Good evening! I had not realized quite how many words I was into with this little jag, I have almost another chapter written already. Whee! I won't promise you anything because real life always interferes most irritatingly when I make promises like that. I'd like to say a big thank you to all the new story followers & favorites! Thank you all for enjoying what I'm doing with this story! Please leave a review, I love reading what you have to say!
Some personal review replies, as I have the time now:
articcat, glad you like Scorpius. He is a cute little bugger, and it's nice to have a little levity. We'll see him again, I promise.
KEZZ, glad you're still lovin' it!
susannajulia, so happy another scientist is reading and enjoying the details! Glad you like it thus far!
viola, ah, that is a mystery, isn't it...you'll have to wait and see!
zeeksmom, you make me want to make more use of my thesaurus! Thank you for your kind words regarding their relationship and marriage. I, too, think there is a lot to wade into here, and I am having a good time getting mucky with the complications of a forced marriage between two people who likely wouldn't have thought of each other as potential spouses at all.
AlesiaG, I can only say, 'Excellent! Excellent!' in my best Mr. Burns impression. After all it would it would be far too boring if you could predict what is happening at this stage. Keep those eagle eyes peeled for clues, you're keeping me honest! :)
MystiqueFairy, not to worry-I promise to always complete my stories, barring some disastrous event. Right now I'm very busy in work but the summer is coming, the summer is coming...which means updates will be more frequent. Seems like my updates are weekly now, but that will probably pick up in a month or so.
Redshadow, keep reading and reviewing! Thank you for enjoying my unfettered imaginings.
The Light from Within, I think you're pulling out some interesting interpretations of the dynamic between Lucius and Hermione. There are advantages that come from experience, and Lucius was already a master of manipulation. I think what is interesting for me is how he can cloak those motives, but somehow Hermione gets her darts in without sometimes him even realizing it. It's an interesting relationship and it's fun to explore it as I'm writing, because the dynamics are sometimes subtle, sometimes wild. I've enjoyed your reviews, please keep leaving them! As always, I own nothing but the plot, all characters and the HP world belong to JKR.
Ok, on to the fun stuff, as they say. As always, please let me know what you think!
The changes made around the department were subtle and mostly unnoticed by those who worked there. Hermione's Aurors had become a feature which elicited discreet sneers from a few who were bold enough to throw them her way when they thought Lucius wasn't looking. Her co-workers had never been afraid of her, but they were afraid of Lucius. After all, he had power over them, and he wielded it with the precision of a vindictive surgeon. After Mulgrew was fired for mouthing off to Hermione during one heated meeting over the niffler experiments, the rest of the department got the message loud and clear: Hermione Malfoy had a new protector in her husband, and Circe help the wizard who insulted her. The Minister himself made an unprecedented two visits to the division over the next few weeks as well, smugly shown around by Lucius himself. If there were any doubt that Malfoy was well secured in his role as department head, that put the final nail in those rumors. Of course, it helped that Yasmin let it slip that Kingsley was possibly thinking of elevating him to a junior minister…
Hermione was pursuing the Muggle screen, as they had come to call it, with a vengeance that suited her personality and intense work style. She even allowed Lucius to pass off some of the early screening work to Jessamine, who was adept with the figures and equations in a way that demonstrated again why Lucius had hired her. The blonde had wisely refrained from attempting to pick her brain about her honeymoon with her 'dreamy' husband after one awkward chat which Hermione had instantly cut off. Now, a few weeks after their honeymoon and the Muggle screen was ready. She sighed and sat back in her chair. Finally Pius would be able to set out the carefully designed bait, and hopefully they would catch the thief who attempted to take it.
Hermione was in her weekly meeting with Lucius, the room carefully warded with silencing spells, when her stomach roiled uncomfortably.
"And you're sure that there are enough sets to make this attractive?" Hermione asked, ignoring the unpleasant sensations assaulting her.
"Yes, this will do nicely. I will ensure Kingsley and Pius know what to expect, and the trap will be laid. With luck the thief…"
Hermione tuned him out, her stomach deeply unhappy. "Excuse me, Lucius, I'm going to be sick."
