Ch. 2— Pride and Prejudice
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"I'm sorry that we couldn't be there to welcome you, but we made these plans with the Ministry months ago, and we didn't know if you both would be released then or not. But aside from that, how are you settling in, Professor? Mr. Malfoy?" Harry Potter asked them from a long-distance floo somewhere near Quebec, Canada.
Severus Snape longed to give him a caustic remark; he longed to… but didn't.
Over the years, Severus's sniping and barbed comments had gotten him nothing in return but affability. Once the history of his mother's friendship with Severus was made known to Potter, nothing Severus said could deter the younger man from thinking him an ally and a friend.
Nothing.
"Mr. Potter, I have asked for you to address me as Mr. Snape," he rasped.
The younger man smiled and nodded, "And I've repeatedly declined, sir. You are, and shall always remain my professor, professor. Now, is Kreacher helping you along? If there is anything the two of you need?"
"Our wands," Severus groused, and Potter nodded.
"Yes, I've been in touch with Kingsley on that and your money. Kingsley said he would send an owl to you both when your wands were approved to be released by the Ministry; however, he didn't hold out much hope your money and assets would be restored you anytime soon. Especially you, Mr. Malfoy." The younger wizard pinched the bridge of his nose, and just then, Severus heard a screaming ruckus come from back of Potter's quarters. Potter talked fast, "You both are welcome to whatever Kreacher can provide you for now, and we'll sort it all out later when the time comes."
"Well, in that case, Kreacher…" Lucius spoke up from Severus's side, wasting no time in summoning the haggard, old elf who appeared with a 'pop', "a bottle of well-aged wizard's scotch, a change of clothes, and a shaving kit are in short order."
"But Mr. Lucius, sir," Severus watched the elf give a graceful bow in deference to Lucius's pure-blooded status, "Scotch is not available; the house is without spirits at all."
"Afraid that's true," Severus heard Potter's wife speak up distantly from the other side of the floo, "James stop hitting your brother!" she hissed and poked her head into the flames. "Ahem, sorry. We had a bit of a sending-off when we left, and it completely ran the place dry. I forgot to order more from Glen Findich's before we left. Sorry, gentlemen."
She turned away from them and barked, "James, I will NOT tell you again!"
"But the Granger-girl had a bottle," Lucius said a bit sulkily, his posture now deflated as he thought of the next few months spent completely without any kind of alcoholic provision whatsoever.
"Granger?" Potter asked, and Severus watched him shove his glasses back high onto his nose, "Was Hermione there?"
"Yes," Severus rasped, his eyebrows raised, "She was staying here… without your permission I take it?"
"Hermione was at the house, Gin," Harry called over his shoulder in concern.
"OH, SHITE! I mean shart! I mean Jiminy Crickets! —no Lily, do not repeat Mummy!"
Severus, Lucius and Mr. Potter were treated to a little girl's high-pitched giggling squeal as she said, "Shite!" and "Shart" repeatedly and with gleeful abandon.
For Mr. Potter's part, he looked amusedly resigned. At length, he said, "Gin… could you come over here for a moment, dear?"
"KREACHER!" The young mother bellowed at the top of her lungs, and a loud 'POP' boomed behind Severus to be heard echoing thunderingly through the Potter's fire place. "Could you… just please see to… this!" she ordered.
"Yes, mistress," Severus heard the surly elf say through the floo, and then the young mother's face, appearing more than a little harassed, again came into the fire. She looked first at the two of them, and then at her husband, her eyes uncertain.
"What happened with Hermione, Gin?" Potter said with infinite patience for his wife. Severus, meanwhile, wanted to strangle the witch, slight resemblance to Lily or no.
She pursed her lips and then confessed in a rush, "I told her she could stay at Grimmauld! Her muggle roommate up and left the flat they were renting last week. You know Hermione can't afford to keep it on her own, and she refuses your assistance. And then, your plans with those two," she gestured airily towards Severus and Lucius scattering embers everywhere causing Severus to stamp them out with his boots, "were up in the air, and I agreed, and then I got distracted by our monsters, and it just slipped my mind. I'm sorry." She looked up at them imploringly, "She has nowhere else to go, and she's got that big exam in a few months, and—"
"Mrs. Potter…" Severus cautioned, "Breathe."
"Right, Professor." Remorsefully, she did as directed and inhaled, giving a gulping sigh, once more scattering embers on the floor that, this time, Lucius put out.
"Where is she now?" Potter's witch craned her neck and looked around as if the Granger chit could be found hiding behind the furniture.
"Miss Granger left us," Lucius reported carefully, "Almost from the moment we stepped in the house."
If anything, this caused Mrs. Potter's eyes to widen more as she looked over at her husband. "Oh, Harry! She has nowhere else to go! And I bet you she's staying in that accursed—"
"Tent." Her husband finished for her, nodding with a frown, "Yeah, Gin. That's where she'd be."
Severus was very close to ending the floo call. What did it matter to him where the Granger girl chose to live and what she was doing? It was none of his concern.
"Tell me," Potter asked them at length, "did she pack in a hurry?"
"Yes," Lucius answered for them both, "yes, she did."
Potter gave a nod. "Right then, she'll be back," he said assuredly. "Hermione always leaves something behind when she packs in a hurry. Never fails. Just—" he looked at them imploringly, "don't let her leave this time, alright? She's in a bit of a… a fragile place at the moment."
