A/N: Thanks goes to LiterallyLiterary for Beta-reading. I can't mention enough what a great help she is. HP = JKR
After suffering from a little writing crisis (which I cured with research) I finally posted the new chapter. Thank you all so much for your reviews for the last one and please keep on reading BSaB. It's going to get really hot in the next chapters, hehe
Because of the recent events in Paris I want to say that love will always triumph over hate #PorteOuverte
MLE = Department of Magical Law Enforcement
"Power is my mistress. I have worked too hard at her conquest to allow anyone to take her away from me." – Napoleon Bonaparte
10 Developing Taste
Papers ready for signing? Yes.
Merchandise and inventory list ready for inspection? Yes.
Pain-Killers and suppressors ready for intake? Yes.
Connecting flight on time? Yes.
Boss on time? No.
Trying to vent off his nervousness, Marius began playing with the newest addition of his collection of nicked fountain pens. Aurora Optima was the name of the lovely lady he had 'borrowed' from a Burmese diplomat as a nice exchange for the speed money he had invested in order to get a regular visa to Mogok. The fountain pen consisted of a solid 14K gold nib, destined for signing papers that were highly official, strictly confidential and with a high probability of breaching more human rights than a Cambodian brothel.
His boss was five minutes late, Marius determined after glancing at his worn Vacheron Constantin that had belonged to his late father. It was an ugly item, plain and worthless in the eyes of common men, but it did the job as tell-tale artefact of Marius' social standing for those who mattered.
Slightly nervous, Marius adjusted his perfectly fitting tie and brushed an imagined speck of dust from the front of his bespoke suit when he finally heard footsteps in the hallway, followed by an energetic entrance of his boss. Marius sucked in a deep breath. He was astounded at the fascinating sight of his doppelgänger striding into the hotel room. Ten more years and he would be wielding that body with the same mature nonchalance like him. However, at present Marius had to content himself by acting like the over-confident Old Etonian he was.
"Thought you wouldn't make it," Marius said and caught his boss' jacket in mid-flight, followed by tie, waistcoat, shirt and trousers.
"Bloody Friday traffic," his doppelgänger swore.
He nodded. "You've got another minute. Pills are on the counter."
Just clad in shorts, his boss swallowed the pills and rushed into the bathroom. Not a moment later, he heard restrained groans of pain. Thank God he did not witness the transformation. Last time Marius did he had suffered from nightmares for a whole week – and he was a man who prided himself of witnessing things most people did not know even existed.
"How did it go?" Marius asked, raising his voice so his boss could hear him through the door.
"Frederick is taken care of and will resume his awfully fascinating life as city boy at Lehman's next month. His previous employer will be remembered as being a bit on the boring end of Private Banking," his boss answered in his natural tone.
Marius laughed derisively and folded the clothes. "Impeccable timing it is, giving him a golden handshake in February."
Fully dressed, Lucius emerged from the bathroom, his face still a bit red from the painful transformation. "We can't afford anything out of the ordinary. Mind-alterations are delicate business," he said while signing the pile of papers.
"And the replacement?" Marius inquired, carefully blowing the ink dry before he let them disappear into his briefcase.
"Justin Finch-Fletchley, a Muggle-born who specialised after graduating from Hogwarts. Shame he's a Hufflepuff. However, you might find some common ground. He had been on the list for Eton before he received the letter." Lucius rummaged in his attaché and handed Marius a file.
"Seven grand and shares?" Marius asked, a little bit miffed while skimming through the papers. This was only two grand less than he earned. And he was family.
Lucius raised an eyebrow. "With an Unbreakable Vow."
Well, salaries were relative, Marius thought and handed over the magically expanded velvet pouch.
"Alright, here are the gems and the necessary certificates. Furthermore, I've already added the boy as beneficiary of the foundation."
"Good," Lucius answered while holding one of the gems against the light.