Lucius looked up from the paperwork and had enough sense to quickly whisk it away before his wife vomited all over the table between them. Ensuring the papers were out of the way, he walked around the table swiftly and pulled her hair away from her face, conjuring a damp handkerchief to wipe her mouth for her when she was done, her body shuddering from the force.
"I'm not feeling very well," she whispered as he vanished the mess and pushed her down into a chair, crouching beside her so he could see her face.
"Obviously. I think I need to take you home."
"No, I'll be fine, I'm sure." Lucius took in her pale cheeks and shook his head as she looked at him.
"Dear wife, if this is what I expect it is, it will not be going away anytime soon."
Lucius was unfortunately correct, damn him to the deepest pits of hell. Hermione dragged her head away from the toilet that had become her best friend over the past few weeks. She was plagued with morning sickness so virulent that she hadn't been able to return to work for weeks! All the cushioning charms in the world could not ameliorate the way she was beginning to detest, loathe, and despise their bathroom. When he popped in to check on her, she told him so.
"I hate this room. I want to rip it all out and redecorate it. It's hideous. I hate the marble. It's cold and ugly and so…so…discouraging!" She hissed in anger as a tear made its way down her cheek. She hated this loss of control, feeling so weak she had sometimes crawled back to their bed. Lucius had assigned the elves to help her when he had to go to the Ministry, but being department head he could only curtail his hours so much. She had furiously ordered them from the room. Once she had had to resort to summoning Smidgen to help her onto the bed, but she absolutely refused to be treated like an invalid.
"We can certainly remodel it if it pleases you," Lucius said, then helped her up and back to their bed, summoning Twigs. "Potion number seven, please, Twigs."
The house elf bowed and disapparated, reappearing instantly with a vial of potion. Hermione eyed it with distaste. "Not another one, Lucius. They aren't helping at all."
"We will find the right one, Hermione. It just takes time." He smoothed her hair back from her forehead. "Please. It is something of a Malfoy specialty, and I promise you, we will find the right combination for you, and then it will be better."
"Not now, please, Lucius. I beg you." Her eyes closed tiredly and Lucius spoke quietly to Twigs, who disapparated again with a pop.
"What did the medi-witch say?" Lucius asked, giving no sign of his irritation at missing Pomfrey's house call. It had been a meeting with Shacklebolt and Thicknesse regarding the chumming they had been doing about the profiles Hermione had come up with. He had agreed to Hermione's request for Poppy despite the fact that the woman had been retired for three years, wondering if she doubted him and the Malfoy Apothecary nausea potions she had been trying at his urging and that of the two healers who had checked on her at St. Mungo's. It wasn't like they weren't renowned for their beneficial effects for expecting mothers, one of the reasons the Malfoy coffers were so healthy. Sales had always been brisk for that particular business for good reason.
"She said the baby is healthy, but I'm underweight. I'm to eat more—as if I want any more familiarity with our toilet!" Hermione's tone was scathing and Lucius knew she was incredibly frustrated with the depth of her morning sickness, which was not restricted to the morning at all.
"I'm sorry, pet. Can you be persuaded to have something to eat? Toast and scotch broth?" His expression was kind, his grey eyes smooth and Hermione felt peevishly annoyed with him for being so composed while she was so damn miserable.
"Was Narcissa like this with Draco?" she asked him with some heat, and Lucius was experienced enough to know what was coming. "You knew I would be like this, didn't you?"
"Nooo, I did not. Every witch handles pregnancy differently, as you are well aware, Hermione." He paused and could see that this answer was not going to satisfy her. "However, there are those who believe that the stronger the magic of the baby, the more adversely the mother will be affected. Something to do with the competing magical influences until the baby's magic is fully formed, as it were."
Normally Hermione was not inclined to give credence to unsupported myths, but it seemed to fit. The Malfoy men were hardly magical dunderheads—Lucius and Draco both were highly talented, capable wizards. She mused on what Ginny had said during her brief visit last week.
"I was sick for three months, Hermione, with both of them. I don't enjoy that part at all, but they are worth it in the end."
