Oh my. I love all the reviews! Thank you, thank you! Yes, they are quite the pair, aren't they? I'm quite comfortable with the pace at which the story is unfolding, I will eventually get you all caught up to my writing pace and then you'll have to wait a bit longer between posts, but we're not quite there yet. This is feeling like quite a stretch, similar to my last fanfic-so I'm guessing I'll hit 100k words or so? I'm just running with it and am quite happy to have so many of you along for the fun! Let's see what Hermione does now, and let me know what you think is going to happen next! ;)
"Good morning, Hermione," Harry said sleepily, heading straight for the coffee pot. Hermione was seated at the kitchen table already with Ginny, a hot cup of tea in hand while Ginny charmed the cereal to stay on the tray in front of Albus. Her friend looked at her expectantly as she finished, sending four slices of bread into the toaster without a thought.
"So? Who is it?"
Ginny was sure it wasn't a good answer, given Hermione's distraught state when she arrived ten minutes ago. She was her mother's daughter, pressing Hermione into a chair in the kitchen and making tea after stating matter of factly, "It will look better after a nice chat and a cup of tea."
"It's not so bad, really—I have two matches, so I have a choice." Her throat closed on the last word, remembering what Lucius had said. She had no doubt that he was correct. Wizarding blood ran deep, and he had connections in the Ministry she could not have guessed at. If anyone would have inside information, it was Lucius Malfoy.
"And? Who are they?" Harry peered at her over the rim of his coffee mug, his hair still sleep tousled. Before she could say, James barreled into the kitchen, loudly demanding breakfast. Ginny flicked her wand and the toast flew from the toaster onto a plate, where butter and jam were soon spread. Harry pulled the milk from the refrigerator and poured it wandlessly without thinking, the cup set in place by Ginny at just the right moment. It was a cozy scene of domesticity, and Hermione suddenly burst into tears.
"Oh, hey now, it's not that bad, Hermione!" Harry said, patting his friend on the shoulder even though he knew nothing of the kind.
"It's all horrible, horrible!" Hermione sobbed as Ginny squeezed into the chair next to her and gave her a hug.
"Just tell us who it is. There's no point beating around the bush," Ginny coaxed, and Hermione sat back, wiping the tears from her eyes.
"You're right. It's not so bad. My first match is Neville Longbottom." Hermione paused as Harry and Ginny exchanged a glance.
"That's not bad at all, is it, Hermione?"
"It's not him I'm worried about, it's the other one! It's," Hermione took a deep breath, then rushed out, "Lucius Malfoy!"
Ginny grabbed her hand while Harry's eyes widened and he sat down at the table.
"Well, you'll just have to be married to Neville, then. At least he's our age, Hermione, and I'm sure that he'll be a very good husband and father." Gin was disappointed, she'd been hoping for George. It would have made her family happier with the situation if Hermione had been matched with one of her still single brothers.
Harry knew better.
"That's why he was with you, wasn't it?" His stare was level and calm, but Hermione knew he was thinking about the Wizarding oath.
"He knew about the match ahead of time?" Ginny said, darting a quick glance at Hermione before swiping James' face with a wet cloth to remove jam.
"Of course he did," Harry muttered, shaking his head. "It's what they do—use any opportunity to get ahead, keep themselves safe. But you don't have to choose him, Hermione. Thank God you have more than one match!"
Hermione shook her head. "You don't understand, Harry. It's not that simple."
Ginny understood first, the realization dawning on her face and quickly tamped down.
"That's not necessarily the way it will be, Hermione," she said quietly, standing up to remove the fussing Albus from the high chair and skirt round the table to catch James' hand. "I promised them a bath, Hermione. I'm sorry."
"Of course, Gin. I'll be fine, really."
"What has the Ministry done now?" Harry asked, not missing the glance his wife and best friend exchanged.
"Did you ever pay attention in History of Magic class, Harry?" Hermione asked in that irritated way that made him feel like they were back in the common room at Hogwarts.
"What? The only people who pay attention in that class are…" Harry wisely shut up when he saw Hermione's glower.
"The Ministry has the power to invoke the right of 'Ad Majorum Bonum'—literally, 'for the greater good'. It allows them extraordinary powers to stabilize society in the event of threats to the existence of the wizarding community."
"More proof that Dumbledore was more of a Minister of Magic than any of that lot that paraded through the office during Voldemort's reign of terror," Harry snorted. The corner of Hermione's mouth quirked up, but it quickly fell again.
