Good evening, readers! Thank you to all for your thoughtful and encouraging reviews. It is highly gratifying to have passed 100 reviews for the first time for one of my fanfics. Clearly, the Harry Potter fandom is the most diligent. ;) As always, I own nothing, thanks to JKR for the marvelous universe in which my imagination roams.

Well it's a day late, but I had to take some time to hash out some plot points for the next little bit, and then part of this chapter was less than cooperative so I had to toss part of it and rework it. Our newly married couple are bonded, but what now? Are they going to have an idyllic honeymoon? Hmm, somehow I doubt it! As always, please read and review! Thank you!


"Wakey, wakey, pet."

Hermione blinked and stretched lazily, her eyes focusing on her husband's face as one arm dropped back on top of Lucius' warm shoulder. "Mmmm…good morning."

"How are you feeling today, witch?" Lucius was satisfied to note that she looked well satiated—hardly surprising since there had not been much sleep throughout the night.

"Like a sex kitten, frankly," Hermione said honestly, drawing a laugh from her husband.

"Hmmm, I like that idea very much. We will have to explore that further on our honeymoon."

Hermione's hand had started idly tracing a pattern on his chest, and he captured her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the pads of her fingers gently. "If you keep that up, we will not be off for our honeymoon in good time, wife; and your new son-in-law will most assuredly know what we are doing, as he is waiting for me to transfer the wards to him for the duration of our absence."

This perked her up, and Lucius could practically see the gears shifting in her mind from sensual to intellectual. Since it was exactly what he had hoped to achieve, he further elucidated, "The wards are controlled by the master of the manor, and enhanced by my presence. Since we will be gone for a week, it is better to transfer the wards to Draco, and they will spring back to me when we return. It will keep them at their maximum potency, which I cannot help but think wise under the circumstances."

"How many different wards are on the Manor?" Hermione asked, fully curious about the subject. There were few in the wizarding world who held a home with such complex and aged enchantments on it.

"I am not entirely certain, as some are layered and it is impossible to tell if they are distinct spells or if they are simply complex enchantments. If I had to guess, I would say at least thirty."

Lucius had risen from the bed as he explained, unself-conscious about his nudity as he put on a dressing gown and walked around to Hermione's side of the bed, holding a matching robe for her to slide into after she took his hand and rose from the bed. He pressed a kiss on her neck, then stepped back.

"I'm going to have a quick shower and then go over a few things with Draco before we leave. You are welcome to join me or to have a bath, whatever you like."

Hermione could only approve of Lucius' solicitousness. He was everything charming—obviously a wonderful side effect from all the shagging. She was not averse to continuing such amorous activities, either, and if it made her husband less snarky the next morning, so much the better!

"I think I will have a bath, pet," she said, her eyebrow quirking upward and her expression sarcastic.

"Don't like that pet name, do you? We'll have to see what we can find that you do like…although I seem to recall it didn't seem to be a problem last night…" Lucius ran his hand inside her robe, and Hermione kissed him so sweetly that Lucius abandoned his resolve to keep them on schedule, slipping the robe off his wife as he lifted her legs around his waist and they fell back onto the bed. He couldn't help himself—she was so damn attractive when she was feisty.

Half an hour later, Lucius left his wife coming down nicely from the warm aftershocks of their lovemaking and had a quick shower, using a charm to dry himself and his hair before he went to their closet to get dressed. He heard Hermione running the bath while he was finishing tying his cravat, and exited the spacious walk-in closet to the lovely sight of her bare bottom as she checked the temperature of the bathwater. What a Muggle thing to do, Lucius thought with amusement, and he smacked her bottom, which made her yelp and jump in the air slightly.

"Twenty minutes, pet. Don't make me wait, or I'll drag you off half-naked."

Hermione turned to stick her tongue out at him before she slipped into the warm water. "You'd enjoy that far too much for me to let it even be a possibility."

"Pity," Lucius said with mock regret, then leaned over to give her a quick kiss. To his delight, she caught his hair back with a wandless and wordless charm so it would not get wet. His eyes were approving as he drew back. "I could have dried it, but I thank you for the thought."

