Happy New Year, my freaky darlings! I hope everyone had a safe and pleasant evening. We had friends over, played some board games, and watched the neighbor's fireworks. (He is a professional fireworks man, so they are always nice, and we live in the country, so there are no restrictions beyond the federal ones.) I own nothing, but thanks for reading!
Chapter Nine: Graduation
The morning of graduation, the Malfoys rushed about preparing to depart for the commencement ceremony and the party afterward. By early afternoon, Hermione was the only inhabitant of the Manor taller than four feet. Fighting off the melancholy, she flooed to Lestrange Hall before remembering Bellatrix was Draco's aunt. Having been pardoned for all crimes in the service of the Dark Lord, not that it had been worded that way, they could attend the graduation ceremony and the party held afterward. She sighed and tried to leave before they discovered her being pathetic.
Unfortunately, Bellatrix entered the room before she could spin away. "Oh, you. Roddy, your slaggy mudblood lover is here."
Rodolphus came in, "Bellatrix we discussed this."
"I am not his lover, and your lord told me to stop calling me a mudblood."
Bellatrix rolled her eyes, "Uh-huh, you can deny it all you want, but I know what I see."
"You want to be free of me, you know what you need to do," Rodolphus reminded her in a cold voice.
"I cannot waste ten months right now to pop out some brat."
"Adopt," Hermione snapped, "or use a surrogate. Just stop sniping all the time. And, no, I am offering my womb."
"What the hell is a surrogate?" demanded Bellatrix.
"A woman who carries the baby for a couple. And it does not mean that the surrogate has sex with the father." She frowned, "You have three books on adoption and surrogacy in your library, look it up. They can change magical signatures, blood status, perhaps even a slight physical appearance, like an adopted Malfoy might gain gray eyes or blond hair. An adopted Weasley would most likely become ginger. It depends on ritual."
"Interesting food for thought," Rodolphus rubbed his chin. Bellatrix stomped out of the room, most likely headed to the library. "What brings you by, little witch?"
"Just being silly, really. Graduation Day and I'm not there. Not that my parents could have attended anyway, even if they were still with us," she sighed.
"I'm sorry. Yaxley says the ministry is very impressed with your performance."
"Once upon a time that news would have thrilled me."
"Now?"
"I have no desire to waste my energy beating my head against glass ceilings while others steal my thunder to advance themselves. Nothing ever changes, and nothing ever will. Centuries of history shows that."
"Perhaps you will feel differently in the future."
She shrugged, "Anything can happen. But what are the chances of either group vying for power changing things to merit based practices? No one does that, or if they do it doesn't last."
"How is someone so young so cynical?"
"My loss of innocence began at eleven, and it wasn't a long process." She shrugged, "While my classmates were learning the wonders of magic I got the added lesson that no matter how hard I tried, no matter how good I was- I wasn't welcome, and I didn't matter."
"You matter to me and Rabastan. We've become rather fond of you." He reached into his robes, "I was going to leave this for you at the Manor." He handed her a small box, "Happy graduation."
"I'm not graduating," she protested.
"You are not attending the ceremony, but Snape will add your names to the roles of graduates over the summer when no one is paying attention. You took your final exams, you graduated."
"Neither of you had to do this," she protested.
"We wanted to. Now, quit stalling and open your present," he ordered. Obeying, she ripped open the coppery colored wrapping paper. The white jewelry case inside opened to reveal delicate square-cut amethyst earrings. "They belonged to our grandmother. She would have liked you. She believed girls should be feisty and outspoken."
"Thank you, and thank Rabastan for me."
"Thank me for what?" the wizard of discussion sauntered in.
"My lovely present."
"You are most welcome. Now, come along, I'm not required at the festivities this evening, nor am I willing to see you restricted to your rooms all day. I arranged a portkey to Luxembourg for us."
"Luxembourg?" she questioned confused by his choice.
"Have you ever been?"
"Well, no."
"Perfect, let's go." Excitedly, Rabastan took her hand. "Don't fret, old man, I'll have her back home in one piece by three at the latest."