"The bank closes at five thirty and I better take a leave now. Got another appointment." More precisely, a hard fuck with a high-class bird, Ancien Roséen, refined, confident, pretty, fiancée of a scion of a banker dynasty and just the right thing to stroke his massive ego on a Friday afternoon.
"That particular recreational activity of yours will once be your downfall if you don't act with more discretion," Lucius remarked quietly while examining the other gems.
Marius' felt like he had been caught with his hands in the cookie jar and it took a moment for him to regain his composure. "I'll be more cautious in future," he promised with a smooth voice and made a light bow.
"It really wasn't necessary to fetch me. I was nearly done," Hermione said while tightening her thick coat around herself. "And you didn't need to- to have greeted me that way in front of my colleagues." There was a light tremble in her voice. "They might get the wrong impression, you know." She huddled herself deeper into her coat. "I'm–"
"Oh, cut it off," Lucius said gruffly while trying to concentrate on some papers about God knew what. "My time is limited and I'm certainly not waiting for you to grace me with your presence whenever it pleases you. We've agreed on a time and I expect you to adhere to it. It's a matter of principle, manners, and professionalism, and right know I have the feeling that you possess neither one of these traits." His pen squeaked as he underlined some text and wrote something over it that looked suspiciously like 'bullshit'. "Good Lord, you're such a prude."
Hermione reddened. "Oh, you! You could at least have had the decency to pretend living in the twenty-first century and not kissing my hand like some upper-class eccentric who's just gotten over the fact that America won its independence."
He looked up with a scornful smirk on his face. "So, you rather want to be greeted the local way?"
Her heart made a leap in a mute outcry of protest and she slid into the corner of her side of the car, deliberately staring out the window. She was tired and hungry and now she was embarrassed, too, as her mind conjured the image of him kissing her cheeks. But the mere fact that she felt embarrassed made her angry; she greeted people like that every day, so why should it be any different with him?
"Where are we headed anyway?" she asked, trying to clear her mind of distressing thoughts.
"You'll see," he said curtly and resumed his reading, upon which Hermione huffed and draped her scarf tight around her neck.
The car was driving uphill, away from the city into the countryside, passing by local vineyards and picturesque mansions of which its white facades and snow-topped roofs glowed faintly blue in the evening light. It grew full dark when the car came to a halt, and as they stepped out Hermione found herself in the courtyard of a small, illuminated estate, which must have been about eight hundred years old, as far as she could tell from the rustic stonework, and renovated multiple of times throughout the centuries. Like most castles, it was nestled on top of a hill, surrounded by a small vineyard, and she could even make out the glittering lights from the city, which was partly reflected by the dark, rippling surface of Lake Geneva.
They walked through the arched gate and crossed the snow-covered bailey to the entrance of the restaurant Hermione now recognised as one of the best addresses in the canton. A wall of delightful heat welcomed them into the estate. Simple chandeliers hung from the wooden ceiling beams, illuminating the whole interior in a soft light, and hardwood stairs and banisters were attached to rustic work decorated by selected still life oils. The house was devoid of any ostentatious décor of the Ancien Régime as if to reinstate that this castle had never been seized by some puffed-up Frenchmen.
Hermione and Lucius took a seat near the large hearth in the former knight's hall. A starched tablecloth covered the table, which was laid with silverware and fragile, thin-stemmed wine glasses. Casual conversations, relaxed laughter, and honest smiles determined the atmosphere. It became clear that guests left their sorrows at their workplace in order to spend quality time with the people they actually cared about. She felt a little bit out of place, being in company with her biggest sorrow in form of a blond wizard who chose the tasting menu for them both.
A waiter was filling the glasses with some local white wine, and Hermione tapped her fingers nervously on the table, not knowing if she should start a conversation or not.
"Go on, take a sip of your aperitif and stop fidgeting. You make the chair look like a misplaced torture instrument," he said drily.