Her eyes were warm and she waved him off. "Go on, then, I'm sure Draco is going balmy having to wait for you."

Lucius' lips quirked and he thought to himself that he was going to quite enjoy getting to know this witch further. She was charming in many ways, curiously backward in others, but always entertaining.

Shaking his head to clear it as he entered the library, he found Draco reading a book with the appearance of indifference, but he closed it with a bit more snap than necessary.

"Good morning," Lucius said cheerfully, knowing that would further irritate his son.

"God, you look disgusting," Draco said, his expression irritable.

"Ah, yes, I remember those days well—when you have a young baby and your wife is more interested in your offspring than having wild sex with you. It will pass," Lucius said with a smirk, and Draco shivered.

"God, Father, must you go there? Isn't it bad enough that I know you're shagging a former classmate until she's cross-eyed? I really don't want your advice on my own sex life, thank you very much!"

"Thank you ever so much for the compliment, Draco. I don't recall whether Hermione was precisely cross-eyed…" Lucius appeared thoughtful, and Draco winced.

"LA LA LA LA! Argh, I don't need those mental pictures! Damn it…Mrs. Sprague-Dawley, dead kittens…ugh, that's better. Just transfer the damn wards, please, and take your odiously shag-happy self and your new wife far away. Hopefully you will have gotten some semblance of control by the time you return."

"I do so appreciate these touching moments we share, Draco," Lucius replied, removing his wand so they could get down to business.

Draco rolled his eyes but removed his own elm wand from his sleeve and followed his father to the front door.

"I do hope we haven't delayed you from your work," Lucius tossed back as he drew a circle with his wand, then threw it up on the door and began sketching symbols in it.

"Of course you have," Draco muttered. "However, everyone is aware that familial obligations do infringe from time to time."

"Indeed," Lucius replied, focused on the wards that had come to life and were feeding back into his wand. "Son…"

Draco stepped up and joined his own wand into the scribing, his hand less elegant than his father's. Lucius blamed his messy scrawl on the Black blood—damn impatient family, that. Nonetheless, Draco was quite adept with his magic, and he was proud of his son. Lucius finished his part and stepped back to watch Draco complete it. It was only the second time they had done this, the first being when Lucius was awaiting trial before the Wizengamot. Say what you liked about Draco's penmanship, his wandwork was efficient and clean. He finished the spells and lowered his wand.

"Excellent. I trust you will refrain from consuming all of my thirty year old firewhiskey in my absence."

"I intend to make as large a dent as possible," Draco said, giving an iconic bow to his father before he left for work.

"Don't call us, we'll call you," Lucius called after his son before he Disapparated. "I'd hate for you to see anything you don't want to see!"

"You're a right bastard!" Draco called back, then disappeared with a wink.

"Ah, family," Lucius murmured with a satisfied air. That reminded him of Hermione's likely condition after they consummated their bond. They had not discussed it, but she was smart enough to know the likely outcome. Nonetheless, it was worth a proper discussion at some point over the next week. He opened the door again, feeling one layer removed from the familiar wards. The last time it had bothered him because it represented the potential loss of it all. Now, however, it simply felt like a minor break from some of his responsibilities, and he intended to enjoy it as much as possible…apart from the other necessary business which had to take place. He re-entered the foyer briefly and found Hermione waiting for him. Better and better.

"Are you not packed, husband? Tsk tsk," Hermione greeted him, giving him an airy kiss on each cheek before pointing to her shrunk luggage with her wand.

"As if I would give you the satisfaction," Lucius retorted, patting his pocket. "Shall we?"

Hermione pocketed her own luggage and took his arm. "Where are you taking me? You haven't said, and I'm wild with curiosity."

"All good things come to those who wait," Lucius said mysteriously, then escorted her outside.

"Are we not using Side-Along then?" Hermione asked, and Lucius knew it was a sly way of asking how far they were going to travel.

"No, minx, we are not. We are traveling by portkey, and you ask far too many questions. Now, grab hold. We depart in exactly twenty seconds."

