Another update! A couple of things to note: there is a lot yet to be unraveled for you with our crew of dastardly villains, and let's face it, Hermione and Lucius have a lot of question marks still in their nascent marriage. However, I do want to continue to give you spots of light about the pair of them throughout the next little bit, which is decidedly going to look pretty good for our antagonists. It's not going to be smooth sailing for our newlyweds, either, but I have ended this chapter on a bit of a high note for them so I hope that will tide you over-because, to quote Margo Channing, "Fasten your seatbelts. It's going to be a bumpy night."
I also want to reassure you that eventually all the murkiness about what has happened in Ministry attacks and the kidnappings will be cleared up. It's just going to be tough for our protagonists to uncover all the nastiness, and it's going to be an ugly process. I already feel sorry for them. *ahem* Oh dear. I've said too much. I'll just say thank you for the recent reviews and let you get to it!
Calvin Yaxley was tired, having been unceremoniously yanked from his apartment near midnight and brought to the spartan holding cell at the Ministry and he knew the mirth and frivolity was just beginning. At least the routine was predictable, given his experiences after the Dark Lord's defeat. The Aurors' questions had been ridiculous, but that was always true of the team sent to retrieve someone. The real games began when the designated parties arrived.
"Yaxley."
Calvin was wary as he regarded Pius Thicknesse, who was holding his wand with a calculating eye as he strode into the room. "I've always been suspicious of you, Calvin. Those dark times were very unpleasant for me, and somehow it's never quite come out who was responsible, hmm?"
"There were many assigned to the Ministry, Pius." Calvin's tone was level, but he hadn't missed the changeover to Unspeakables. Clearly Kingsley was very pissed off about something, and he wasn't hesitating to use the significant grey areas assigned to Dark activities.
"It's unfortunate that such a cloud hangs over you, Calvin. You are clearly mildly redeemed, else the Ministry collar would choke you, but we both know there are ways around that, hmm? So perhaps you could be so good as to tell me what exactly you've been doing for Cornelia Dextrose."
Ah, thought Calvin. That bitch has managed to entangle me in whatever she's involved in.
"Other than the unfortunate fact that I'm supposed to marry the cunt, I'm afraid that I have not the pleasure of understanding what you mean." Yaxley appeared perfectly relaxed, and folded his hands in front of him as he leaned back in his chair and waited.
"I'm not at liberty to say…you understand, don't you Calvin?" Pius' voice was regretful, but they were both well aware that he was gleeful to have Yaxley in this position, and he was going to enjoy every minute of it.
"I'm certain you didn't drag me here because she tried to get me to use my position to enforce some of the more archaic Floo Network regulations, which tells me she must be suspected of something very Dark indeed," Calvin said. "However, seeing as I know nothing about that, why don't you cut through the crap and do whatever it is you're supposed to do to 'ensure my cooperation'?"
"Ah, Yaxley. Always so blunt. An unfortunate failing for a man of your less than salubrious background," Pius said even as a thin smile crept onto his face. "However, the Ministry has a great interest in what you know about Ms. Dextrose."
There was no struggle as shackles appeared and Pius immobilized Yaxley in his chair, then administered three drops of veritaserum.
"Let the games begin," Pius said, sitting with one hip on the table.
"Bring it," Calvin said calmly.
"Oh, believe me, we will," Pius said with a smirk, and an Unspeakable entered the room. "I'd introduce her, but you'll forget her in the end. Suffice it to say, she's a Legilimens."
Pius flicked his wand into its holster with practiced ease, and watched the witch immobilize Yaxley's head for good eye contact, her wand at the ready, then opened the door to exit the room. "Have fun, Calvin!"
Yes, Kingsley Shacklebolt is good and pissed at someone, Calvin thought to himself as he prepared for a flagrantly harsh interrogation. He felt the first assault on his Occlumency shields and mentally fortified himself. It can't be worse than Voldemort.