"Excuse me, Lucius, for finding it difficult to relax around you," she said acerbically and downed the glass of white wine just to keep her hands occupied.
His eyes flicked over the empty glass. "Well, that's one way to do it."
"I'm just adapting to local customs."
"And clearly very eager to demonstrate," Lucius parried and lifted his eyebrows as the waiter arrived with the first course. "I assume, you have thought about your ambitions?"
"What? Er, well, yes –" she answered, distracted by the mouth-watering smell of soup.
"Later," he drawled dismissively.
Deciding that her urge to still her hunger was overpowering the one to fight back, she took a spoon of her consommé and sighed with relish. Lucius dipped a slice of freshly baked bread into his soup, which was in her eyes a sensational discovery of the frightfully ordinary, reminding her once more that she was facing a man, not a savage manticore.
Second, third, fourth, and fifth courses came and went without either of them speaking much besides complimenting the dishes and criticising the wine (looking like red ink mixed with urine according to Lucius, which made her snort a sip up her nose). And by the last course, chocolate mousse with cognac, she felt wholly contented with the world and herself.
"You already have a plan how we are going to approach this, do you?" she asked while she licked off her spoon in hope for one last taste of the dessert.
Lucius was not exactly looking into her eyes, but lower, down at her mouth. "Naturally," he replied, still focusing on her mouth and she quickly put the spoon down, to which his eyes darted up.
"Both matters require you to be closer to the ministry, to be part of the establishment in order to find the ones who cursed me and to have you gaining more influence, " he explained. "Of course, we can't have you snooping around with everyone noticing but there are other, more subtle ways to attain that sort of information. But first tell me, Hermione, have you ever thought about a promotion?"
"Everyone does that once in a while but I like my job as it is," she answered reluctantly, trying not to give away how much she actually thought about it in the last couple of weeks since Harry got promoted as new Head of the Auror Office.
"However, your current position keeps you from climbing up the ladder of the MLE. And to be blunt, your connection with the ICOW and being on that taskforce does more damage than good."
"What do you mean by that?" Hermione asked defensively. "The ICOW is an important organisation for the whole Wizarding world. Without it, we would not be able to reinforce the International Statute of Secrecy, especially since Muggle technology is so far advanced and keeps developing at such a dangerous speed. It is inevitable to strengthen international relationships and foster international collaboration and–"
"I know, I know," Lucius waved her off. "But it doesn't change the fact that it isn't an organisation in high regard, except in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. And since the ICOW runs under that department, you are being regarded as another conceited member of the Cozy Club. Worse, in your case, a heroine who abused her reputation and connections to get one of those posts, which are usually given to more experienced officials."
"But it's just the taskforce! I'm still in MLE and I've got the job because I was the best-suited candidate," Hermione said. "I'm aware that there are people talking behind my back but it could not possibly be that bad."
He shot her a contemptuous look in response that made her insides freeze and burn at the same time.
"I'm absolutely against going back behind the desk," she said resolutely. "And I'm definitely not going to beg for another job." Despite the hard work and isolation from her friends, she loved her job. A promotion meant that she had to go back to England, where she would be exposed to the public.
"Perkins, your superior, is thinking of retiring now that things are running smoothly in his office. You do know that?"
"Of course I do. My co-workers, are already pecking one another's' eyes out, circling the post like hungry vultures, ready to strike as soon he lifts his bottom off that chair," she said without bothering to cover the distain in her voice.
"And as I take it, you are not willing work under any of their leadership, which is why you chose to keep your field work job? Tell me, do you think it's a wise decision?"
"I'm not regretting anything, if that's what you're implying. It's just… they are my seniors, and, I'm not yet experienced–"
"Yet, you step aside because you think you're not up to the task?" His lips quirked at the corners.
"How can I possibly be Perkins' successor if others have much more experience than I do!"
"So you rather want to see your department going down the drain because of being run by an inept dunce who has the power to withdraw you from the taskforce whenever he feels like it and against your will?" Lucius continued, now not bothering to hide his amusement any longer.
