A/N: Thanks goes to LiterallyLiterary for Beta-reading! HP = JKR
I was so touched by your reviews and happy that you loved the last chapter as much as I did. I respond to every review but sadly I can only do so if you're registered. Thus, special thanks to the guest-reviewers! Keeps me going.
Here's the music for this chapter (check my profile for the playlist):
Father and son smoking after dinner: Frank Sinatra – It was a very good year
Lucius reciting from Faust: Johann Sebastian Bach – Harpsichord Concerto No.1 in D Minor BWV 1052 - 2_3 (Complete Harpsichord Concertos), Trevor Pinnock English Concert
"A father is a man who expects his son to be as good a man as he meant to be." – Frank A. Clark
8 Meeting Expectations
Lucius watched how Hermione steered nimbly around trolleys and bustling Muggles, before finally disappearing into the crowd, jetting off to her client. The patriarch leaned back in the car seat and signalled the chauffeur to drive on. It was time to make a long overdue phone call.
Three rings later, a smooth and silky but slightly slurring voice answered, "Good Lord, Lucius! Glad to hear from you. I tried to call you at least a dozen times. Everything alright?"
"Of course it is," Lucius replied curtly. On the other end of the line, he could make out exotic folklore music blatantly playing from cheap loudspeakers. "How's the merchandise?"
"Oh, the goblins will be pissing rainbows at the sight of those Burmese rubies. Some of them are as big as quail eggs. And the colour," the man raved passionately, "vivid, red sparkling, transparent pigeon's blood with minimal inclusions. I bought as much as I could with the budget. That's why I was trying to reach you. Look, Madame Tha made an offer I couldn't possibly refuse..."
"You don't say."
The blond probed into the details of the offer, phone clamped between shoulder and cheek, while scribbling figures into his notebook. Satisfied with the estimated profit margin, he gave his consent to the deal. Rubies of such high quality were so high in demand that Lucius played the rivalling Wizarding banks ruthlessly off against one another to achieve higher prices. It was a dangerous game he played with the goblins, whose greed was a well-known trait, but they were so easily governed through that aforementioned vice that Lucius' price demands became a mere side issue, the negotiations an inconvenient necessity.
"Marius, there is a slight change of plans," Lucius interrupted the flood of words coming from his lawyer.
"Yes, sir," the he said, "I'm all ears."
"As soon you're out of Mogok I would like you to arrange with Frederick to have all assets in Guernsey removed and transferred onto the special offshore accounts we talked about."
Marius cackled. "Golly, that's pleasant news," he said and continued in a low voice, sounding conspiratorial, "Look, I ran into a friend in Bangkok who's a friend of the Deputy Chief of Staff of –" The lawyer made a short discourse about Muggle politics and the forthcoming war, elaborated on its impact on Muggle economics, ultimately pointing out that it was wiser to trade all Muggle currency assets Lucius had into Swiss Francs to avoid suffering from heavy fluctuations. 'Damage control' Marius called it and rattled off dozens of arguments, which in return were challenged by Lucius until he accepted his advice, also agreeing to the suggestion of discarding those company shares they estimated to skid down in value as soon war was going to be announced officially.
"About Frederick…I'm not so sure if…" the lawyer hesitated, struggling for words, "He started gambling with the assets by investing in some dodgy structured products from ML who promise a twenty percent return on investment. Admittedly, they will be reaching break-even point and he got quite a good put-option for it but I know those sharks at ML well enough to know that nothing good can come of it."
"Do go on," Lucius said encouragingly as he noticed the lawyer's inner struggle whether to share his thoughts on Frederick with his boss or not.
"I'm not the expert but trading with unsecured debts from ML? Any sober person can smell a bubble from fifty miles against the wind. I know, up until now Frederick did a good job as Financial Consultant but I'm afraid he's losing his touch and steers right into the middle of a massive cock up. Did you know that he had his nasal septum fixed last month? He tries to smother it up but everyone knows that he's snorting his interests up his nose. Last week, he couldn't even sit through a normal meeting without it. That man is wasted."
Thoughtfully, Lucius swept his fingers over his chin. He was no stranger to the drug Marius referred to; he had tried it once, too, 1972, when he was eighteen, in a moment of foolish adolescent truculence, and resulted in fourteen Obliviated Muggles (of which six of them had to be hospitalized), a demolished nightclub, three abducted albino peacocks, and the fathering of Crabbe's Squib bastard. His Muggle-search warrant for 'a six foot and two inches tall man, between seventeen to twenty-one years, with distinct shoulder-length ash-blond hair, and grey eyes' was stowed away somewhere in the attic of his ancestral seat, along with other artefacts of his phase of post-pubertal insubordination.