"The point, Harry, is that the Ministry cannot afford to allow real choice in this matter. They need the most marriages possible to produce magical children. Lucius said that the plans are already in place to compel the choices that produce the most overall marriages."
Harry interrupted her. "What do you mean, Lucius told you? Did you see him today?"
"I went to Malfoy Manor to confront him. I was so angry about yesterday, Harry; I didn't stop to think about it."
"Did he do something?" Harry's eyes were intent, and Hermione laughed weakly.
"He's Lucius Malfoy, of course he 'did something', Harry! But the point is that he's right. If the probabilities don't match up perfectly, there is no way I will be able to refuse him!"
"I'll report him," Harry began, but Hermione stopped him.
"No, it wouldn't do any good. What charges could you bring? And he'd weasel out of anything anyway, it would just make him angrier about the situation." Hermione bit her lip nervously, forcing remembrances of this morning from her head. "The longer I have to think about it, the more I realize that he's going to be my husband."
"Wait, now, Hermione. Surely with two matches, that means you have a 50% chance of being allowed to marry Neville. That's hardly time to begin planning your wedding to Malfoy!"
Hermione grimaced and put her head in her hands on the table. She mumbled something and Harry asked her to repeat herself, not understanding a word she said. She lifted her head tiredly and looked at him with a look of hopelessness.
"It's not just a question of genetic matches, Harry. The models also take into account age differences and past evidence of parenthood. In other words, the odds are stacked significantly in Lucius' favor. It is far more likely that he, a successful breeder of a magical son who has now produced a magical son of his own despite pureblood marriages, would be successful in siring more magical children. And, the Ministry wants to minimize cases of sixty, seventy, or eighty year old wizards and witches waiting year over year for some young thing to graduate Hogwarts and be available for marriage! Do you understand what I'm telling you?" Hermione paused for a millisecond to stare at the moving picture of Ginny and Harry on their wedding day that hung on the kitchen wall, both sporting wide smiles and sharing a kiss, then looked back to Harry. "There is no way I will NOT have to marry Lucius Malfoy."
"Right." Harry pushed up from the table and patted Hermione on her shoulder. "I'm sorry that I don't understand all the details, Hermione, but please believe me when I say that you have alternatives to marrying Lucius Malfoy. You could emigrate, go live elsewhere. The Ministry have all your methods, you don't have to stay and bear more of the costs yourself."
Hermione straightened her spine and infused her voice with as much dignity as she could. "I cannot believe that you, Harry James Potter, would suggest that I run away. You certainly know better."
"It would not be running away, Hermione. Just a temporary retreat until you find the answer for the children. You can't tell me you're not working on it already," Harry's tone was half-joking, and Hermione knew he was trying to jolly her out of her despair. He didn't honestly think her capable of leaving, nor did he want her to.
"No, it would, Harry. What kind of person would I be if I told the rest of the wizarding world what kind of unpleasant medicine they had to swallow, but wasn't willing to take it myself? No, I can't go anywhere." Hermione straightened her shoulders and Harry smiled at her with a fond smile.
"Well, at least you don't have to marry him right away, Hermione. You can put it off as long as possible, and maybe by then it won't even be necessary," Harry said as they walked up the stairs to the boys' bathroom by mutual unspoken agreement. Hermione wanted a very tangible reminder of why she was prepared to do this. Seeing Lucius with Scorpius had put a picture in her head that she couldn't easily dismiss.
Ginny was rinsing soap off of James while Albus splashed happily in his smaller infant tub inside the larger bath. "Worked it all out, have you?" she asked with a huff as James ducked his head under the water and Albus squealed with glee. "Harry?"
Harry picked up a fluffy towel and plucked his baby son from the bath. "Mostly. I was telling Hermione at least she doesn't have to marry him right away." Catching Hermione's expression, he passed the baby to her, and Hermione softly wiped the water from the baby.
"That's right, Hermione. You haven't engaged in any courtship rituals with him, have you? Because that would put a different spin on things…" Ginny turned to see Harry half catching Albus as Hermione sat down hard on the loo. "Hermione?!"
"I don't know," Hermione said, and Ginny's eyes widened.
"Hermione, how can you not know? What did you do?"
