I can't contain myself, I have to post this chapter today as well. Let me tell you, you haven't begun to see sparks. And why is Lucius so obsessed with Hermione's birth? Is he really that racist (possibly), or does he have other motives? And why does Hermione keep talking to the blasted man at all outside of the office? Surely she wants nothing to do with him, doesn't she? Kudos to Silent Lioness and roseberrygirl for the quick reviews, thank you! Here it is, another chapter just for your quick keyboards! Keep reading...(and reviewing!)
The decision to send out the owls notifying of potential matches on a Sunday was designed to keep people from erupting in a boil of emotions at their workplace, but also not give them enough time to get worked up or melancholic at home before they had to report to their workplaces the next day. It had been Kingsley's brain child, and given the sensitive nature of the deliveries they opted to use Ministry owls and charmed scrolls that were keyed to each addressee's magical signatures. The whole process was cumbersome but the most elegant and appropriate one under the circumstances. The sight of the owls taking flight en masse from the Ministry would have been a beautiful sight to behold, had not Kingsley known what news they contained. There were many shocks which the Wizarding world had withstood in the past three decades, but Kingsley wondered if this was the final crushing blow. Not for the first time he felt himself feeling a great deal of empathy for Albus Dumbledore, for surely this is what he had felt overseeing the resistance to Voldemort.
The genetic analysis had been a very complicated piece of work, and the nature of the gene's placement and potential for allele swapping had cut down the possible matches rather than enhance them. Some wizards and witches were being told they would have to wait and see if a potential match showed up in the next few years as underage wizards and witches reached marriageable age. Others were greeted with the news that their chosen spouses were residents of St. Mungo's permanently disabled ward, or were so old as to have been presumed to be incapable of siring or bearing children until tests had proven otherwise. Potions companies were already hard at work increasing their stocks of lust potions in anticipation of increased demand. Very, very few couples that had petitioned to be allowed to marry the partner of their choosing had proven to be matches. It was, in short, a day of total agony for those who had been spared the shock of non-magical children. Now, to obtain magical children, they would be forced into arranged marriages to spouses that were unknown at best and completely undesirable at worst. The lucky, lucky few who had more than one match would have the luxury of choice.
The tawny owl that delivered Lucius' parchment was a typical specimen of the species, but Lucius didn't care about the scroll tied around its leg. He retrieved it and sent the owl off with a rasher from the breakfast table. Ordinarily he didn't give a damn about treating a Ministry owl, but this owl would likely be hexed more than once today and it seemed right that at least one wizard thanked it for its thankless work. He did not need to read the scroll to know what it said, but he broke the seal and unrolled it anyway.
His slip of paper had only one name. Hermione Granger. He swirled his glass of firewhiskey and took another swallow. That was not the worst part. Lucius had resigned himself to that quite quickly, all things considered. No, the worst part was that Hermione had a quite a few enemies who were determined to eliminate the source of the trouble, so to speak, and another match who was totally unprepared for the job of defending her.
Lucius took a long swallow of the liquor, the burn pleasant compared to the burn of his thoughts. Now the game was on. The other player in this game was now aware that there was a game being played, and Lucius had already moved halfway across the board. He felt absolutely no compunction, no guilt…because he had no intention of letting Hermione Granger slip through his fingers.
Hermione stretched her neck and yawned. Last night she had only allowed herself one butterbeer after the glass of wine, and Harry had stopped drinking entirely after their tête-a-tête with Lucius Malfoy. Ginny had accepted Harry's refusal to talk about it with good grace, but surprisingly it had been Lavender who reminded Ron that everyone was entitled to their private arguments when he had been intent on forcing the issue.
"It's none of our business, Ron. I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate it if Hermione attempted to foist her way into an ongoing problem with Underwood, so leave it alone."
Hermione could have kissed her former roommate, but settled for a warm smile. "Thanks, Lavender."
Now, as she looked at the start of D-Day, as she had privately called it, she hoped that she would not be too shocked with the contents of her slip. Such a small thing, to hold such power over a person. It proved her assertion that Wizards were not as immune to fate as they liked to believe. Her residence being close to the Ministry, the owl arrived quite soon. She had not even finished her first cup of tea. Her hand was steady, of course, as she reached for the parchment, then handed the owl a treat from the bowl before it flew off through the window. A short-eared owl, she noticed absentmindedly, before taking a deep breath and breaking the seal on the parchment.
Neville Longbottom
Lucius Malfoy
Her teacup crashed to the floor as the characters made sense in her brain. Oh my God.
Hermione had done many things after her brain had resumed its normal functions. She had thought about Floo calling Ginny. She had thought about Floo calling Neville. She had NOT thought about Floo calling Lucius. In the end she had done none of those. For all she knew, Neville had multiple matches as well. As for Lucius…well, she doubted it. It explained his behavior of the past few days, nothing else did.
What she had done was block her Floo. Frankly, she didn't want to talk to anyone. Think, think, think…
"Oh bloody hell! I don't want to think about it anymore!"
