Life is strange. Sometimes what we want turns out to be the devil in disguise. But other times, it turns out perfectly. Life has a way of working itself out. Although you least expect it, the most crucial turning points happen at the most unexpected times and in the most unexpected ways. In life, always expect the unexpected.
As Hermione and Lucius walked through Diagon Alley, heads turned. Most people had to get a second glance. Who on earth could ever picture the two of them together in public? It was unthinkable! Those people had the same reaction as those inside Malfoy Manor. While Narcissa seemed bemused and trying to act unaffected, Cora's eyes practically bugged out of her head.
Their reactions were child's play compared to Draco's comical response. They passed him on the way to disapparating. The tall waify blonde held some kind of a sandwich in his hand, nibbling. When the peculiar pair appeared, the sandwich fell out of his hand and landed on the floor. He, too, couldn't believe his eyes and stood staring like a codfish.
But Hermione had, had enough of this behavior, mainly since the majority of people stared at her and not the Malfoy patriarch. They all gave her unusual looks like she was some vagabond living off the streets. She murmured, "What am I, the Hunchback of Notre Dame or something?"
Lucius chuckled. "No. But compared to me, anyone would be considered as such. You see, the unexpected has arrived, which is us, and they don't know how to cope. We will be the talk of the town for days to come. Now keep up to make good time at Gringott's."
The man sped up his step, leaving Hermione to marvel at his hubris. Really, his vanity knows no bounds. The street was crowded, and commerce was booming, but did it have to do so in her space? The witch was jostled in her haste to keep up with Lord Malfoy, who had slowed his gait on her behalf. When she reached him, he shuffled the people out of their way with his snakehead cane and held the door open at Gringotts.
Upon entering, a prominent hush fell over the room. Hermione scanned the bank floor and saw gaping mouths. "There's nothing to see here. We're just two normal, magical people walking into a bank," she announced.
Lucious turned to her and wondered, "Was that necessary? It only draws more attention."
Unphased, the witch asked, "I thought you liked attention?"
He huffed out a breath of disappointment. "I prefer respect. It lasts longer as attention is fleeting like the wind."
Of all the things she expected the man to say, that wasn't one of them. Nonetheless, the duo maintained their stance and approached one of the bank tellers. The goblin greeted Lucius with a bunch of sycophantic flattery. It made Hermione want to vomit her lunch at the display of attention, which Lucius claimed he didn't desire. Although, he seemed very comfortable accepting it. When the goblin deemed it time to recognize her, all he said was, "And Miss Granger."
It was as though she were an afterthought. Perhaps she was due to the whole "breaking into the bank thing" during the war. But surely they can let bygones be bygones, right? Although, judging by the sneer and contempt on the goblin's face as he said her name, that was wishful thinking.
Instead, the witch watched Lord Malfoy (as the bank called him) and learned a great deal. It was like watching a master musician play their instrument to the fullest degree and never waiver, not even a second. For Lucius, the tool he uses would be his extraordinary charisma and attractiveness. As the witch observed, she saw his overactive charm pour out like vats of wine filled to the brim and overflowing into buckets upon buckets. And the goblin teller soaked it up none the wiser. Hermione supposes that if charm is Lucius's tool, her mind is hers.
Ever the witting pawn, the goblins let them pass onto the bowels of the bank. On the cart, they rode further and further down to where the large vaults are housed. When it came to a complete stop, the duo exited. Hermione followed Lucius to the Malfoy vault entrance, which he opened with no problem or fanfare. There was nothing flashy or ornamental about its opening, and it left the witch bereft.
She stood there lost in thought until Lucius inquired, "Are you going to stand there all afternoon looking like one of those befuddled, spaced-out, muggle hippy types?"
Her eyes flashed to his, and she dared ask, "No. But that's it? That's how you enter your vault? I expected something more."