"I have no use for people who cannot control their habits. Discharge him," Lucius instructed without batting an eye. "And find me someone more apt to handle the transition of the assets."
"Sam," Marius said, reserved. "But what shall we do about Frederick? He knows too much."
"Let her handle him too."
"Well, I would be terribly glad if you could meet Sam. I rather don't like to be within arm's length of that nymphomaniac." Marius gave a little cough. "Last time she nearly chewed my willy off."
"You never complained about that before," the wizard commented cynically.
Marius huffed and said, "My parents raised me too well to elaborate and I like my job too much to retort."
"Good for you, Son," Lucius drawled amusedly, "I'm going to be in Geneva next Friday; therefore, I suggest we meet there for the merchandise. And since you're too afraid of our darling head-hunter, I shall meet with her. It obviously needs more of a man than you to handle Sam," he added mockingly, coaxing a derisive snort from his lawyer.
Lucius studied his son while they were having dinner at a quiet French cuisine restaurant. Draco filled out his clothes quite handsomely nowadays, he noticed approvingly, and found himself facing a spitting image of his younger self with shorter, unkempt hair and a weary expression, creating a state of suave imperfection.
Is it not exactly this combination of languid elegance and carefully dosed neglect of appearance, modern women found irresistible? Lucius thought suspiciously, knowing that his boy was in his best years, far away from prying eyes, surrounded by dissolute Muggle-women, and exposed to the temptations modern Gomorrah had to offer. Admittedly, he was ridiculously paranoid in every matter that concerned his son, and if he were honest, he knew that his boy would never engage in immoral acts with Muggles. No, Draco was not capable of committing such downright perversions.
They were in the middle of discussing Draco's studies, when Lucius noticed that something was bothering his heir but it was not until the waiters served the next course, that Draco finally let the Kneazle out of the bag. "The curriculum requires an internship and I'm considering coming back home," he said cautiously.
That was interesting; his son wanted to come back home. Satisfied with this unexpected turn of events, the older Malfoy leaned back and extended his arm on the backrest of the chair next to him, watching Draco eating his sautéed foie gras de canard.
"What do you think?" Draco asked while their appointed waiter replenished their glasses.
"I think you should." Lucius had to be very careful how he expressed his next words if he wanted his son back without sounding desperate, and settled for a placid and just mildly intrigued voice. "In fact, is there no way you can finish your studies in England if you have to insist on it?"
The young blond stared at him as if he had grown a pair of horns on his head.
"Hold your Hippogryffs, Son. My view on that matter did not change. However, I don't want to give Narcissa the satisfaction of accusing me of being a short-tempered, narrow-minded father who keeps his offspring on a short leash." Of course his view changed, as it fitted perfectly into his newest designs, and Narcissa's opinion was about as relevant as a toppled sack of dragon dung in china.
But it worked and Draco cleared his throat. "Well, actually. I could do an exchange semester," he suggested.
"Well, then come back – it's time. You already call a term 'a semester' and wear your hair like a Muggle. One year more and you'd be wearing tracksuit bottoms, use ghastly neologisms like 'sweater' and 'sneakers', referring to 'vests' instead of 'waistcoats' that you'll wear under your made-to-measure business suit jacket with plastic buttons, instead of a bespoke wizard robe made of proper genuine materials."
"In the name of Brutus Malfoy, that would be scandalous," Draco drawled sarcastically.
"It already is," Lucius insisted. "It already is."
Draco's mouth bowed to a nearly non-existent smile. Well remembered were Brutus Malfoy's endless rants about the family's current state of affairs whenever they passed the portrait of the editor of the seventeenth century anti-Muggle periodical Warlock at War.
"If you'd turn up dressed like a Muggle you might bring his portrait about to finally snuff it," Lucius suggested smugly, half in earnest, half in jest.
"We should try it out one day," Draco drawled.
"Definitely."
Father and son were smoking in the lounge of the fraternity house the latter was member of, enjoying the comfort of one another's presence. Lucius kept the beautiful hardcopy of Goethe's Faust I in his lap, his fingertips running tenderly along the golden embellishments, enjoying the feeling of the relief underneath, while Draco was engrossed in the Colbert-book, reading into it with the eager eyes of a scholar. Lucius' gaze drifted over to the framed photographs of former members hanging on the panelled walls. Among them he recognised a Muggle US-president who had been murdered during his presidential term, and vaguely remembered that it must have happened around the time his own father planned the demise of the then Minister of Magic, Nobby Leach. That poor Muggle-born warlock had to resign from office due to a mysterious illness he had caught during that nasty Squib-rights affair.