It did not matter that she was shouting at herself. It felt good to shout, to scream at the permutations and confidence intervals. Finally she gripped the edge of her kitchen table, nearly hysterical with the bout of laughter that seized her. She knew why the situation was so funny.
"Oh, that is good." Hermione wiped the tears from her eyes, then resolved to share the joke with the only person who would understand it. It took her a few minutes to get herself dressed. She took the extra few minutes required to tame her hair into a semblance of calm, the sleek chignon the antithesis of the roil of emotions in her gut. She walked over to the fireplace and calmly unblocked the Floo, wandlessly dismissing an incoming call. Grabbing a handful of Floo powder, she called out distinctly, "Malfoy Manor," and stepped into the flames.
The whoosh of the fireplace in his study caused Lucius to straighten; his face a polite mask as he turned to greet her. He had anticipated that the Gryffindor in her would demand a confrontation once she put the pieces together.
"Hermione, welcome." Further words were pointless, as they both knew why she was there.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Hermione said furiously, her shoulders shaking with rage.
"Tell you what, my dear? Why I have just found out, Miss Granger! Surely you don't mean to imply that I broke the wards set by the MLE on the slips, do you?"
"I don't care how you did it. I just want to know: how many matches does Neville have?"
"I'm afraid I have not the pleasure of understanding what you mean," Lucius said, gesturing to a chair as if polite discourse were possible. Hermione ground her teeth and ignored him.
"This is why you followed me. You don't give a damn about my safety, except I am your only match! You know that the Ministry will keep retesting until they find a match for you, and rather than deal with an unknown quantity, for whatever despicable reason you've decided that I'll do if you must remarry!"
"Reasons, Miss Granger." He drawled the plural with a sibilant hiss. "Perhaps you've confused me with some ignorant Hufflepuff…a dangerous mistake from the woman who will be my wife."
"I'd sooner marry Neville than marry you!" Hermione spat. "I'd send him the owl right now, but I wanted to confront you to your face before I did it!"
Lucius drew closer, resembling the snake of his former House in his mannerisms and the cold glint in his eyes. "And what if Mr. Longbottom has multiple matches? What if he chooses other than you, Miss Granger? You only have two choices, and one of them will be your husband. But that isn't all, is it? You, the insufferable know-it-all of Gryffindor House, you have already realized that; it's why you're here now. You are wondering if it is possible to win that lottery, if the dominoes will fall just so in order that you may escape me and marry that noble but thick herbologist and carve some semblance of a life for yourself. Is it possible, Granger, that of the few who have multiple matches, yours will synchronize so perfectly as to allow you to leave an eligible wizard single?"
Hermione clenched her fists and took a deep breath, every single one of Lucius' words like a sharp echo of what she had already asked herself in the privacy of her own flat.
"Yes, you've already leapt there—brava, Hermione! But you fail to realize exactly how determined the Ministry is to ensure that as many fertile pairs are bonded as possible. Firewhiskey?" Lucius wandlessly summoned the decanter and two glasses, holding one up in question to her.
Hermione stammered, "What? No!" to which Lucius replied, "Suit yourself," before pouring himself a generous portion and taking a swig.
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked slowly, turning to keep a wary eye on Lucius as he prowled around her, sizing her up in a manner that once again reminded her of a panther.
"So noble and naïve," Lucius taunted. "Did you honestly think the Ministry would give you all a choice? Stupid girl! They've already run all the permutations, and they already know exactly how to maximize the number of marriages. The sham of choice is just that—a sham! Those who choose incorrectly will be quietly visited by the Ministry and made to see reason, with a few targeted Obliviates as necessary to ensure the narrative unfolds just as it should. I assure you, the Unspeakables are all too ready to accomplish the task of persuading those unfortunate wizards and witches who don't fall in line with the preferred matches."
Hermione's head was reeling, and Lucius could read the shock on her face, although she was struggling to maintain a brave face to him. He pressed his advantage, sending the glass across the room with a shot and grabbing her at the waist, half of his body pressed into hers. She met his intense stare with a loathful one of her own, and Lucius chuckled darkly.
"I'll take my chances," she said steelily, and Lucius pulled her flush against him, his eyes flashing with anger of his own.
"No, I don't think you will. You see, if I must remarry, I have decided that my additional children should have the best possible genes to carry on the Malfoy name. And who better than the brightest witch of her age? I could do much, much worse, Miss Granger, and as you know, I am only accustomed to the best."
With that, he crushed his lips to hers, and Hermione found that he was quite immovable, the push of her hands against his chest utterly useless. She was about to use her wand when he removed it using wandless and wordless magic, a performance that he found worthwhile enough to stop kissing her lips long enough to taunt her.
"There are many things you don't know about me, Miss Granger, but I can you promise you, you will find them out over the course of what I plan to be a very long and fruitful union."