"Aren't we all," Lucius mumbled from beside him.
Potter continued, Lucius's words unheard, "And with this exam she's got to take…" Again, he shoved his glasses back up his nose, "Just try and get her to stay at the house. That tent holds a lot of bad memories…" Severus saw the younger wizard cringe—he would have liked to say dramatically, but no, the reaction was visceral— "And she really needs to get through this last leg of her schooling unscathed. She's worked too hard for anything less."
"If Miss Granger does appear," Lucius said beside him, "We will convince her she is more than welcome to stay with us for however long it shall prove necessary."
The two Gryffindors before him did not catch the direct innuendo dripping from that rather loaded statement, but Severus did. And turning his head so the other two could not see, he shot Lucius a dry look.
The blond man shrugged elegantly.
"Right then, yeah. Sounds good. No, Albus! Kreacher is not to be climbed upon. Get down this instant, young man!" Potter's face disappeared from the fire along with his wife's, and Severus gave a pained look to Lucius.
"Oh, how I do not miss those years!" Lucius cringed, and Severus shook his head mystified at the lot of them. How the human race survived as long as it had he had no clue.
With children such as these, and parents such as these...
"ALBUS SEVERUS POTTER! STOP THAT THIS INSTANT!" Severus heard Mrs. Potter shout, "Go home, Kreacher, before he bites you again! Get in the corner, right now, young man! And no pudding… not for the next three nights!" There was another thunderous 'POP' of house-elf apparition from Potter's end of the floo, and Severus prepared himself for the shock.
The floor shook as the grotty, little elf appeared beside them once more, this time sporting a child-sized bite mark off one ear that was bleeding profusely.
"Och, Kreacher," Mrs. Potter appeared again at the fire and looked remorsefully at the elf. "I'm so sorry!"
"That's alright, Mistress," the little elf croaked, bowing slightly from the hip and holding his ear. "It is no trouble," he said with determined resignation.
"Ginny!" They all heard a panicked Potter call from somewhere far away, and the mother pulled her head from the fire once more.
"Ah, fuck—I mean fudge! I mean NOT AGAIN!" she wailed as she again poked her head through the flames, her head turned away from them as she looked towards the sound of all the commotion, clearly torn. "Just please…" she said distractedly, "Just take care of her if you see her again." She turned to the two of them, giving them both a level look. "Hermione's worked tirelessly on your behalves, you know? You both wouldn't be free without her." A screaming wail was heard in the distance, and once more turning away from them, Potter's wife exploded, "SON OF A BI—"
"Goodbye, Mrs. Potter." Severus quickly disconnected the floo.
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The forest-glade Hermione had ended up camping in was a muggle forest near Derbyshire. She had forgotten her agenda and her book on Wizarding tariffs, laws, and taxation, and she knew it for she had looked everywhere for the damned things, and they were nowhere to be found.
She'd also had nightmares all night because of the damned tent.
The smell of moldy mildew, sweaty socks, and desperation still clung to the air, and no amount of cleansing, freshening, or cheering charms could combat it. She'd tried, valiantly, to carry on with her revision, sitting out of the tent in the early fall air near a tree and reading, but she couldn't concentrate.
Wanting to see how far this would set her behind, she looked for her agenda and realized she'd left it back at Grimmauld. Oh, that's just brilliant, Hermione! she'd cursed herself.
She'd have to go back and face their ire and more pointed looks she was sure to receive. But they'd both looked half-dead and near to starved… worse, in fact, than when she'd seen them at the official 'Pardoning' ceremony a week ago.
Obviously the two had been 'living rough' the last few days, and Hermione asked herself why it had not occurred to her they would need somewhere to stay?
But then with things happening with Yvonne as they did...
In a rare show of self-compassion, she slightly forgave herself for her small laps in consideration. Harry had, after all, thoughtfully provided where she could not, and with Kreacher's ability to get them food, the two at least wouldn't go hungry or freeze to death. Which was actually more than she could say for herself at the moment.
She was going to have a difficult time taking care of herself.
The meal she'd prepared last night was supposed to have fed her for the next three days. Kreacher only fed her if others in the house were eating, it was one of the things she had noticed about him and his pure-blood indoctrinated idiosyncrasies.
He may want to feed her, and may hound her to fix food for herself, but he would never fix food intended solely for her. The few times she'd asked over the years had ended in outright refusal by him, and Hermione had learned not to ask.
In addition, she didn't want to rely too much on Harry's generosity. She had been relying on him enough over the years as it was, and money for the house-elf supplied foodstuffs came directly out of his Gringott's account.
Well, it looked like she was back to hunting and foraging for her next days' worth of food yet again when she'd vowed to herself this would never be the case.
Well, never say never, right Hermione?
Never say never, indeed.
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Lucius had followed his nose from bedroom to bedroom searching for the witch's scent: his plan to make her room his own. He found it the fourth bedroom he tried and smiled slightly to himself when he saw the still-rumpled bedclothes.
The hook-nosed house-elf Kreacher appeared with a small 'pop' and a bow. "This is mud-blooded friend's room," the little elf said with a surly moue of displeasure.
Lucius hiked a brow and looked down, "Do you call her your friend, elf?"