Hermione's throat had gone dry. "Alright, alright, so what do you have in mind, then? Want me to poison my co-workers, blackmail them?" she asked disparagingly to wipe that contemptuous smirk of his face.
His expression cooled instantly. Lucius bent forward and spoke so quietly she had to emulate him. "Dearest, if I wanted them dead, it wouldn't happen through your hands." His calmness raised her hackles up. She wanted to draw back, but he clutched her arm, making her gasp in surprise. "I'll let this pass one more time, but in future I'll have none of your cheek."
She tried to pull her hand away but he was so strong that it didn't budge an inch. "Look at me," he demanded and when she did, his glare felt like needles piercing through her eyes.
Not being able to hold that glare of his any second longer she finally hissed, "Fine!"
Instantly, Lucius relinquished his grip, his fingertips grazing over her skin. Sweat ran down her back and her heart was beating as if she had just run a mile.
"Fine," Hermione repeated softer after she had come to terms that he was right. She had to sacrifice her privacy and anonymity if she really wanted to get ahead.
Lucius leaned back, his features relaxed again. "I want you to accept any social invitations to whatever event, show your face, smile, mingle, and have nice chats with the mob. Get a sense of the current public mood. You let them know that you're not quite satisfied with your current appointment and that you'd perhaps seek for new challenges in, let's say, the private industry sector."
"Word will travel fast. It will become a political issue." One Hermione rather wanted to avoid, truth be told.
"And that's exactly what you want. How would it look like for the new administration if the second member of the Golden Trio suddenly decides to leave the ministry?"
Hermione emptied her glass of wine. She was beginning to understand what his so-called 'subtle ways' contained of. "Every invitation? What about silly garden-parties, pumpkin exhibitions and red-ribbon events?"
"Especially those," he said reassuringly.
And with the precision and tact of a watchmaker, Lucius disclosed his plan to Hermione, who was listening intently, absorbing every of word, only interrupting if she needed elaboration. There was something very exciting on colluding with a former enemy. Additional to his instructions he handed her a stack of files on every Wizengamot member, and she flipped through them, quickly noticing how well-written and structured they were. Handwritten notes in red used up most of the free space on the pages, adding personal thoughts or referring to attachments.
"Henry Spencer-Moon has a secret second family with his mistress and has a Squib daughter he had put up for adoption?" she asked, scandalized. The old wizard, son of the former Minister of Magic Leonard Spencer-Moon, was one of the few supporters of her elf-welfare bill and always threated her very kindly and respectful like a favourable uncle. Hermione kept on reading until she arrived to the passage of Henry's involvement in the wizarding wars. Enraged, she tossed the file back onto the stack.
"Does it surprise you?" Lucius asked curiously, twisting his signet ring unconsciously.
"Of course it does! He's an avid supporter of the new administration, his father was friends with Winston Churchill and now I have to learn that he financed Voldemort with half a million Galleons and was in the committee of the Muggle-born registration office! This can't be true!"
Lucius laughed, more sardonic than condescending, rose from his chair and indicated her to follow him.
They entered a smaller room and settled into one of the cosy looking sofas that were spread around the pool table, which was currently in use. She ordered brandies for the two of them while he lit a cigarette and took a long drag in the same fashion his son used to. Hermione would have loved nothing better than to go home to satisfy her curiosity and fuel her anger by reading into the files. However, their business was not yet finished.
"I've made a list of my political goals," she said, her fingers itching to take the paper out of her bag.
"Show me then," he answered after another languid draw. The smoke swirled upwards and, unlike common cigarettes, hung sweet and thick in the air.
Lucius went through her list, his eyes dancing from right to left, not giving the slightest hint of what he thought about her paper.
"And?" Hermione asked after he was finished, expecting him to admit that it was good and carefully thought out.
"Hm…" Lucius rubbed his chin lazily and handed the paper back to her. "This is absolute rubbish."
