Chapter 15

"Thank goodness for you," Hermione breathed a sigh of relief once the waiter had left. "I'd be about to launch one of George's stinkbombs at Parkinson if I spent another minute in that villa."

"Why don't you disappear into the muggle world?" Nessa asked. "It's not like the three of them would ever follow you there - plus you get to be a tourist free of hotel costs!"

Hermione stared at Nessa. "I'm so incredibly dense. That's brilliant. Why haven't I thought of this before?"

Nessa chortled. "Parkinson's lack of mental capacity has drained you of yours, it seems. The pureblood assumptions are working their way into your mindset."

"That's a scary thought, but isn't that the truth?" Hermione grumbled. "Help me, Nessa. If I have to hear one more mention of originator claims that the Medici family owns, I might explode. Not one of their researchers - outside of the family mind you - owns a single claim! Not one! Apparently, Arnaldo is either a fucking child prodigy for discovering a cancer therapeutic at age eight, or-"

"Or the Medici family has bribed, threatened, killed, or otherwise coerced the real inventors to give up their intellectual property. I thought you were smart, Hermione. This isn't an either/or question unless you're wondering which torture method they chose."

"I know, but it sickens me, this corruption," Hermione groaned. "At least, the originators claims that Clemencio holds are more credible, but how are we ever supposed to trust a therapeutic that A, doesn't give credit to the actual researcher with scimagic knowledge, and B, was 'invented' by an eight year old? How am I supposed to possibly justify this to the British government? It won't fly. And they refuse to change it. All they have to do is file the international originator claim deferring credit to the company itself rather than Arnaldo, and no one would question who actually created it. I still have an issue with that, by the way, but it would solve everyone's problems. It's a reasonable solution."

"You directly challenged them on this?" Nessa asked, eyebrows raised.

"How is Blaise supposed to face the Potion and Cures Board and claim that this revolutionary cancer therapeutic was invented by an eight year old with no scimagic background? How on Earth will they approve that for consumption by our citizens?" Hermione asked exasperatedly.

"What are Draco and Blaise's thoughts on the matter?" Nessa asked.

"That as long as the science proves it helps people, who are we to deny cancer patients the cure that could save them?"

"Fair," Nessa conceded.

"I thought so too, but the person who actually created the cure doesn't get any of the benefits for her ingenuity. Not to mention, a corrupt government and pharmaceutical company never just do one suspicious thing. The rabbit hole always goes deeper."

"Also point for you," Nessa nodded.

"So…" Hermione trailed off.

"So, I can't tell you what to do, because I'm not the one being paid to advise Blaise," Nessa raised an eyebrow.

"I know that," Hermione muttered. "I'm just venting."

"Not to add to your burden, sweetheart, but I do have to warn you of something," Nessa lowered her voice and cast a wordless muffliato to prevent eavesdroppers. "Do you know who the Cascioferras are?"

"No," Hermione frowned. "I presume this is to what you were referring during Stefano's celebration?"

"Indeed. There's a muggle mafia family by a similar name, and rumor has it that that family is no longer muggle…"

"What do you mean no longer mug- the Medicis," Hermione gasped, suddenly comprehending. "How reliable are these rumors?"

"Rumors about as real as Dad's tracking of the finances now forgoing muggle currency exchange; transactions are going straight to Gringotts from the Italian Bank. As real as the newest owner of the flat across from yours - an alias well-known to be associated with the Cascioferras."

"They have hit men outside of my flat?!" Hermione nearly screeched.

"I want you to try something, Hermione."

"But Ginny! She's living there right now! You need to get her out of there, Nessa."

"She's been informed and is being monitored by our own MLE officers."

"You get Terry Boot to move in right next door - I'm calling Harry, regardless of he and Gin's breakup, honestly I overreacted to the Ron thing anyway-"

"It's been taken care of, Hermione. It will also likely be over if you just listen to me and try something."

"Try what?" Hermione asked, still unconvinced.

"Roll over on the originator claims. Stop contesting them. We'll see if the Cascioferras leave."

"How can I do that? There's a researcher out there who's been cheated of her creativity and intelligence? There are people who could die if this therapeutic isn't what they say it is!"

"They're sending a message, Hermione. Do you want Ginny's blood on your hands? You need to play this carefully."