The elf's gray ears burned with embarrassed shame, but he nodded, sticking his chest out proudly. "Mud-blooded friend of Master Potter's is also friend to Kreacher as well. And this is her room for when she stays here with the family." The little elf looked torn, wanting to evict him, and yet, wanting to adhere to his master's wishes in seeing to Lucius's comfort.
Hmm, well that was curious, was it not?
"Kreacher, you will not touch this room, or any of the contents herein." Lucius ordered. "Do you understand?"
Reluctantly, the elf nodded, and Lucius bid him direct him to the bathing chamber as well as find him an adequate change of clothes and the long-anticipated razor and strop.
He was tired, so very tired of not appearing his best, or at least the best that could be accomplished under such circumstances.
After showing him to the bath, the elf disappeared with a 'pop'.
The bathing room, like many homes built of this era, was opulent and grand but an after-thought addition. When Lucius had renovated the Manor, he'd had to install three lavatories and two bathing chambers as well for this was something for which both muggles and wizards had not concerned themselves during the time of this house's original construction. Baths were taken in a portable tub—usually copper— in the privacy of one's chamber, typically beside a roaring fire.
There was not a separate bathing suite, let alone a place to dispose of human waste—not when chamber pots had been used and evanesco'd for centuries. As such, this house only had one combination bathing chamber and lavatory. However, what it lacked in quantity, it more than made up for in quality.
Lucius sighed as he eased his weary, hunger-sated body into the warm and fragrant bathwater. This was his first bath in over ten years!
And how he had dreamed of this moment: carefully guarding his recollections and imaginings from the ravenous Dementors that wanted to eat them and steal such happy thoughts away.
Lucius' reversal of fortune astounded him to say the least.
With Minerva McGonagall's death, anyone who knew the true accounting of what he had done to circumvent the Dark Lord's aims had died with her. And yet, he was free… and according to Ginevra Potter, it had been all thanks to the enchanting mud-blooded Gryffindor with the delectable sway to her carriage.
Without much thought, Lucius called up the image to the forefront of his thoughts of the woman dancing barefoot uninhibited around the kitchen, remembering in loving detail, her long and lithesome legs bared to the cropped muggle trousers she wore riding high up mid-thigh. It had been such an unguarded moment for her.
And he loved watching human beings thusly; the moment they were truly themselves when they thought no one else was looking on. And for that moment, Lucius had seen the beautiful, nearly nude creature before him shine with ease and the radiance of contentment.
That was until she had seen them, and like a startled doe, fled.
He wouldn't allow that to happen again, no matter what Severus insisted. According to the Potters, the girl was nearly as desperate as they themselves were. Well, if she were to come back, he would make it his mission to convince her there was room enough aplenty at the Potter's abode for the three of them.
His wizard's staff already erect and aching the moment he had thought of the witch, Lucius in a bid of long-practiced ease, prolonged the moment of seeing to such a basic and necessary function until he had finished bathing completely.
Moments spent unguarded and unwatched in Azkaban had been rare, very rare indeed. And it was only during his twice-monthly shower days the wizard guards permitted him a small amount of privacy for a bit of 'pull and tug' as it were. That was, if the Dementors were far enough away from him to allow those kinds of thoughts to thrive.
His first few years spent in prison, Lucius had thought of his paramour Lady Lucretia of the House of a Thousand Delights.
Narcissa and he'd had a long-standing arrangement almost from the moment they pledged their troths. Neither one asked, and neither one told. Their first year of marriage he had sired his son, and both had considered their marital obligations to one another fulfilled from the moment Draco was born.
The name of the game had been 'discretion', and he knew Narcissa had been very discreet with her peccadilloes, just as he had been with the varied mistresses he'd kept over the years. None, however, compared to the very knowledgeably-skilled hands of Lady Lucretia Mortesse.
Well-learned in the arts of seduction, of mastery, and submission, the fair Lady quite turned Lucius's head once upon a time.
But that had been years ago, and over time, his memory of her had dulled almost to the point of gray due to the soul-sucking essence found fundamentally in Azkaban's very walls. Almost four years ago, he realized he could no longer picture her face. And almost two years ago, he realized he could no longer remember what it felt like to spend his passion within her satiny-moist depths.
That's when his mind started to slide he supposed, the grayness of Azkaban taking hold, taking control.
Thank the gods, Potter had been persistent, doggedly so, in visiting both he and Severus.
And so it was, Lucius had those visits from the boy wizard to look forward to each and every week almost without fail for nine years.
And during these visits, both he and Severus got to talk to one another, and their friendship—always of a strong bond—was, during that period of hell, forged to a deep kindred that Lucius was certain would transcend beyond death itself.
His bathwater gone cold, the blond wizard pulled the stopper and rose from the depths of the luxurious tub, grabbing for the warming-charmed infused borrowed house robe the elf had thoughtfully laid out for him. Looking at his seedy and emaciated visage in the mirror, Lucius resolved to do something about the scruff forthwith, and began beating lather into a bowl with a thick horsehair brush. He then hung the strop on the peg by the side of the sink and begun to unhurriedly sharpen the blade.
He wondered idly if the mud-blooded Miss Granger had ever given a man a traditional shave before as he began to work the lather into his stubbled skin. It was practically the only way to go about things properly. Spells and the like did not work as effectively; a nuance that was missed on many of his contemporaries looking for the fastest, most expedient way possible.
Sometimes muggle truly was the way to go.
And Lucius smirked as he thought of where he would like to go with one particular muggle-born witch.