"When are you going?" Hermione asked, the small tic at Lucius' temple the only visible sign of his agitation. He met her eyes briefly before he returned to his selection of a waistcoat.
"Any earlier than eight and I will look guilty. And it would be poor form to be later than nine. I propose that we go in as normal at half past and I will see what has become of Calvin overnight as soon as you're in the office."
"Lucius." Hermione placed her hand on his shirtsleeve, and he stopped removing the green and black waistcoat from the hanger. Hermione knew he was not in a good mood to begin with, but she had to have this conversation before the situation deteriorated further.
"What does Kingsley have on you?" The question was soft but potent; Lucius' jaw clenched before he donned the waistcoat and turned to look at her without doing the buttons.
"What makes you think Kingsley Shacklebolt has any interest in me other than my position?" His words were slick with their usual razor sharp sarcasm, but Hermione recognized this for the defense tactic that it was. Somehow she knew she was on the right track.
"Notwithstanding the Ministry's professed desire to see the ex-Death Eaters reintegrated into society and your own wealth and skills at ingratiation and sycophancy, I find it difficult to credit the notion that Kingsley would have given you this position out of the goodness of his heart. Furthermore, I doubt you were keen to throw yourself back into the melee of Ministry dealings without your former influence, as I am aware you had to eat large amounts of crow when you did so. You're independently wealthy, and have no need to work there—which leads me to conclude that he or the Ministry in general has some sort of hold on you."
Hermione's arms were crossed over her chest, and again that slight bump taunted him. Impossible position. Yet again I have been tricked into the closed coffin, and every day another shovelful falls. Steeling himself for the necessity, Lucius cruelly replied, "Just now figuring that out, Hermione? I would have thought you would have used your considerable brain power to arrive at that conclusion when I was given the position you openly coveted. But of course, now you have a vested interest in me, don't you? What on earth happens to the new Mrs. Malfoy if her husband is found responsible for nefarious activities? Not to worry, I'm sure Draco wouldn't seek to deny you of too much in the way of funds, dear."
Hermione bit down on an angry response. He was provoking her to try and distract her, which meant she was close to the truth. She walked over to him and stilled his hands on his cravat, forcing him to meet her eyes.
"I'm not buying it. We both know I knew that a long time ago. But if I'm correct, Kingsley is calling in his chips—and since you are now my husband, I want to know exactly how tight your collar is."
Lucius removed her hands from his neckcloth and held them for a brief second before he let them drop and finished with the cravat. Finally he returned his gaze to his wife.
"I think we both know the danger of speaking further on this subject." Lucius was donning his cufflinks as he said so, and Hermione knew right then why he couldn't speak about it.
"Those bastards," she said softly, grasping Lucius' hand and wrist. "They've made you an indentured servant, haven't they? What are the terms?"
Lucius' eyes were swirls of cold silver. "What price freedom, witch?"
"And Harry knows, doesn't he? That is why he accepted it so calmly, they know you couldn't do anything to me even if you had wanted to! And no one bothered to tell ME, the one who had to MARRY you!" Hermione was angry with herself for not questioning further, for allowing herself to get so lost in the pleasure of her research for its own sake that she handed over control to the Ministry. She had realized the cost when Lucius had been appointed, but she had chosen to bury her head in the sand and pay it quietly. She realized now that she could never afford the luxury of such a life, and in protecting the illusion for her that she could have it, her friends had all unwittingly placed her in danger. She looked at Lucius with anger snapping in her eyes. "I'll talk to Kingsley. This has to stop."
Lucius took hold of her and folded her into his arms. Three months ago I'd have attempted to shake some sense into her…the thought flitted quickly away as he focused on what had to happen. He had not had the luxury of such reflections for a long time, and whatever was stirring between them was decidedly dangerous at present. When he spoke, it was against her hair. Hermione could hear his voice rumbling through his chest.