"You think I don't know that? What type of message do I send if I give into their threats?" Hermione blustered. "They'll take advantage of my weakness - whenever something isn't going their way, they'll just threaten me again. They'll come after my parents, Harry, Ron, the Weasleys, even you, next-"

"Why do you think Lynessa's been on Arnaldo's arm for the last week? We play this game all the time. Three months ago, it was the Japanese. Having your dad as Chief Analyst on the International Confederation of Wizards' Financial Organisation's board has its dangers, and we'll be able to handle ourselves. Your friends, though… that's why you've got to roll over. The Medicis don't know that you know about the Cascioferras - you have a shot of making it through this without them interpreting it as a direct result of their movement of the Cascioferras. Though you could potentially appear weak to them now, they'll end up trying the same thing again later, which you can anticipate and prepare for. You'll also know what's really important to them, and those pressure points are valuable for your negotiations later. Think about this, Hermione - it's not worth risking your friends right now over this. Now you know that they place value on keeping all intellectual property within the family, and you can use that," Vanessa explained. "I know it's weird for you to think like a Slytherin, but you need to now. You need the strategy of the Slytherin and the strength of the Gryffindor. Only then will you succeed."

"And Crabbe and Goyle thought like Slytherins?" Hermione asked skeptically.

"No, but they were taught to. That's the main reason why all purebloods from the old families insist that their children be Slytherins. If you can't think like a Slytherin, or at least know how they operate, you're as good as swimming in a lake of Inferi. It's not all about ambition or pretentiousness. It's how you survive."

"I'm dead, then. Twice over," Hermione said miserably.

"You've got Draco and Blaise, heirs to two of the longest surviving families. I can't teach you everything, for I'm needed in Britain. Ask them to help you."

"Why are you needed in Britain? In fact, why are you even working if your father's so fabulously well established?" Hermione questioned, narrowing her eyes.

Nessa smiled. "What's the last case you remember me working on?"

Hermione hesitated. "The Raviskilovs? An immigration, or illegitimate child claim?"

"Yes, outcome?"

"In favor of the Raviskilovs. For many good reasons."

"Who are the Raviskilovs?" Nessa asked, looking at Hermione intently.

"Russian wizards… wait, aren't they the last remaining cousins of the former Wizarding Tsar? They must be the only ones left who have a claim to the throne after the revolution." Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh no Nessa, please don't tell me you falsified that result just to curry favor."

Nessa became annoyed. "Have the last two years taught you nothing about me? Emphasize facts? Yes. Dig for the truth and manipulate people to turn them favorably for the truth? Of course. Falsify?" Nessa pushed her chair back and stood up. "Roll over, Hermione. Get Draco and Blaise to teach you. You're dealing with snakes. Learn how to be one and learn how to see one."

"What did your family gain, though? Votes for the IWFO? Russian assets?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Nessa scoffed before leaving the table and a paranoid Hermione behind.

"Do not fidget, Draco. How many times to I have to remind you?" Narcissa snapped as Draco readjusted his robes awkwardly, a bouquet of blue cornflowers in one hand. "Honestly, you call yourself an adult."

"We're here," Draco interrupted, holding back a snippy remark. The gates parted as their thestral-drawn carriage brought them down a sweeping, long driveway, pebbled with rocks that looked to be imported rose quartz. It was rather pink, Draco thought with disdain.

A house elf greeted them as the carriage slowed to a stop in front of the beautiful marble staircase that led to the entrance of the chateau. Though by no means small, the building itself was by no means the sprawling estate that Draco expected, for the building appeared slightly shorter and less wide than the Manor's front view. Draco supposed though that he had not seen the interior, and perhaps it made up for the entrance in depth and space. He suspected, however, that the beautiful vineyards and gardens surrounding the building were the focus of the Richelieus, rather than the chateau itself.

Once Narcissa had been helped out of the carriage, they made their way to the entrance, hanging just far enough behind to be out of earshot of the elf. "New money," he noted to his mother, referencing the house's foundation of a specific type of imported stone that would not have been accessible earlier than the late nineteenth century. Narcissa agreed.

"Watch for alcoholism," Narcissa nodded to the vineyards. "It is a little more emphasized than proper." Draco chuckled at the framing that held the clusters of vines - the telltale glint of gold seemed ostentatious for even Draco's taste.