With arrogance, the wizard wondered, "What were you expecting- a horde of angels singing a hallelujah chorus? Or perhaps lightning flashes from all angles? Not every vault needs a show. But if you want one, we'll stop at Malfoy vault number one before leaving."
That made her world stop. "Wait... Vault number one? What vault is this? I thought we were at your only vault. I thought all wizarding families had only one be it large or small."
The man flat-out laughed. Then he stated, "There is no end to the things you don't understand. A lot of what people have told you about the wizarding world is inaccurate at best and faulty at worst. Clearly, vaults are one of those things. Any family can hold more than one vault in their possession. The more prominent Sacred Twenty-eight families have no less than five, some more. The Malfoy family has eight; this is just one of them."
Hermione did not know any of this information. Yet, her inquisitiveness needed to prod, "So if your family holds eight, how many does the Flint family own?"
Lucius scoffed. "That has been a sore spot for years. However, the Flints control ownership of ten vaults."
A gasp left her mouth. The world is full of surprises, and the witch was granted one, leaving her dumbfounded. She knew the Flints were an old family, but Hermione had never thought to ask Marcus about his wealth. It's one of several things they still need to discuss, and she never felt the need to do so. Talking about money and finances is so intrusive, so Hermione has put it off.
"I see that has astonished you much like childbirth, or so I'm told. Keep calm and let's move on, preferably into the vault," Lucius declared.
He motioned with his cane to enter. Hermione followed him inside, and she was floored. Her mouth dropped open in astonishment. Never in all her life has she seen such disarray. There is nothing but wall-to-wall golden coins and objects all over the place. It was even more profound than learning Marcus's family has ten vaults.
Unable to help it, her neat-freak abilities started kicking in. Her head turned this way, and that, taking in all the jumbled-up confusion. She told the Malfoy man, "If we sort through all the junk and clutter. You know, like organizing a messy, chaotic box of beads or buttons. Then we can send each piece to its proper place, and you'll be able to see what you have much better."
Lucius was summoning a box. When it came to him, he remarked, "I've never been one for fantasy. Dare to dream, Miss Granger, dare to dream."
She crossed her arms in annoyance but walked to where he stood. The wizard was opening an ornately carved box, and the most beautiful pristine white egg appeared. Her hand reached out to touch it but was instantly smacked away. It stung, and the witch rubbed it. "Ouch! Why'd you do that for?" she complained.
Lucius held the egg gently and portended, "Don't you know not to touch things that don't belong to you? You are standing in the middle of a thousands-year-old vault and want to handle something nearly as old. Silly witch, what would you do if this egg had a curse on it?"
Hermione's face fell. "Oh, I hadn't thought about that. Even so, it's a lovely, very plain yet eye-catching object," she acknowledged.
The wizard hummed and explained, "This is no ordinary egg. It's a Fabergé, dating back to Russian Emperor Alexander III. These remarkable creations are inseparably linked to the tragic tale of the Romanov family. Tsar Alexander III commissioned Peter Carl Fabergé to create a jeweled egg as an Easter gift for his wife, Empress Maria Feodorovna. It became a tradition of gifting an "Easter egg" each year. They were a crowning glory to the Fabergé jewelry house."
Hermione is humble enough to confess that she doesn't know everything, despite her "so-called" title. She had not heard this information before but filed it away for safekeeping. Mr. Malfoy declared, "The egg you see is no ordinary egg. Allow me to demonstrate."
The unadorned, white, enameled egg opened to reveal a solid gold casing with an equally golden yolk. It was simple but stunning and not quite finished because that too opened. The golden yolk exposed a small golden hen. "That is so cute," Hermione remarked, examining it.
Lucius shook his head and said, "Bah! Cute, she says." But to the witch's wondering eyes appeared another item. The hen likewise unfastened, and that is where the interest lies. Inside that hen rested a key, a smallish key that looked like it might unlock a desk drawer or a book. At any rate, it made Hermione want a Fabergé egg of her own. Though it may be frivolous, she has no qualms about admitting it.