Once more, his ardor began to reassert itself as he leisurely shaved, dreaming of her delectable arse swinging for him in the air. Again, he was in no hurry for completion. If there was one thing Azkaban had taught him it was patience.
Finally, he was clean-shaven once more, but his hair was another matter entirely. It was ragged and tattered, so much of it brittle and weak due to lack of proper nutrition. He razed it off to his shoulders, making certain the ends were cut fine and even, and then studied himself in the mirror, standing straight and tall.
There was still a hungry, rangy look about his visage that disturbed him somewhat, but he was hopeful a few more of the Granger-chit's meals would help alleviate that if she did, indeed, return.
No, what disturbed him most was the change in his light-colored eyes.
They were haunted, vacuous, not familiar to what he remembered of himself at all. And Lucius spent minutes upon minutes staring at his reflection and trying to reconcile the change.
Perhaps it was not permanent?
Dear Merlin, he hoped not!
Closing his eyes, he grit his jaw and threw up an occlumency shield, and then assessed himself. His eyes still looked slightly unhinged, but the effect was lessened, and he nodded to himself. It was as good as he could do for the nonce.
Padding out of the bathroom, he went back to his room, the night growing late and still. He wasn't sure where Severus had taken himself, but Lucius was certain if there was one thing his dark brother wasn't doing, it was sleeping. The two of them were completely attuned, and how well he knew just how very rarely the dour potions master did sleep.
But Lucius vowed that wouldn't be the case for him tonight. Not at all; for well-fed and clean-shaven, warm and freshly come from his bath, Lucius Malfoy was primed for a good night's rest.
Upon entering the witch's bedroom once more, Lucius shed his robe to the floor and walked naked over to Miss Hermione Granger's bed, slithering between her sheets, his nose immediately assailed with her citrus-musk scent. He turned his head into her pillow and shivered with the tactile sensation her scent evoked within him.
Having more of a developed sense than most when it came to odors and smells, Lucius remembered hearing that muggle scientists had found a correlation between the evocation of memory and emotion related most strongly to the sense of smell.
And for Lucius, this held especially true.
His best and most vivid memories, un-faded by time or Dementor-enforced incarceration, were linked to his sense of smell: his mother and father, his son, his fine library with his leather-bound collection of rare and wondrous books.
And the greatest smell of all was the smell of a woman's arousal, and the taste of her musk on his tongue, christening and cleansing his soft palate.
Ah, but it was bliss smelling the scent of a woman— and this woman in particular.
For he knew exactly what Miss Hermione Granger looked like down to the heart-shaped curve of her delectable arse. Now, Lucius permitted himself to leisurely stroke his length as he thought of that luscious arse impelled on his wizard's staff, her small, pert breasts bouncing in time with the rhythm he set as she rode them both to completion.
And that small, tight mouth with her beautiful rose-bud lips.
He had plans for that mouth as well.
And it was that imagined image he chose to focus on in order to bring himself to the close: the mud-blood's rose-bud perfect lips, stretched taut to encompass the breadth of his cock, and she would look up at him kindly, adoringly, just as she had that elf, and kneeling before him as she was, she would want to take more of him, would want to swallow him completely, and beg for all that he deigned to give.
Imagining that it was her hair instead of her sheet he was fisting, he breathed another shuddering inhale of her sweet scent and spilled himself upon her sheets.
Another moment later, Lucius Malfoy was sound asleep.
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Breathing deeply of the cool night air, Severus Snape sat in the courtyard at Grimmauld and wondered what he was going to do now he was free.
He was a man who paid his debts.
And according to Mrs. Potter, he owed a very large debt to one Hermione Granger.
How could he not have known he owed his freedom to her?
Surely he didn't owe her a life-debt as he had with James Potter? He'd just finished paying off the one, he did not need to incur another!
But no, he felt no tug, no pull towards the girl, no compulsion to see to her continued existence upon this Earth, and that was comforting. He had made a vow to protect Lily's son from the dark forces surrounding him. He had fulfilled that vow and paid back his debt to Potter and then some.
As far as Severus was concerned, once the Ministry decided what it would do for him in reparations, and cut him the check, he was gone, his debts paid and his soul his own once more.
And yet, he would not be alone for the journey.
He knew somehow without knowing that Lucius would be with him as well, the two of them traveling together.
Lucius, after all, was now his brother—one could not go through the things each of them had gone through, experience what they had both done separately and together, without being profoundly altered in some way.
And Severus realized a year ago, when it looked that perhaps they might have a shot at being exonerated, he didn't want to be alone for the journey after all. He'd had his fill of solitude while imprisoned, and the silence, the terrifying quietness of it all had disturbed him most profoundly.
He tolerated and mostly welcomed Lucius's every inane utterance, and he didn't think that was going to change any time soon.
His credentials of Potions Mastery had been stripped from him upon his conviction, but he was vaguely hopeful this too would be overturned any day now. From there, he planned to go straight into the private sector, perhaps even in business for himself doing pure research, and never, Severus vowed, would he ever again teach another day in his life.
But… first things first, he had his debts to pay.
And if it was as Mrs. Potter had said, and he owed Miss Granger for his freedom, then somehow, he needed to see this debt made right.
The witch needed somewhere to live; Potter's place was plenty large enough for the three of them without there being too much interaction between himself and the bothersome girl.