"I didn't think about it—why would I think about that anyway? The last time courtship rituals were even in use was over five hundred years ago, it's not like they are ever used anymore. All the books hardly mention them," Hermione protested, and Ginny shoved a wet James toward Harry.
"Take care of them. You, come with me," Ginny snapped, and pulled Hermione back downstairs to their living room, where bookshelves were strewn with carelessly stacked tomes. "Accio Matrimonium!"
A dusty, thin book flew from the shelf and Ginny began to page through it. "What has he had you do?"
"What sorts of things would qualify? I work for him, for Merlin's sake! It's an office, people bring food and we share drinks, etcetera—what would it look like?"
Ginny flipped her hair over her shoulder and started listing possibilities. "A tonic? Did he give you a handkerchief? Any formal occasions recently where you had to dance with him? Accept any gifts?"
"Let me see that," Hermione said with irritation after shaking her head again. "What would a courtship ritual look like? What would be the effects?"
"I forget how many little things you and Harry don't know," Ginny said apologetically, and Hermione sat up straighter. It was bad enough that Lucius threw that in her face incessantly, she didn't need to hear it from her best friend as well. "Courtship rituals used to be required as part of a betrothal, particularly for purebloods. Over time they changed again and again, until it grew to crazy proportions because no one could be sure they were doing them correctly. Since that time, they fell out of favor, but they still have legal weight on the books. If he's managed to get you to complete one, not only are you as good as married already, but you'll have to do it soon."
"Why? What could possibly be done via a courtship ritual that would necessitate a quicker marriage?"
"It depends on the ritual itself. Some of them compel you to spend time together, until you're practically living together and other people, presumably the parents, would force the ceremony. Others act in a way similar to lust potions, and others make you physically ill if you don't complete a bonding ritual of some type."
"That's horrid! Who on earth thought that such things could be a good idea?" Hermione said, drawing her hand away from the book and managing to give herself a paper cut on the sharp edge of the page she'd been clenching.
"They've been popular from time to time in the wizarding community." Ginny's expression was somber, and Hermione deduced exactly when—when pureblood families were establishing their fiefdoms and ironclad control in the wizarding world.
"What did he do while you were at Malfoy Manor, Hermione? And don't try to fob me off the way you can with Harry." Ginny was channeling the full force of Molly Weasley, and Hermione withered under her unrelenting stare.
"He kissed me," she blurted out, a rush of blood coloring her cheeks, which caused Ginny to look at her skeptically.
"Did you kiss him back?" Ginny's expression was stern, and Hermione was horribly embarrassed. Ginny Potter had every reason to hate Lucius Malfoy, and she had been snogging him this morning!
Hermione looked away from her best female friend and Ginny clucked her tongue. "You did, didn't you? You think he's sexy, admit it."
Hermione's gaze flew back to Ginny's and she blushed even more hotly. "No, no! Of course not, he's an ex-Death Eater, an arrogant prick, a selfish bastard—"
"With sexy long blonde hair, a body that is just as fit as a man half his age, a wicked sense of humor and magical ability in spades. Or had those little tidbits escaped your notice?" Ginny drawled as she sat back on the couch. "Uh-huh. I thought not. I'm the last person on earth to have anything good to say about Lucius Malfoy, but I'm not dead."
"If you're intimating that I would want to choose Lucius Malfoy…" Hermione sputtered, but Ginny held up a hand.
"Save it for Harry and Ron. I know you. He turns you on." Ginny's face was understanding but calculating, her mind turning over the strong likelihood of her friend's rapidly approaching nuptials with one Lucius Malfoy. Harry and Ron would go crazy. She herself detested the man, but she had to admit that he had changed since the war, even if he was still a racist bastard. And Hermione had hardly been the type to throw herself into meaningless relationships. No, the wizard to conquer her had to conquer her brain first, and her body would follow along. Strangely enough, she thought Lucius Malfoy may have already done so. She was going to have to have a little pow-wow with Lavender to plan some strategic containment initiatives.
Hermione was wildly embarrassed and sought the quickest end to the conversation possible.
"May I borrow this?" she asked Ginny, clutching the book. "I think I'd like to go home now. Tomorrow will be difficult enough as it is."
"You needn't ask," Ginny said, then touched her arm. "Please tell us if we can do anything. As it is, I think I'll have to sit on Harry to keep him from going to Malfoy Manor and demanding to know what Lucius has done."
