Sometimes it seems like life has strapped us into a spinning Gravitron. This popular carnival ride is known to spin the rider around and around and around using the power of centrifugal force. It operates at three times the force of gravity, and when it stops- oh, boy. Watch out for a lot of aches, confusion, nausea, and, worst of all... flying projectile!

The minute Hermione realized she would need to visit her nemesis's lair, she felt like she was on a Gravitron. In a novel she once read, there was a quote from a Japanese guru. What the guy said to his disciple stuck out to her. The wise witch has recalled it numerous times throughout the years. The guru said, "The obstacle is the path."

Back then, the quote brought reflection and warm feelings. It's easy to like something you don't have to put into practice, but now it fetches a bitter taste with a rotten mission. What the guru is saying is no difficulty can be navigated by avoidance. No. You have to meet it head-on because it's an opportunity for improvement. One of the best ways to develop our inner character is by overcoming challenges. What won't kill you will make you stronger. In Hermione's case, meeting with her archenemy's father might not kill her, but it will leave a massive headache in his wake.

The witch knew the Malfoys wouldn't just let her come to their lavish house without a valid reason. Even though questioning Lucius is as well-founded and credible as it gets, they wouldn't go for that. So, Hermione needed to find another pathway. Donning a royal blue pleated skirt and a silky floral, cream-colored blouse, the witch tidied up her hair and put on a fresh face of makeup. Her outfit gave credence to the goal.

When she was finished, Hermione raced downstairs and flooed to Flint Manor. Flea, who still disliked the witch, took her to his mistress. Although, the house elf now kept all sullen comments to himself. So that's a huge win in her favor. In the sunroom, Cora was sitting at a writing desk. As soon as her companion was introduced, the flawless woman rose and greeted the younger one. With two kisses on either cheek, Cora invited her to sit on a smallish sofa covered in blush velvet fabric. The woman asked, "Hermione, what a pleasant surprise. I was compiling wedding dinner menu options to share with you and Mr. Nightshade. I need your approval before ordering the catering and speaking with the kitchen elves. How are you, Dear?"

How is she? That is an interesting question. "As good as one can be considering my present situation," she explained cautiously.

Marcus's mother wrinkled her nose in thought. Then wondered, "What has happened? Is Marcus being moody again?"

The younger witch smoothed her skirt as she spoke. "Well, that's why I'm here. I even dressed for the occasion because I need your help. It's of dire importance that I speak with Lucius Malfoy. After realizing there was no way on earth they'd let me into their fortress, I required a different approach. That's where you come in. I need you to help me get inside Malfoy Manor, and then I can sneak off to visit with old Lucy."

Cora clucked her tongue at this idea. The last thing she wants is to "Visit Malfoy Manor? I have no desire to go to that old, dreary estate, much less meet with Narcissa. Did you know she's claiming the Malfoy-Greengrass wedding will be the wedding of the century? Of all the nerve! The woman is entirely disagreeable."

That statement made Hermione want to laugh. The same could be said about Cora. However, she's getting along with Marcus's mother now, so she'll keep quiet for the sake of peace. But, "Cora, please. I'm helping to research The Alchemist, and Lucius may have a connection. I must question him to explore that possibility. Honestly, I'd rather watch paint dry or have a case of explosive diarrhea than ever set foot in Malfoy Manor again. It makes me sick to think about going there. But I'll do whatever it takes if it helps Marcus to be safe and this criminal to be caught."

Those words made Cora pause. She could be seen as a woman who helped put an evil delinquent behind bars. She could help catch a bad guy! Then all the attention would be back on her and, by virtue, the Flint-Granger wedding. The idea held promise and began to take shape in her mind.

Cora sighed a troubled sigh and remarked, "Being sick is not a flaw. I, too, feel ill having to speak with Narcissa. But alright, I'll try to be nice to that frigid witch for the sake of crime fighting."