Lucius tapped a bright brass key with his wand and Hermione touched it, then felt the familiar pulling through her navel as they vanished, colors whirling past at a dizzying speed. She was thankful for Lucius' arm steadying her as they were suddenly upright, gently moving down as if on an invisible escalator. Lucius pocketed the key and Hermione took in the rolling hills of vineyards, the sunlight warmer than in England.

"France?" she asked, and Lucius smiled.

"Yes. We have holdings here," Lucius turned her around, and she saw the white château, a small but formal garden laid out around it. "This is the Château Plein de Morgue. It has been in the Malfoy family since 1067—obviously expanded and rebuilt a few times due to wars."

"Haughty House. I can't imagine how that name was ever associated with Malfoys," Hermione said innocently, looking away from him as if she hadn't just insulted him.

"Ah, but hauteur is a valuable tool, Hermione. It keeps the cowardly at bay, and causes even the brave to consider before treading on our toes." Lucius' voice had dropped just enough to make it sexy as hell, and Hermione knew she would be in trouble indeed if she didn't retaliate.

"It will not stop fools, however," Hermione remarked smartly, walking toward the château. "Or those who simply know better."

"I suppose you always knew better, hmm? You weren't at all intimidated by me when I interrupted your work and got this—close—to you," Lucius backed her up against a topiary, his eyes cooler than ice, the expression of condescending hauteur he wore so well firmly in place. "Don't lie to me, dear. I know exactly the effect my hauteur has on people, including you."

"Yes, you intimidate with it quite well. However, now I can just picture you naked. I'm afraid it does rather deflate the effect," Hermione's tone was equally cool, her expression amused.

"Deflating, am I? I'll show you deflated," Lucius said.

They didn't make it past the gardens. Afterward, Hermione gazed at the puffy white clouds from the pillow of Lucius' arm.

"I've always wanted to make love out in the open in broad daylight. Thank you for fulfilling that particular fantasy." She turned over halfway through her speech, wanting to savor the full effect of her words. To his credit, Lucius' eyes only narrowed slightly. He did not have to acknowledge that she had succeeded in provoking him for them both to know it.

"I see having a Slytherin in you has made you far more cunning, Hermione. Be careful that you don't fall into one of your own traps, witch."

Eventually they collected their clothes from the bushes and made their way inside. It was cool and spotless, as could be expected. A house elf popped in to greet them, and Hermione sighed soundlessly. She knew that house elves were essentially tied to a place, but Lucius hardly had the best track record for his behavior with them. It was another area where they were bound to stridently disagree.

They passed a pleasant morning exploring the vineyard and house, Lucius elaborating more on the French branch of the family. Hermione was fascinated by the interplay between wizard politics and muggle politics, as Lucius explained how the rapid advancement of Henry Plantagenet was in fact a fruit of Malfoy chicanery, whereby they displaced the powerful Count of Bruges, who happened to be of a wizarding family that had unwisely chosen to expose itself to Muggles. Apparently the Count had charmed his ships, creating faster boats that were better able to ply their trade and giving him a rapid trade advantage. This would have been acceptable, of course, if he had been willing to share his largesse with the other wealthy wizarding landowners of the time. Unfortunately, the Count was no match for Malfoy cunning, as they rapidly cut him down to size by using the brute strength of Henry of Anjou and establishing his marriage to Eleanor of Aquitaine. If it had the pleasant side effect of thoroughly riling their opponents in the brutish Anglo-Saxon England, so much the better!

"Yes, it was a charmed arrow that brought the man down in battle with Henry's forces. The Malfoys were quite clever with poisons back then."

"Only back then?" Her voice was teasing but he nipped her neck with his teeth anyway, then soothed the spot with his tongue.

"Surely you can't imagine I would soil my hands with such tedious potion making," he quipped lightly. "Now, be quiet. I am going to explain how the Malfoys came to reside in England as well."

They were lolling in between the rows of the vines, a lovely breeze keeping them cool in the shade. Lucius had transfigured a strange sort of chair cushion and was lazily propped against it, Hermione relaxing in his arms.