After pocketing the key, Lucius sent the egg back into the box. The duo left everything else untouched, and Hermione wondered why they had come all this way for that small item. What's so necessary about it? But most essential things are rarely beautiful and never unwise. The pair returned to the cart and traveled back to the entrance. As they left the bank, the witch asked, "Where to from here?"
"The Red Dragon, of course. Now hold still," the wizard stated.
With a swish and a flourish, the man's wand transformed his companion's outfit. Hermione looked at what was once sensible clothing to see a new red lace dress with a matching, long silk bow at the neckline. It prompted her to question, "Is it a rule that all patrons must wear red at The Red Dragon?"
The man raised an eyebrow and replied, "No. Your outfit was underwhelming. Now you look as though you might belong there."
She grunted and sarcastically remarked, "Gee, thanks. Should we change my hair too?"
His icy eyes appraised it and said, "Now that you mention it." In a flash, the witch's hair was more volumized and left to fall in pretty waves.
Before Hermione could complain, the man started walking toward the smoke room. The outside of the place was as elusive as leveled hormones in a middle-aged woman, which Hermione knows all too well about, thanks to her mother. It was like the mist of Avalon and yet somehow formed an entrance. While her hand wafted through the ethereal fog, Lucius unpocketed the minuscule key and stuck it in a tiny unpronounced keyhole.
Just like that, an actual door appeared with rococo elements all over it. An elaborate building slowly appeared. It was tall and very masculine through its upscale appeal. But what was most interesting was the red and gold dragon that flew to land on the large sign hanging above the door. Its menacing eyes and oversized wings were enough to turn back unwanted visitors or false patrons. Its scrutinizing gaze made Hermione hot under the dress, and she squirmed a little.
The dragon let out a firey breath as the duo entered the establishment. Although relieved to be inside, Hermione wanted to exit to witness the mist, the door, and the dragon display again. It was a fantastic piece of magic. She took in the whole place, following Lucius to a private room.
If Sugar Vine is the witch's place to be seen, The Red Dragon is the wizard's. On one wall are towering shelves stocked with plenty of premium firewhiskey, elven wine, scotch, bourbon, and any other liquid libation a man could want. Impressive views of Diagon Alley appear in every direction, and the Club features floor-to-ceiling windows and ample indoor and outdoor seating.
A sign detailed the thirtieth floor. Who knew this place had thirty floors? Hermione didn't. But on that level is the Heritage Room, an exclusive cocktail bar where the dress code is strictly enforced. When she asked Lucius what exactly the Heritage room entails, he replied, "A massive presentation of wealth. In the center of the space sits a large glass display case filled with 800 gold bars, topped with a magical display of the constantly updated value based on the fluctuating price of the precious metal. The goblins were loathe to part with that much gold, but they allowed it under strict security measures."
He went on to illuminate other interests of the room. Mainly it's a full-scale gambling arena complete with a wizarding craps table, magical roulette, blackjack, and poker. Hermione rolled her eyes at how wizards are no different from muggles regarding gambling. But she still asked to see the gold bars, which would be worth seeing. Lucius only said, "Later."
The closer they got to the private room, the more the cigar smoke wafted into the white-pillared corners of the Club. Hermione learned that The Red Dragon is home to the largest humidor in the wizarding world. The Club is a gateway for cigar enthusiasts, who can puff without fear of retribution while sipping firewhiskey unburdened.
And heading it all is a top-rated cigar sommelier, Lorenzo Alfonsi. He's also the owner and financier of the establishment. The man's been quoted saying, "I've never smoked a cigarette, but a cigar is a different story. It's my passion."
The man, himself, popped in to greet Lucius. "Buongiorno, Mister Malfoy! It's so good to have you at The Dragon today. You will find all your favorites in the private room. I'll take you there myself. But first..."