"Hardy har har."
"Wouldn't want you panicking," he saluted his older brother as they left the room.
Hermione felt the telltale jerk at her midsection. Rabastan held onto her ensuring she landed on her feet. "Steady then?" She nodded. "Good, first on our tour, Luxembourg's Diagon Alley, Beau Caree Magique."
"Beautiful Magic Square?"
"Whimsically named perhaps, but not to be missed." He began leading her down the street. Hanging flower pots and planted flower beds exploded with color. Black lampposts gleamed in the summer sun. Birds sang as they flitted from perch to perch. "I know most consider London, Rome, or Paris to be cultural centers, but I've discovered Luxembourg to combine the best of many cultures with their own unique spice thrown in."
"What are we doing today?"
"This morning we will explore Beau Carre Magique, lunch at one of the charming cafes, then, this afternoon a little sightseeing, a little shopping. Finally, if you like, this evening we will finish with the magical side of the Grand Theater. They will be performing a ballet version of The Fountain of Fair Fortune."
"That sounds amazing. There really needs to be a wizarding cultures class for muggleborns. Muggles Studies is a joke. It should be overhauled."
"Really?"
"The material is decades out of date, the instructor spent maybe a handful of hours experiencing things firsthand, she's clueless.
"The one you knew passed away last August," he commented.
"How unfortunate," Hermione shrugged.
"Snape convinced the Dark Lord to allow him to drop the subject, except for the students taking the NEWT. Alecto teaches it.
"Those poor students."
He led her to a brick wall in a bright alley between a flower shop and bakery. He tapped an old poster advertising laundry soap. The brick wall wavered and became translucent. "Like Platform 9¾, just walk on through."
Stepping through the barrier she emerged into a bright swirl of color, light, and cheerful music. Where Diagon Alley could feel cramped and claustrophobic, the Square's open layout suggested planned growth. As if reading her mind, Rabastan remarked, "The war with Grindelwauld and the muggle wars damaged the square badly. They
took their time to plan when rebuilding."
She smiled, "I approve."
"I thought you might." Rabastan bullied her into letting him spoil her. When a flirty shopkeeper complimented his pretty daughter, he corrected her, "Niece. I was fifteen when this little angel was born." He winked at Hermione. She shook her head laughing.
At lunch, he questioned her about her growing relationship with Marcus, "You and Flint seemed to be getting on."
"I like Marcus, he's nice."
"Nice? The Falmouth Falcon's Human Bludger is nice?"
"He's nice to me, and that's all that matters, isn't it?"
"Valid point. He's behaving like a gentleman?"
"I suppose so. He hasn't offended me or made unwanted advances if that's what you mean."
"He's made advances then, has he?" Rastaban asked half teasing.
"No, we fell asleep talking before any moves could be made, wanted or otherwise," she primly reported with a small grin. They finished eating and continued their adventure.
By the time evening fell, Hermione had forgotten all about the events occurring in Scotland and Wiltshire. Light shopping included an appropriate dress for the ballet. Rabastan goaded her into getting an emerald green satin strapless sheath dress. Silvery gossamer chiffon flowed in two strips from her shoulders. He paid so she could wear it out of the shop. Once dressed, he popped her into a salon to have her hair put up in a stylish bun. Diamonds alternating with emeralds formed the pattern for her choker, earrings, and bracelet. The full-service salon applied a light layer of makeup before letting her go.
Rabastan allowed her to take her time admiring the outer facade of the building. She watched a few tourist children frolic in the marble floor fountain, shrieking their delight when the jets squirted them. The gravel-lined geometrical designs on the upper stores were very of their time. She looked over to point out a design to Rabastan and noticed him looking around, searching, "Bas, what...?" Then she saw him, standing with his back to them, also scanning the crowd. "Bas, why is Marcus Flint here?" her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"You fancy him. Your face lit up when you mentioned him. He fancies you enough to drop everything and come to Luxembourg to accompany you to the ballet. Because taking your niece to Fortune's Fountain is only okay at the matinee and if your niece is eight, not eighteen."