Three months. Gods willing, they would be paid by the Ministry and out of this wretched place before her three months were up.
But… if they weren't, then three months of avoidance was endurable.
After all, he was a man that had just spent ten years of his life in the stillness of waiting. And another ten before that.
What was another three months compared to that?
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Hermione debated the merits of surprising them… two known Death Eaters just released from prison.
Yes, and she did have a death wish, did she not?
They were without wands, that was true, but Severus Snape didn't need a wand, as he more than amply proved yesterday when he and Mr. Malfoy had surprised her in the kitchen.
Perhaps this afternoon?
She would go this afternoon to collect her book and agenda, and maybe the two of them would be out, and she wouldn't have to interact with them, and that would be that.
Feeling less than optimistic on that score, she used yet another warming charm on the blanket around her, and valiantly tried to study—this time 'Equality and the Expansion Myth': How Classist Subversion in Wizarding Culture Promotes Higher Free-Market Trade.
The overwhelming ignorance in this book and others like it was what she was basing her dissertation on. And provided she passed the Bar, she would have to go before the entirety of the Wizengamot to present her dissertation and defend her stance in order to be become part of the Council of Advisors.
But if she got her credentials—when she got her credentials, after she successfully took both the Bar and appeared before the Wizengamot, she would be accepted as a full-fledged member of the Wizengamot's consultative board with all the rights and privileges therein.
She would be taken seriously; her point of view having merit, and she could bring issues before their Augustine council without having to go through the Ministry's bureaucratic red tape to do so.
But first, she needed her agenda and her book on wizarding taxation, and she needed them today.
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By the next afternoon, Lucius had been over the witch's room with a fine-toothed comb, going through all of Miss Granger's left-behind personal effects, and not seeing anything particularly of value the girl would want back. The room had been picked clean with only the barest of essentials remaining: a change of clothes, a bottle of perfume, a muggle toothbrush and a hair comb. A framed wizard's photograph of the 'Golden Trio' graced the armoire.
The picture had been taken a few years before the defeat of the Dark Lord, and Lucius studied it eagerly, looking for any hint of the poised and ravishing beauty he could find in the structure of the adolescent girl.
There was none.
No, it seemed Miss Hermione Granger had rocketed from awkward, gangly adolescence to the level of Earth goddess over a scant expanse of years, much as an ugly duckling turned into a graceful swan.
When was the last time he had seen her, truly seen her?
His trial? When she had testified against him?
No. It was after that.
The witch had come to see him in Azkaban… only once though. She had been thorough, so very thorough in her research, in plotting just who the other spy had been against Voldemort. As Lucius recalled, she'd looked much as she had in her picture with her friends, perhaps a little leaner from shedding the baby fat of youth. And it had been obvious she had taken great pains with her appearance, but she had looked so… young and innocent standing outside his accursed cell. So fresh-faced, earnest, and naïve, her presence, her conversation had made him want to throw something at her, to ruin that naivety, that innocence he still saw even after what she'd been through with the war.
He recalled he hadn't been very nice to her, even as she was trying to help clear his name.
No, he had not been nice at all—calling her a 'mud-blooded bitch', and that had been his mildest epithet.
From then on, it was Harry Potter who had come to ask about his past and find out more about his work in espionage. It had been Potter who had doggedly cleared his name.
But according to Ginevra, that had not been the case at all. In fact, Lucius realized he owed his freedom to the mud-blooded vixen he saw yestereve.
He prayed he could find the leverage that would ensure her return.
Making it back to the bed, he carefully rearranged the bedclothes, spritzing her pillow with her perfume atomizer in order to refresh the girl's citrus-scent. He also spritzed his handkerchief, and folding it in a square, inserted it in the pocket at his lapel so he could carry a scent-ual reminder of her throughout the day.
Giving up her room as a lost cause, he thought to where else the little mud-blooded minx would have gone in the house. There was the bathing chamber, but Lucius had already been there and noticed nothing inherent that struck him as hers.
What was it the elf and Potter had said... the girl needed to study? Well, there was only one place in the house left to check—the actual study itself.
Severus was already there when Lucius arrived perusing a volume on Wizarding taxation and tariffs of all things. The dark wizard didn't even bother looking up to acknowledge his presence, but Lucius wasn't vexed.
He was on a mission after all.
Fiction, non-fiction, muggle, wizarding. The Potter's library was mild in terms of taste versus his own rather eclectic collection and was far from well-appointed. He saw there was another shelf of books, this one placed under tightly warded lock and key, and scanning the contents, he soon realized why.
These books were dark, very dark indeed, and had no place within a growing family's home. There were some even he wouldn't dare open, the magic within them so powerfully dark, just reading the words within could corrupt and alter one's soul permanently.
Now, that was curious…
Why would the Potter's keep such a collec—
Of course! This house had been the ancestral manse of Sirius Black.
Ah, how could Lucius have forgotten? Mr. and Mrs. Black, Narcissa's uncle and aunt, the both of them of good breeding and Pure-blooded stock. And their son Regulus had been Lucius's contemporary at school. Regulus, who had shown him the locket he had taken from the Dark Lord's hiding place scant days before the Dark Lord killed him and set the events into motion for the entire raison d'être for Lucius to spy.
Dear Regulus, poor boy.
Again, Lucius began looking around for anything out of place, anything that, perhaps, didn't look as if it belonged…
There was a very nice leather-bound journal set aside upon the desk, and it was this that drew his attention from the other dross and clutterings of paper stationed throughout.