"Listen to me, witch. You cannot do anything. I cannot speak. The only thing you can do is to continue as you have been, which is far more than I expected of you. And when we can, we will talk about it. Until then, at least a continuation of the facsimile of trust between us would be helpful."
"Who is behind this, Lucius? You know far more than you're telling me or them, and it's MY life, OUR CHILD'S life on the line. I need to know, damn it!" Hermione was annoyed with herself for not forcing this conversation sooner, for not insisting that Kingsley break his damn reticence and tell her exactly what he thought Lucius could do.
"I cannot tell you." Such iron words to be said cloaked with such warmth.
"But you understand why this makes it worse, Lucius," Hermione whispered, and he let his hands fall from her as she stepped back and pinned him with an agonized gaze. "Because now I don't know what you've done because you wanted to do it, and what has been forced on you. And the worst part is you can't even tell me, and how could I believe you if you did?"
Lucius did the only thing he could. He drew on his salvaged pride, his damnable pride and sense of duty. "I told you it would be hell, Hermione. I regret that you must writhe with me through the flames."
Hermione stiffened and nodded, pulling her own spine of steel into action. "From your words I trust that means you see the possibility of an end."
Lucius nodded minutely. She was no coward, his wife. As he escorted her to the Floo fifteen minutes later, immaculately attired, he thought that Kingsley Shacklebolt was the worst sort of manipulator to leave her dangling on the hook without the decency to tell her she was bait.
"Calvin."
The word was the same, but the wealth of meaning infused by the voice was entirely different. Calvin Yaxley looked up with hooded eyes, not bothering to sit up straight. To say that his night was uncomfortable was a bit of an understatement, but it was far, far less than either of them had experienced under Voldemort.
"Lucius." Calvin didn't say anything else. He didn't have to. With a master who was dangerously inclined to eavesdropping and the Cruciatus, they had all learned how to say what needed to be said with their eyes alone. Lucius was walking the tightrope still, and Calvin may have fallen off, but he was still hanging on.
"I'm afraid you didn't give me your felicitous news in a timely fashion," Lucius said in an offhand manner, setting his walking stick so it leaned against the table and taking the chair opposite Calvin.
"You'll pardon me. You seemed a bit overwhelmed with your own personal situation."
As Calvin replied, Lucius made a brief survey of the room. Calvin looked like a dipsomaniac deprived of his favorite booze, but that was to be expected. The tiled room was little changed from the last time Lucius had enjoyed the Ministry's hosting skills himself, but they had obviously dropped all pretense of subterfuge about eavesdropping and there was a glass window in place in the wall, opaque to the room's occupants of course. The reason for such a Muggle acquisition could only be that they had strengthened the wards, weakening the efficacy of wall charms.
"Well, that has occupied my attention. However, I find it strange that you never thought to mention why Cornelia was suddenly pestering you so vociferously about Ministry affairs. Surely you would have seen fit to mention to me the little matter of your upcoming betrothal, if only so I might have wished you joy." Lucius was conversational, but the underlying frigidity clearly communicated his annoyance that his friend had sought to conceal the matter, and landed him in what was quite hot water.
"I was unaware that you were prepared or able to do anything about it, Lucius—and I would hate to be responsible for a smirch on your reputation as head of the department issuing the marriage decrees. After all, it is your wife's invention that made such a situation possible," Calvin said bitterly. Lucius knew they were playing for their audience, which currently included Kingsley, Pius, and whoever else they may have added since he entered the room. Calvin was trying to tell him he was breaking the rules, and didn't want Lucius thrown into the shit with him.
"I was unaware that you were unhappily matched, Calvin. Tell me, had the Unspeakables paid you a visit yet?" Lucius asked.
"No, they had not. Apparently being a senior Ministry official they presumed I would fall in line when deadlines were approaching—and as you saw, Cornelia assumed the same. Frankly this seems all a bit much for a simple matter about a forced marriage!" Calvin was overdoing it now, and Lucius swallowed noticeably and fiddled with his cane.
