I'm sorry it has taken so long to get this next bit up. I have been very busy with work and I have not had time to finish this chapter until today. Exam season will do that.
This story does seem to be pulling in more detail than I had thought it would, but I am liking how it is developing. I loved all the marvelous reviews for the last chapter! A few have asked about another site, with an extended version of this story. I am not planning to do that. Keeping up with one version of the story is enough for me, although I thank you for the implied compliments. I think I will stick to 'sexy' rather than 'salacious' at this point in my development as a writer. But you are very kind to say I could do it. :)
Please let me know what you think of this next wrinkle. The next chapter will have us meeting the infamous Bertrand, and we'll also hear from Draco. Hmmm, what could be going on in the homefront? Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Only the plot is mine, I gain nothing from this. Thank JKR for Harry Potter!
The next morning Hermione was considering how to broach the subject of her career with Lucius again while they were eating breakfast. Before she could speak, an odd looking small bird landed on the silver plunge handle of the French press, a tiny scrap of parchment roll tied to its leg.
"Why on earth is a nightjar perched on the coffee?" Hermione asked as Lucius removed the miniscule scrap of parchment and peered closely at the equally infinitesimal script thereon.
"Bedell wasted no time in throwing us into the shit," Lucius announced, meeting Hermione's eyes with his. They were quicksilver today, reflecting the rapidity of his thoughts. "It is from my great aunt, Thérèse Borgia Malfaille. She wishes to meet you."
His gaze was thoughtful as he looked at her, and if he felt any apprehension about the matter, he hid it well.
"Borgia? As in Venice and poisons?" Hermione's eyebrow quirked northward in an eerie facsimile of Lucius' own expression, and he smothered a smirk at the quick influence.
"The very same, darling. I suspect Bedell has poisoned her ear quite viciously regarding your muddy heritage and your disgusting displays of affection."
"Because of course you'd never snog your wife in public," Hermione said disparagingly, and he ignored her.
"Yes, you are not nearly repressed enough," Lucius said calmly, and Hermione could not tell whether he meant it sarcastically or not, because his attention was held by the paper he was holding. "Would you like to read the paper? Personally I think they did not capture the full spirit of the occasion, but Skeeter is as always inclined to put the worst possible spin…"
"Give me that!" Hermione demanded, easily pulling the day old Daily Prophet from his grasp as he let her peruse the front page spread on their wedding.
"How do they have a picture?" Hermione seethed, watching a moving photo of herself and Lucius twirl around the dance floor, stopping at a particularly hot moment before he dragged her from the floor. Her eyes flicked through the slyly worded article in which Skeeter intimated that a lust potion "must have been involved" and that the small number of guests at the wedding "reflected, at best, the indifference of the groom to his wife's less than stellar heritage, and at worst a non-so-subtle insult to her research that had led him to this fall from perfection."
"That bitch! That's it, I'm reporting her as an unregistered Animagus!" Hermione said hotly, and Lucius quirked a brow.
"Mmmm, keeping secrets my dear? First lesson: secrets are only valuable as long as they are still secret. Ms. Skeeter registered herself as an Animagus over a year ago. If your information is outdated, it is useless."
Hermione ignored him as she finished reading the article, another huff of outrage escaping her lips. She looked up at Lucius as she said, "She hints that it is only because I've been sleeping with you for years that you took any interest in my work and 'sponsored' me in the Ministry! This is outrageous!"
Her eyes were flashing with more than simple outrage. Lucius perceived that his darling wife had a latent penchant for revenge that had been awakened easily by the petty witch's allegations. He found it sexy, and his smirk told her so. Hermione caught the flash of salacious humor on his face and took a deep breath before she asked, "Well? What are you prepared to do about it?"
"Do? Do you expect me to ignore the fact that her smutty piece suits our purposes admirably? I intend to do nothing. Let her vituperations find a ready home in ticklish ears and lazy brains ready to accept her insinuations. I care not, and neither should you."
"It's an insult to my good name!" Hermione retorted hotly, and Lucius claimed her full attention with his piercing stare.
"It's nothing more than those who hate you already think," Lucius replied calmly. "There is nothing to be done to change their opinion—and do you really want to try? After all, it's not as if you have been courting their good opinion?"