Hermione's lips quirked. "I don't doubt that, Gin. However, we both know he wouldn't tell Harry anything unless he was faced with a certain stay in Azkaban. Barring that, I will have to deal with him on my own."
"Be careful; but be honest with yourself, Hermione," Ginny said quietly as she hugged her, then stood back as Hermione whirled away with a pop.
Hermione spent the rest of the day combing through the book she had gotten from Ginny. She didn't find anything that she recognized, which was a relief. She had no idea how she would deal with Lucius tomorrow, but first she had to address the note that had arrived by owl from Neville. It was polite and a bit bumbling, just like Neville himself. He had the good grace not to mention who his other match was, but he was honest enough to say that he had another one. He had suggested they meet for a coffee sometime during the week, and Hermione thought this sounded like a very sensible suggestion. She knew that Lucius had a department head meeting every Thursday, so she scribbled a quick note to suggest lunchtime on Thursday, then sent Lucifer off.
That task completed, Hermione turned to her own library for anything that might possibly reference courtship rituals. She had a bad feeling about Beltane, but thus far nothing had turned up in her books. She ate a bowl of cold cereal for dinner and fell asleep over a book.
The next day was awkward, to say the least. It seemed everyone knew of her match to Lucius, and she was greeted with smirks and unsubtle hints that she'd find it easier to advance now. Her cheeks flushed bright red and she bit out a nasty reply, flouncing away from the insolent wizard. It was easier to mock someone else than ponder your own situation, apparently, and her co-workers were readily abusing the privilege. Jessamine as a French citizen was exempt from the hubbub; besides, she had a fiancé back home, or so she claimed.
"Oh, Hermione, how lucky you are. He may be twice your age, but Monsieur Malfoy is quite the handsome devil, and he's rich too! You are a lucky witch to make out so well in the face of this disaster."
The curvaceous witch's remark reeked of such ignorance that Hermione could only stare.
"You do know that he was a Death Eater? Responsible for an unknown number of atrocities, and here only by dint of his turncoating at the last possible minute?" Hermione's eyes snapped with anger, a fact which Jessamine either ignored or didn't note.
"That was years ago now. Surely you have moved on from such history. What is past is past, you must think of your children together."
"I've had enough," Hermione said, and shut the cover of the report they were supposed to be reviewing. "I have some work to do in the library. Excuse me."
Lucius, who was passing by the conference room and had shamelessly eavesdropped on their conversation, smiled to himself and popped his head into his office.
"Yasmin, I will be in the library if anyone is looking for me. I need a word with Miss Granger."
Yasmin smiled and nodded. "Of course, sir. I will ensure you're not disturbed on this end."
"Thank you, dear lady," Lucius said charmingly. The witch was one hundred if she was a day, but she dyed her hair and could have passed for eighty. He could have had some bright young thing as his secretary, of course, but Yasmin was on good speaking terms with every other secretary and administrative assistant throughout the higher echelons of the Ministry, a quality of much higher worth than a nice pair of legs. She was also the worst gossip on the floor, and he was quite certain that everyone would be convinced that he and Hermione had snuck off for a snog session before the afternoon was over.
Hermione was aware that Lucius had arrived at the Ministry library, his sibilant tones as he discussed trivialities with the staff librarian reaching her ears just in time. She summoned the books pertaining to courtship rituals, shrunk them, and shoved them into her handbag. She'd apologize later for not checking them out properly. It ate up precious seconds, and she could practically feel him prowling past on the balcony aisle on the other end of the bookcases. She cast a disillusionment charm and moved steadily in the opposite direction, then halted when she smelled his cologne. He even smelled like a dark wizard, his cologne a spicy blend of cedar and musk, a distinctive scent that was his alone.
He paused not ten feet from her and she held as still as possible, determined that she would not give away her position. She felt weak for hiding, but after yesterday she wasn't prepared to deal with him unless she knew exactly what was going on between them.
"This is one of my favourite games, Miss Granger," Lucius drawled, his expression one of amusement. "Not, however, one I would choose to play at work. My office, five minutes. Be there, or I will write you up."
Well aware that he had been heard, Lucius turned and made his way down the spiral staircase, his robes swirling behind him.