"Please do not insult my intelligence in such a manner and pretend that is all that is wrong. I care not if you wish to insult your own, but it is beneath you to do so," Lucius replied with a hint of annoyance, then looked his friend in the eye. "What the hell have you done, Calvin?"
Calvin was equally steely as he met Lucius' glare. "Nothing to do with the arctic Cornelia Dextrose, I assure you. I'd have to be a Dementor to get close to that quim. And what I do to satisfy, thwart, or stall the Ministry marriage decree is entirely my own business, Lucius."
"So you admit to seeking to thwart the Ministry marriage decrees!" The voice was Pius Thicknesse's, and Lucius was visibly pissed off that Calvin had said so. There was more going on here than Calvin was letting on, and he was sacrificing himself for something, or someone. That he was equally certain it had nothing to do with the plot against Hermione and the Ministry's marriage agenda in general was irrelevant, because Calvin had just signed his own ticket to Azkaban, and the bastard knew it.
"You cowardly shit," Lucius hissed at Calvin as the door opened and a team of Aurors stepped in along with Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had a disapproving look on his face. Calvin and Lucius both knew that Lucius was referring to the fact that Calvin was taking a draw instead of fighting through the ugliness, which made Lucius' situation harder because not only would he be without an ally, but now he would feel honor bound to extricate Calvin from whatever mess he'd made in his personal life.
"Some things are worth it," Calvin whispered back as Kingsley turned from the Aurors and addressed Calvin.
"Calvin Yaxley, you are being remanded into custody at Azkaban to await trial for defying the Ministry's marriage decree. You are entitled to legal representation from a solicitor of your choosing, and you will be notified of the date of your trial when it is set. I am disappointed that a senior Ministry official such as yourself has chosen such a course of action. Take him away."
Lucius had a headache, but he couldn't bring himself to go to bed. Hermione had already gone up, licking her own wounds and keeping her thoughts to herself about their non-discussion in his closet this morning. She had kept her own counsel all day, apparently getting things done in the office while Lucius had brooded about what Calvin had said and not said before being carted off, and the impossible demands his wife was making of him.
"Why do we always have those talks in the closet, I wonder?" Lucius mused aloud, turning his glass of firewhisky to see the reflected flames before taking another swig.
"Drinking away your troubles?" Draco asked, folding his long legs as he took the wingchair opposite and crossed his hands loosely over his knees.
"Yet again I sit and wait, wondering when they will come for me." Draco eyed him, then removed the glass of firewhisky from his father's hand.
"That's enough of that, then." Draco's face was speculative, and he patted Lucius' knee. "Tell Daddy Draco all about it."
Lucius snorted with laughter, then leaned back and fixed hooded eyes on his son. "I hardly think your life experience qualifies you to give me advice."
"Maybe not," Draco said slowly, "but I can listen, and I'm not hindered by the voluntary noose you've got."
"Touché," Lucius said, wandlessly and nonverbally summoning back his drink and taking another healthy swallow. "I've forgotten what a snide little shit you can be."
"I learned from the best," Draco said easily, then leaned back in a mimicry of Lucius' posture. "So, Granger's got her knickers in a twist about something. I'm assuming that's because she can't decide whether there is any truth in all the rumors of your murderous tendencies; or whether her friends could be so ignorant/careless/callous as to not inform her of your, shall we say, 'unique relationship' with the Ministry; or if she can trust anything you've said to her in your whirlwind courtship and subsequent marriage."
"Try all of the above," Lucius said, savoring the last of the firewhisky as it burned down his throat. He waved his hand to refill it but Draco stopped him, summoning the glass again to himself.
"Enough of that. You don't need firewhisky, you need to talk to your wife." Draco's eyes were open and calculating, and he leaned back again in the chair as Lucius frowned at him. "Oh, don't mistake me. I'm hardly the type to urge wearing your heart on your sleeve. But I do think you'd better tell Granger she at least has a piece of it, if you don't want her to fall prey to all the nasty self-deprecations swirling underneath that bushy frizz."