So, an owl was sent bearing a missive that only Lady Malfoy could answer. The duo waited for the response that came swiftly. The blonde read it and looked at her brunette counterpart. "We've been invited for tea this afternoon," she explained with an irritated inflection in her voice.

Hermione ascertained the older woman was annoyed because she muttered things like, "Afternoon tea is for common people."

While the woman refreshed her style, Hermione took a notepad and pen from her charmed clutch. She wrote a list of questions to ask Lucius and then began thinking over the best route to the man's study. That's when a problem developed. The witch needs help finding his home office. She knows Cora wouldn't have a clue where it would be located because all of her dealings have been with the Malfoy Matriarch. Who could she get to help her?

That's when Hermione thought that perhaps one of the ancestral portraits would be willing to assist. That line of thinking led her to the hall of portraits. One by one, the paintings turned their backs on her, which could only be assumed was due to her blood status. It was unsurprising, as most tend to do that when she's near. However, it didn't deter her from the goal. It only made the witch stand taller as she began explaining the predicament, which ended with her saying, "So, you see, your help is needed. Not for me, but for Marcus and all the others who would be caught in harm's way."

A few portraits resumed their typical pose of distant decorum while others kept their backs turned. As Hermione began to feel helpless and annoyed, a gruff voice spoke. "You there, girl, marrying my grandson. I could help you," it said.

Her eyes scanned the wall of pictures looking for the one belonging to the voice. The man spoke again, "Over here, girl."

Turning her head to a gilded picture frame, she saw a tall man dressed in navy robes. He was sitting on the brocade sofa from the drawing room downstairs. Hermione noted that Marcus has the same four o'clock shadow and bone structure. She wondered if it's a trait that all Flint men are hairy. Moving to stand in front of the frame, she started speaking. "Sir, I would appreciate any assistance you can give."

The man told her, "I am Maximillion Flint. Though it is against my training to speak with those of low blood status, I will make this exception. Namely, because you are marrying my grandson, and from what I heard other portraits say, you kept watch over him while he was detained in the hospital. My daughter-in-law seems fond of you currently. You must not be so terrible that she would not disdain you still."

Unsure if she'd been complimented, Hermione addressed Marcus's grandfather again. "Lord Maximillion, I am grateful you're speaking with me at all. It's important that I question Lucius Malfoy. Cora and I have been invited to tea this afternoon with Narcissa. I could pretend to use the bathroom and sneak off to Mr. Malfoy's study. The problem is I don't know how to get there. Could you tell me the way?"

As Max went to sit down, another man with the same features and brown hair joined him. Max sniffed and stated, "This is my father, Marius Flint."

Marius sat beside his son and nodded in Hermione's direction. "So, you're the girl marrying into our family. Ages of pureblood lineage will be under your command," he declared in a pretentious sort of way.

For a moment, the brunette braced herself for what was sure to be a thorough tongue-lashing. But it never came. Instead, Marius told her, "You'll probably find this ironic, but once upon a time- so very long ago- our ancestor Mordred married a woman named Vanda Courtney. She's a wonderful lady and helped bring House Flint into the limelight with her charitable causes and contributions. Vanda Flint founded the Brambleberry House for unwed and abused witches. She was highly influential in the wizarding world and the circle of purebloods. But what you don't know is that Vanda happened to be a muggleborn."

Hermione stood there gaping at the men. To think she's been treated ill by Marcus's family when they've had a prior muggleborn descendant. Of all the nerve! Before she had a chance to tell them so, Marius acknowledged, "I realize you must think us frauds, and that would be a fair assessment. The truth is every sacred twenty-eight has had a muggleborn descendant at some point in their family's history. And they have a lot more half-bloods than propriety dictates. I hope you can forgive us for our unfair treatment. Marcus's father, Maxwell, would have joined us-"

His son interrupted by saying, "Except Maxwell is feeling somewhat shamed at present. When he heard that Marcus had been rendered unconscious by the rogue wizard, he went into a fit of hysterics. His heir was killed in the war, and now his other heir had almost had the same happen. It's unsettling. Death sometimes makes people see the error of their ways, except for the Black Family. They're determined, even in death, to hold the line. That's to their detriment."

