A/N: Sooooo, I got very distracted painting Veela!Lucius for cover art of an upcoming Lumione fic I'm planning, and I'm not exactly sorry I was working on that for a bit instead of this. The art is on instagram, if you want a sneak peak, user: doodleholic_kayka_ficart . If it's any consolation this chapter ended up… long.

Also, if you're on Reddit, there is a newish Lumione subreddit called: LMHG. Come check it out and help it grow!

You will now be redirected to your regularly scheduled chaos chapter.


"Why in the devil would I steal a baby?" Lucius scoffed, "This is Scorpius. My grandson."

Now that she had stepped further into the room, she realized the baby with a shock of white-blond hair was almost a carbon copy of Draco Malfoy, but for his brilliant baby-blue eyes. Hermione was somewhat relieved to find the child had not been misappropriated; however, the notion that even Draco now had a mini-me out in the world was vaguely unsettling.

She glanced from Scorpius back to her uninvited houseguest. In fact, side-by-side, the infant's resemblance to Lucius was undeniable, even though the latter had seen fit to seemingly attempt to replicate the hairstyle of a Tolkien elf with the way he'd plaited and tied back his hair this evening. Annoyingly, it actually looked quite nice and accentuated his stupid bone structure.

"His mother has taken ill, and he will be in my care for the next few days," the wizard continued unfazed by her continued suspicious scrutiny.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Hermione said, and she actually was. She had only met Draco's wife—Tara? No. Tori, maybe?— once, but she had been unexpectedly sweet and of a like mind on more topics than Hermione ever would have expected of someone who married into the Malfoy family. To be sick enough that Lucius had to take over when her baby could only be a few months old was less than ideal.

"But why are you here? In my flat?"

The "how" was rather obvious—he must have been the one to set the wards, and her locking charm was hardly a deterrent to anyone with more than an elementary appreciation of charms. She'd known allowing him to bring her home last night had been a massive mistake, though she could accept that doing so had probably resulted in the least overtly embarrassing outcome.

"Officially, I am on a leave of absence until Monday, next. Unofficially, you and I still have business to attend to."

"I'm sure it can wait until you're back in the office," Hermione said hopefully. Five blissful days without his presence sounded like a dream. She might even be able to get some actual work done without the constant threat of preparing for their meetings.

Lucius shot her a look that managed to be both sceptical and derisive.

"Can it? I was under the impression you wanted to propose something meaningful this session, which begins a week from Monday as you are aware. And I must say, I'm still woefully unconvinced of your misguided lycanthropic cause. Aside from the racehorses, well…" he trailed off meaningfully.

Hermione blanched at the realization that September was less than two weeks away.

They had nothing significant to present to the Wizengamot. At least, nothing to which Lucius had given his blessing. She really needed the extra time at the office this week to strategize and work some miracle to pull a niffler out of her hat.

And while yes, she—they?—needed to work to have the primary legislation ready for submission, Hermione was woefully unprepared to wrangle Lucius, a baby, and her traitorous cat all at once without some prior warning so that she could steel her nerves.

"Does it have to be tonight?" She didn't whinge, "Maybe we could arrange—"

Lucius waved a hand to forestall her.

"No. Tonight, we are simply having dinner."

Hermione blinked owlishly at Lucius. At the still covered plates. At her cat. At the baby.

"I don't understand," she admitted.

"You're an intelligent woman, Hermione, and I didn't think your memory was faulty. I'm calling in the dinner you demurred on last week. Please have a seat," he directed, gesturing to the open chair.

"Yes. Thanks for inviting me to sit at my own table," she groused. But it was beyond awkward to keep standing in the kitchen of her own flat, so she dropped her satchel on the console table and obliged. "And I don't actually remember agreeing to any sort of dinner. You asked me to go that night, and I declined."

"I seem to recall suggesting a nebulous later date, and you gave no negative indication in response which could thereby be construed as tacit agreement."

Hermione rubbed at her temples. "Is it your goal in life to give me a headache?"

"Goal? Hardly. It's merely a fringe benefit."

Hermione grunted inelegantly in response.

He lifted the cloches to reveal a likely heinously expensive meal. But now wasn't the time to be bribed. Even if the Lobster Thermidor smelled mouthwatering, and the wine she had so recently foresworn was beyond tempting.

"Seriously, Mr. Malfoy, this is too much."