"Yes, Mother," he murmured just before the mahogany doors swung open. The house elf directed them towards the drawing room, where the Richelieu family as well as the Delacour family were congregated. Jean-Louis Delacour smiled and stood up to greet them.

"Ah, Lady Narcissa, c'est un plaisir de vous revoir. Young Draco has grown into a man! Please, let me introduce you to Henri Richelieu, his wife, Arkina, and their beautiful daughter, Odile. Henri, Arkina, Odile, may I introduce you to Lady Narcissa Malfoy and her son, Draco Malfoy," Jean-Louis declared. Draco noted Arkina's name, which, as Narcissa had informed him, was Armenian.

"Monsieur Richelieu," Draco smiled as he firmly shook Henri's hand. "Madame Richelieu," Draco bent over her hand to kiss it lightly. "And the lovely Mademoiselle," Draco kissed her proffered hand and presented her with his bouquet. He noted, simultaneously, the large wine cabinet that adorned their drawing room, of all places.

"Why, thank you," Odile smiled beatifically. She was perfectly polished, dressed in the finest fabrics that money could buy and her hair artfully done. Her features were an interesting blend of delicate French arches and strong Armenian prominence - her wavy dark hair and deep green eyes were enchanting, and Draco said as much. "Enchanté, Mademoiselle." She giggled.

Draco internally sighed. It always went south when they giggled.

He made his way around to greet the rest of the Delacours: Apolline, Gabrielle, and of course, Fleur. He was slightly surprised when Bill Weasley was present, but considering that Fleur was heavily pregnant, Draco reflected that he had simply been surprised since he had forgotten that Fleur had married the wolfish Weasley. He supposed that Bill was the best of the lot - even in the Slytherin common room, there had been girlish hushed whispers and a certain amount of respect amongst the boys.

And as the conversation began, he could tell it was about to be a trainwreck. Odile's charming, but just a pitch too high, voice rang out.

"Monsieur Draco, would you tell me who crafted zhe lovely coat of yours? It is poseetively dasheeng!"

'Blaise," Hermione called as she sat on one of the benches outside the villa overlooking the ocean. He and Parkinson had just returned from their walk, but Blaise motioned for Parkinson to continue on as he spoke with Hermione.

"How can I help you, Hermione?"

"Were you a Death Eater?"

Blaise was taken aback by her bluntness, but he shook his head. "No. Never."

"Why not?"

"They killed my father. My mother and I could never stomach the idea of joining such an organisation. We had plans to pull out of England and retreat back to Italy if they began hunting us down."

"And Draco?"

"Hermione," Blaise sat down on the stone bench next to her, staring at the ocean. "You know he didn't have a choice."

"I heard that Draco wasn't a true Death Eater, and even if he were, I'd understand. But he has the Mark - I've seen it."

"Do you know about the Marking process?" Blaise asked. Hermione shook her head in the negative.

"When you're first recruited to the Death Eaters, you're given a tattoo. It looks like the Mark, but it has none of the magical properties of one. It's not much different from normal ink. Now, when you kill a person and perform the right… rituals, on the Dark Lord's orders, the magic activates. Then, the Dark Lord can call you at any time, torture you, communicate through it. That is the real Mark. Draco was tattooed, but when he failed his task to kill Dumbledore, the magic never activated. The Dark Lord needed to trust his Death Eaters, in a twisted way. Whenever you form a magical connection, with enough strength, it can go two ways rather than just one."

"Oh," Hermione said softly, nodding in contemplation. Blaise looked at her oddly.

"Has there been something bothering you, Hermione?" Blaise asked.

"There's always something bothering me," she said, her voice a little distant as she stared out into the water. Blaise waited for Hermione to elaborate, but she remained silent. Blaise listened to the calming thrum of the ocean crashing against the rocks below, the wind whistling through the gardens. He tore his eyes from the view and examined Hermione, who was still lost in thought. Eventually, Blaise moved to stand up from the bench, but Hermione's words stopped him.

"The Cascioferras are sitting right across from my flat back in London. Ginny's living there."

Blaise froze. "But don't you live in WIzarding London?"

"Yes."