His supercilious tone was made more annoying by the fact that she knew he was right.
"Will this not have a poor effect on your relations here?" Hermione asked finally in a frigid tone that affected boredom as she crisply snapped the paper and set it aside, instead drawing the French paper closer to read their headline. Tamer, but still infuriatingly salacious and laden with Mudblood innuendo. She burned it with a quick flick of her wand, which Lucius found amusing, but there was still the matter of Thérèse to deal with.
"They are already inclined to think poorly of you. However, they also know how cunning we are in general, so they suspect several layers of deeper motivations behind my marrying you. They are perfectly aware that I could have avoided doing so had I wished it—as are you." Lucius stopped to fix his wife with a look that perfectly conveyed how much they were on the same page in that regard—"But they want to figure out what those motives are. Bedell was the first, paltry pass. When we move to Paris the day after tomorrow I do not doubt that Bertrand will be quick to pounce. No, what is more interesting is that Thérèse wants to meet your for herself. And meet you she will, before Bertrand has an opportunity to grill you in the incestuous manner for which he is well known. What have you brought with you that is suitable to wear to an afternoon tea?"
Lucius was standing at her place so quickly, his hand waiting patiently for her own to draw her from her chair, that Hermione had unconsciously placed her hand in his before she realized she had not finished her breakfast.
"Leave it. We can get something for lunch in Paris. I suspect whatever you have brought with you is insupportable for such an occasion. Hold on." Lucius wrapped his arms around her securely, rendering his instruction unnecessarily duplicative as he whisked them to a quiet side street adjacent to the wizarding equivalent of Rue Saint Honoré. It was in fact tucked alongside that venerable fashion district, although Hermione did not know the difference as her purse had not extended to either the Muggle designers on the other side nor their Wizard equivalents. She briefly got a glimpse of the façade of a fashion house, Émettre, as Lucius pulled her inside with his ineffable calm and hauteur.
"Ah, Colette, so pleasant to see you. My new wife requires a tea dress, please—something ready to wear, and perhaps we can discuss a few items to be delivered tomorrow as well." Lucius delivered this in perfect French, and the simpering statuesque witch with striking auburn hair bowed solicitously and waved her hands, which elicited a flurry of house elves and lesser clerks plying them with beverages and bringing forth garments for Hermione to view.
"My many congratulations on your marriage, Monsieur Malfoy! And you are so beautifully naïve, Madame Malfoy—it will be a delight to offer you only the most exclusive designs, perfectly suited to your charms."
Lucius nodded as if the perfectly insincere compliments were only the necessary accompaniments to their presence, and Hermione realized that of course they were. There was nothing sincere about how people treated one another in this social circle, apparently. She considered only the colors before her, and selected four dresses with pleasing shades. Lucius added another six, and he pressed a diffident kiss on her hand when two of the clerks urged her back to the fitting rooms so she could try on the garments.
"I want to see them all, Hermione," Lucius called out clearly as she allowed herself to be led away, and she had to bite her tongue. As if she couldn't decide for herself what suited her!
She tried on the first dress, a deep teal that complimented her skin tone. The color was lovely, but the bateau neckline did nothing for her, and the skirt was a few inches too short, making her legs appear squat instead of slim. She had already decided to discard it when Lucius appeared behind her, causing her to jump.
"Hmmm. Excellent color but abominable neckline for you—and the skirt doesn't help," Lucius commented, then continued, "I am perfectly aware that you were not going to come out in every dress, wife. However, you forget that this is a Wizarding establishment. Tailleur!"
Lucius' voice produced an instantaneous response, as an elf appeared, its makeshift garment well tailored even though it was put together from what was clearly a remnant from a cloth bolt, a large jerk-in clearly visible in the fabric for all that it was of good quality.
"The neckline needs to be changed, and lengthen the skirt by two inches if you please," Lucius commanded, and Hermione watched as the elf brought its own magic to bear on the garment, seamlessly stretching the skirt while the neckline folded itself into a jewel neckline. The alterations were simple, but the garment now flattered her figure in a manner that hinted at her curves without displaying them.