With the lips curved into a discreet, sinister smirk, Lucius gaze drifted back to his son's gift. It was a masterly bound piece of the German Bauhaus-artist Otto Dorfner who was famous for his unique geometrical style, using gothic and crystalline architectural elements and expressionistic fonts.
"Only few works survived the Second Muggle World War and were preserved in an adequate manner," Lucius broke the silence. "You exhibited great taste in this choice of gift although you so vehemently deny your interest in book collecting as you do in oenology."
Curiously, he looked asquint at his son, determined to find out if Narcissa had a hand in it.
Draco pursed his lips, swivelling his feet lightly.
Of course she had.
"Did you know that German is considered as the language of poetry, Son?" Lucius continued, allowing unfolding his train of thoughts to unravel the underlying message Narcissa wanted to convey with her meddling. "It's a fusional language with a very precise vocabulary but a crushing complex grammar. However, it allows writers to let their thoughts blossom most vividly in the brightest of colours, achieving all the nuances of the spectrum to convey the subtleties of life. It was my tutor, Fräulein Lombach, who taught me how to appreciate the beauty of that rough-sounding language."
Ah, Eva, Lucius thought and raised his eyebrows in silent appreciation, remembering her long, raven-black hair, the luscious curves of her buttocks, and her full, rose-coloured lips as it were yesterday. She was the main protagonist of his earliest indecent dreams, the drug he later had consumed with reckless abandon, greedy for her odour, her cunt, her essence - and it dawned upon him that it were exactly those memories Narcissa wanted to evoke with this book.
Lucius uttered an angry snort. How dare she to remind him of that pre-martial affair! He was in no need of female companionship; he did perfectly fine without. Or did she intend to tell him in that wicked way of hers that she took on a paramour and that he should move on as well?
"If your mother has something to tell me, she could as well deign to write me a letter instead, or did she forget how to use a quill?" Lucius remarked acerbically, annoyed that this mere thought of her in the arms of another man aggrieved him so much. For Merlin's sake, she used to be his wife for twenty years.
Draco grunted and shrugged in a capitulating manner, clearly exhausted and fed up with the role of playing the peace envoy for his divorced parents.
"Women and their sentiments…" Lucius murmured, refusing to let his mood darken by Narcissa who defrauded him of the loyalty she had pledged with their wedding vows.
He flipped through the book and started reciting one of his favourite passages, only a trace of an accent distinguishable. "Und Herrn und Frau'n am Hofe, die waren sehr geplagt, die Königin und die Zofe gestochen und genagt, und durften sie nicht knicken, und weg sie jucken nicht. Wir knicken und ersticken doch gleich wenn einer sticht." He paused shortly, savouring the aftertaste of the foreign words on his tongue before translating the verse for his son. "The gentlemen and ladies at court were sore distressed; The queen and all her maidens were bitten by the pest, and yet they dared not scratch them, or chase the fleas away. If we are bit, we catch them, and crack without delay."
Father and son looked at one another in mutual apprehension of the deeper meaning of the words. And they smiled.
With a sharp sting in his heart, Lucius realised just how much he missed those evenings they used to spend together, talking and debating fervently about all sorts of things, sometimes ranting and shouting, but most often sharpen their dialectic with carefully measured words, of which those left unspoken were the ones that truly mattered.
"How trenchant." Draco chuckled. "So, tell me, when are you planning to bring them down?"
"Soon. In fact, very soon." The older Malfoy placed Faust I back into the box. Now was the time to tell him.
"I've met Hermione Granger," Lucius said in the most neutral voice he could manage and observed his son who tried to cover up the sudden light shake of his hands. Lucius did not like what he saw, even less what he suspected, considering that particular memory of hers about Draco.
"Do you have something to tell me?" Lucius asked, his voice now devoid of any prior cordiality.
"For Slytherin's sake, don't be so paranoid. What gave you that impression?" Draco muttered indignant, albeit not meeting his father's eyes. "That's absolutely absurd."
That elicited a frown from Lucius. "Is it?" he inquired coldly, the temperature in the room falling to near freezing. "Son?"
Nervously, Draco ran his hands through his hair. "She helped me," he confessed reluctantly.
Lucius face went white as a sheet. That woman! he wanted to bellow. Of course it had to be her who helped his son drawing up that absurd plan to study at a Muggle university!