Ginny herself had just owled to say she had found out she was pregnant again, so she was pretty well housebound at the moment. Hermione felt all they needed was for Lavender to fall pregnant to inflict a trifecta of misery on Harry and Ron.
"Damn you Lucius," she groaned, and he quickly slipped into the bed behind her, scooting her forward gently so he could massage her shoulders, pressing a kiss on her neck as he did so.
"I have good news about the red herring. It seems likely that the interested parties will act very soon. There has been an uptick of chatter about the profiles now that you are not in the office daily. An unoccupied workstation is a highly attractive target."
Hermione grimaced as his hands hit a sore spot between her shoulders, then said grumpily, "I'm glad this is of some meager use, then."
"You're growing a new life, Hermione. You're allowed to let your body focus on that for the time being."
"I don't like being so ill. I feel so miserable."
Lucius could hear the tears threatening in her voice again, and he turned her head to kiss her softly, then cast the same mouth cleansing charm he'd used months ago. His eyes were thoughtful and teasing as he met her own.
"Hmmm, still better than slugs I have to say."
She laughed against her will, then elbowed him, eliciting a small 'oomph' when her elbow connected with his ribcage. He was still dressed in his formal black, dark blue cravat and tightly buttoned waistcoat still immaculate.
"So violent! Anyone who didn't know you would think it was you who is the ex-Death Eater," he said sassily, sliding from the bed just seconds before Twigs was back carrying a tray. "I would like Draco to take a look at you and cast a few diagnostics after you take that potion. It might help us figure out what is disagreeing with you in them, and then we can make you something customized."
"So I won't have to take that potion for a few hours?" Hermione asked, eyeing the vial with a moue of distaste.
"Yes."
"Fine."
"And I brought you the latest niffler results, which I will gladly go over with you—" he held them out of her grasping fingers gently, "—provided you eat the meal which Twigs has brought. Are we agreed?"
Hermione resisted the half-hearted urge to argue. She was being petulant and she knew it. "I'm sorry. I know rationally this isn't your fault. My own mother was as sick as a dog while carrying me, I don't know why I expected it to be different. I just thought that being magical, magic would make it all magically better. Foolish of me, I know."
"Hmmm. Perhaps refreshingly naïve."
She could tell that he was laughing at her a bit, and she threw three pillows at him in quick succession, then pulled her wand quickly and hexed him with a small stinging charm. "THAT was for laughing at me, you pillock!"
"It's a very fortunate thing that you are incapable of dueling at present, witch, or I'd make you pay for that. As it is, I shall have to content myself with your cursing when you take this in a few hours," Lucius said, holding up the vial. The one thing that could not be said about the increasingly strong potions was that they possessed a pleasing flavor. It was simply not possible to flavor the pregnancy nausea potions at the level of strength that would require. Sales were brisk because they worked, not because they tasted nice. He watched his wife eat, chatting to her about inconsequential Ministry gossip to distract her and hopefully help her keep the food down. He was worried about her, although he wouldn't admit it to her. It would give her mind another thing to fuss over, and make her more exhausted than she already was.
"Now, about those niffler results," Hermione began, setting the tray aside and holding her hands out for the paperwork.
Lucius wasted no time in going to the Floo when he left Hermione dozing in their room, his tactic of distraction working for now to keep the food in her system. Hopefully she would stay asleep long enough for it to do some good.
"Healer Malfoy's office, St. Mungo's," he said clearly into the flames, then popped his head into the green haze. He had no intention of leaving the Manor again today if he could possibly help it.
"Father. What do you need?" Draco asked, coming over to crouch down in front of the standard size and quite boringly plain fireplace. At least he had an office with one, a luxury that was not afforded to all Healers on the register of the hospital.
"I'd like you to take a look at Hermione, please. The standard potions from the apothecary aren't cutting it, and I'd like your opinion."
"Is it urgent?" Draco asked, throwing a Tempus on the wall. "I've got two more patients to check if not."
"No. Just let me know when you're home."