"We'll take it. Next, please," Lucius ordered, and the tailor bowed and stepped out so Hermione could change into the next dress, this one a berry color.
"Are you always so demanding?" Hermione asked, meeting his eyes in the mirror of the changing room, which was practically the size of her old living room. She knew the answer already and so did he.
"That was quite a waste of breath, don't you agree?" Lucius asked, speeding up the process with his wand. "We have exactly one hour left to spend here, and then I am going to give you a crash course on my dear Aunt Thérèse. We are having tea with her at four."
It was for the best that such a disgraceful topic as price was never discussed in fashion houses such as Émettre. Hermione would have been apoplectic to realize that the price of the teal dress was more than half a year's rent for her old flat, and Lucius would have been annoyed to have had to explain the necessity of the accoutrements in order to face his dragon of a great aunt on top of explaining how he had found it best to handle her in the past. Of course it was a gamble, but Lucius was confident that Hermione would rise to the challenge admirably.
After discussing the necessity of a few more integral wardrobe pieces and assuring himself that the house had gotten a good match to her skin tone and measurements, Lucius acquiesced to a tentative order for a mix of twenty more pieces, which had Colette swooning in an agreeable manner. Of course he meant to spread their favors around to the best houses, but Hermione's youth lent itself more to Émettre than some of the others. He already knew where they would go for the more daring ensembles necessary for balls and the more conservative pieces required for appearances at the Ministry and other such sordid business affairs. By the time he was done with her, Hermione would be the Wizarding equivalent of the Duchess of Cambridge, which was perfectly fitting for his wife.
"That's suitable for this afternoon, keep it on," Lucius instructed as he wordlessly popped his head back into Hermione's fitting room as she finished donning another dress. The hem stopped just below her knees, the skirt floating freely to the nipped waistline. The cap sleeves were summery and fresh in the painted georgette, the pattern subtle but nothing so prosaic as flowers. Instead a cacophony of birds in a subtle array of charcoal dipped pastels floated across a diaphanous background that was lazily colored here and there. Again Hermione felt like she was wearing a piece of art, and it suited her personality to a tee.
"Do you ever bother to knock?" Hermione asked, the annoyance in her tone causing Lucius to pause.
"And miss you in déshabillée?" His expression was mocking but his eyes were hot, and Hermione felt the flush creeping across her cheeks.
"I hate shopping," she pronounced, and Lucius stole behind her to feather delicate kisses from the smidgen of exposed shoulder up to her ear.
"Consider it a form of shield, and be thankful that one of us is adept at it," he said in a manner that was half soothing and half mocking.
"You do realize that I hate all of this pretense," she said, meeting his eyes in the mirror.
"And yet, how delightful it is to see you realize how very necessary it is," Lucius said in a manner that left no doubt of its intentional pain. "If Thérèse doesn't have your guts for garters in thirty minutes I will be very much surprised, my dear."
His eyes were mocking and Hermione stiffened, as he knew she would. "Care to wager on that?" she asked bitingly, her eyes flashing in a charming if imprudent manner.
"And what would you be willing to offer, hmm? I already have your delectable body at my whim, I wonder what else you would be willing to lay before me."
"If I win, you never again suggest that my place is at home, waiting to serve as your arm candy or stupid hostess. You agree that I have the right to continue working as long as I choose, in whatever area I choose. But I want to be clear on the terms, Lucius. I am betting that I can hold my own with the she dragon."
Lucius' eyes flashed wordlessly and she could see him turning the conditions over in his mind.
"That is quite a lot to demand and concede, my dear. I would further specify that she has to like you. What on earth could you offer in return that would make me willing to accept such a bargain?"
"I would openly support your efforts to rein in the intermingling with the Muggle world," Hermione said, flicking her eyes sideways to meet his as he circled around.
"Oh?" Lucius pulled her closer at the waist, studying his wife. "And what would make you so keen to reverse such a hard fought and long held view?"
Hermione opened her mouth to speak but Lucius placed a finger on her mouth to shut her up. "Ah, ah. I would rather savor this, if you please. I rather like the recognition that perhaps I haven't been quite the thoughtless bastard you thought me to be. I accept your terms. I will still tell you about her, of course, because I gave my word to do so. But bear in mind, dear, I will not help you once we are there. You must win this on your own."