"Nonsense. And after your misadventure last night, I believed it imperative to head you off at the pass before you could delude yourself into believing it was a good idea to try to go on one of those insipid little dates again."

"What business of it is yours if I do?" She replied stubbornly. Hermione truly had no desire or intention of going on any more blind dates courtesy of Pansy or Ginny for the time being, but being told that she shouldn't irked her beyond reason.

Lucius raised an imperious brow.

"Don't play coy. I've laid my cards on the table. If you truly don't want me here, simply look me in the eye and truthfully say so, and I shan't bother you again," he challenged.

"I—" Hermione hesitated. The past few weeks had been a confusing jumble. What did he want? What did she want, for that matter? While he was still a major thorn in her side, somehow, somewhen, something in their acquaintanceship had irrevocably shifted. Hermione could reluctantly admit to herself that she didn't quite detest the man anymore. He was baffling, and intentionally infuriating, but he could occasionally be so oddly gallant that Lucius kept her utterly off balance.

"Hmm? I didn't think so. You want me, despite yourself, or you wouldn't have gone to such misguided lengths to be rid of me. Perhaps it is simply your innate stubbornness and inability to admit when you're wrong."

"I can admit when I'm wrong!" Hermione returned hotly, perhaps a tad more vociferously than she intended.

A tiny hic of noise froze them both, and within the next breath, that little noisy intake of air manifested into a full-blown caterwaul.

Damn it all.

She and Lucius stood at the same time, but Hermione immediately gave way and hovered awkwardly to the side, intensely curious as to how Lucius would react.

He deftly unbuckled and lifted the infant out of his muggle baby carrier, shushing and rocking him expertly. Lucius Malfoy. Former death eater, allegedly reformed blood purist, improbable yet incorrigible flirt, was standing in her kitchen cooing lovingly and patiently to calm the baby down.

It was equal parts adorable and bizarre, and a weird gushy pressure in her chest made her think weird, mushy, unwise thoughts. That is, until she parsed exactly what he was saying.

"Did the mean witch scare you? She didn't mean to; she only gets screechy when I make her acknowledge the truth. It's all right, little one. Grand-père is here."

"Malfoy," Hermione said lowly through clenched teeth. It wouldn't do to scare the baby again, even if she desired nothing more in the world in that moment than to throttle his grandfather.

"Oh, the mean witch has forgotten my name, Scorpius. That simply won't do, will it?" He said, rocking the child, whose screams were lowering slightly in intensity.

Hermione huffed, plonking back down in her seat as Lucius further soothingly disparaged her to his progeny's progeny until the tiny boy's scrunched-up face smoothed out and he finally quieted.

"Ah, here, see," Lucius said, aiming the baby toward her, "the loud, uncooperative, mean witch isn't so bad."

As if actually understanding him, Scorpius' big, blue eyes swiveled to Hermione, and he waved his chubby little arms in the air.

"A glowing recommendation," Hermione groused, reaching for the child. Lucius glanced at her quizzically but handed him over.

"Now, Scorpius, it's probably best if you don't listen to your grandfather about anything. Ever."

The baby's translucent eyebrows furrowed, and a look of intense concentration took up residence on his face.

Uh oh.

Hermione was seconds away from handing him back to Malfoy Senior to take care of a dirty nappy—a sight she would be gleefully entertained to see, if she were to be quite honest—but before she could manage to do so, the little fellow reached up and yanked at her curls.

He smiled widely, making a gurgly giggle noise before clawing his tiny hands deeper into her mane.

"Never mind, you're just as bad as he is, little guy," Hermione mock sighed.

But as she began trying to battle the little fellow, who was still learning the finer points of holding up his own head, Hermione reasoned that it wasn't necessarily a wrong insight. No, in fact, it was almost as if she had been struck by a lightning bolt of realization: ever since her horrendous slip of the tongue, Lucius Malfoy had reveled in doing the equivalent of tweaking her hair for attention like a naughty schoolboy.

Perhaps that was really the key to everything; she filed the notion away for later consideration.

"Hmm, I suppose I ought to have warned you. You've discovered his new favorite activity. And with your hair, well, you've clearly ignored my thoughtful gift."

Hermione grimaced, gently unraveling the surprisingly strong little fingers from her hair. Lucius's uncharacteristically tied back, plaited hair suddenly made sense.

