January 27th 2004, 11:30 pm

Malfoy Manor, Narcissa's Chambers

"Mmmmm." Hermione half-heard her own voice as she rolled over. Her bed had never felt quite this soft before; it reminded her of her bed at Hogwarts but even more comfortable; and something light and slippery lay across her, giving just enough warmth but not too much.

She should probably get up, she thought, and slowly sat up. The light was different; a pink dawn perhaps, showing itself through the cracks in the curtains. But looking around, she saw the source; the embers of a fire, glowing warmly.

But she didn't have a fireplace in her bedroom. Was she still asleep, or —?

Oh shit! She had fallen asleep at Lucius' kitchen table and now . . . what, exactly? Oh God! She patted down her body desperately, breathing a deep sigh of relief when she found herself fully clothed and her wand safely inside her pocket. So what then —?

A crash erupted from the other side of the room; a cat screeching, and a man's scolding voice: "Ud's me! A pox upon thee, cat!"

Hermione froze. Then —

Crack! And a blazing light filled the room that made Hermione wince and, extremely unwisely but necessarily, squint her eyes until they were almost closed.

"Ma'am!" Tilly squeaked breathlessly. "Tilly wanted to tell you first!" She cast an almost hostile look at the wall. Hermione followed the direction of her eyes to the picture that hung there. The background suggested it was supposed to be a tranquil scene: flowers in the foreground, trees and sky in the background. But a small girl with a hoop stood looking like she was about to cry; a white fluffy cat with a blue ribbon around its neck stood with its back arched and mouth open, still making the angry cry. And, in the midst of it all, entirely out of place, stood an Elizabethan gentleman, probably in his mid-thirties, in doublet, hose and extravagant ruff, sucking the index finger of his right hand, which was covered in scratches.

"Tilly is sorry!" Tilly went on. "Tilly heard them talking — that Mr Malfoy is coming. Because Mrs Malfoy doesn't want to tell you in front of Mr Malfoy. Because Mr Malfoy will interrupt. So she sent Mr Malfoy — this Mr Malfoy, because ma'am is alone, without Mr Malfoy. The other Mr Malfoy . . ."

Tilly ran out of steam, apparently confusing even herself, while Hermione could only gape for a few stunned seconds, until she turned back to the portrait on the wall, cautiously opening her eyes as she grew accustomed to the bright light in the room

The little girl, apparently recovered, had put down her hoop and was playing with the cat. Everything had gone back to normal.

Except for the Elizabethan, who stood there, awkwardly elegant.

"Good Morrow, Lady," he said, when Hermione surreptiously caught his eye, and bowed deeply. "Allow me to make your acquaintance." He smiled. He looked like Abraxas, but younger, more handsome, and less corrupted; and somehow, he also looked like Lucius. "Lucius Malfoy, at your service." He bowed again and this time flourished his hand.

This was quite insane! Once again, Hermione closed her eyes, squeezed them tight shut for several seconds — Exactly how drunk had she been?! — then opened them again.

Tilly was still there. The room was still there. He was still there.

"Lucius Malfoy," she said levelly.

"Verily," he said. "And the sole incumbent of the name when I walked upon this orb. I have been told — and with meager charity, to be sure — that I am now known as Lucius Malfoy the First. There is another one. He and his sire consigned my portraits to the attic, because my taste in women shamed them before their ill-chosen master Voldemort. Troth! There was no silly separation in my day and the woman in question was the Queen of England! What Wizard of spirit would not have tried his luck? A fine filly . . . and holding the reins of power for the known world!"

"Queen Elizabeth the First?" Hermione said then, redundantly added, conscious that her voice was working faster than her brain; but really, on all levels, she had a really good excuse, "The Virgin Queen?"

"The very same," he said nostalgically, then gave a little chuckle. "But think you not she was a virgin." He shook his head. "Mark me! She inherited from her grandfather the ability to cast herself in a good light. In truth, she was less a virgin and more a teaser of gentleman's cocks; a heartbreaker who played one fellow against the other until, one by one, she cast us aside. I had my fill and hexed her one summer night. 'Twas supposed to be a love spell, but she took ill and I was forced to flee by Disapparition, and in a cloud of green smoke. A conceit that pleased and at the same time frightened Muggle-kind —" His forehead furrowed. "Tsk! Out upon it! How I do prattle on that which is is long dead. I pray your pardon, Lady."