Her insides turned cold. "What? What do you mean, this is absolute rubbish?" Devastated, she went on defending her paper, which she brandished animatedly. "Only because you don't believe in social egality doesn't mean it's rubbish! Achieving equality by abolishing Muggle-born-discriminating pure-blood laws, introducing proper and transparent Wizengamot member elections and transparent appointment processes of executive positions within the Ministry to prevent nepotism and discrimination of minorities, making Muggle Studies mandatory at Hogwarts, strengthening diplomatic ties with the British Muggle government, and extending the rights of other magical beings such as House-Elves and Goblins doesn't sound stupid in my opinion!"
Unfazed by her passionate speech, Lucius stubbed out his cigarette and answered, "The big flaw in your plan is that you put goals and strategies into one kettle. What do you really want to achieve with such poorly conceived ideas? Do you want to restrain pure-bloods instead of empowering Muggle-borns? Is that your brilliant solution for achieving equality among Wizarding kind? How can you ever expect the current administration to consider even one of those suggestions when they are intended to undermine their authority and power? How do you think will people react to a restrictive government after a period of terror and constant surveillance?" Lucius shifted in his seat, his gestures becoming more animated. "The Wizengamot is very traditional, very slow to move and doesn't like having its policies changed. It is very hierarchical and always will be. You have to understand that you deal with people who, when they have meetings with the Minister, enter his office in order of seniority. Even the attempt of changing the seating order would result in a medium-sized outrage."
Hermione took a deep breath and rubbed her palms together. She was at a loss for words and felt as if she had been run over by herd of horses.
"What do you suggest I do then?" she asked subdued and stared at the floor. Being reminded that she was somehow still an outsider hurt her far more than his verdict on her paper.
"Read and study history. In history lies all the secrets of statecraft."
There was a silent pause as she glanced at him sideways. "You really want this to work out, do you?"
His lips moved, subtle on its play of expression.
Hermione turned in her seat so Lucius could hear her better as she whispered, "You do not merely want – you need me – more than you want to admit."
"But who of us has more to lose?" he asked back, his jaw tensing visibly.
"And who gains more?"
Neither of them dared to blink but Lucius' eyes grew dark, looking as if he could not decide whether he loathed or enjoyed the struggle for the upper hand.
"That is determined on how high you set your aims," he said eventually with a seductive glint in his eyes that made her very conscious about their last meeting back in New York. That glint made her want to share the things she never shared with anyone before; desires so secret and selfish she never told anyone, not even Harry.
Lucius nudged her chin up in an encouraging gesture. It was not avuncular; she found his whole demeanour too sensual to think of him in that way. And by God, that mesmerizing look told her that he was hungry for her confession.
"I –" Hermione breathed, leaving Lucius no choice but to lean closer. Heat was radiating from his body. She could smell him, the male smell, its muskiness mixed with the faint tang of cologne. She breathed in that familiar scent that stood for danger and guilt, hope and opportunity. And of power; power he placed at her disposal. "I want to become Kingsley's successor."
Her voice sounded hoarse and she pressed her eyes shut, fearing that she might have read too much into his demeanour, that he would start laughing at her. Frustrated at how vulnerable she felt, she bit her lip to stifle a groan.
"Hermione…" Lucius said with a voice that felt like balm for her soul, "what higher aim is there than that?"
She felt how he took her hand, how he turned it slowly to kiss the inner side of her wrist, how her pulse rushed under his warm lips. Her fingers touched his face, grazed some strains of hair. Adrenaline rushed through her whole body down her toes and into her tingling fingers. She enjoyed the sensation like a guilty pleasure. There was no harm in that, was it? Just a little sin on their growing list of secrets.
Ancien Roséen or Ancient Rosean = Alumni of the international boarding school Institute of Le Rosey in Geneva. It's also called The School of Kings
A/N II: I'm happy for any reviews