CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: A WEDDING AND AN OFFICE
It was with no small amount of anxiety that Hermione found herself attending the wedding of Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass at Malfoy Manor the following year. She'd been back and forth about it in her head, over and over, nearly a hundred times. She was fairly certain her obsessive anxieties were eventually going to kill her. Her friends had very little to say about it that she found acceptable.
"I'm pretty sure they invited everyone," a very pregnant Luna had said to her when Hermione was trying to suss out the truth using reason. "And wear the yellow."
She did wear the yellow, because at least she trusted that part of Luna's advice, and as she ported to the pristine gates of Malfoy Manor, she realized that it was a truly beautiful day. Too bad she had to spend it in such a terrible place.
She almost hadn't come. She didn't want to remember darker days, and she still held an intense loathing, of course, for all the Malfoys and especially for the awful Manor, for everything that they did to her, or everything they didn't do, namely: they didn't stop Bellatrix. It made her sick just thinking about it.
The problem was her curiosity, and though she was loath to admit it even to herself, her curiosity surrounded Lucius Malfoy. There was something strange about him, in what she was afraid was a very interesting way. He seemed so ridiculously reformed she felt like she simply had to know what had happened, and if it were true. If it was all a farce she must know. If it wasn't, she also had to know.
He'd only spoken to her a few times since that day in her office, and he was always cordial. Pleasant. But sad. Why was he sad?
In the mean-time he seemed rather tireless about his work at the Ministry, and seemed to have been working to burnish his reputation to as much of a brilliant shine as could be done for a former collaborator with the Lord of Darkness. It was this juxtaposition that she couldn't bring herself to trust. There had to be a catch somewhere.
On top of that she wanted to call herself a complete idiot for devoting so much time to considering whatever it was Lucius Malfoy was up to. Or considering to whatever Lucius Malfoy was up… or considering up whatever to Lucius Malfoy was… oh, she didn't know anymore.
The gates were beautiful, more than she'd imagined they could be. She hadn't seen them since that horrible night, but to avoid any kind of post-trauma stress to emerge, she merely pretended they were some other gates, from a different place and maybe even a different time. They were already open as the wizarding world in finery streamed in to celebrate the marriage of wizarding royalty… like they always did and seemed like they always would.
She was fine, this was fine. It was all going to be fine.
As she stepped on the path stones, she felt a creeping sense of deja-vu, as if there were something of which to be cautious, as if there were a ward that might harm her, as if the gardens around her were, at some time, or in some time to be, derelict and ruined.
The memory so startled her that disorientation gripped her for a few panicked moments. She leaned on a pristine white column, not derelict at all, and drew a breath.
Oh, dear Merlin, was she developing The Eye now, of all times? Why couldn't it have been during Divinations class when she actually needed it?
Luckily, she didn't have to go into the manor itself since the wedding was being held outside in the lovely springtime grounds. White chairs were set up in rows, servants were busting about, white tulle and flowers were everywhere. Though she knew in passing most of the people here, she only knew them in passing. It wasn't enough to sit with anyone or start a conversation that would be anything but painfully awkward. She wished for Luna and took a lonely seat in what she hoped was an incognito place and decided that, on this day, she would observe many things. Maybe she would find out some answers, too.
The ceremony itself was fine. She supposed it was as elaborate as wizarding money could buy; with extra flourishes like synchronized fairy dances and day-time exploding fire-dragons. Draco seemed just as annoying as she remembered, but happy enough to be marrying Astoria, who Hermione really didn't know much about at all. Lucius Malfoy acted normal, like a normal parent of a child getting married. She didn't know what she'd expected to observe, as this was a very predictable sort of occasion. Maybe she needed to start rethinking her methods of observation if she wanted to find out anything interesting.
She did find it very curious that Narcissa wasn't there. Sure, they'd split and all, but she should still come to her son's wedding, shouldn't she? Hermione found that very odd and argued silently with herself whether she should investigate, and if so, how much. Narcissa did leave the country rather quickly, and no one had ever heard from her since… was it possible Mr. Malfoy had her offed? What a terrible thing to think! But… these were the Malfoys, after all.
Hermione eyed Mr. Malfoy a little differently after that speculation.
