still cheerfully talking to the empty air as she cleaned. "To do so would invite harm to her masters. I trust that Marius instructed her to regard our presence here as one of his secrets she must not divulge." He returned his gaze to her and was silent for a moment. "I must leave you now. Be ready in a quarter of an hour."
She nodded and watched him disappear out of the room. The sunny breakfast nook dimmed a little without him, and doubts clouded her mind. To propose marriage like that had seemed very daring and original at the time, but now she began to wonder. Surely there was another solution she had not yet considered. If only she had a little more time, she was certain that she could have conceived of a plan a shade more reasonable.
And how was it, she wondered, that he would allow the Malfoy name to be so soiled? Not that she considered herself an unwelcome addition to a family, but surely his pure-blood relations would be horrified to learn that a Muggle-born would share their name. She stifled a giggle at the thought of what Draco Malfoy would say at learning that she would become, in name if not in function, his stepmother. That idea alone almost made up for the years of rivalry and insults at school.
As she sat and sipped tea and demolished the fruit pyramid, it occurred to her that this marriage ploy would create as many new difficulties as it would alleviate. While she was certain that British wizarding law coincided with most law on the general notion of spousal immunity from testimony, she had no idea how far that immunity extended.
And legal details aside, if it was believed that she had married him under duress, would that annul the immunity? After all, actions undertaken while a subject was under Imperius were could not be held against the subject. Could they refuse to recognise the marriage? But no, the only way they would know for certain if she had been compelled was if they found evidence of a spell (which they would not) or her own testimony on the matter.
Her head was starting to spin. After the trial, she would have to live with the Malfoy name… for how long? She could request an annulment as soon as the trial was finished; another important aspect of most legal systems was an injunction against double jeopardy. That is, if Lucius underwent trial once for his latest offences, he could not be put on trial again for them, even with new evidence. Or she could wait until she met someone she wanted to date. Considering popular opinion of Lucius Malfoy at the moment, she doubted that she would have much trouble obtaining an annulment or divorce… but then doing so would rake up the scandal again, even if she waited years before taking action.
No, she told herself sternly, she would not talk herself out of this. She could cope with the repercussions of this if he could cope with the shame it would heap upon his name. The only immediate threat was the reaction of his high-society friends and family, especially those who would not be averse to killing Hermione to restore honour to the Malfoy name. Well, she had dealt with Death Eaters trying to kill her and her friends for too long now. She could handle a few bad-tempered aristocrats… and there was the possibility, however remote, that his name could help her advance in whatever field she eventually chose.
Her rambling thoughts were interrupted when Nifti made her way over to the table to inquire if Miss wanted anything – sandwiches, a book, a blanket to take on a picnic? Hermione shook her head.
"No, thank you, Nifti." She was about to dismiss her when something occurred to her. "Nifti, I think Mister Malfoy and I will be leaving here very soon, and I just wanted to thank you for being so helpful while we stayed here."
Nifti's eyes grew to the size of saucers, and a trembling grin spread over her wrinkled face. "Miss is too kind," she warbled. "Nifti is just doing her job. Miss is too generous, Nifti is not deserving it. Oh, Nifti will miss Miss… and Master Malfoy, of course," she finished a bit lamely.
Hermione smiled. "Nifti does deserve it for welcoming strangers into her home." She hesitated, and her smile wavered. "There may be people who come here asking about Mister Malfoy and me." Although at first she had thought of Ministry officials, it hit her at that moment that Lucius's Death Eater (former?) associates were very likely to question the house elf and probably much more harshly.
"Nifti is knowing all about people coming with questions, Miss. Nifti is used to them. Nifti must keep Master Marius's secrets and that means keeping Miss a secret. Don't worry, Nifti will keep all the secrets."
That was one less thing to worry about, at least. Hermione looked down at her rose-coloured ensemble and thought with a wry smile that she would never have believed that she would be married in pink. The state of her attire would be rather suspicious, she realised, but then, it could be concluded perhaps that Lucius would not want his… whatever the media would make her out to be… slave, perhaps, or captive in filthy, worn garments. After all, he had obviously married her in order to keep her quiet, and he probably had not wished to be seen even among Muggles with an unkempt bride.
She tried reading the newspaper while she waited to Lucius to return but found that she could not focus on the words. Instead, she stared outside the window at the scenery she expected never to see again. The sun shone gaily on the green hills as if today was another ordinary day of summer, a day for flowers to blossom and berries begin to ripen between the leaves and thorns of the bushes which flourished at this altitude. The valley and the lake she had visited would be beautiful again today, drowning in green and gold.