Mr. Alfonsi, a lively man who seemed to bounce on his toes with his animated voice, greeted Hermione. "My dear Miss Granger, it is so lovely to meet you. Although we don't cater exclusively to women, you will find everything you need, including a ladies' room complete with the latest fragrances, hand creams, and such."
The witch thanked him, and the dapper, mustached gentleman escorted the pair to the private room. Hermione noted the spread of food along the back wall and a dark wooden-lacquered round table in the middle. The two sat, and drinks appeared in front of them. She picked up her glass and sniffed. It was, "A fruity mimosa! How did they know I like those?"
Lucius sniffed and stated, "It's magic, Miss Granger. Anything is possible."
Hermione shook her head at his haughtiness and sipped the drink. Just as she determined to fill a plate with the tapas and food offerings, a waif-thin man entered. He was reedy but muscular with claw-like fingernails and blotches of skin discoloration on his hands. The man sat prim and proper.
The witch knew this person was here to share information. The truth, however ugly it is in itself, is peculiar to those who desire it, much like this man sitting at the table with them. Mystery is only facts in disguise, and this person was indeed a mystery because no sooner had he sat than he withdrew his wand. Hermione's hand moved to grasp hers, but Lucius stayed it and encouraged her to observe.
When she did, the thin man's glamour came off bit by bit. And it revealed non-other than, "Maxwell Flint!" She screeched those words and seized her wand regardless of Lucius's encouragement not to do so. With the vinewood pointed at Marcus's father, she asked, "How can this be? I dueled you in the final battle. You were given the dementor's kiss! Your portrait hangs in Flint Manor. I don't understand!"
Maxwell took a sip of the beverage in front of him, after which he explained, "There are many things in life we don't understand, but perhaps you'll know a little more when I'm finished."
His dark eyes locked the witch into place, and Maxwell began his tale. "Everything you think you know is only the tip of the iceberg. Understanding is more profound than knowledge. Many things need to be considered, so we'll start with the duel. Let me say that I took no pleasure in dueling you."
Hermione snorted, but Maxwell ignored it, sort of. "You see, you're judging what you don't understand. You view me as a death eater, a hater of muggle-borns, a vile excuse for a father. But what you fail to comprehend is the work of a potent potion. When Voldemort started to rise, he gave claim to our fears regarding muggle-borns stealing magic, leaving our children squibs. The squib population was increasing in number every year."
The witch has heard this story too many times and hates it all the same. Any person who preys on fears (unfounded or not) is a nasty, foul being. But what could Maxwell say that she hasn't heard before? He said a lot that left her stupefied.
The man continued, "When some of us, like myself and Lucius, realized Voldemort was a liar dressed in nice clothing, we wanted out. He gave permission as long as we supported him financially. We didn't know that all the drinks we had been served at his parties and gatherings had been infused with a potion. The potion takes your less desirable attributes and amplifies them. So if you have anger issues, your anger will be explosive. Understand what I'm saying?"
Hermione nodded, stunned to do anything else. Lucius spoke. "The potion didn't take effect until later. It's a gradual release effect, and we didn't realize it until too late. By that time, Voldemort had amassed vast support, wealth, and influence. Not only were we under the effects of the potion, but he also cast an imperius on those of us who wanted out. We never told anyone about the brew, but we did speak out on the curse."
The witch wondered, "Why? Why didn't you tell them?"
Maxwell fielded that one. "Who would believe death eaters were under the influence of two powerful specialties? One is plausible enough, but two are unthinkable, especially when dealing with some of the more hard-nosed Order members like Moody."
That made a lot of sense to Hermione. No one would have believed it, as he said. She asked who could verify this potion and was greeted by a voice not heard in months. On the wall, a portrait appeared housing Professor Snape. His snarky drawl estimated, "I can validate it, Miss Granger. Unless you'd prefer someone else's opinion?"
Hermione told him, "No. Your opinion is more than enough, Sir. But I don't understand how you got out from under the influence, and does Cora know you're alive? And further, how is it possible to have a picture in the Flint gallery of portraits if you're not dead?"