After the ceremony, she was lucky enough to find Luna, who was wearing pastel fluff and standing next to an exceedingly happy Neville. They were probably recalling their own wedding the year before. It was nice. Not as nice as this one, of course, but nice in its own way. She was happy for them, although she didn't have time for that sort of thing. Not yet, anyway. Eventually.
"Are you alright, Hermione?" asked Luna.
"Of course," said Hermione. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Well, she was worried because, you know," said Neville cautiously, "This place might have… bad memories."
"Oh," said Hermione, suddenly reminded of bad memories.
"Sorry," said Neville with a flinch.
"No," said Hermione, "It hasn't been too bad. I might have had a problem if we'd had to go inside."
She and Luna shuddered at the thought.
The reception food was fantastic, she had to hand it to the Malfoys, they knew a good caterer. Or house elves… she glanced around for short service, but didn't see any. She decided to withhold judgment and was dragged by Luna to stand in the stupid reception line to politely congratulate the idiotic ferret and his fairly harmless-looking new wife.
"Did you know that Draco apologized to me personally for everything that happened in Malfoy Manor all those years ago?" Luna asked Hermione.
"Funny, he never apologized to me," said Hermione.
"Maybe he never got around to it," said Luna.
"Ha," said Hermione.
"Maybe he was afraid of you," said Luna belying her innate wisdom.
"Whatever," said Hermione. "Nobody's afraid of me."
"Ha," said Luna, and their turn came with the royal family.
"Congratulations, how lovely you look," said Hermione to Astoria, who accepted graciously.
"Ah, Hermione," said Draco.
"And how lovely you look, too," Hermione assured Draco, giving him her most generous hand-shake and wryest smile. He smirked. She wanted to roll her eyes so very badly but she fought the good fight.
"Thank you for coming," he said blandly. They both deserved Academy Awards.
"Indeed," said Mr. Malfoy, who was next. "I did not expect you to come."
When she looked at Lucius, she found his attention fully engaged upon her and she was suddenly drenched by a bucket of awkwardness. Why should he notice if she should come or not, or care, or take such a personal interest in her attendance? Was he even doing so? Does he say this sort of thing to all the guests?
She glanced aside and said in her defense: "Why should I not come? It is the event of the season, after all."
"I should think the event of the season is the ministry's spring ball," replied Lucius.
Why was he arguing about this? She had just remarked, although perhaps cynically, on his predictable Malfoy supremacy!
"You would prefer the ministry's spring ball to the wedding of your own son?" she asked him incredulously.
He almost-shrugged in the way of the noblesse and said, "Mn, it depends upon who's there, I suppose."
"Father!" an eavesdropping Draco exclaimed.
And then Lucius gave her a secret smile that said he was making a joke and he recognized her intelligence and he was funny and she could only stare in the solar flare of non-comprehension. Oh, she got the joke. She just didn't get the vessel from which it sprung.
He held out a hand for her to shake, and she took it.
"We're holding up the line," he said to her.
"Oh no!" she said as she glanced around, embarrassed for holding up the line and also for holding up the line due to talking to Lucius Malfoy, but when she tried to move on she found herself held fast by something: her hand was still in his! She looked back up at him for explanation.
"May I come to your office on Monday morning?" he asked very politely.
"Yes," she said, and then added: "If you must."
She extricated herself from the situation as quickly as possible.
"That was interesting," said Luna, as they walked away, away, so very away. Hermione couldn't get to the gates fast enough.
"That was weird," said Hermione, a little breathless. This whole day had been weird. Malfoy Manor was just weird, period.
"I'm getting a feeling," said Luna.
"Mercy, Luna, don't tell me what it is," said Hermione, stressed.
When she reached the gate it swung out before she could touch it, as if to let her go as she wished.
-ooOOoo—
Monday morning came with dread and suffering. Her sleep had been poor for no reason, really, but no, for many reasons because she was being slowly eaten alive by the curiosity of why Mr. Malfoy wanted to see her this morning in her office. Also she was wondering if he was going to murder her like he probably mostly certainly might have murdered Narcissa Black. She was being decidedly stupid and unprofessional so she went to work on professionalizing herself as much as she could before whenever it was he was going to come calling.
"It's nothing, it's nothing," she muttered to herself, shuffling through books behind her desk, and attempting to occupy herself with something useful, at least.
There was a sudden knock at her door and she yelped and flail-dropped three books before she could stop herself.
Deep breath.
"Come in," she said with serenity, pretending to read something.