He undid the leather buckle and opened the flap to see the inside subscription in calligraphic text:
Property of H. Granger.
If found, please return by owl post
c/o Harry Potter
Number 12 Grimmauld Place
London, UK.
A frisson of triumph stole over him at that moment, and it was with much anticipation Lucius sat in the chair behind the desk, and began to peruse the volume, and upon completion gave a wide Cheshire grin.
It was the witch's study time-table: a necessity to have as she had every single day planned out up until her examination to be taking place the last day of spring.
Oh, little poppet, he chuckled darkly, his eyes fanning at the corners, and Severus looked up with an inquiring upturn of his brow.
Lucius placed a now well-manicured finger on top of the book "This journal, Severus. I just found Miss Granger's schedule of revision planned down to the day, and in some cases, the hour."
Severus raised both eyebrows at this, and immediately closed the book he was reading, holding out his hand for the journal Lucius still had his finger upon.
Lucius shook his head and grinned slightly, scooping it up and standing. "No. This little discovery is mine to do with as I wish. Finders, keepers after all."
Scowling, Severus shook his head and turned back to his book, and Lucius left the room.
Now, only where to hide it…
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At a quarter 'til three in the afternoon, Hermione knocked on the door to Grimmauld, unsurprised when it took Kreacher five full minutes to answer. She had again worn very voluminous and billowy witch's robes that covered her from neck to toe, leaving everything to the imagination. Her hair was scraped back into its strictest bun adhered to the back of her head.
And in looking at her own reflection, a mature, serious-faced young woman stared back at her.
"What is it you want, mud-blood friend of Master?" the little elf croaked, looking up at her with a gimlet eye.
"Kreacher, I'm just here to grab some things I left behind yesterday." She smiled wanly as she made her way by the little elf into the hallway and immediately up the stairs.
The house-elf followed her with a wheedling wheeze, "Master's mud-blood friend could make tea since she has bothered to come back."
Hermione hedged, biting her lip, "Tea would be lovely, Kreacher, but I'm afraid I don't have time." Where to go first? The study or her bedroom?
The study first; that was where she remembered seeing her journal last.
The little elf stepped in front of her. "Mud-blood miss should make time for tea" Kreacher said belligerently. "Mud-blood had been skipping meals again, and it shows."
"Kreacher…" Hermione said exasperated, looking down with fondness at the little elf, "Please don't start. Just go back to the kitchen alright? I'll be down to tell you goodbye in a minute."
Steeling herself for what she would find, Hermione opened the door to the study and was relieved to find it empty. Her book on wizarding tariffs was, strangely enough, in the chair. That wasn't where she remembered leaving it. Grabbing it, she looked upon the desk for her journal, drawing up short when it wasn't there.
"What's this, Severus?" Hermione looked up to the doorway to find both Professor Snape and Mr. Malfoy standing there. "Ah, I see we have a guest arrived. I'll have to speak to the elf to make certain he announces all callers in the future."
Professor Snape, still wearing his bedraggled teaching robes torn at the neck, gave her a truculent glare, and she swallowed almost taking a step back. Meanwhile Mr. Malfoy smiled benignly, almost kindly at her and this was, in its own right, terrifying.
The man himself had undergone a change in the day and a half she had been away.
With hair shorn to his shoulders and face clean-shaven once more, Mr. Malfoy looked a measure of the coldly-handsome wizard he had once been. Add to that, the clothes Kreacher had unearthed for him—though decades out of fashion, the wizarding garments, made of the finest material, fit him like a second skin, and were reminiscent of the clothes he used to wear when she had met him as a child so long ago.
Gulping, she did take a step back and reinforced the Occlumency shields she had in place.
"And to what do we owe the pleasure of your company, Miss Granger?" Mr. Malfoy graciously asked her taking a step into the room.
"I came back to grab some of the things I left behind: this book, and my journal… I don't suppose either of you recall seeing it?" She again looked upon the surface of the desk, trying to remember if perhaps she had brought it with her back to her bedroom.
"Oh, yes," Mr. Malfoy snapped his fingers and instantly her attention was his, "I do recall seeing something of that nature in my trip to browse the study. Why? Is it particularly… valuable, perhaps?"
"Only to me," she acknowledged, her eyes narrowing to slits. There was a self-satisfied air about the man, and Hermione should know, she had seen it in his son often enough. Lucius Malfoy was playing with her, toying with her as a cat did a mouse before gobbling it up.
He stepped towards her—sauntering was more akin to how he moved— until he stood a foot away.
He looked down at her, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Au contraire, Miss Granger. I find it exceedingly valuable as well." He gave her an indulgent smile, and she paled.
"You have my journal… but why?" she asked mystified. Why would he want the damn thing unless he only wanted to make her life a little more hellacious than it already was at the moment?
Which was a Slytherin tactic, and one practiced with alarming alacrity by both master Slytherins now standing before her.
"All to be revealed in the goodness of time… Kreacher," Mr. Malfoy summoned. And the little elf appeared with a 'pop' and a subservient bow towards Malfoy Senior. "Bring tea for three here in the study."
After shooting Hermione a knowing grin, Kreacher 'popped' away to do Mr. Malfoy's bidding.