"You know you aren't really my uncle, right?"
"Sure, sure. Now, hush, I want to enjoy his first glimpse of you in something fancier than what you study in."
"He saw me at Yule Ball." She rolled her eyes.
"That was four years ago, you've finished growing up. Shhh," he raised his voice, "Oi, Flint."
Hermione felt her heart stutter and butterflies whirl about her stomach as Marcus turned around. Six years ago if someone had told her Marcus Flint was fit she would have laughed her head off. But separate the eyebrows, straighten the teeth, mix in broad shoulders, and a muscled physique and the man was a demigod. Once his eyes found her, he paused, staring, his mouth hanging slightly open. She fought not to blush as his eyes roamed over her figure taking her appearance in. The dress clung tight in the right places and flared out leaving others to the imagination. It was by far the most form-fitting thing anyone in the wizarding world had seen her in. Completely ignoring Rabastan, Marcus strode forward, taking Hermione's hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. "You look breathtaking." He handed her a white rose tied with a silver ribbon.
"Thank you. You look wonderful, too."
Rabastan grinned, "Well, no need for me anymore." He handed over the tickets. "You'll need these. Have her home by 3 am." Marcus nodded his understanding without looking away from Hermione. "Have fun, little witch."
Hermione jerked her gaze from Marcus's, "Thank you, Bas, for all of today." Impulsively she hugged him tightly.
"Give us a chance to be good to you, sweetheart. You won't be sorry," he whispered hugging her back. "We can be like family." Then louder, "Right, I'm off for bar fronts far seedier." He shoved his hands in his front pockets and wandered off whistling.
Hermione smiled at Marcus, "I hope you didn't have more pressing plans than this."
"Nothing I didn't happily cancel. Though be honest, I would cancel anything short of work for you." She gave him a mock glare, though secretly felt pleased with his confession. He offered her his arm, "The ballet awaits."
"Do you even like ballet?"
"Never been, but I get to spend the evening with you. Better yet, I get to watch you enjoy the ballet, even if I hate it, instead of standing around watching people fawn over graduates, most of which I barely know." He ended the conversation by guiding her to the magical entrance.
A well-dressed usher led them to their seats. The program proudly proclaimed the dance troupe to be the Luxembourg Premier Ballet Company. Having read the story in the book Dumbledore left her, Hermione easily followed the tale of the three witches and the muggle knight. At the intermission, Marcus assisted her to stand and move about. "So? Enjoying yourself?" he asked.
"Immensely, you?"
He shrugged, "Not too bad. I enjoy any time I spend with you. Is this different from muggle performances?"
"Of course, there are limitations on muggle theater due to a lack of magic, things they could never show through practical effects." He offered her his hand to help her retake her seat. She remained holding it through the second half of the performance.
After the performance, Marcus revealed he had stopped to make reservations for dinner in the magical area. Though he admitted, "Lestrange suggested a restaurant. I hope you like Mediterranean cuisine."
"I do." Later she couldn't recall a single thing she ate or much about the restaurant's decor. She learned Marcus spoke German, but only because he had to order for her when the waiter didn't know French or English. Most of her attention focused on the conversation between the two of them. She couldn't remember the last time she had been able to talk to someone without awkward pauses in the conversation, or having to resort to quidditch. Though, as he played professionally they did discuss that aspect of his life.
"I'm hoping to make the English team next time, provided the war stays in a stalemate or ends by then."
"Can I ask why your father is so against your career? Most men would kill for their son to be a professional athlete."
"My father would never admit it in so many words, but he is a social climber. He wants to break into the Dark Lord's Inner Circle, and into society in general. Shrewd investments helped him make a small fortune into an immense one, but," he frowned.
"Old money looks down on New money. Same thing happens with muggles the world over. Whoever has the wealth and power wants to keep it, and doesn't like share it with new people."
"Yeah. And younger men, like Malfoy and Nott are being fully initiated, and his sons are not."