His words were soft, but they were both aware that the stakes were high. "I don't think you're a heartless bastard," Hermione said softly as he took her hand.
"I know."
"The most important thing to know about Thérèse is that she considers herself the head of the family," Lucius snorted, which led Hermione to the correct conclusion that Thérèse was probably not the only family member who considered herself thus. "She has several of the younger siblings under her thumb, although Bertrand does pay her court from time to time for his own purposes."
"And do you pay her court from time to time for your own purposes?" Hermione asked, a glint in her eye which Lucius could not fail to appreciate.
"But of course, my pet. She is the family's equivalent of Yasmin—knows everyone, knows all of their business, and only shares it with those she deems worthy of the affection." Hermione thought it telling that information was considered a form of affection to the Malfoys.
"Somehow I doubt she knows everything—otherwise she would probably interfere more with some of the family's schemes. Surely she has her own opinion about whatever machinations you all indulge in on both sides of the Channel." Hermione's observation was keen but too like a Gryffindor, and Lucius told her so.
"She is a Borgia. That means she only intervenes subtly, and only when she is assured that it is worth her while. The challenge before us is to make her believe it worth her while to do so on our behalf regarding the family arithmancy."
"You do realize that she does, in fact, run your family if that is the case," Hermione pointed out sweetly, and Lucius' eyes narrowed slightly.
"Only when she knows what is going on—which is questionable at times. Yes, she may know, but she is very good at bluffing."
"You're not telling me anything new then. If I didn't know better I'd say you don't want me to win our bet," Hermione said. Lucius said nothing, but the amused flicker told her she was right. "If you're quite through trying to make me chase my own tail, perhaps we can have a snack before tea. Somehow I doubt I will have much of an appetite."
"Your hair is dreadful."
Hermione laughed out loud at the insolent woman. "You are perfectly correct. It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Madame."
"Lucius, what on earth possessed you to marry such a creature? You have been so good at avoiding lust potions—clearly you are going senile. I understand she is your subordinate at that dreadful excuse you call a Ministry…standards are obviously very lax!" Thérèse allowed Lucius to place two kisses on her papery cheeks. Her hair was quite white and amazingly shiny, doubtless the result of some very expensive beauty potions. She had to be in the middle of her second century
Lucius' face was full of the appropriate hauteur, but Hermione was well prepared to give as good as she got. "It's unfortunate that common courtesy is apparently so uncommon among the upper classes. I had expected superior manners to demonstrate the benefits of such supposedly superior breeding."
"But you are a commoner, my dear. You would not recognize superior manners if they apparently smacked you in the face," Thérèse replied calmly, taking her seat so she could preside over the tea.
"Ah, yes. I forget this is France…as Honore de Balzac observed, 'Manners are the hypocrisy of a nation.'" Donning an expression of complete indifference even as her barb hit home, Hermione sat gracefully on a chair, crossing her legs at the ankles and waiting to see where Lucius would decide to sit. Lucius, on the other hand, was well aware of his role, and chose to prop himself casually against the elegant marble fireplace. By not taking a seat himself, he left his position neutral. Hermione had expected as much.
"Tea," Thérèse said and began to extend the cup, but Hermione was too quick. "Milk and one sugar please."
Thérèse was forced to add a skinflint amount of sugar and milk to the tea instead of handing the unadulterated cup to Hermione, which would have been a superbly dealt insult if Hermione had allowed it.
"Would you like to prepare your husband's?" Thérèse asked slyly, expecting that Hermione would not know how Lucius took his tea.
"I would not wish to deprive you of your privilege, Madame," Hermione replied, taking the faintest sip of her tea. "Lovely blend."
A loud sniff was heard, then Lucius accepted his cup and sipped it. He decided to take a hand in the conversation since his wife had adroitly dealt with the insults thus far. "We ran into Bedell the other day—but I suppose he ran right over to tell you, dear little lapdog that he is."