"I don't have the pleasure of understanding what you mean," Lucius replied, his words brittle and harsh despite their polite veneer.
"Of course you don't. Just as I don't understand why the devil you thought Aunt Thérèse would approve of her."
"I didn't think Thérèse would approve of her," Lucius retorted, sitting up finally in his chair.
"Of course you didn't. That's why you introduced her first thing, and I have yet to introduce Astoria even though we've been married for five years and have given her her only great-great-nephew. How silly of me."
Always one to know when to make an exit, Draco removed himself from the study.
"Impertinent, graceless sophist," Lucius muttered.
"You're welcome!" Draco shouted back, and Lucius summoned the empty glass purely for the satisfaction of throwing it at the door with a satisfying crash.
Harry,
I am in dire need of some information about Lucius and the terms of his parole from the Ministry. I know that there have been some closed door dealings, but now that I'm married to him, I am subject to the same effects of those agreements if they are impacting our progress on the research and the broader threats against me and the Ministry. Somehow I get the impression that the parole that supposedly finished years ago never went away, did it?
I realize that a lot of things have been kept buried, probably for good reason. However, I am now in the position of not knowing what my husband can and cannot tell me, and what I can and cannot trust. This is an impossible situation, and I will not stand for it. If necessary I am prepared to camp out on Kingsley's doorstep and hex whoever tries to remove me if I don't get some answers! That includes you, Lucius, and Kingsley himself if he's not prepared to tell me exactly why the hell so much has gone on without ANY OF YOU telling me about it.
IF YOU GET THE IMPRESSION THAT I'M PISSED OFF, YOU'RE RIGHT!
If you don't respond tomorrow, I am going to sic the Weasleys on you en masse! Including your wife!
(possibly still) your friend-
Hermione Malfoy
Satisfied with the contents of her missive, Hermione called her owl and sealed the scroll with some particularly nasty hexes, and keyed it to Harry alone. She let the owl go and shivered slightly. The nights were getting cooler now, and autumn was just around the corner. Pretty soon she would be trading the silk pajamas for flannel, whether Lucius approved or not. Turning from the window she padded softly to the bed and made herself comfortable. Lucius was in a foul mood after the morning on the detention floor, and he was probably going to drink himself into a decent haze before he came up. Resolved to work harder on the latest work on housekeeping genes and how they applied to gene families, Hermione tried to bury herself in the jargon of the papers before her but failed spectacularly.
"Ah, there is my wife, mother of my unborn child." Lucius' gait was remarkably steady, given how much he had had to drink. "Trying to be all things to all people, allowed, no, encouraged to sacrifice herself for others time and time again, without full disclosure, and payment only in gratitude. If the irony weren't so cutting, I would find it incredibly witty. As it is, given my own sad situation, I can only deem it tragically farcical."
If she were being honest with herself, Hermione was glad of the excuse to send her paperwork to the escritoire with a flick of her hand. It felt good to be able to do simple charms wandlessly again, and a small smile crept unbidden to her mouth at the thought.
"So pleased I can amuse and entertain," Lucius said with a mocking bow, the slight overcorrection to his balance the only hint as to how much firewhisky he had actually imbibed.
"Please vent your spleen on someone else," Hermione said, but she did get up from the bed to help him with his cufflinks.
"Sod it, the elves can find them," Lucius grumbled, but Hermione pressed a finger to his mouth.
"Shush. You make a lousy drunkard, Lucius. You are far too coherent." Hermione was ruthlessly stripping his shirt, belt, and trousers in short order, less than surprised when his manhood sprang to attention. "I don't think so," Hermione said, using her wand to put his pajama bottoms on before she returned to bed.
"Bitch," he said without heat, then crawled in between the silk sheets and pulled the ribbon from his hair without bothering to be gentle about it.