"Sometimes, I wonder if you're truly my son." Lucius voice lashed out like a whip. He could not stop the cruel words coming out from his mouth, knowing that they were not true, barely believing he just acted exactly like his own father would have in such a situation. But that insufferable Mudblood made him boarder along the coast of choleric like a moth drawn to the flame.
However, his son refused to succumb and retorted equally scathing, "Sometimes, I wonder if you ever deserved one."
"Ah, there you go. And I almost considered remarrying," the patriarch said, sarcasm dripping from his voice like treacle.
"Well, maybe you should."
"Yes, indeed. Who knows what might come of it."
"Alright!" Draco spat and murmured, "I'm sorry. I should have told you."
"Well, it is no longer my place to criticise your decisions. You're twenty-two. As long as you don't sodomize with Muggles, I couldn't care less with whom you fornicate," Lucius fired off.
"This is unbelievable! Do you think so low of me? I don't fool around with people I actually respect!" Draco said aggrieved, his cheeks showing red angry-glowing blotches. "She's a friend and in fact the only one I have since all others turned out to be backstabbing bumsuckers who don't want their reputation to be tainted by being associated with a Malfoy."
Being reminded of their status as pariahs made it increasingly difficult for the older Malfoy to maintain his composure. However, Lucius concealed his emotions on that matter and on Draco's relationship with his protégée, behind a thick mask of indifference as he asked, "Are you done?"
"Yes, sir, I'm done," Draco answered derisively, smoothened his evening jacket, and poured himself a drink, which he downed in one swig.
Lucius pulled out a hand-rolled cigarette from an embellished flat silver case, tapping it several times on the lid before lighting it. After some relaxing draws, which gave him the time to calm down, he finally declared, "I took Miss Granger on as my new protégée."
Stunned silence was followed by an incredulous snort. "You hypocrite," Draco said indignantly, when his expression suddenly changed from surprise into astonishment and genuine awe; it was a small spectacle.
"You took on Hermione? How did you pull that off?" his son asked, accepted the offered cigarette and took a languorous, deep pull that spoke of much practice.
Lucius smirked and swirled his brandy. "You know, it never ceases to amaze me what an efficient weapon truth can be, once it is trimmed and moulded to cater to one's needs, and administered in tiny doses."
Draco arched an eyebrow. "So, you told her about the curse. But you didn't answer my question."
"I made her an offer she couldn't possibly refuse."
"Ah, is that so?" The younger Malfoy searched for any tell-tale sign that would give away how far his father went to recruit her.
"Don't bother. This is a matter entirely between her and me," Lucius told him in masterfully accomplished inexpressiveness, and politely refused the cigarette Draco wanted to pass back, indicating he was already well provided with his brandy.
His son knew exactly that the extent of ineptness could be as revealing as straightforward blatancy, and Lucius did not need any verbal confirmation of Draco, who added one and one together, concluding that his father did not intend to use her as pawn.
"I know you to be a warlock of great efficiency, so why exactly did you choose her, of all, to break the curse and find the culprits behind that foul campaign against us?" Draco inquired, although the actual question behind his words was why he decided to invest his time and skills into building her up, besides using her to clean up the mess.
"Ah…" Lucius swiped his finger lazily over his lips. "She has a strong sense of justice, despite her tendency to bend rules and act ruthless, doesn't she?" he stated, enjoying their silent conversation between the lines.
"Oh yes, I can tell you a thing or two about it. You know the secretary in the Wizengamot Administrative Services, the one with the nasty scars all over her face? Edgecombe's daughter? That was Granger's work all over for betraying Dumbledore's Army to the Toad."
"What?" Lucius inquired in surprise. His protégée had more skeletons in the cupboard than he expected. But it did not go unnoticed that his son intended to enhance Hermione's value with that information.
"That stupid girl signed a parchment that was jinxed by Hermione to punish those who would betray their organisation, making them to break out in pimples that spelled the word 'SNEAK' across the entire face and prevent them from confessing," Draco drawled gleefully and took another pull of the cigarette.
"Well, that's an effective way to make sure to find the traitor amidst one's ranks." Deliciously amused, Lucius ran his fingertip idly along the rim of the glass. His last remark subtly indicated that he was quite aware of Draco's determination of protecting Hermione from any harming schemes, which nearly offended Lucius.