Blaise shuddered at the implications - somehow, the Medicis had not only converted an entire muggle family to a wizarding one, but also located Hermione's home and one of her friends. It could be a coincidence, but his mother's constant reminders echoed in his head.

The universe is hardly so lazy.

So it had to be taken as a threat, but was it meant to be one?

"How did you hear about this?"

"The Sterlings."

"Nessie's father?"

"Apparently."

Blaise's mind went in two different directions - this was good, for the Medicis hadn't made a move to really test Hermione, and her actions as a result of this would not be pinned down simply to the threat made to Weaselette. But this was also very, very bad. This could become deadly.

"We should stop these negotiations. We're pulling out," he said suddenly, and Hermione's eyes snapped up to him.

"No, we can't do that!"

Blaise looked at her, confused. "Your best friends are in danger - lethal danger. What on Merlin's green Earth do you think staying in these negotiations would do?"

"I'm not asking you to marry her now, Draco. Just a simple dinner, a bit of champagne, and a few flowers. To thank her for her time, at least. Do not be rude. The Delacours risked their reputation for this introduction," Narcissa insisted.

Draco suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Of course, Mother, but do not expect me to continue seeing her after a dinner conversation about the latest frilly lace pattern and how artistic the latest Shelna Seductra romance novel is."

Narcissa was a little startled by Draco's biting sarcasm. "That was all Severus, there."

Draco sighed, the memory of his godfather bittersweet. "At least she can read," Draco sniped.

"Draco!" Narcissa admonished. "With those attitudes, you will never find a wife."

Draco sneered. "If I cannot tolerate her inane chattering, how do you expect Lucius to make it through our wedding without Avada'ing her?"

"How dare you address your father like so?" Narcissa turned on him, furious. "Your father is still barely recovering from the Dark Lord's magic, still so strong after so many years. Because of you, Draco. You are more important to your father than the consequence of facing the Dark Lord's punishment for betrayal. The very least you can do is address you father with the proper respect that he deserves!"

They had had this argument before, many times. If Draco wanted to, he'd respond with his typical stubbornness that it shouldn't have taken his son nearly dying to galvanize Lucius into action, and Narcissa would respond heatedly in kind. But something had changed, and Draco was suddenly just so very, very tired.

"When he recovers," Draco said slowly, and Narcissa looked at him in surprise. His tone of exhaustion was unexpected, and it worried her. "I'll have a very long talk with him. But he will have to earn my respect back."

Narcissa was silent, and Draco approached her to kiss her on her cheek. "Don't worry Mother. It will work out the way it is meant to."

"If only you really believed that," Narcissa said shrewdly as Draco approached his international portkey back to Italy.

Draco didn't know what to say to that.

Draco entered the villa's Floo hall, brushing off the remaining blue ash that had clung onto his robes. He really ought to invest in some of those floo-repelling robes, he just had never enjoyed the styles they had. Perhaps his mother would have some recommendations.

He turned towards one of the sitting rooms when he ran into Pansy. He nodded towards her, intending to brush past her, but she grabbed his forearm.

"They're having a right row out there," she sniffed. "Fix it, would you? The banshee's high pitch is irritating me."

"Granger? And Blaise?" Draco asked, confused. "What are they fighting about?"

"Something about Weaselette, but I didn't hear much. Too much screaming, really," Pansy sneered.

"Weaselette? The younger ginger?"

"Who else, Draco?" Pansy rolled her eyes. "Keep up, would you? I suppose blonds have never been known for their intellect. I'll be sunning myself in the interior garden. Have one of the help summon me when Blaise is no longer occupied with the hairy harpy."

"Pans," Draco warned, but Pansy had already flounced away, her long black hair swaying behind her. Draco groaned. The last thing he needed was his two coworkers - who, arguably, got along the best of the bunch - at each other's throats. Pansy hadn't told him where to find them, but as he walked the way Pansy had come and turned outside into the garden, Granger's voice became clearer and shriller.

"But they'll perceive me as weak, Blaise, for Merlin's sake! What types of implications will that have for our future negotiations? You're constantly on me about preserving our image, and giving in now would only damage it!"

"Bloody Gryffindors," Blaise cursed, and Draco pinched the bridge of his nose as he approached them, the white gravel beneath his dragon-hide shoes crunching slightly. "Your friends, Hermione. The Cascioferras are the Medicis hitmen. They mean business! This isn't about principle now, Hermione. This is about preservation of those you love! You can deal with the fall out later."