"I know Malfoy was in 6th year as kind of like a punishment, but why Nott?"
"His father is older than the rest of ours. He went to school with the Dark Lord. The rest of their generation will be waiting for a bit. The Dark Lord staggers these things."
"Ah. And you can't get marked because the quidditch league doesn't allow body modification at this time?"
"Correct. And my brother hasn't been around much lately."
"Oh?"
"My two older sisters, Cressida and Esme wanted to go husband hunting on the Continent. My older brother, Malcolm, had to accompany them because I can't take off that much time."
"How long have they been gone?" she inquired.
"This time? Seven months. This is their third trip."
"And this is part of what is keeping Malcolm from being marked?"
"I think so, but he does minor recruitment throughout Europe," Marcus told her.
"Does that appease your father?"
"Nothing appeases Merrick Flint."
"That's unfortunate." Hermione grimaced and changed the subject away from families, not wishing for him to return the interest at the moment.
Hesitant to end the evening, Marcus suggested a stroll along the cobblestone streets of the Old Quarter towards Adolphe Bridge. "Ready to face the other graduates?"
"Hell no. If left to my own devices I wouldn't see them for at least another five years." She sighed, "But somehow that doesn't seem to be an option."
"No, it doesn't. Draco is popular and likes to hold court at home, so that's where they'll flock. I know most of them will be told of the new status quo and warned to behave either this evening or tomorrow morning."
"Don't hex Granger, don't assault Granger, don't intentionally harm Granger," she huffed in a deep gruff fake voice.
"Something along those lines." He paused, sliding his hand into a more comfortable grip in hers. "My friends have mentioned wanting to meet you again." He squeezed her hand, "Probably because I won't shut up about you."
"Which friends?" she asked cautiously.
"Peregrine Bole, Cassius Warrington, Graham Montague, and Adrian Pucey, like most Slytherins they know of you, but not the real you. And Rabastan made sure to ask me about taking you to the ballet in front of Bole and Pucey. Those gossips need details and I refuse to face them alone. Come hang out tomorrow? Around seven?" He gave her a hopeful glance.
"Okay," she agreed reluctantly. "Geez, who knew you looked so cute when you beg."
"I'm going to overlook the accusation of begging for the more important development that you think I'm fit."
"I said cute."
"Which means fit," he smirked.
"More like I find you adorable, like a bunny or a puppy."
"Avoidance of the subject seems like a confession," he teased.
She huffed, "Look, I don't have a lot of experience with this kind of thing. The first guy to see me as a girl was older than me and felt it was inappropriate to flirt too much or be too physical. And the second wasn't interested in me primarily. I was an accessory. Or maybe it was to keep me invested in the mission, I don't know anymore."
"I'm really confused."
"It doesn't matter right now. What does is that I don't want to play coy games. If you're not interested I want to know. If you are trying to gauge my interest before admitting yours, then fine, I'm interested enough to make an effort with you." She looked past him over his shoulder. "But I'm not the best at flirting. Or other stuff."
He shifted several times trying to get her to look at him. Finally, he took hold of her chin to keep her face still. "Hermione, reconnecting with you has confirmed all the ideas I had about you. You are brilliantly intelligent, brave, kind, and pretty. I also suspect you can be feisty, vengeful, and dangerous when you want to be." He maintained eye contact as he kissed the back of her hand, then her palm, finishing with a soft kiss on her inner wrist. "I suspect, that much like the Bulgarian Bonbon, a younger witch caught my attention at a young age when I couldn't have her. Happily, for me, we are now both adults and I can act on it." Slowly, giving her time to disengage, or halt his movements, he pulled her closer. Tilting her chin up, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.
In response, she placed her hands on his biceps and parted her lips to deepen the kiss. Marcus grasped her waist with both hands and pulled her closer. Tiny fireworks exploded in her veins. Ron had never kissed her like this. Eagerly, she slid her tongue against his lips. In turn, Marcus darted his own forward to explore her mouth. They stood in a snogging embrace on the bridge until a dog barking interrupted them. An elderly man walking his dog looked amused as his dog stopped barking at the low flying birds to sniff their shoes. "Excusez-moi. Torrence, allons-y."