"The country was fractured and the Hundred Years' war between Muggles was still raging. It had started to impact the wizarding society as well, and there was concern that wizards would be drawn in further than the ancillary skirmishes that were becoming frequent and tedious. Because France was so unstable, some wizarding families had actually lost estates and were increasingly being harassed by the church."

"Why weren't all of their estates unplottable?" Hermione asked.

"At the time remember that yields were not as high as they are today, and in order for families to have wealth, they had to be seen to possess vast estates. Anything less was highly suspicious. Can you imagine making a thousand acre estate unplottable? It's not possible. Thus the lines between Muggle and Wizard were quite muddied."

"I suppose it would require far more magic that it is practical or possible to expend with a single spell as well," Hermione observed.

"Indeed. So, at the time it was possible to maneuver through, but due to their history with the Plantagenets, my ancestors had a better relationship with some of the English. It made sense to exploit the ties, given that it was unclear which country would win and emerge more influential. Two brothers, Lance and Mallory, were sent to pursue an alliance with a powerful English wizarding family. It devolved rapidly to one target: whoever successfully married the daughter of Salisbury would win, because he would naturally assume her dower lands. Lance was determined to triumph, and he used a combination of tricks and stratagems to woo the lady and her powerful father, while Mallory attempted to persuade the Muggle king to compel the marriage. Lance conceded that Mallory had won when the Muggle king did issue the decree, but he snuck into the castle and obliviated him, then managed to obtain her participation in a courtship rite the very evening before Mallory was due to arrive. Her father had to consent to a rapid marriage given the events of the evening, and Mallory was forced to return to France. He cursed his brother's deceit, and that is how we came to carry the 'Malfoy' sobriquet. Up until that time, the family name was Malfaille, and so it still remains for my French cousins."

Hermione turned to look at him, her expression calculating. "And the rite he used?"

Lucius grinned. "I think you know the answer, pet."

"You have not answered me when I asked about the Beltane ritual," Hermione felt a flutter of nerves. Although she probably already knew the answer to her question, she wanted to hear it from Lucius directly. She turned around and looked at him. "Am I pregnant now?"

Lucius' countenance was calm and his eyes were like silver mirrors. "Yes, I'm sure you are. It's too early to tell, but it's not the sort of rite that has a high failure rate in that respect."

Hermione took a deep breath before she spoke again. Her feelings were muddled by the whole thing. "Did you not think it a good idea to ask me first? What if I'd rather we waited for a few months before we were serious about trying?"

Lucius sat up and crossed his legs as Hermione sat back on her heels. "I think we both know you would not have agreed to participate in the rite. And I had my reasons—not all of which I am comfortable explaining to you at this time."

"So you made a decision for which I will suffer the consequences? What if I get terrible morning sickness? What about bedrest? My mother suffered three miscarriages before she had me—who knows what I'll be like pregnant, Lucius! And I'm the only one qualified to do the research on the housekeeping gene and epigenetic regulators. I don't know if it's possible to re-regulate it for those poor children, but I have to keep trying. This could set everything back by months—"

Lucius stopped her mouth by putting a finger on it. "Enough. The point of these marriages is to produce children. The sooner we do so, the less interesting we are to the general public. We can deal with any complications, and yes, before you ask for my permission, I will allow you to continue working…"

"Allow?" Hermione was getting annoyed now, as was Lucius.

"Yes, allow. It is not customary for witches in our strata to continue working after they get pregnant, and my wife is hardly any different."

"Bon jour?"

Hermione and Lucius both froze as they heard the man's voice.

"Who is that?" Hermione asked as Lucius muttered simultaneously, "Merde embulante."

He stood quickly and helped Hermione to her feet.

"This is one of my cousins, Bedell Malfaille. He is not the one we should worry about—that would be his brother Bertrand. Do be on your best behavior, please," Lucius said while fixing a pleasant smile on his face as they ambled out of the vineyard.