Draco cleared his throat once he approached them.

"Draco?" Blaise asked. "You're back early."

Draco waved a hand dismissively. "What's going on here?"

"Blaise thinks I need to surrender the company's international originator claim and let Arnaldo file for full credibility," Hermione hissed, "because the Cascioferra family has moved into a flat across from mine, where Ginny is currently staying."

"Sounds reasonable to me," Draco shrugged. "I'd say we're done here."

"What the shite is that?" Hermione leapt to her feet, jabbing her finger into his chest. Draco was taken aback by her fury and proximity, stepping back. He cursed himself. He never gave ground to an opponent, but something about the prickly Gryffindor always upended his rules. His nose throbbed slightly, a reminder of how prickly this lion could get.

"How dare you immediately dismiss my opinion, before it's even voiced? You didn't even hear my argument! What, is it because Blaise has genitalia that I lack? Is it because he's a pureblood? Is it because he's a Slytherin? What will it take for me to have the same respect from you that Blaise has? I am just as necessary to this team, and you will never again dismiss me without listening to me first! Are we clear?"

Draco swallowed, clearing his throat. "Yes. My mistake."

Hermione huffed, finally backing up to allow Draco some breathing room. He quickly glanced at Blaise, who had an odd smile on his face. "Now, as I was saying. I, however, take issue with immediately pulling out on this originator claim issue. The reasons to file for an international claim with the company taking credit are the same as before - it's the most obvious and beneficial solution for all parties. We'd be able to get them through the correct regulatory boards, most importantly the Potions and Cures Board, and they'd keep their intellectual property. With the added… pressure," Granger said distastefully, "the originator claim when it's directly in their benefit and has absolutely no real consequences for them is one of the least challenging negotiations we will likely ever make. Giving in on this sets a horrible precedent for our future negotiations, and we'll not have the same credibility that we would have if we won this one. Not only that, but it would encourage them to threaten other people I love or other people you love anytime they want to influence the conversation in their favor. That endangers more people in the future whereas there's only one endangered now. We know to warn our loved ones now and keep a careful eye out, but we have the aurors at my flat with 24/7 shifts so Ginny will be fine. As fine as any of our loved ones in the future could ever be. That is why we should not back down on this."

Draco mulled over her reasoning, finding it to be flawless.

"You're Slytherins, aren't you?" Granger asked. "Political situations are what you navigate best. You must know that you have to be assertive, aggressive even, in some of your negotiations."

"It's not the preferred path," Blaise acknowledged. "We prefer less… conspicuous methods. But wouldn't it be to your advantage if they underestimate you later if you go along with this small thing?"

"It could be, but that doesn't outweigh the future loved ones they could threaten or harm," Granger reasoned. "Plus, when will the situation to challenge them ever be better than this? They don't know we know about the Cascioferras. The next time this happens and they threaten us blatantly, it'll be worse, and we'll want to pull out again. We'll keep giving ground, and they'll corner us."

"Checkmate," Draco agreed. "Granger, you do what you need to do. It's time to unleash our Queen."

Hermione turned to Draco and beamed. His stomach tightened a little at her smile.

"Queen to F3," Hermione said softly. "Morphy versus Duke Karl and Count Isouard, Paris, 1858."

Draco tilted his head to the side, studying her. "You've been reading."

Hermione simply smiled again.

Ginny and Michael stumbled through the Floo, giggling as they nearly tripped over each other. "I can't believe you brought me to Hogsmeade Reflecting Pool again- Ginny?" Michael asked as he noticed how she stiffened.

"What in the name of Merlin's saggy balls are you doing in my flat?" Ginny asked venomously, and Michael traced her gaze towards none other than Harry Potter himself, situated one of the chairs at the dining table.

AN: Hello everyone! Thanks so much for sticking with me - we've got an update in a timely manner! *le gasp* I wish I could say this is the beginning of a new pattern, but I'll probably jinx it. Let me know what you guys think in the review box below, and thanks so much for favoriting/following! Also, shout out to the lovely guest who corrected me with Caesario. I appreciate people educating me in areas in which I'm ignorant! Keep the feedback coming :)