Lucius Malfoy looked old. Hermione would have felt more sympathy that war had chewed him up and spat him out if he hadn't been one of the people who'd helped to start it. He hadn't shaved, and the shadow of blond stubble made his haggard face older. The shadows that flitted across his son's face had moved in and taken up residence on his. Dark bags sat under his eyes and the harsh bone structure that made Draco compelling when he smiled just made Lucius look malnourished. His wine glass was already half empty.

"Mr. Malfoy," Hermione said as Draco Malfoy held her chair out. "How nice to see you again. It's been several years."

His mouth twisted at that. Good. He knew it was a jab. She might be able to muster sympathy and forgiveness of the slender man tucking her in to the table. Draco Malfoy had been a child tossed about like a cock between badminton rackets, desperate not to fall, pulled into a war he hadn't had the experience or wisdom to avoid. Narcissa Malfoy put on slyness with her lipstick, and Hermione knew she'd lied to Voldemort to save Harry. That had let them all fight another day. She might not like Narcissa Malfoy, but she could appreciate her in the same way she could appreciate Molly Weasley.

Lucius, though, Lucius Malfoy was another matter.

She'd last seen him at the Battle of Hogwarts. He'd looked worn in much the same way he looked worn now, and when Voldemort had fallen, he'd spared his former master not one look before he began to tear through the rubble to find his son.

But he also hadn't stood against the rising power that had been Yaxley. He'd nodded and stepped aside and even supported the man.

Bureaucracy had held off moral victory. She hoped Lucius Malfoy felt the bitter sting of what he might have done, the man he might have been, every time he looked at the way his son's hands shook.

"You look well," she added as he continued to stare at her.

Draco sat down across from her and pulled his napkin to his lap. The table had only been set for four. Apparently, this was to be an intimate family gathering. Lucky her.

"Dozens of girls your age at Hogwarts. Hundreds at Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, and you want this one?" Lucius said. It was less of a question and more of a condemnation. He picked up his wine glass, drained it, and poured himself a second. Or maybe third.

"She's very pretty," Draco said.

"And clever," Narcissa said. She smiled at her husband with real warmth. "You always liked a clever woman, my love."

He grunted at that and Hermione inhaled and counted very slowly to five before saying, in as cheerful and perky a voice as she could manage, "What have you been doing since the end of the war, Mr. Malfoy?"

"End?" he asked her. "I thought you people didn't acknowledge an end."

She kept her smile loose with more effort than she would have expected to need. "Perspective is everything."

"I," Narcissa said, "have been working in the gardens and enjoying the slower pace of our days. Now that the Ministry has been rebuilt no one needs to use our property as a headquarters, though so many records and letters are still stored here that people do come and go to consult them all."

"That must be a strain," Hermione said. "My mother always disliked unexpected house calls."

"Did she?" Narcissa took a sip of her wine, picked up a small bell and rang it, and Hermione watched as their plates filled with salad. "An intelligent woman who had an intelligent daughter." She had her fork in her hand, greens half-lifted to her mouth before she added, almost as an afterthought, "Tomorrow, Draco, you must give Miss Granger the tour of the house. It's large enough to be overwhelming at first."

A house this large to shelter a family of three seemed like the worst kind of conspicuous wealth. Who needed a house so big you could get lost, Hermione thought to herself with smug approval of her own, far more modest, way of life. Then she flicked her glance at the blandly eating Narcissa Malfoy and considered this house filled with government documents. "A tour would be nice," she said. "Architecture has always been an interest of mine."

"I'm sure a girl like you didn't see anything like this in your Muggle life," Lucius Malfoy said. His lips curled in disdain and he drank more.

Hermione poked the tines of her fork into a tomato. "No," she said. "We were middle class."

"Slightly more than that," Narcissa said. When Hermione shifted in her chair, a bit startled, Narcissa added, "Both of your parents were the Muggle equivalent of Healers, were they not?"

Hermione nodded.

"Quite respectable," she said as if that ended the matter, as if class rather than blood status were the real issue and, even if that were true, as if the daughter of two dentists – hardly a poor family – could compete with this kind of ancestral wealth. "And we were both always friendly with Severus, dear, may his soul rest in peace. Talent should be nurtured."