The man acquired a haughty disposition when talking about the Blacks. It's true what they say. When someone dies, their secrets are buried with them, except in the wizarding world where the dead still speak. Unable to believe what she was hearing, Hermione didn't know what to say. She stood unmoving, staring hard at them, trying to think of anything that would make sense.

During that time, another man entered the picture- one she had difficulty looking at. Marcus's father came to rest on the sofa as well. Maxwell looked as though he had swallowed a bitter pill. Eating humble pie is a lot like eating crow. Both taste terrible and aren't as decadent as devouring chocolate, but once you stomach it, you find that one slice is never enough.

Maxwell spoke plainly. "I won't waste time with an apology, but I do regret my former actions, especially regarding Marcus. I hope that you can find it within yourself to let bygones be bygones. I'm not alive, and that in itself is a punishment. I have done things in the name of blood purity without ever taking the time to learn more about my family's history than I should have."

That comment earned him a stern look from his grandfather. Maxwell carried on, "It's true what Grandfather says about Vanda and other pureblood families. Luckily Marcus didn't take after me or hold my ideals in regard. I'm glad he found someone who can be his equal in life with true love and affection."

Hermione appraised this man with intense eyes. He tried to kill her in battle and verbally abused his youngest son. There is no love lost. Yet there's this distinct feeling like she was trapped inside a snow globe. Her life has been shaken up, and now it's left to resettle. Taking a deep breath, the young woman pulled herself together and spoke. "I'm quite at a loss for what to say to everything I've been told. However, I appreciate each of your admissions. It will take some time to forget the wrongs perpetrated by you, Maxwell, but they are in the past, and I refuse to be defined by that. I do forgive you, though." Forgiveness, she's learned, is the sweetest revenge.

Maximillion contended, "Now that we all have a new understanding let's return to the topic at hand. Malfoy Manor is somewhat of a maze. You say that you and Cora are taking tea with Lady Malfoy. That will be hosted in the solarium towards the back of the house."

Hermione sighed a long breath. How would she ever find Lucius's office if she's in the back of the house? Marius followed up by offering, "The easiest thing to do would be to have a house elf apparate you into Lucius's study. But that won't be likely."

This conversation was turning out to be getting her nowhere. Until Maxwell elaborated, "There's a back staircase off the solarium's hallway. If you take it, go up two flights and take a left, leading you to another long hallway. That is where Lucius's study can be found. I would wager nothing has changed. Along the hall, several alfresco paintings depict Hercules's twelve labors. Lucius is obsessed with anything to do with Hercules. He even named his dog after the Roman hero."

That's not surprising considering the Malfoy's love affair with Roman names. Maxwell rolled his eyes at the thought of ridiculous alfresco and continued explaining. "You will know you're at Lucius's study when you come to a set of double doors. The doors are double-leaf with carved gilded Versailles. They're like something you'd find in a palace, and I suppose that's fitting because the Malfoy family likes to think they're royalty."

Hermione thanked the men and turned to leave. Before she could, Maxwell's voice carried. "Be sure to ask Lucius about the Phoenician egret. He'll know what you mean. It would be to your benefit to ask."

The witch's face wore a warm smile as she turned over the new information in her head. What on earth is a Phoenician egret, and what does it have to do with anything? Sometimes things are just beyond understanding, but sometimes you turn over a stone and have no idea what will crawl out. She supposes this is one of those times.

Back downstairs in the sunroom, Hermione found Cora impatiently waiting. That changed everything when the brunette explained what had transpired between herself and the Flint men. Cora beamed with delight and expressed her happiness with a hug. "I knew they'd come around. I had a long talk with my dearly departed the other day about that very thing. Now all that's left is for you to meet my daughter, Marcus's sister, Clementine. She's much more agreeable than you might think. And I will also start briefing you on the ways of being Lady Flint," the woman pronounced.