"You detestable—" Hermione started hotly, but he attacked her mouth again, his lips slanting expertly over hers, teasing hers while his tongue made hay of the opportunity of her open mouth. Hermione tried to speak but her tongue was tangled in his, and she tried to push it from her mouth with her own. Somehow, though, the signal got mixed up in her brain, and their tongues began a sensual game of strokes and counter-strokes, their lips matching the game with undulations and twists that sent Hermione's body temperature through the roof and her hands around his neck and through his silky hair. Dimly she was aware of the feel of magic spontaneously shedding from her body, and through her lashes saw the white flash. Lucius groaned into her mouth and she felt his arousal pressing into her belly. It finally gave her the willpower she needed to break the kiss with a gasp, her panic evident over the turn of events. Her brain seized on the last piece of information that could put a stop to this, and she breathily but stubbornly asked, "Who is Neville's other match?"
Lucius actually growled at her, his quicksilver eyes flashing dangerously with lust and possessiveness. "It doesn't make a damn bit of difference, because you will be marrying me."
"Poppa! Poppa!"
"Father, I…" Draco strolled in to the room, Scorpius hard on his heels.
Lucius let go of Hermione abruptly and crouched down as the toddler launched himself into his arms. "Hello, little love," he crooned as Draco smirked at Hermione.
"Well, I was going to ask who I get to call 'Mummy', but I can see the answer in the flesh. Tell me, Granger, does this satisfy any little fantasies from school days?"
"Sod off, Malfoy," Hermione bit out quietly, her mind assailed by a conflicting mass of emotions. "I have more than one match, so nothing is fixed."
Lucius appeared to be ignoring them as he focused on Scorpius' babbling, but Hermione knew he was probably picking up every word. Draco merely grinned more broadly and replied, "I think you should know that what a Malfoy wants, a Malfoy gets…and to my eyes, it looks to me like my father very much wants you, Granger."
"That's it, I'm going home," Hermione said, then turned to walk to the fireplace before she remembered that Lucius still had her wand. She turned back to meet Lucius' mocking eyes, and he gently pushed the toddler from his arms. Scorpius seemed to notice her for the first time, his eyes studying her curiously.
"Who are you?"
Lucius drew to his feet and led Scorpius over to Hermione. "This is Hermione, Scorpius. You'll be getting to know her quite well in the future."
"How does a gentleman meet a lady?" Draco prompted, his arms crossed across his chest. This was going to be highly entertaining.
Scorpius pulled himself to his full, tiny height, then bowed. His babyish posture and chubby cheeks rendered it a charming picture, and Hermione could not help smiling at him.
"And I am pleased to meet you as well, Scorpius," Hermione bent down to shake his hand, then straightened and flushed. "My wand, please."
Draco snorted and Lucius shot his son a reproachful look, though his eyes were mirthful. "Sure you won't stay for breakfast?"
"No thank you." Hermione was clearly at the end of her patience, and Lucius relented and proferred her wand, giving it an experimental flick before flipping it around toward her. "It suits you."
The flicker of sparks from the tip of her own wand in Lucius Malfoy's hand was almost more intimate than their kisses. Drawing a breath, she turned back to the Floo and vanished quickly in a flash of green after stating her destination quietly.
"Well, that was interesting," Draco said, ignoring Scorpius pulling at his trousers. "How long have you known she was your match?"
"Weeks," Lucius said absentmindedly. "Naturally, she was too honest to look herself."
"Naturally. Who else is she matched with?" Draco asked, studying his father's pensive profile.
"Longbottom," he looked at Draco and stopped him before he could say a word. "It doesn't matter now. We've completed the third step of the courtship ritual. She will be marrying me, whether she realizes it or not."
"Worked fast, haven't you?"
Draco was unsurprised by his father's decision. After all, if he had to remarry, it had better be the best—and he grudgingly admitted that Granger was, indeed, the best. Draco picked up Scorpius who was getting quite insistent for some attention, and transfigured a paper clip into a small ball for him to play with.
"She knows nothing of our world—how connections snarl or propel individuals and families to the heights of success or nadirs of despair. She has no idea how much she has to learn. It's almost unfathomable, the amount of ignorance." Lucius' tone was pensive, and Draco wondered exactly what sorts of thoughts were chasing each other in his father's head.
"Yet you are capable of teaching her, aren't you? It's a problem that all Muggle-borns face. There aren't any books that fully capture the intricacies of wizarding etiquette, and not enough time in school to make a dint, much to Granger's dismay. And she is certainly quick enough to learn fast."
"It's all irrelevant if I cannot protect her from the hell she's unleashed. I haven't even been able to pinpoint the scope of the problem," Lucius said grimly, then met Draco's eyes. "I believe it has spread beyond our borders."
They were both thinking of the French side of the family. "You know we will help you as much as possible," Draco said quietly, and Lucius smiled at his son.
"I know." He turned his attention back to his grandson, who had indeed lost interest in the ball and was now tugging at his grandfather's leg in the hopes of some attention. "Now, little one, how about a spin on my broom before breakfast?"