Hermione did the same but hissed under her breath, "Why does it matter if your mudblood wife impresses your arrogant relations or not? After all, I'm so uncouth that I intend to keep working even while carrying your precious Malfoy offspring."

Lucius stopped while they were still out of earshot and plucked a rose blossom from the garden, then whispered when he tucked it behind her ear in an apparent gesture of gallantry, "Because they hold the key to unraveling the reason the French Ministry has not asked for your test, and hence may offer a path to those behind the attacks on you."

Hermione smiled wider and kissed Lucius, purely for the benefit of their smirking audience. Privately she was still fuming, as Lucius probably was as well. It was a discussion that would have to wait, and Hermione turned to meet the wizard, her Occlumency shields firmly in place.

"Bedell, what a surprise," Lucius greeted in a manner that indicated how unwelcome his intrusion was. "Please allow me to present my new wife, Hermione. Hermione, this is one of my cousins, Bedell Malfaille."

Hermione had sized up the cousin in thirty seconds and had concluded that he was an indolent sort, his hands showing no signs of any labor and his waistline indicating a less than rigorous attention to anything strenuous. He was not large, and not quite as tall as Lucius, but had the fair hair that apparently characterized the Malfoys/Malfailles on both sides of the Channel. He fairly oozed unctuous and his more than perfunctory kiss to her hand confirmed it. She was put in mind of Mr. Collins from Pride and Prejudice once he started talking, a litany of patently rehearsed compliments falling prettily from his lips.

"You are too kind, Monsieur," Hermione said, firmly placing her arm in Lucius' while he steered the conversation back to the question of Bedell's reason for visiting.

"You must realize, Bedell, that you are interrupting our honeymoon. We were only recently bonded, and I brought Hermione here to acquaint her with some of our French holdings."

"Oh, but of course! A thousand apologies, dear cousin Lucius! We read the paper this morning, you see, and given the charming account of your ceremony I could not resist the temptation to see if you were here," Bedell said, highly attentive to their reactions despite his slippery eloquence.

"It was everything we wished it to be," Lucius replied ambiguously, giving no hint of a reaction to a press report. Privately he thought he would be sending Kingsley and Yaxley some howlers, and resolved to get a copy of the papers as soon as possible.

"I was very fortunate to be matched with Lucius," Hermione offered sweetly, an innocently satisfied expression on her face.

"Oh, but of course, madame! Lucius is an incredible catch, but dare I say, he is also fortunate to have caught you?"

"You are too kind. Perhaps you would like to join us for a brief aperitif before you go? I believe we were intending to sample the fruit of the vineyard from a decade ago—Lucius was saying it was a memorable year with fourteen degrees Baumé, so it should have aged quite nicely."

Hermione had decided to take the lead on offering hospitality since Lucius was not indicating either way, and he would have gotten rid of the man if he desired to do so. Bedell readily agreed to her suggestion, and Hermione caught a flash of approval in her husband's eyes as she excused herself briefly to request some crackers and cheese from the house elves along with the wine.

They passed a pleasant half hour in idle conversation before Bedell declared that he had to return to his own château. Happily he indicated that this was not very far away.

"I hope I may have the pleasure of extending a dinner invitation in a few days' time when I am settled? I have just arrived from Paris, you understand, but I will not hear of you staying in this part of the country without coming to dinner."

"Regrettably, Bedell, that will not be possible on this trip. As I'm sure you are aware, there are pressing matters which must engage our attention again in England. We will be spending some time in Paris, naturally, before returning home."

"Ah, a great pity! Well, of a certainty you must accept my hospitality on your next visit." Hermione could tell that Bedell was not disappointed in the slightest, having achieved whatever aims he had in paying the call.

"But of course," Lucius said easily, meaning none of it and they all knew it. With an equally solicitous farewell, Bedell took himself off and Lucius escorted Hermione back inside to the library and away from the drawing room where they had entertained their guest.

"This puts an entirely new complexion on things," Lucius began without preamble, his expression serious. "We have been here less than twenty-four hours and already we are being watched. It accelerates things quite a bit."