Hermione blushed and looked at the paving stones below their feet. Marcus exhaled, "I would apologize for allowing that to go so far in public, but I find myself not the least bit regretful at the moment," he told her. "But if we wish to continue, may I suggest a more private location?"
"Like where?"
"Flint Lodge has a vast hedge maze, would you like to see it, Miss Granger?" he grinned down at her.
She smiled, "Why, yes, I believe I would, Mr. Flint." She slid her hand up to his elbow, holding on.
"We'll have to floo back," he admitted sheepishly.
"Nonsense," she let go long enough to reach into her bag. "I stole Bas's portkey when he hugged me." She took his hand holding the portkey between them. "Portus." They dropped into the entryway of Lestrange Hall. "Now you can apparate us."
"As the lovely lady commands," he smirked before popping them into the center of the hedge maze. In the middle of the square-shaped open area, a fountain shot water up into the air, before it cascaded down four levels. Benches surrounded it. The towering hedge walls were covered with flowering vines and rose bushes woven in. In the distance night, insects sang, and an owl hooted. The full moon illuminated the entire area.
Hermione took a slow step forward, turning to take it all in, "Simply gorgeous."
"Would it be cliche to say, yes you are?" Marcus wrapped his arms around her from behind and pulled her back against his chest.
"Yes."
"Hmm," he nibbled gently on the shell of her ear, "that's too bad because you are." He walked backwards to a bench, then pulled her into her lap. "You also taste delicious." He began pressing kisses back up to her ear. A moan escaped her lips as he moved to the other
side and repeated the process. She sagged against him and felt the substantial evidence he felt as affected as she did.
Realizing her position, he shifted her to perch on one leg. She tilted her upper body towards him and captured his lips with hers. Unlike the tender embrace on the bridge, they battled for dominance. She dug her hands into his hair as he moved one of his hands to the back of her neck, and the other to the small of her back. He growled when she raked her fingernails across his scalp and scooted her arse closer to his groin. He increase the intensity of his kiss before pulling back, "Okay, got to stop."
"What?" she felt confused at his sudden rejection. "Why?"
He groaned at her disheveled appearance. "One, you aren't some tarted-up slag or fan. You are a lady and will be treated as such. Two, we are not going to get caught up in the moment and have sex out here. At least not our first time together. And if we don't stop, I'm going to want to get carried away. Three, I don't want to pressure you to get carried away, even unconsciously. Four, when we get there I want to take my time and make sure you feel worshiped. And, five, Rodolphus Lestrange may not actually be your father or have any kind of responsibility for you, but he certainly doesn't act like he isn't. And if I return you looking any more disheveled than you already do they will never find my body. And my death will be prolonged and extremely painful."
"Most of those were legitimate concerns," she conceded. He stared at her. "I won't be seeing Lestrange this evening. I'll be flooing straight to my room." She slid onto the stone bench. "But, I respect your wishes, and will behave myself, too."
"Thank you," he nodded at her, "We should get you home."
"Malfoy Manor isn't home, but I understand the sentiment. Walk me through the maze?"
He laughed, "The maze covers five acres."
"Another time then," she laughed.
"Don't forget, seven tomorrow. Do you want me to collect you?"
"I want to say no, that I'm brave enough to walk in by myself, but I don't think I am."
"You could floo over early, say six, then you're already here. No entrances required."
"That sounds brilliant!" she kissed his cheek. "Six it is."
"Will you be apparating back to the Manor, or do you want me to pop you up to my floo?"
"Your floo, please."
"As my lady commands." He stood and offered her his hand.
"I said please," she protested, "that makes it a request, not a command." He chuckled and pulled her close before apparating.
In the sitting room of his suite, he kissed the inside of her wrist, "Good night, Marcus. Thank you for a wonderful evening, and an even better night."