Lucius completed a few more Floo calls, at least satisfied that his Ministry affairs would hum along nicely in his absence for the rest of the day. Yasmin had been particularly effusive with her descriptions of Jessamine's wedding planning and the gossip making the rounds about Milton Brandefort's latest gambling losses, supposedly to an Auror, although nobody knew who. Lucius tut-tutted satisfactorily and thanked Yasmin for keeping him informed of the department goings-on, then rang off. He considered owling Yaxley but thought the better of it when Smidgen popped in and bowed fearfully.
"Master, the Mistress is in the bathroom again."
Lucius popped into the master bedroom suite and held Hermione's hair back again as she vomited into the toilet. Her cheeks were pale and he conjured a glass of water for her to sip when she slumped back, finished for now.
"This can't continue, Lucius," Hermione said, her brown eyes tired. "I'm only six weeks along. I can't handle this."
"You can, and you will." He was firm and unrelenting, as he needed to be. It bothered him on a visceral level when she didn't argue with him, merely passively held the water and stared at the wall.
"Let me get you off the floor," he said, lifting her himself and bringing her back to their room. On impulse he settled himself on the bed with her in his arms. It was the right decision, because she cried into his robes. He sighed with annoyance and vanished them and the coat underneath, leaving simply a shirt to be wet.
Bloody hormones, he thought, but was wise enough not to say it. Somehow he suspected that Hermione was going to eclipse Narcissa when it came to magical outbursts during her third trimester of pregnancy. Best store up goodwill chits now. Her crying ebbed until she sat upright rapidly, nearly knocking his chin with her skull by the rapidity of the movement, pushing herself back so she could look at him.
"Clearly my body is disagreeing with pregnancy as violently as wormwood rejects dittany. How can I possibly carry this child to term?"
Ah. She was worried about the baby. Lucius recalled her statements about her mother's pregnancies and miscarriages, and sought to ease her worries.
"You have been told by no less than three qualified healers that the baby is perfectly healthy. I myself have checked you thoroughly for traces of Dark magic. The only person who is struggling with their health is you, wife. And that is precisely why I am here, and why you are going to take this potion in, oh, less than half an hour, and then Draco and I will monitor you to see exactly what is disagreeing with your magic." The wrinkle persisted on her brow and Lucius perceived that she was not done turning over the issue; indeed it was clear to him that it had been gnawing at her for days and days, this utter failure of her body to obey her. Her next words confirmed this suspicion, at least giving him a place to go with the hope of calm to follow.
"I am incensed by this! I have never encountered a problem I could not solve! For something so trivial to dictate my entire day—I just cannot take it! It's so frustrating—I can't even find enough energy to brew my own potions, I have to rely on you and your damn company's pre-packaged product like I'm some idiotic housewife! What good is my vast intellect if I'm rendered utterly incompetent by pregnancy? This child is doomed, if it can even survive the hostile environment which is my womb, apparently!" Hermione's voice vibrated hollowly, her expression indicating how keenly she felt let down by her abilities, her hands gesturing toward her abdomen like it was a foreign appendage.
"All of your sickness is an indicator of a very healthy and hospitable environment for our child. It is your body's way of protecting the baby from any possibility of food-borne illness or magical attack. Or had you not noticed the discomfort of being in the Ministry the last time you persuaded me to let you attempt it?"
"That is an old wives' tale," Hermione said. "I don't believe in any of that nonsense, and that includes your assertion that my degree of illness is a reflection of our child's magical potency. I've never heard of anything so ridiculous."
"Does it matter?" Lucius waited a beat, and knew that he had scored considerably with that strike. "I thought not. So relax and recite to yourself the ingredients in Baum's Potente Philter for Pregnant and Parturient Patients, because that is what you will be taking."
Hermione groaned as she started mentally reciting the list of ingredients for the potion. "You can't be serious—thestral placenta?"
"Whose family fortune is based on potions?" Lucius' face was arch and Hermione pettily stuck her tongue out at him.
"In the last century...and your expertise was eclipsed by Severus Snape, just as I surpassed your son in both OWLs and NEWT scores for Potions," she retorted churlishly.