While she and Mr. Malfoy had been talking, Professor Snape had also come into the room and made his way towards the desk, taking the seat behind it. And in the privacy of her thoughts, Hermione rolled her eyes. No. She was not going to be made to feel like a first-year again because of the terror-intimidation tactics of that man… of both these men.
"Look," she licked her lips nervously, "all I need is my journal, and then I'm gone."
"Such Gryffindor brashness, Severus," Mr. Malfoy tutted, gesturing she should have a seat in one of the wingback chairs set in front of the desk.
She gave a terse shake of her head declining.
Mr. Malfoy took a seat in the other wingback chair, and Hermione's jaw clenched as she stood before the two men definitely feeling like a first-year called to carpet.
Mr. Malfoy looked at her genially; Professor Snape, meanwhile, glared silent and accusing at her.
"We have spoken to Potter and his wife," Mr. Malfoy began, "And it seems they double-booked this little abode for the season. Alas, miscommunication is most often the misstep most marriages make. Not that you or Severus would know of such things, but I digress."
He gave her a small smile, "In short, you are in need of a place to stay, and we have the means to provide it." Mr. Malfoy gestured between himself and Professor Snape, and Hermione looked over to gauge her old professor's reaction.
His face was a stony mask of indifference bordering on disdain.
Uh-huh. Like hell she would even consider coming back here to stay!
"Come, come now, Severus," Mr. Malfoy chastised as the elf reappeared, "Let us at least try to be civil for tea. Ah, perfect. Thank you, Kreacher." The little elf appeared and began merrily doling out plates of sandwiches as Mr. Malfoy began pouring the tea.
Hermione refused the last plate the little elf held to her with a shake of her head, and Kreacher narrowed his eyes at her, silently insistent.
"How is it you take your tea, Miss Granger?" Mr. Malfoy asked her solicitously.
"Declined, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione said shortly, crossing her arms in front of her.
"Mud-blood Miss takes her tea with a sugar and a splash of cream," the elf reported with smug satisfaction to Malfoy Senior.
The blond wizard looked up at her and smiled beguilingly. "See? Was that so very difficult?" He held out the tea for her to take as well, and Hermione's lips twitched slightly at the absurdity of it all.
With bad grace, she took the pro-offered tea and plate, and sat facing Severus Snape.
Kreacher, meanwhile, hovered near her, prompting her to eat. She took a bite of her sandwich to appease the elf, and with another self-satisfied nod, he was gone. Looking over, she saw Lucius Malfoy studying her with fascination, a finger to his lips. "How incredibly polite you are, Miss Granger, even to house-elves."
"Especially to the house-elves, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione said tersely, stirring her tea and taking a sip. She cleared her throat. "Now, you stated you talked to Harry and Ginny…" Hermione led, hoping one of the two would continue.
"How much…" Professor Snape rasped at her, "did you have to do… with our exonerations?"
Even hearing his testimony and viewing Harry's recollections of their time together in Azkaban in a Pensieve, it still was jarring to hear his voice—his once lovely and softly silken voice, it now sounded gravelly and weak, his vocal chords barely able to produce a sound above a harsh whisper.
She licked her lips and sat down her plate and tea on the desk. "That depends. Where's my journal?"
"I don't know," Professor Snape snarled, suddenly standing, placing his hands wide on the desk and leaning towards her. "TELL ME!" he rasped, his voice breaking.
"E-everything," she confessed softly.
"Explain," he grit, narrowing his dark eyes at her.
She gulped and looked away, really hoping he wasn't able to read her mind. "Harry went to visit you both to find out information to stage your defense. I—" she licked her lips, "I've been putting the pieces of your work to undermine the Dark Lord together for years; I'm only sorry it took me so long to do so."
She looked over and up at the two of them sadly. "Harry was my envoy, but I—I was the one to plan and gather evidence for your appeals. You were never supposed to know," she ended quietly, looking down at the floor.
"What do you want?" Professor Snape rasped tightly, and she looked up, meeting his cold and flinty eyes as he still stood, arms splayed wide, looming over the desk towards her.
Shaking her head, she stuttered, "N-nothing. Well, I would like my journal, but that's it." She looked over at Mr. Malfoy to find him regarding her with a serious air as well.
"We owe you, Granger," Professor Snape ground, "now tell us what it is you want."
She stood abruptly and began backing away towards the door. "I want nothing, Professor Snape," she said in a trembling voice. Mr. Malfoy stood as well, and the two began stalking her. "I just want to be left alone, same as you."
"Miss Granger," Mr. Malfoy appealed, coming to stand beside her. "What Severus is so ham-handedly trying to tell you is we owe you a great debt of gratitude for your tireless work on our behalves. We are in your debt, my dear, and although I am certain you've learned this by now, Severus Snape is a man who pays his debts." She watched the blond wizard's jaw clench as he smiled tightly, "As am I."
She made it as far as the door to the study before Professor Snape was upon her, his scowl firmly in place. She shook her head entreating them to listen, "You both owe me nothing; the wizarding world owed you. I call it even, and any debt you think you owe, I release you from in full, right here and now."
Mr. Malfoy smiled down at her softly, "Oh, kitten. Dear, sweet kitten. You do not even see the riches displayed before you, do you my girl?" He reached to caress her cheek, and Hermione broke away from them both, walking swiftly down the hall towards the stairs.
Her journal could hang.
She would have to do her revision without it.
It would be difficult, but she could manage.