"Lucius, please tell me exactly what is going on. I realize that your cunning nature precludes discussing the twentieth move on the chessboard with me, but at least outline the next five, please, so we are not working at cross-purposes. You could start by telling me exactly how you think the French Ministry is possibly involved in the attacks." Hermione tucked her legs up underneath her in a comfortable position on the couch, then pointedly eyed the other end until Lucius sat down.

"As charming as France is for a honeymoon destination, I did not choose it to be romantic," Lucius began, and Hermione interrupted him.

"You could give me some credit, if you don't mind. I had already figured that out for myself, Lucius. Charming side effects from the ritual aside, you have been quite busier at work than normal, and that can only mean you have been working away at discovering what is going on. But I have interrupted you, I apologize. Pray, continue."

Lucius eyed her with some degree of irritation, but decided to let it pass—a wise move given the argument they were undertaking in the vineyard prior to Bedell's arrival. "Yes, as I was saying, I had other motives for bringing you here. The French pureblood houses have a very low rate of Squib births, and have done for years and years—centuries, in fact. It is a little known matter outside of pureblood families that records are kept—breeding records, for lack of a better term. And those records are consulted before marriages are arranged."

"So you have been managing your bloodlines to avoid this recessive gene before you even knew what it was."

"All evidence would seem to support that hypothesis, yes. But some families have additional means at their disposal to assist in arranging advantageous marriages."

"Like the Malfoys," Hermione said. "Don't think I don't know the family history, Lucius. Draco was free enough about discussing it in the presence of those of us not worthy to scrape the soles of his boots, I assure you."

"It is a pity that your Gryffindor nature does not extend to forgiveness as readily as it does to courage," Lucius jabbed, picking up her hand to kiss it to soothe the sting of his words. "That was a compliment, dear, do take it as such, I beg you," when her eyes flashed at him. "Now, you are correct. We have a very complex set of equations which we have used with great success for the past thirty generations."

"Would these equations have formed the springboard for Jessamine's work?" Hermione asked.

"Some of them, darling. You don't think I would hand away the family secret so easily, do you? Notwithstanding the wizarding world's imminent collapse, there was no reason to divulge it to anyone outside the family. Now that you are a member of the family, I will share them with you. But that is for England, Hermione—here, we need to discover exactly what my French relations have shared with other pureblood families. In particular, I need to know if they have let their loose lips wander beyond the borders of this dear country, perhaps reaching ears that are less inclined to keep such things confined to the relatively innocuous practice of keeping strong magic alive and well in the family tree."

"That is why Draco did not marry Pansy Parkinson," Hermione said with a sudden flash of insight, and Lucius nodded.

"A completely unsuitable arrangement. Narcissa nudged him toward Astoria. Daphne's numbers were not quite as favorable, and fortunately for us the pair of them hit it off immediately and it made for a smooth contract."

"That is so despicably cold-hearted of you. What if Draco had fallen in love with someone unsuitable? Would you really have pressed him into a loveless marriage simply to maintain your strong bloodlines?" Hermione's voice was raised slightly, and she was struck with how very differently Lucius Malfoy viewed relationships to herself.

"How quickly you leap to the worst possible conclusion," Lucius said. "It's not a good reflection of your own character, that."

Hermione hissed an indrawn breath at the sting of that observation, and Lucius took advantage of her temporarily stunned brain to pull her closer to suck and then kiss her neck, leaving a love bite.

"I knew it was wise to marry you, Hermione… you get delectably flushed when you are angry with me. It's worth provoking you to see it."

"You are despicable, Lucius Malfoy!" Hermione said, pushing his head back so she could give him the full effect of her glare.

"You are mostly charming, and occasionally damned annoying. Fortunately, I like that about you—as you like that about me," Lucius replied smoothly. "Imagine how bored you'd be if we agreed on everything." He was busily unzipping her dress, his hands skillfully kneading her shoulders as he pressed more kisses on her neck and shoulders.

"I'm not forgetting this conversation," Hermione protested with her remaining conscious brain cells.

"I'm counting on it, sweet. But it is our honeymoon…"