"One more thing, Nifti," she called, "would you please relay my… our thanks to Marius and Edouard for granting us the use of their lovely home?"
While she had stayed here, she had almost forgotten about the existence of an outside world even as she fretted over the consequences of her flight from it. It had been a sort of vacation, and she had tried not to think about how worried everyone who cared about her must be. She felt guilty about that but reminded herself that she would see most of them again soon. Perhaps she would pen a letter to her flatmates in Paris, letting them know that she was still alive and well. Flore would love to hear that she had married Lucius, she thought.
A few minutes later, Lucius entered the breakfast nook again, wearing clothes that could pass as an expensive Muggle suit – a black suit coat with thin crimson pinstripes, matching trousers, an ivory-coloured silk shirt, and a dark red cravat and waistcoat. "Everything is arranged. Are you ready?"
She nodded and stood. With a slight bow, he offered his arm, and she took it. The familiar sensation of Apparition swept over her, and the next thing she knew, sunlight filtered through a leafy canopy was streaming down on her and the air smelled of verdure and faintly of dust. From a distance, she could hear the sounds of busy traffic, but all she could see at present was a rather thin forest stretching in every direction. Birds chirped, and a startled rabbit scampered into the underbrush.
It was a pretty place, but she did not see how they were going to wed in the middle of a wood. She did not quite dare ask if he had made a mistake, so she asked in her most casual tone where they were.
"We are in the bois de Boulogne," he replied, "a few minute's walk from the mairie of this arrondissement." It was there, she assumed, at the central office for this particular quarter of Paris, that Lucius would bribe a government official into performing the marriage ceremony.
As they walked toward away from the heart of the wood, they were quiet, each engaged in his or her private thoughts. Hermione was normally comfortable with such silence, but there were so many last-minute questions she wanted to ask. She did not know where to start, but finally she worked up her courage to break the silence.
"What's going to happen to you? Are you going to…" she swallowed, "to try to get back in with Voldemort?"
He glanced down at her with an unreadable expression. "The less you know about my future plans, the better for the both of us."
"Fair enough. Er… what about your family? I mean," she added quickly, "what are they going to think about this?"
That little smile she had come to know surfaced at the mention of his relations. "I'm sure you can imagine the outcry for yourself. Those people who have so far ignored your existence will despise it, but I'm certain you will prove capable of handling them."
She laughed briefly, and silence fell again as they made their way to the outer edge of the wood. They emerged to the familiar sight of skyscrapers and the tiny Parisian cars jammed bumper-to-bumper in the streets, cafés and people going about their lives. Some of those people hurried down the street and others strolled, basking in the sun.
Her heart lifted a little at the vista in front of her, the city she had grown to love. It was ridiculously romantic to be married here, even if it was a marriage of … of legal convenience to this man who might like her a bit more than he once did but surely did not love her. She looked up at him striding beside her, tall and sure to the point of arrogant, looking a bit overdressed and old-fashioned in the business section of town but not so much that anyone gave him a second glance.
"You've asked me this question a couple of times now, but… are you sure you want to do this?" she asked after some internal debate. She was not sure that she wanted to hear the answer, but the curiosity was driving her insane. He had acted so… neutral about the whole thing, treating it like a business transaction from which he stood neither to gain advantage nor to incur disadvantage.
His stride remained as fluid as ever, but she noted surprise in his expression when he looked at her. "In fact, I do not wish to do this thing, both for reasons you doubtless have thought of and others… perhaps, you are not in a position to imagine."
She was right. She definitely did not want to hear that. His reasons, she was sure, were manifold and probably somewhat justified, but dim wave of pain rose inside her. So he was just doing this to placate her, it seemed. God forbid he should actually wish to… delete that thought. It was not as if she wanted to marry a Death Eater twice her age anyway.
"But all of those reasons," he continued, "are overruled by two simple considerations. One is of course the Vow I swore to you; while I do not believe I would deliver you into serious bodily harm if I did not wed you as you have asked, you have persuaded me that it would pose some danger to you to leave you completely vulnerable to the Ministry's inquiries."
His expression softened a little when he offered his next reason. "Setting aside the Vow, though, I owe you a great debt. I do not know if this will balance matters between us, but it will certainly go a long way toward repaying you for saving my life. So I will endure the taunts and barbs of society and the stain on the Malfoy name until you decide to petition for divorce or annulment, at which time I will endure the humiliation when yet another wife tires of me." This last bit he said with a wry grin, taking the sting out of his words.