She was to the front door an instant later and reaching for the knob, she turned it. It wouldn't budge. She tried again; it was stuck as if by… magic.
Looking behind her, she saw both Mr. Malfoy and Professor Snape had followed, Professor Snape softly chanting under his breath as he held up his hand, casting some kind of wandless spell preventing her from opening the door.
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He had scared her.
He hadn't meant to, but he had.
Lucius couldn't remember the last time he saw such goodness, such innocent sweetness radiating from a woman. Never a woman of his acquaintance that was for certain. There was Ginevra Potter, but even she had more in common with that shrill harpy of her mother than with one of the Graces.
And that's what the woman now looking so frightened and unsure standing before him reminded him of—a Grace.
"You need a place to stay, Granger," Severus growled, the both of them once more coming to stand beside her as she stood by the closed front door, all but pinning her to it. "You will stay here with us." His tone brooked no refusal.
Ah, but she was a stubborn one; that pointed chin bespoke of defiance and pride, raised itself, and Lucius smirked. Slytherins were not the only house to fall victim to their pride.
She shook her head. "I have a place to go; I'm fine."
"A tent does not count," Severus choked out, sneering. "You will stay here." He chuffed, and Lucius saw his breath fan the tiny wisps of escaped curl across the witch's cheek. "Do you understand?"
She gulped, her throat working as she swallowed this bitter medicine. Yes, piqued pride does sting, does it not, my dear? Lucius could truly sympathize with her at that moment. Looking down at the floor, she nodded.
"Your word, Granger," Severus demanded.
"You have my word," she whispered softly, looking up and meeting Severus's eyes. The dark wizard nodded once, apparently satisfied with what he saw, and relinquishing his hold on the door, Severus turned in a billow of robes and stalked back up the stairs.
Thus, leaving Lucius alone with her.
She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, and then turned to face him. "Where's my journal?" she asked baldly, stepping away from the door and crossing her arms defensively in front of her.
Lucius grinned and mirrored her stance, leaning casually upon the door. "Where did you learn to cook like that?" he asked her in turn.
"At the muggle restaurant I worked while attending university."
Lucius smiled, "Put yourself through university, have you Miss Granger, serving muggles their dinner?"
That defiant chin went up. "Yes. Yes, I did."
Oh, it was going to be fun goading her!
She continued, "The pay was good, and the free food and cooking lessons even better."
He shoved himself away from the door, coming to stand in front of her again. "And if I told you I wanted you to cook for me?"
Her eyebrows rose. "I would tell you, Mr. Malfoy, respectfully sir, to go fuck yourself." And she smiled sweetly up at him.
He clucked his tongue. "Tsk, tsk, Miss Granger, such language is unbecoming in one such as you."
"This conversation is unbecoming!" she growled, "my journal, where is it?"
Lucius smiled sanguinely and shook his head. "It seems we are at an impasse, for with those hastily spoken words upstairs, you have quite released me from any and all indebted obligation I previously had to you, my dear."
"I am not your anything, Malfoy," she hissed, taking a step towards him and getting in his face.
He took another step towards her until mere inches separated them. "Oh, but you are quickly becoming dear to me, Miss Granger. Very dear, indeed." He saw her eyes widen slightly as she realized their proximity, and she quickly took a step back. He pursued, "So, I will ask you, how do you feel about an exchange, my dear?"
"What?" Her tone was lethal, and she was staring daggers at him. Though her occlumency shields were on full, he could tell from the look on her face just what kind of an exchange she thought he was proposing.
Smiling softly, he took a step away from her. "My, but your thoughts are sordid, are they not? I don't even need Legilimency to see that."
He was gratified to see her blush. Emaciated and looking as he did, he still had the power to make a beautiful witch blush. That boosted his ego a bit. "In any event, although I am certain you and I are destined to end up in bed together—"
She scoffed and threw up her hands, turning away from him and heading toward the kitchen.
"In any event," Lucius continued, "that was not what I happened to be proposing." He watched in fascination as she began the makings for tea. "You know, we could just call the elf for that, Kreach—"
"Don't you dare!" She leveled her wand at him, right between the eyes. "He will be working hard enough for the two of you as it is; I do not need him bending over backwards for me as well, not that he would. And I don't care about your proposal, Malfoy. You can take it and go—"
"Yes, I quite heard you the first time," Lucius interrupted amiably, "No need to remind me of your low-born upbringing again."
Once more her wand was pointed straight between his eyes.
"Get out," she grit, and red sparks erupted from the tip of her wand, one of them stinging his cheek. Oh, but she was a feisty thing when her back was up. There were the fires of passion burning brightly in her honey-brown eyes, and her color was high setting the tiny smattering of freckles dusting the bridge of her nose to standing out.
He smiled charmingly, and holding up his hands in capitulation, backed away. "When you want to discuss a trade, kitten, come and find me, hmm?" Lucius turned casually and walked away.
"Hell will freeze over first," he heard her mumble as he departed.
Ah, but those words were music to his ears.
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A/N: That Ginny Weasley has quite the potty mouth! And too, our brave, little Gryffindor lioness is in a passel of trouble with her two new roommates. Now, what did you think of Severus' high-handed tactics? Lucius' schemery? This inquiring authoress is dying to know!
Psst! *nudge *nudge— Reviews are the only payment I get for sweating over the placement of a comma. ;)
-k