Maxwell clarified, "No one knows I'm alive except those in this room and two others. One of the two registered the effects of the potion and the curse while detained and questioned by the authorities. I was let go under oath that I would help locate uncaptured death eaters, which I've been doing. With the help of the late Snape, this person and myself came up with the intellect to create a false portrait. It has hung in the gallery ever since, and my ancestors have played along. Which brings me to Magnum, another relative."
Before Maxwell went into information about the man, Lucius added to the conversation. "Regarding the potion, Miss Granger, you're wondering about Marcus. How was Maxwell able to treat him the way he did? I can shed some light on that because it affected me similarly to Draco. You don't want to be harsh or mean, but your negative emotions are most involved. When I felt upset or disappointed in my son, the brew would kick in, and I'd lash out more profoundly than I would have without it. Does that make sense?"
It did, and Hermione's eyes misted with a few tears. She explained, "It really affected Marcus. He thought his father hated him and wanted to be rid of him because he was a failure. He got it from all sides too. Please say you didn't truly dislike, or not want, him. And with that in mind, is he honestly the Flint heir, or will Marshall pop out and join us?"
Maxwell chuckled and admitted, "I love my children, and I'm sorry Marcus got the brunt of my emotional instability. I'm proud of what he's made of himself and who he's chosen to marry. And no, Marshall is dead. Marcus is my heir."
The lone witch in the room wasn't expecting him to welcome her into the family, but it happened. Before she could say anything, Lucius remarked, "And now it's time for us to stop being amateurs and turn into professional sleuths. There's more to uncover. Maxwell is the tip of the iceberg, as I said earlier. Adventure is calling, and to stop Magnum Flint and The Alchemist, we must visit a friend. However, it's off the grid, and we must turn off the tracking on our wands. Are you game, Miss Granger?"
Snape spoke from the portrait, "Hold on. Let her overthink this."
Hermione cut her eyes at him and declared, "I don't know if I'm ready, but I'm game. Let's go adventuring."
While the witch pondered temporary insanity and the newest wizarding trio disapparated to parts unknown, a distraught Draco entered Marcus's chateau. He came in wand a blazing and accusatory. "It's all your fiance's fault! Had she not gone frolicking with my father, none of this would have happened!"
Marcus, still recovering his emotions, had been lying on the sofa. He sat up straight and pointed his finger at Malfoy. "Now, hold it right there! Don't you dare accuse Hermione of anything, you Twat. And I had no idea your father frolicked. He doesn't look the type. Who uses that word anyway? So what are you talking about?"
Draco paced and irritatedly responded, "My mother and yours have been kidnapped. I have a note to prove it. They were taken from the Manor. My mother would still be there if Father had been there instead of who knows where with your fiance. So, yes. It is Granger's fault."
Running a hand through his hair, Marcus rose to his feet. He told Malfoy, "Stop accusing Hermione. And who's to say if old Lucius had been there, he wouldn't have been taken to or worse? So both our mothers are kidnapped, obviously by The Alchemist. Truthfully this is on your watch, but that's beside the point. There's a solution here; we track your father and Hermione. Then we can call them with a spell or my Patronus."
Draco snorted in disdain. "As if I hadn't thought of that already. I've tried tracking them, but they're unreachable."
At that moment, the floo came to life and deposited Potter and Pucey. "You will not believe what we've learned from Dolohov," Harry announced. He saw Malfoy in the room and said, "Good thing you're here. You might want to sit."
That was when Marcus launched into the information Draco supplied. When he had finished, Pucey's dry wit filled the room. "Being abducted by aliens might be the vacation Potter and I need at this point. Hold on to your hat Harry. Things just got a lot more critical."
Sex, lies, and scandal never take a vacation. And neither does evil. The players have changed, and new alliances have formed. But the game remains afoot, for now.