"Severus was Slytherin," Lucius said.

Hermione was not sure she relished being compared to Snape.

"Severus was brilliant," Narcissa said. "And very cunning."

"And brave," Hermione said. She met Narcissa's eyes. "Don't you agree?"

"Absolutely," Narcissa said. She took another bite of her salad, thus removing herself from the need to comment further.

"Well, she is pretty enough," Lucius said with a laconic shrug before he picked up the wine bottle again. "If that's the sort of girl you want."

"I will have no other," Draco said. He was pushing the greens around on his plate using the age old tactic of a child hiding he doesn't like something. "She is perfect."

He smiled at her across the table and Hermione forced a tentative smile back. "You flatter me," she said.

"Perfect for me," he corrected himself.

"That was my mother's bracelet," Lucius said abruptly. He was staring at her wrist and Hermione looked down at the diamonds. Well, now she knew where Malfoy had gotten it.

"And now it is your daughter's," Draco said.

Hermione almost choked on the salad in her mouth. As she raised her napkin to her mouth in a fit of coughing, Draco added, "Assuming she grows to feel as warmly for me as I do for her."

"She'd be a fool to turn you down," Lucius said. "Are you a fool, Miss Granger?"

"I'm a woman who likes to make up her own mind," Hermione said.

They managed not to say anything else as they finished their salads, Narcissa rang her bell, and what remained of the greens disappeared, quickly replaced by plates of roast beef and potatoes tossed with what might have been beets. Hermione stabbed one of them and tasted it. Definitely sliced and roasted beets. Lucius continued to drink.

Draco continued to push his food around, taking desultory bites and chewing each of them for too long. By the time they reached dessert, the conversational pitfalls she'd been dodging had left Hermione exhausted. At least the sherry trifle dessert was excellent but by the time she'd eaten the last bite all Hermione wanted to do was fall into the bed they'd provided for her and sleep.

Lucius had one last thing to say. When she stood up to go he eyed the wand tucked into her waist and said, "You let her keep that?"

Draco paused. "She's my guest," he said at last. The words were too careful. "I do not feel my suit would go well if I tried to strip her of her wand."

"I can guarantee it would not," Hermione said. It took a real effort not to reach her hand to close her fingers around the precious stick of wood as if that would protect it if these people decided she would be more compliant without it.

"And Alecto Carrow has already been a problem," Draco went on as if she hadn't spoken. "I can hardly ask her to stay in her room, and I don't think it would be wise for her to walk about unescorted without one."

Hermione kept herself together until they'd bid the elder Malfoy's good night and the door had closed behind them. Then she sagged against the wall and closed her eyes. Draco Malfoy waited patiently, seemingly unperturbed by her sudden weakness. When she looked at him again he was examining his fingernails. "That went well," he said.

Hermione gave him a look that he read easily. Well? the look said. Are you serious?

He glanced at the shut door, then offered her his arm. "I know my affection has come as a bit of a surprise to you," he said. "My father was equally flabbergasted. It will take him - take many of the hard-liners - more time to come around to the idea that I am quite serious. They do tend to see you as an Order member at best and a -," he hesitated and then stopped.

She was the one who had to say, "A mudblood."

"Right," he said. "That. At worst."

"Which I am."

"Which does not impact - "

"- your deep and abiding love for me," she said. "Right. I know."

He sighed. "Can I walk you back to your room?" he asked.

"Do you want a goodnight kiss?"

"Not especially."

And with that dry comment she pulled herself off the wall, took the arm he still held out for her, and let Draco Malfoy lead her through the halls of his ancestral home, past curious portraits, and leave her at her door. She locked it and stood under the hot water of the shower for a long time. When she finally lay down she tucked her wand under her pillow and wondered, as she stared off into the darkness, what Malfoy was thinking.

Six bouts of crucio.

She couldn't wrap her mind around that horror.

Did he wake up screaming from the memory? She had for longer than she cared to admit. He seemed to be out of the thick of whatever politics and plots Yaxley was brewing, just the worthless son of an aristocrat.

Being an unimportant failure probably kept him safe.

With that thought, she was able to relax into sleep.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - Thank you for giving me the gift of your time.

Beta love to Salazars, who nudged me into cleaning up a grotty bit of awkward language.