Instead of being sensible and leaving the subject alone, Hermione pursued it deeper into 'things she did not want to know' territory. "If none of this had happened… if we had met under completely different circumstances, and… I don't know." She was staring at her shoes but looked up now, biting her lip and blushing a little. "Do you… Could you ever imagine marrying me in any other situation?"
He stopped and turned to regard her. No, he was scrutinising her. His eyes crawled over her, seeming to take her measurements to the nanometre and to read every thought in her head. She did not realise he was taking slow steps toward her and that she was backing up until her shoulders bumped up against a wall.
"You desire to know," he drawled softly, "if I can fathom any circumstances under which I might be persuaded to wed you? Let us analyse the question…"
He held one hand up and raised one finger. "First of all, you would have to come from a pureblood family or at least have accomplished something so singular that all of wizarding society could forget about your unfortunate heritage."
"Or I could rearrange the letters of my name into a clever anagram, so no one would know what my heritage was." she muttered.
A grin flashed over Lucius's face, but he did not allow himself to be deterred. He held up a second finger. "Another thing – your politics might not have to mirror mine exactly, but I would never hear the end of it if my wife was known to have once engaged in a campaign for house elf rights… unless, of course, she succeeded in passing the laws she formulated through the Wizengamot, in which case I would be forced to admire her for her effective political machinations."
By the time he finished his second point, he had approached her close enough that his breath stirred her hair. She did not know what to say or even how she felt after such a statement, but a moment later she mustered up a matching grin and a mischievous tone. "Are you saying that I could be a ginger, freckled Weasley and the impetuous behind a law for the humane treatment and minimum wage for house elves?"
He traced a finger along her cheekbone. "If you were still vivacious, clever, amusing, passionate, so easily lost in a book and so beautiful in the midst your anger, then yes, I might nevertheless be persuaded to wed you." He had barely finished speaking when he leaned in further and kissed her. His lips were soft against hers until she pulled him deeper into the kiss. The worn brick at her back scraped her shoulders and her scalp, but she could not have cared less.
One hand cupped her face while the other wrapped around her waist and pressed her body close to his. As a witch, Hermione rarely took much notice of other people's physical size; it was unnecessary when a flick of her wand and a few Latin words could subdue a cave troll. But now that she could feel his weight against her, holding her tight to the wall, she felt strangely delicate… fragile and completely at the mercy of his every whim. It was an unsettling sensation but not entirely unwelcome. It reminded her of being pinned under him the night before, naked and panting and sweating…
She gently broke the kiss to take a deep breath and calm her speeding heart and nerve endings almost painfully sensitive. He leaned his forehead against hers for a moment as he caught his breath and then gave her a slow smile.
"As far as sham marriages go," he whispered, "I believe there have been far more unpleasant in the history of institution."
She breathed a short laugh as she righted herself and straightened her clothes. "That's exactly what it will be, won't it?" Her voice was thoughtful, without a trace of bitterness. "All this time I've been assuming that you would be… well, removed from society for a significant length of time."
He chuckled. "Yes, even the Ministry might think to raise questions about the validity of our marriage if we were perfectly capable of residing together and chose not to do so." With a small bow, he offered his arm, and she took it. She wondered how they looked to passers-by, walking together down the street in their slightly out-of-place garb.
When he did not answer her implied question, she pressed the issue. "So you also believe that you will be outside your usual public circle?"
"As I said earlier," he replied, voice rather harder now, "it is best that you know as little as possible about my plans for the future."
"Right. I… right. Agreed."
They had little more chance for conversation before the reached the mairie, the central government office for this part of town. A French flag flew from the top of the edifice, and a police officer sat just inside the gate. The guard nodded at them when Lucius strode past without a single glance in her direction. A sign affixed to the building's façade pointed them toward their destination, up three taxing flights of narrow stairs to room panelled in heavy dark wood, lacking both air conditioning and a window of decent size.
Hermione tightened her grip on Lucius's arm as he spoke with the secretary on duty who appeared far more interested in leaning into the wake of the room's single fan than collecting the usual paperwork for such an occasion. They were waved through to an adjoining office, where a man Hermione took to be the magistrate they required sat at a desk and looked mildly surprised to see someone come through the door. The heat wave washing over Paris was evidently working in their favour for the moment, lulling even these officials into a perpetual doze.
"Bonjour," the man said with a nod in their general direction. "I understand you are here to be married?" At their affirmative, he fished around in a drawer and withdrew a sheet of paper. "This is the list of documents you will need. Additionally, the law requires that you have published banns at least ten days in advance. If you have not yet published the marriage banns, I can tell you how to do it, but you will have to postpone your wedding for ten days."