"Speaking of thoughtful," Hermione started boldly, "How'd you even know where I was last night? Did you follow me?"

"Now, my dear, that would be invasive, unhinged behaviour unbefitting of my station as a gentleman. It was simply kismet, as I already told you. Though you were likely too soused to remember."

Hermione squinted at him in annoyance.

"I may have been slightly inebriated, but I was hardly soused."

"So you do remember enumerating my finer qualities and hanging on to me like a limpet?" He asked smugly.

"I did no such thing," she denied, remembering to keep her tone in check.

"You did, in fact. Right before you offered to lick my—"

"You are incredibly lucky I'm holding this baby, Malfoy."

"Oh, do tell what you would like to do to me if you were not, Hermione. Mount me here, on the table? That seemed to be something you were rather keen on trying."

Hermione gaped, her face flaming. There was absolutely no way she'd said that. The fact that the evening was largely a blur after the first few glasses of wine didn't work in her favor. There was the slimmest possibility that she had actually propositioned him; if she had, all that was left to her was denial, stubbornness, and bluster.

"No, of course not!" Hermione sputtered, trying in vain to keep her voice level so as not to startle the infant who had started mouthing at her shoulder after she'd swept her hair out of easy reach.

"Hmm, bent over the Chesterfield, then? I admit, that one was mine."

Hermione swallowed hard before remembering herself. She had no intention of having sex with Lucius Malfoy tonight or any other night. She just needed to keep reminding herself of that.

"Keep going, I dare you. You wouldn't be the first Malfoy I've punched in the face," she threatened.

"Ooh, I never imagined you'd be so worldly, Hermione. We'll need a safe word in that case. I've always been partial to—"

"Lucius!"

"Yes, darling?"

The sinful tone of his voice sent an electric thrill coursing through her veins.

"Don't be a prat. Here, I think he's hungry," she said, redirecting attention to the infant, handing the poor child over to the most annoying arse known to wizardkind.

The ease with which switched from unrepentant scoundrel to conjuring a bottle and easily taking up the task at hand was frustratingly intriguing. Damn her natural weakness for competence. She imagined this was how other witches felt when witnessing a man's sleeves rolled to the elbows.

"So, when precisely did you find time to punch my son? I can't imagine it was recent; he was all but singing your praises to deter me from meddling with your incremental plans for world domination."

Draco had defended her? That was… utterly unexpected.

"Wanting equality for all magical creatures is hardly world domination, Malfoy," Hermione sniffed airily, returning to her abandoned food. It really would be a shame to waste it. And a singular, one, solo, only, lone glass of wine to pair it with couldn't hurt. "And who's to say I punched Draco?"

"As amusing as the idea might have been, I highly doubt you had a physical altercation with my late wife. That leaves only one other candidate."

Aagh! Weren't there any Malfoy cousins? Aunts? Uncles?

"Fine. We were in our third year. He was being horrible and gloating about getting Buckbeak sentenced to death. It was actually partially your fault, since you saw fit to demand the execution of an innocent hippogriff."

"That hippogriff injured my son," Lucius replied with disdain.

"I was there. Your son antagonized it to begin with."

Hermione was simply pleased to be arguing rather than be subjected to his ridiculously blatant flirting. Though, at this point, his idea of flirting had crossed the line practically into proposition. So what if distracting him in another direction was taking a play out of his own book, if it worked?

"I had multiple, verified, firsthand accounts. I hardly believe that calling a creature ugly merits a child being mauled. It was a class four beast that had no business being around children."

Hermione did so hate when Lucius had the slightest, tiniest bit, of a reasonable point.

"Hippogriffs are class three beasts, and you know it. Though, I grant you, it should have never been in that situation to begin with."

He seemed mollified by her capitulation, and that just wouldn't do.

"But there was still no reason to call for killing it over relocating it."

"You are a sentimental little thing, aren't you?" Lucius said, eyeing her shrewdly, "As I recall it, the beast somehow miraculously escaped. So, this entire conversation is moot."

"It's not moot," she disagreed, "I don't like bullies. Or people who take advantage of their position."

"What purpose is there in holding a position of power if not to use it? I'm actually quite curious about your stance. How late you were to the office this morning?"

Hermione flinched. How did he even know that she was late? Had he popped into her office, after all?

"That's completely different."

"Is it?"

Hermione was rescued from developing a feasible line of mental gymnastics by a whooshing sound in her living room.