Hermione shook her head weakly. She was beginning to feel a headache coming on from all the alcohol she had drunk; and perhaps also from the surreal nature of the conversation.

"You must think me a simpkin and a popinjay!" he said.

Again, she shook her head. She hadn't really been thinking much of anything; but if she had, despite her extensive reading over the years in older literature, that particular thought would never have entered her head.

"A rudesbay and a backfriend!" he went on regardless. "I needs must convey Mistress Malfoy's message, e're I forfeit her faith in me. 'Twould be a pity to lose her friendship."

Hermione glanced at Tilly. Tilly, in a gesture so un-house-elf-like that Hermione almost laughed, rolled her eyes.

Lucius Malfoy the First was now lost in thought. "And as pretty as a summer's day . . ." he murmured to himself, clearly still thinking about Mistress Malfoy.

"Sir's mother," Tilly hissed under her breath.

And at last Hermione understood something. She cleared her throat to get his attention back on her.

"Céleste," she said.

"Aye," he said. "'Tis fittingly an angel's name!" There was another rapturous pause. "Zounds!' he said. "Again I neglect my business. The ladies always were my undoing." He took a breath and pulled down his doublet. "Mistress Malfoy would speak with you in her corridor. She has asked me to act as her liaison and to translate the Frankish tongue to make her meaning plain. She does not wish you to tell her offspring. He has failed to comprehend her and his presence will excite his progenitor."

"Oh, not nearly as much as me, I assure you!" Hermione said. "The, uhm, progenitor has about as much use for me as for Queen Elizabeth."

"Prithee, Lady," he said, looking shocked. "Are you not a witch? Then how," he continued without waiting for her answer, "do you parley unto my likeness?"

"I'm Muggle-born," she said. He looked nonplussed. "My parents were both Muggles."

"Ah," he said, and scratched his elegantly trimmed beard. "In my day, before the silly separation, a witch such as your fair self would have been deemed special by my family." His voice had taken on a tone of admiration and, Hermione thought, amorousness! "We would have wooed you and sought to fortify the blood of our descendants by coupling with you." He smiled seductively and licked his lips! "Why my dear wife Prunella was such a one as you; my son Henry was a lusty half-blood. Our founding ancestor, know you, was the offspring of the loins of squibs! Care was required that we keep our magic and," he put a finger to his head and twirled it meaningfully, "with it our wits, lest we go down the same primrose path as the Blacks! My great-grandson Brutus put a stop to all of that, of course. But if that ale-knight who bears my name had any sense or vigour, he would have bedded you by now and added to his progeny. Small wonder that his mother does not seek his counsel!"

God, where to start! Blushing at the thought that she should just 'couple' with Lucius and breed strong babies; almost regretting the copious books she had read now, because her education allowed her even to understand this man; she settled momentarily on outrage.

Before the Statute of Secrecy (what he called the 'silly separation,' she supposed), The Malfoys had strategically fathered children with Muggle-born witches! Nevertheless —

She had to pull herself together and think. In the midst of all his talk, one thing had stood out that she must understand. "Why does Mrs . . . Mistress Malfoy want to talk to me?" she asked.

"I, Lady," he bowed extravagantly, "am merely her humble servant. She is young and her likeness hath not spoken until now; she hath not the power to go from frame to frame as I do . . . nay, as I must since they confined me in the attic! I do not know the substance of her message, only her urgency to talk to you."

"And," Hermione said, before he began again. "She wants me to visit her portrait . . . when?"

"Why at the present hour, of course! You must make haste before my namesake is alerted!"

She wondered what she should do. Her Lucius — fuck! where did that come from? But there was no time to think about it now — the present-day Lucius, had been so open with her. Presumably he had put her on this bed, and without disturbing her wand. She had been careless and stupid and he had not taken the least advantage of her. She felt a little underhanded colluding with his dead ancestors.

But given everything she had been thinking, the strange coincidence of noblesse oblige, her strong suspicion that there were vital facts she had not grasped yet, she could not pass up the opportunity to hear what Céleste had to say.

"All right," she said. "Shall I meet you in the portraits' corridor?"

Lucius Malfoy the First bowed his agreement, turned elegantly on his high-heeled shoes and walked out of the pretty picture's frame.

Author's Note:

A little palate-cleanser and a little plot . . .

Thank you for reading; and thank you for your responses x