At this, Hermione tried not to look nervous until she saw Lucius engaged in a most surprising bit of acting. He was blushing, fiddling with his cravat, and refusing to look the magistrate directly in the eyes. She could not imagine why he was acting so oddly until he spoke.
"Yes, I understand the requirements, but you see…" He removed a handkerchief from an inner pocket and dabbed his forehead. "my fiancée and were very recently mugged, and we have yet to receive replacements for the papers we lost."
The magistrate raised an eyebrow and cast a slightly more alert eye on the pair in front of him. "I am sorry to hear that, sir, but without the paperwork…" He shrugged. "Come back when you have your papers, and I will be happy to wed you."
"That's the problem," Lucius insisted, still twiddling his fingers. "We absolutely must leave for England tomorrow morning and…" He dropped his eyes and actually managed to sound contrite. "She's always wanted to be married in Paris. I don't know when we'll be able to return. Business is so hectic these days. This all my fault for putting it off for so long."
Taking her cue, Hermione bit her lip and looked down to her hands lying in her lap. She blinked her eyes rapidly and sighed. It had been a while since she had forced herself to cry, but she thought she could manage it again if necessary. There, tears were forming in the corners of her eyes right on schedule.
She glanced up at Lucius and gave him a wavering smile. "It doesn't matter that much, darling. We can wait until we return home… it's just a silly romantic fantasy of mine." She sniffled and reached out a hand, which he took and squeezed. After exchanging what she hoped appeared a loving glance with her fiancé, she shifted her gaze to the magistrate. "Please forgive us for having bothered you. You were our last resort… we were just being silly."
Now the magistrate was definitely awake. He looked from one to the other, obviously conflicted. "Of course, we wish to give our visitors the most pleasant experience possible. Perhaps…"
When he trailed off, Lucius dropped Hermione's hand and rummaged around in another inner pocket for a moment before producing a handful of Galleons. She kept her eyes lowered, so the magistrate would not notice her surprised expression. "I… this may sound terribly corrupt, sir," he began, "but you see, I work for an international jeweller, and I wonder if… if a small token of our appreciation might persuade you to help us." His voice took on a sincere ring as he continued. "Please, we're doing nothing wrong or illegal. The young lady is of legal age, and neither of us is already wed. We just want a memory we can cherish for the rest of our lives and maybe a good story for our children."
It was very difficult to restrain the laughter that welled up inside Hermione at the mention of 'the rest of our lives' and especially at 'our children'. She took a deep breath and prayed it would be taken for a heartfelt sigh. She was still gazing at her lap, as she did not trust her face not to betray her just yet, when she heard the magistrate reply that he would perform the ceremony for them and fill out the paperwork after they left. He was taking the bribe when she looked up, and she offered another tremulous smile.
"Thank you," she gushed, "You are too generous. This is so beautiful. Thank you so much."
After a few more minutes of tender declarations of eternal gratitude, the magistrate called in the secretary and officially began the ceremony for a civil marriage. It was brief, as Hermione knew it must be, but it struck her nevertheless how so few words could change two lives so drastically.
As they stood side by side in front of the desk, the magistrate explained the rights and responsibilities entailed by the marriage state while the secretary lounged in one corner. Then he asked if Monsieur Lucius Malfoy consented to take Miss Hermione Granger as his wife and whether Miss Hermione Granger consented to the same. She let herself be carried away by the moment, fully aware that she was entering into this marriage for its legal convenience but unable to repress the smile that tugged at her lips (even if she had wanted to repress it).
"Au nom de la loi," the magistrate said in what Hermione suspected was a formula of steadfast tradition, "nous vous déclarons unis par le mariage." In accordance with another long-lived tradition, the newlyweds sealed the ceremony with a kiss. While they signed the registry, the magistrate filled out and handed them a livret de mariage, where they could record further developments in their new family. The magistrate and the secretary wished them well, but all Hermione could see at the moment was her new husband.
"Congratulations, Mister and Missus Malfoy," the magistrate said as he shook Lucius's hand for the last time. In an unexpected demonstration of friendliness, he kissed Hermione's cheeks in farewell.
She was in a daze as they left the mairie until the hot summer sunshine hit them. Then she blinked and squinted into the golden flood. "I fear we do not have the time for a glass of champagne," Lucius said, "but I have it from reliable sources that there is a vendor nearby selling the world's best ice cream. Shall we, Mrs. Malfoy?" Hermione noticed that he was wearing a rather silly smile and guessed that hers was probably sillier.
"I think ice cream would be perfect."
No, it was nothing like she had ever imagined her dream wedding, but it was Paris. And the ice cream was very good.