"You would not have beaten mine," Lucius riposted gracefully, rising from the bed with the fluid grace that Hermione secretly envied. "Ah, Draco. Just on time, as usual."
Draco raised an eyebrow at this subtle sign of his father's tetchiness, but chose to ignore it, walking over to Hermione. If he had any thoughts about seeing his former classmate in his mother's place, he kept them to himself. It was admittedly odd, but it seemed like they got along well enough, if their bedroom antics were anything to go by. Thank Merlin that had tapered off with her being so sick. He wouldn't even let Scorpius into this wing of the house after their honeymoon.
"All right Granger, let's get this done. Oh, and Astoria wants a 'chat'. I suspect she wants to commiserate with you—she was sicker than a gryphon scratched by a dragon when she was pregnant with Scorpius."
"Does every bloody witch get as sick as a dog while pregnant?" Hermione asked, ignoring the vial of potion Lucius was holding out.
"Don't put it off, Hermione, or I'll pour it down your throat," he said with more than his usual menace, which was Hermione's first inkling of how worried Lucius actually was about her.
"I hate you right now," she said with real malice after she swallowed what had to rank as the most noxious potion she had ever swallowed, and that was saying something after the taste of Bellatrix Lestrange's Polyjuice.
"Because I know how you adore me otherwise, pet," Lucius replied, casting diagnostics in tandem with Draco. Both were more well-versed in these types of spells than appearances would suggest, another little Malfoy secret that had allowed their company to thrive through successive generations. The Malfoy patriarchs had all been harsh tutors in the subjects related to their business interests, which had profited the family legacy immeasurably.
"Hmmm, do you see that?" Lucius observed, and knew that Draco had seen it as well.
"Yes. A mild allergy to the tincture of asphodel, or the gerslane," Draco said.
"I've never been allergic to either of those before," Hermione was fascinated now, her intellect running through a half dozen possibilities.
"Pregnancy causes a lot of changes. Things which your body might tolerate otherwise might become anathema. Hence the reason to have so many different anti-nausea potions for pregnant women," Lucius said.
"There may be more," Draco said, checking the time. "Another ten minutes and we'll know, one way or another."
"Why?" Hermione said in a sudden outrush of breath, and Lucius lifted an eyebrow to Draco.
"Because you're going to toss all of it back up by then, unless I'm wrong—and I never am, princess," Draco said smarmily, causing Lucius to cast a mild stinging hex on his son.
"Watch how you address my wife, peer or not."
Draco muttered something to himself about poncy parents, but continued casting diagnostic spells fluidly alongside Lucius.
"There. It's the gingerroot." Lucius was triumphant, and Draco reluctantly agreed.
"Looks like it."
"Ginger is supposed to help nausea, not induce it!" Hermione said, fighting with all her might to keep down the dreadful concoction that felt as though it had grown claws and was trying to climb its way out of her esophagus. She would not throw it up now, not for all the tea in China, with Draco watching with amusement. Lucius caught her eye and she could tell that he knew she was overcoming the urge to vomit by sheer willpower. At least he had the good sense to not look amused.
"I'm going to tell Astoria how wretchedly dreadful you're being," Hermione said nastily to Draco before she rushed to the loo and emptied the entire potion and whatever remained in her stomach into the toilet. Lucius wordlessly accompanied her and offered her a clean, damp handkerchief when she was through, casting a stasis charm over the bowl before she could flush it.
"Are you serious?" she asked him in disbelief as Draco entered the bathroom soundlessly, looking annoyed.
"Best not to think about it," Lucius said, helping her up. "Besides, this means we will finally get the right potion for you, so you can look forward to not repeating the experience soon."
"I certainly hope so," Hermione said, swishing her mouth with the breath freshener offered, then spitting it into the sink.
"Are you sure about this?" The wizard was nervous, flicking his wand from hand to hand as if he expected trouble. Granted, that was mostly wise in this part of Knockturn Alley, but it was annoying the other wizard at the table and he put a stop to it by flicking his own wand once.