"I didn't surprise you, did I?" asked Mr. Malfoy as he stood in the opened doorway. He was wearing smart black robes with blue trim, but the blue made her wonder how often he might wear such a color, with a white shirt under that set off his complexion, and a ring, and… augh, why was she looking at his clothes?
"Yes, no," she said. "No. Of course I expected you, Mr. Malfoy."
"Good morning, Miss Granger."
"Good morning."
"May I have a seat?"
"Please, Mr. Malfoy."
"I suppose you're wondering why I've come," he said.
"It might have crossed my mind," she replied, aloof.
"I'm going to ask you again if you've considered going into politics," he said.
She had, but wasn't about to admit it.
"Why?"
His chair gave a wooden creak as he leaned forward to fold his arms on her desk.
"Because I believe you should," he said.
She found herself pulling away, leaning on her chair, the juxtapose for his aggression.
"That's a rather bold statement coming from Lucius Malfoy towards the person of Hermione Granger," she replied.
He stayed silent, waiting for more.
"Let's say you're right, and I'm excellent at politics, and I become extremely successful at it. Doesn't that go against everything you stand for and care about and so on and so forth? Doesn't my blood status mean I'm inferior regardless of what I do?"
"No," he said.
She slapped the desk and stood, hovering over him.
"Yes, it does! Everything you have ever done has told me that! In fact, I think you did tell me almost exactly that in Hogsmeade when you humiliated me years ago!"
He watched her, almost as if he'd been waiting for this.
"Don't pretend like you don't believe it because you do, Lucius Malfoy, and you always will!"
"Don't presume to know what I believe," he said.
"How could I not when you've made it a point to make clear what you believe over and over to me throughout my childhood!"
"We all made mistakes in the war," he said, and she felt a tinge of satisfaction in sensing that she'd touched a nerve.
"Mistakes! Is that what you call 'mistakes'? So all of the lying, the scheming, the cruelty, the torture, the murder, it was all 'mistakes'?" she asked, incredulous. "Did you make another 'mistake' when Narcissa disappeared?"
His focus sharpened and he asked, "What are you implying, Miss Granger?"
She leaned in and said, "Funny how she didn't even come to her son's wedding."
Lucius shot up and she became overpoweringly aware of his height in an instant.
"You know nothing of that which you speak," was his careful, threatening, calm response.
Alright, maybe, maybe she miscalculated the whole Lucius-murdering-Narcissa thing. She felt a moment of relief that her desk was between them.
"Then where did she go?" asked Hermione, willing to cede, but only sideways.
"She went where it was reported she went. To France. To live out her days as she will. Without us."
"To never see either of you again?" asked Hermione.
"Trust me, she doesn't mind," said Mr. Malfoy.
"Ha! Trust you!"
"It's a figure of speech!"
"And yet it inspires hilarity," rejoined Hermione.
He gave a short, exasperated sort of exhale and looked away.
"Miss Granger," he said.
"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked.
"I'm going to keep trying," he said.
"Are you?" she asked.
"You can either decide now to accept my suggestion to go into politics, or you can suffer indeterminate cajoling and then finally, wearily accept my suggestion to go into politics."
"Are you saying that either way, I'm going to accept your suggestion to go into politics?"
"Yes," he replied, so very sure of himself.
"Ha!" she replied, also sure of herself.
"Then I shall see you tomorrow morning for cajoling?" he inquired.
"What makes you so sure this isn't all for naught and I'll never accept?" she asked.
"Your intellect and your insatiable curiosity, Miss Granger."
She kind of felt he was exactly right.
"Why are you so determined it be me, and not someone else?" she asked.
"I submit my previous answer, plus a half a dozen other unique traits I'd rather not list, for I suspect at this point you're only trying to pad your own ego," said Mr. Malfoy.
She leaned her hands on the desk and peered at Lucius.
"If I were to consider your suggestion, what exactly do you have in mind, Mr. Malfoy?"
Lucius Malfoy turned to her and smiled, as if he'd thought she'd been caught, as if he'd cajoled her enough, which wasn't true at all, but like he was getting what he wanted and he'd moved on to the next part of the plan. Whatever "the plan" was. He leaned on the desk, too, as if in a spirit of confidence, and he said to her this:
"Miss Granger, how would you like to be the youngest Minister of Magic in history?"