Thus, he continued, "She's an incendiary. Just think of how she already managed to rattle the establishment with her demands to acknowledge more rights for magical beings, unconsciously creating a rift between the old and new generation within the ministry. That witch is a promising draft of a chef-d'œuvre." Involuntarily, his mind digressed into thoughts, which involved his protégée's shamelessly delectable legs calling for his undivided attention – Lucius had to clear his throat to refocus. "Her relentless fight for equality paired with that ambitious mind-set of hers qualifies for a…more illustrious career path. However, I do not foster any illusions; the path to perfection is going to be a path of trial and tribulation. She lacks of any spark of charisma to make her presence felt, which is a vital asset in leadership in a way gills are to fish – She's quite a challenge."
"But you, Father, are a formidable artist," Draco said slyly, to which Lucius inclined his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. "With her reputation and the position she holds as Potter's trusted advisor, it would be an affront to treat her like a pawn as the Ministry currently does, wouldn't it?"
"Yes, I quite agree with you," Lucius added, following the chain of thoughts, which nearly came to completion. "The witch is too skilful and dangerous as a future enemy. But with no apt patron to guide her..."
"…she can still be shaped and moulded into something better than Saint Potter's lapdog who grows far too confident as Dumbledore's successor of his patronage system. That's why you decided to groom her instead," Draco concluded and leaned forward. "But into what exactly?"
How strange. Why did his son needed verbal confirmation of something so obvious?
"Isn't that plain, Son? Into my Lieutenant and our Golden Ticket back to the place behind the throne – where we belong," Lucius replied nonchalantly.
Draco's reaction was not what he expected, as he ruffled up his hair agitatedly and argued, "That's exactly what Mother–"
The patriarch cut him off with a violent bang of his fist on the table, causing the liquid in his glass to swap over and Draco to cringe. This game was over.
"Don't ever mention her opinion on that matter again. I've had quite enough of it," Lucius hissed angrily with a voice as deadly as basilisk venom. "Your mother doesn't have a clue what it took for me to keep you safe over all those years, or that I went to all lengths to uphold my patronage network and the reputation of my family for as long as I could! But she knew exactly what kind of damage she caused by divorcing me." Lucius ran his hand through his hair, barely withstanding the temptation to smash the next best thing against the wall. There it was again, that nasty, raging dragon in his stomach full of bitter anger solely reserved for his ex-wife. "I cannot believe you actually listen to your mother's silly talks. She never had to lift a single finger in her life in order to get what she wanted. So, never assume she's right on any matter that concerns my trade! Unlike the Blacks, we don't nurture from the dwindling glory of our ancestors; we Malfoys are born and made to rule! By Armand's wand, just look at you!" Lucius bawled and made a vigorous sweeping gesture towards his son's shocked face. "You're my successor in the first place and then her heir in the second! Don't you ever forget that, Draco, do you understand?"
Still poleaxed from his father's outburst, Draco stared wide-eyed at him and murmured, "Yes, Father."
Lucius massaged his temples in exhaustion and thought angrily that someone should rap Narcissa's knuckles for trying to groom his successor into some Pygmy Puff.
"Forgive me," Lucius voiced, now softly, and reached for his son's arm. "I should have let you in much earlier on the whole truth behind a thousand years of success; what it truly takes to be a Malfoy. But are you ready now, Son?"
Draco's gaze wandered down to his arm where his father held him, coming to rest on the Malfoy crest ring. The tense silence elicited thousand 'ifs' and 'buts' in Lucius' mind, buzzing relentlessness and escalating into one overwhelming fear that his only son might simply abandon him –
"Draco?" Lucius said, surprised that he still managed to sound so impenetrable although his insides threatened to turn into dust. Hoping his son could sense how much this meant to him, Lucius tightened his grip on Draco and looked into the same inscrutable and adamant depth he faced whenever he watched into the mirror, whenever he stared into an ancestor's portrait. Those were the eyes of his father, his grandfather, and every single Malfoy in the last thousand years.
And then his own flesh and blood finally answered with gentle self-assurance, his voice warm and quiet, "Of course I am, Father."
Lucius patted Draco on his shoulder.
"Good."
Pigeon's blood = The most favoured shade of red for rubies
Mogok = Also called the Valley of Rubies, is a city in Myanmar. Foreigners are only allowed into the area with a special permit
Guernsey = Is a British offshore haven for tax evasion
Foie gras de canard = Fattened duck liver
Faust = A famous tragic play by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, which is considered as one of the greatest works of German literature. The mentioned verses are from Faust I, Part I, Auerbach's Cellar. Naturally, Lucius chose to recite Mephistopheles
Fräulein = An out-dated German form of address for girls and unmarried women
A/N II: Share your thoughts, dear readers