"Enough." The voice was quiet and commanding, laced with enough venom that the younger man opposite him straightened up and ceased his fidgeting. "Tonight. Do it quickly or you will have the Unspeakables on you. I doubt they will be kind to one in your shoes. You know what to do once you have it."
"Fine," the man whined. "What about my—" he was cut off by a silencing charm before he could say anything further.
"You will get exactly what you deserve from this arrangement. Nothing more, nothing less. You may say 'thank you'."
"Thank you, master."
Satisfied, the older wizard slid from the booth. There would be something worthwhile to work with after tonight, he was quite sure of that. Either way, he would win.
The Ministry was as silent as a burial ground at this time of night. On the floor for the DMM the silence was oppressive, reflecting the many magical boundaries and wards imposed on the myriad rooms and passageways to who knew where which gave the department its name. It was on this level that a wizard skulked in the shadows, intent on a particular room. It had no designation, as with any other room on this level, but he unerringly walked straight for it, compelled to seek the information his master required.
The spells set over this chamber were complex and layered, requiring a good deal of skill from the one attempting to break them. Fortunately he was adept at this sort of thing, a small line on his résumé when he was hired but one his daytime employers had not made use of. It felt pleasant to use them again, rather like dusting off a half-forgotten project in one's cupboard. He slipped inside and locked the door with a simple spell that a deadly flashback to any that attempted to breach it. He found the data and was in the process of copying it when he felt a minor flutter, the only warning that someone else was here. He turned in a flash and sent a well-aimed stunner, slicing hex, and shield charm.
"Wrong order," the Unspeakable said, easily deflecting the first two and landing a slicing hex of his own. Another Unspeakable popped in silently behind the errant wizard, whose senses were well trained enough to realize the presence of an additional attacker. He backed to the side of the room and dueled both of them briefly, at least capable of protecting himself if he didn't manage to land any blows of his own. Finally he felt the chill in the air, as the very warmth of his soul seemed to be sucked out of him. He collapsed as the grey shroud hovered into view, still clutching his wand but unable to cast a Patronus before, and certainly not able to draw the wherewithal to do so under extreme duress.
"But Dementors are banished," he whispered, taking in the two Unspeakables watching him dispassionately.
"Boggart," one offered helpfully, kicking the wand away as it fell from his grasp. The other put the Boggart back in the box and stunned the wretch.
"Almost too easy, Yves."
"No almost about it. Too easy."
On the sixth level, the current home of the Department of Magical Research, another intruder slipped silently through the corridors. Teams of Aurors and Unspeakables were stationed, some invisible, throughout the floor, but this intruder was going through the Department of Magical Transportation, which was significantly less well defended.
Finding the particular cubby of an office that belonged to an exceedingly minor clerk in the Apparation Test Centre, a series of complex charms were applied to uncover and then enlarge a rat hole. Few cared to remember, but the Ministry had suffered a terrible problem with rats during the bubonic plague. The disease didn't affect wizards, but the building itself at its lowest levels attracted the vermin, and the skeleton of the structure was left intact, but rather built upon as the Ministry grew and changed. Here at the lowest levels, the rat holes were extensive. It was a matter of knowing how to look for them.
"Stupid preservationists," the intruder scoffed, easing through a passageway that was just large enough to wiggle through. Standing again, the prize gleamed under the weight of massive and nasty wards. The intruder smiled and began to work.
It took over an hour. An hour during which no fewer than three hidden and two overt surveys were made of the area. They detected nothing, which was as it should be. Finally the information was bare, ready for removal. No copying here. The theft would be known, and bragged about in certain, discreet circles.
Pausing and tilting an ear toward the door, the brief flash of a curse saw a wand being wielded with skill and alacrity. This intruder was not like the buffoon in the DMM, a fact which became readily apparent as no fewer than six wizards were engaged, some being maimed in the process. Shouts rang out in the darkness, a particularly effective atmospheric curse removing all the flashes from curses, rendering the room completely opaque to normal vision. An Animorphmagus could still see, of course, and the intruder slipped out through the hole by which it had come, silently commanding the useful idiot to do his job. Satisfied with the ensuing chaos as spells with deadly force were brought to bear, the intruder slipped away into the night.