"Like hell will I come running like an obedient little witch," Hermione seethed, and nodded curtly to the librarian as she exited the facility. She was making her way up to the Disapparation Lobby when she turned her head to check behind her and caught a glimpse of Lucius, a flinty stare rapidly exchanged between them. He was still stuck in the lift, the gates not having been opened yet, and Hermione wove through the crowds in the lobby with an alacrity she had not exhibited since the break-in at Gringotts. She reached the foyer just in time and disapparated on the spot, focused intently on Hogwarts—the one place she was quite certain she would be able to avoid Lucius for at least the next twenty four hours.
A scant twenty minutes later, she was sitting on a chair in the Headmistress' office and explaining her predicament. Minerva was up to date on the Ministry goings-on, but people were being tight-lipped about their own personal situations, and this was the first she had heard of Hermione's matches and the likely finagling of Lucius Malfoy. She pursed her lips and sat back in her chair. Hermione had been out of Hogwarts for nearly ten years, but Minerva still felt quite attached to the young woman, and this was her first true taste of real unpleasantness in the wizarding community that had not been brought about by a malevolent and violent wizard, but rather the consequences of a society steeped in racist indulgences and weak moral fiber. It was a painful reality, but she could not shield her from it.
"Have you considered what it would be like to be married to him, Hermione?" Minerva's dark eyes glinted and her no-nonsense expression was in full evidence.
"I have thought about it, yes," Hermione admitted. "I will say he is dedicated to his family with a fervor that puts even the Weasleys to shame. He is also quite good at survival, even if I vehemently oppose the means by which he does so."
Minerva sat forward and folded her hands across her knees. "It is good that you are taking these things into account, my dear, because I hate to tell you, regardless of any rituals he may have invoked, you will very likely find yourself married to him before the year is out! Now I know that you have a match in Longbottom as well, but frankly I doubt the Ministry will overlook the fact that a witch of your caliber and experience is far, far more likely to keep Lucius in line than some young thing fresh out of my school."
Hermione's face fell and Minerva felt a wave of tender compassion for her star pupil. "I'm sure you will, what is the expression of the Muggles—'make lemon drops from lemons'?"
Hermione smiled. "Almost—lemonade from lemons."
Minerva sighed. "Ah well dear, Muggles were rather more Albus' specialty, at least, their confections."
She turned her head toward the portrait behind her. Albus' portrait was sleeping, else he would likely have piped up to join the conversation. Another portrait, however, had been following their conversation with interest.
"It is also worth noting, Miss Granger," the drawl of her name was another echo from the past, tinged with sarcasm, but still awakening a terrible sense of loss in her heart, "that Lucius is the only ex-Death Eater who has demonstrated a tremendous capacity for love. He loved Narcissa until the day she died, and that is a gift beyond price. Perhaps, if you are very fortunate, you might secure such a love for yourself."
"Thank you, Severus," Minerva said, then stood and gestured to the door. "Now, dear, I imagine you will want a peek in the Restricted section while you are here. Let us see what we have about courtship rituals."
Almost thirty-six hours passed before Hermione found an obscure reference in a tome so riddled with age the words were practically indistinguishable from the age spots on the leaves of parchment. She was using a strong 'Lumos' charm to illuminate the page from behind, which would send Madame Pince into fits if she had caught her doing it. Fortuitously it was the dinner hour, and the librarian was absent from the cavernous library, allowing Hermione to do as she liked for a blessed hour. She had attended breakfast in the great hall this morning, where she had ignored Lucius' howler about not showing up for work. She had incinerated it in a puff of ash before it really got going, much to the delight of some sniggering sixth years. It didn't matter. She had to find out what he had done.
Bringing her mind back to the present, she brightened the charm imperceptibly, as the words were written in a very cramped hand and required strong light to make them out.
The bonfires of Beltane represent a time of balance between new life and old. The tradition of the bonfires represents the birth of new life through hazardous winter, and a prayer for a fruitful harvest. Livestock were often sacrificed and purification rituals were undertaken, including the eating of cakes toasted on the fire. Some of these practices were occasionally adapted by blood magic or used in courtship rituals, but such rituals are considered to be a form of Dark magic and are therefore discouraged.
Hermione slammed the book shut, eliciting a shriek from one of the dark restricted books on the shelf nearby.
"Shut it!" she cried, hitting the offending tome with a stunner. Ordinarily she would never have hexed a book, but her vision was hazed with a red mist of rage. Her mind flipped through the series of events of Beltane, recalling the cake. The blood healing. That kiss. Shit.
She didn't bother saying goodbye to Minerva, nor putting away the books. She was focused on one thing and one thing only: Malfoy.