Thérèse eyed her great-nephew regally, then nodded. "Indeed, I sent him. I wanted to verify for myself that you had agreed to sink to such unplumbed—"
"Unsullied—" Hermione murmured loud enough to hear as she sipped her tea again—
"—depths," Thérèse finished, ignoring Hermione entirely. "Bertrand thought it quite classless of you, Lucius. Quite frankly, I'm inclined to agree with him."
"And yet, you still invited me to tea, along with my 'classless' wife," Lucius replied, his tone collected and his visage calm. Thérèse had given away little, it was time to poke the viper a bit and see what she did.
"Merely to see exactly how much stink you have thrown yourself into, I assure you," she retorted firmly.
"'Politeness is the flower of humanity.' Perhaps that is the stink you discern, given your dreadful lack of it," Hermione observed, raising her eyes to meet her husband's.
"'Ask the young, they know everything! '" Thérèse snapped in return. "As if a Muggle moralist has anything useful to offer!"
"And yet, you've read him extensively to be able to quote him so freely," Hermione said sweetly, and Lucius had to stop himself from choking on his mouthful of tea.
"I read Le Figaro as well, young lady, but it does not follow that I consider it anything other than tripe," Thérèse said smartly, then straightened from her slouch. "Are you pregnant?"
"I beg your pardon?" Hermione said, and Lucius set his cup down on the table.
"A bit premature for such speculations, Aunt," he said, popping one of the tiny lime tarts in his mouth as he did so. "I find it interesting that Bertrand is taking such an active interest in my marital prospects. Pray tell, has he deigned to visit you for something other than his annual visit in September?"
Lucius knew he had struck gold with this, as Thérèse nodded her head. "In fact he did, you clever boy. Bertrand has always been quite self-sustaining, and he was too proud to approach you, naturally. Apparently he is claiming some trouble with his business interests, caused by all the kafuffle in your adopted country." She waved her wand lazily and Hermione coughed and redirected the hex with the wand that was at her fingertips, shattering a particularly ugly cherub sculpture. She had removed it from her hair and replaced it so quickly that Lucius would have missed it if he had not been watching his wife.
"That was a Falconet!" Thérèse shrieked in disapproval, and Hermione replied, "Perhaps then if you cannot control your magic you might set your wand aside when in polite company."
"Really, Lucius!" Thérèse's eyes shot to her nephew, and he graciously repaired the sculpture.
"As I was saying, Thérèse, I cannot imagine any good reason for Bertrand's interest in my marriage. He is incapable of mismanaging his affairs to such an extent as that, but we both know you are already aware of that. I merely mentioned it because it would be so…" Lucius paused as if seeking the right words, "…unfortunate should his activities result in the involvement of the English Ministry. We are all aware of how the vicissitudes of societal changes can be so very trying for all in our family. I would hate to see such changes ripple across the Channel, you know."
"Indeed," was all Thérèse said.
"Thank you for the tea," Hermione said, smoothly rising to her feet. Lucius had planted his barb and she had done the best she could under the circumstances. While she was not confident she had won the bet on this round, neither had she lost it. The outcome of their wager could remain suspended, or, as she imagined was more likely, she and Lucius would haggle as to the concessions granted by each party from the first skirmish.
"I have not dismissed you, you impudent witch," Thérèse said coldly, but Lucius intervened.
"We have another engagement for dinner. I will, of course, keep you apprised of any tidbits concerning Malfaille dealings…I expect we will hear from Bertrand when we move on to Paris." Lucius smoothly kissed his aunt's hand and nodded respectfully.
"Hmmm," she huffed, eyeing Hermione with suspicion and perhaps a tiny hint of respect. "I do hope your harpy of a wife does not affect you too badly, Lucius; but you have made your bed, you must lie in it!"
"Indeed, madame," Lucius intoned, a mischievous smirk at the corner of his mouth.
"It was pleasant to meet you," Hermione offered coolly, accepting Lucius' arm.
"I cannot say the same, hussy. I hope your marriage, if you can call it that, is dissolved when Lucius sees reason." Thérèse said sharply. Hermione could not resist one more well-aimed barb.
"Ah, but madame, 'We cannot always oblige; but we can always speak obligingly.'"