But the immediate future called, and Cora waved her wand at Hermione's hair. She handed the girl a pearl headband and stated, "You should always accentuate one of your best features, which is your hair. Leaving it down will be better for this meeting. When we get there, let me do all of the talking before you scamper off to the toilet."

Putting the pearl-encrusted headband on, Hermione agreed. Life is sometimes stranger than anything the mind could conjure up. If someone had told her that her future mother-in-law would befriend her or that Maxwell Flint would welcome her into the family, she would have called them nuts. But as she held Cora's hand to apparate to Malfoy Manor's doorstep, Hermione felt a sense of accomplishment. It's quite a feat to be accepted into Hogwarts, and it's entirely another to be admitted into an old pureblood family.

When the duo landed, an awful dread threatened to overtake the young witch. Memories of that horrible night flooded her mind, and she shuddered. Cora felt this and inclined her head to view the girl whose eyes had screwed closed. The older witch wrapped her arm around Hermione's shoulders for comfort. "It's only a house. You're stronger than anything inside and are not damaged by it. The only thing that matters is how you see yourself," she reminded her.

The pair put on fake smiles as the door opened, and they were greeted by a house elf wearing a pink tutu. They were escorted to the back of the home and led into a vast, sunny conservatory. Lady Malfoy was seated at a feminine table and didn't bother to rise. Around her, an assortment of sugary treats and sweets were for the choosing. The woman's words were as fake as Lady Flint's smile. "Cora, don't you look great. I'm so happy to host you this afternoon," she intoned.

Hermione wanted to roll her eyes at the phony bologna. The way Narcissa said great made it seem like Cora looked like shit, which she didn't. It made her want to shout, "Asshat!" But seeing this woman up close made her recall her mother's words, "Be careful of what you're good at because you'll spend your life doing it. So be good at something you can be proud of."

Looking at Narcissa Malfoy made her realize that this woman was really good at throwing shade, pretending, and lying. That was Lady Malfoy's whole world. However, Cora is used to this game and is a great ally, especially in times like this one. Not to be trifled with, Lady Flint responded, "Why, thank you. Speaking of looking great, I wonder did you do something new with your hair, or has it always looked that way?"

Hermione stifled a laugh while Narcissa looked as though she had sucked a lemon. Once seated, talk turned to the upcoming weddings, which was a sore subject with Cora. But then Lady Malfoy admitted, "We're having catering problems, flower problems, and Draco wants something called a Sting to perform at the wedding. I told him that if he wants to be stung, then all he needs to do is step outside into the garden."

And so the white flags were waved, the claws were put away, and the wedding summit began. Thinking now would be a good time to "use the loo," the younger witch inquired, "Would you mind if I used your lavatory?"

Narcissa immediately told her, "In the hall, two doors down."

After excusing herself, Hermione exited the room. She remembered everything Maxwell said and followed the path he laid out. The brunette prayed not to encounter a house elf or, worse, Draco the whole time. Luckily she didn't and scampered up the stairs to the second floor, taking a left. There was a lot to admire about the alfresco painting of Hercules, but that would have to come later. When she spotted the double doors, she took a deep calming breath.

This was it, the opportunity she'd wanted. So why does it feel like she's being marched to her doom? The Brightest Witch of Her Age entered the study without bothering to knock. Instantly her senses were assaulted with the air. It smelt like a confusion of expensive cologne and hair products, with the undertone of a fine hint of booze. In other words, it smelled just like Lucius.

Catching Hermione by surprise, the doors shut closed behind her. She let out a little squeal as her eyes saw the man himself. The blonde in question was reclined in an armchair by the fireplace looking far too relaxed. "Do barge in. I've been wondering when you'd visit," he drawled.