"Ouch!" he complained to himself, and Hermione turned over to look at him as he flung the offending ribbon as far as it would go across the room.
"I've noticed that you always wear your hair tied back nowadays. Care to share the reason for that?" Hermione asked, resisting the urge to soothe him. He was like a wounded animal—he was just as likely to bite her as to respond to her in kind.
"Polyjuice. And it's easier to duel when it's out of the way," Lucius replied absently, the pleasant lassitude of the alcohol promising at least an easy start to sleep.
He was such a mass of contradictions, Hermione mused, watching his eyelids droop slightly, then close. He was one of the most malicious people he knew, but none of it had been directed at her since they married. Oh, he was quite good at superficial flaying, and that was doubtless applied in equal measure to all, but the really hurtful things…those he tried to spare her. Hermione leaned over to kiss him, and was surprised by the flutter she felt when she did so.
"Lucius! The baby moved!" Hermione was so surprised she woke him up, her hand gripping his arm hard enough that he came fully awake in an instant.
"What? What about the baby?" He focused immediately on Hermione's face, and the surprised delight on her face was completely out of character to what his brain supplied as their current stalemate.
"I felt it move," Hermione said, placing his hand low, where she had felt it. "I know it's to be expected, but I hadn't really paid much attention thus far and I've only read a few books…"
Lucius couldn't sort through the thoughts that whizzed through his head. He had enough sense left to realize that was dangerous at the present juncture, and the opportunity to achieve a détente. He heard himself say, "Could you get me a Sober Up potion, please?"
Hermione's brow raised in surprise, but she Accio'ed the potion from the bathroom wandlessly and handed him the vial, which he knocked back quickly. Thirty seconds later, Lucius felt a bit more prepared to contemplate his unborn progeny and his wife.
"We haven't…talked much about this baby," Lucius said slowly, leaving his hand on Hermione's gently distended belly. "We both know that is of necessity, but—I don't want you to be deprived of some of the basic joys of carrying a new life, simply because we are hard pressed to retain our own."
Hermione felt tears forming and cleared her throat. Lucius was eerily perceptive, and she placed her own hand on top of his and said, "I have been scared to think about it. It's just been something abstract, but with my clothes constantly changing, and now this, feeling him or her… It's just not what I pictured when I thought I'd eventually be pregnant."
Lucius sat up and coaxed Hermione to sit between his legs, her back pressed against his chest so he could wrap his arms around her and put both of his hands on top of hers on their child. He inclined his head forward so he could speak gently into her ear as his hands moved hers on her belly, tracing a soft pattern together. "This child will be loved by both parents. I will probably want to spoil it like crazy, and you will probably want to be irredeemably strict according to whatever book on parenting you feel is best. And no matter what we do, the child will grow up well, because it will be loved. And in the end, that is all that matters. Draco has taught me that a parent can screw up in any number of dreadful ways, but as long as your child knows that you love them, everything will work itself out eventually. And that, Hermione, is a gift that I do not doubt you already give this little one—because no matter how distracted you have been, or how scared you are of being pregnant, of carrying this child to term, and how fearful the unknown of mothering may be: you are incapable of doing anything less than throwing your whole heart into it. And that is why I do not worry about this child, nor do I worry about this marriage...much."
The last was said under his breath, but it made Hermione laugh and she twisted her head to meet his eye. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Lucius replied steadily, hoping she didn't notice the hitch in his breathing and the increase in his pulse.
"And thank you for protecting me, even if I don't think it's necessary all the time," she said grudgingly, which caused him to laugh in turn.
"I couldn't possibly be a pureblooded, aristocratic bastard without that, pet," he said sardonically, and she inclined her head in acknowledgement of that fact with the grace of a queen.
"So we are still trying, aren't we?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
"I don't believe we ever stopped, dearest." He nuzzled her nose, placing a soft kiss there. Hermione's heart sped up as she said, "Thank you, love," and kissed him. It was a pet name, the way it tripped off her tongue, but it could be…more.