"Ah, better just… check on that," she muttered, hopping up.

To her eternal chagrin, Lucius, carrying a now well fed, yawning Scorpius, followed closely behind. Sensing the opportunity of a lifetime, Crookshanks migrated to the table to finish off her the uneaten remains of her beautiful lobster. Lucky little beast.

"Hermione!" Harry's head popped into vibrantly green-tinged existence in her fireplace just after she and her entourage stepped into view. "Oh, sorry, I didn't think you'd have company. …Mr. Malfoy."

Harry nodded in the man's general direction.

"Mr. Potter," Lucius returned, neutrally.

She should have made him stay in the kitchen. She should have kicked him out as soon as she'd fount him invading her flat.

Hermione purposefully stopped herself from cringing or acting like anything was amiss. Nothing was amiss, after all. This was all perfectly normal.

"Harry—"

Harry's head tilted as he adjusted his glasses, squinting in Lucius's general direction.

"Is that a baby?"

Even though she very well knew it was, in fact, a baby, Hermione couldn't help but look in the direction Harry indicated in reflex; it would have been like passing a train wreck, and not looking on in horror at the carnage. It was probably the respectable thing to do, but nigh on impossible in practice.

Lucius's lips quirked enigmatically as he deftly burped his sleepy grandson.

Okay, now he was just showing off. Hermione tore her own eyes away from the flustrating— er—flustering… frustrating… sight.

"It is… Did you need something, Harry?" Hermione tried again.

"Oh, right," Harry shook his head as if to dislodge the present improbable sight from his memory, though he glanced back at Lucius one more time, in hesitation. "I just wanted to see if we could move dinner up to tomorrow, if that's okay? Molly wants us to do some big family thing Thursday."

"That's fine," Hermione agreed. It was her turn to host, but luckily magic and her favorite takeaway restaurant down the way would easily take care of the particulars.

Harry's eyes swiveled between them once more as he paused, as though he wanted to say something else, but had thought better of it. He simply nodded instead.

"Ta. See you at seven tomorrow," he said before winking out of existence.

"Well, that rather puts a damper on achieving anything tomorrow evening," Lucius complained, returning to the kitchen to put the drowsy baby back in his carrier.

"You're not wheedling an invitation to dinner, Malfoy," Hermione declared as she followed.

He actually grimaced.

"Dinner with the Potters? Perish the thought."

"And Ron and his fiancée Pansy," she offered unnecessarily, souring the idea further.

"I suppose we shall have to schedule for Thursday evening instead?"

Her Malfoy-free week was turning out to be quite busy and unfortunately Malfoy-filled, after all. Though she did not yet know it, this was a portent of disasters to come.


Lucius and little Scorpius had finally left her flat, and Hermione found herself beyond annoyed.

In the aftermath of Harry's unscheduled floo call, she had completely forgotten to ask Malfoy to take down his ruddy wards, and the damned things were recalcitrant to her own manipulation. The wards weren't the only "gift" he'd left behind. The books she found—once she'd finally evicted him from her flat after a "spirited debate" over a potential house-elf bill—ranged from thoughtful historical accounts on lycanthropy in wizarding society to annoyingly heavy handed anti-werewolf propaganda.

She could accept those in the spirit they were given. In fact, a gift of books had caused vaguely disconcerting, albeit pleasant, flutterings in her chest.

That pleasant flutterings lasted until right before her evening shower when she discovered that Lucius had completely replaced the most important contents of her chest of drawers. Her sensible cotton knickers? Missing. Her favorite comfortable bras? All gone.

In their place was what could only be described politely as lingerie.

Hermione shot off a howler in which she may have called him a litany of unpleasant nouns whilst also demanding the immediate return of her belongings. She quickly received a parchment with a single, elegantly scrawled word in return: "No."

Incensed would be a mild word to describe the depths of her rage. Fueled by her anger, she spent the remainder of the evening and the majority of her morning before leaving for work attempting to systematically dismantle the protective wards Lucius had left on her apartment.

She failed to do so, and had to admit, if only to herself, that the wards were not coming down without either Lucius's assistance or a massive amount of her own research. She would simply have to corner him on the issue when he invaded her flat for their scheduled Thursday evening meeting.

Hermione's ire had cooled slightly overnight, and despite outward appearances, the magically imbued lingerie was at the very least comfortable. She would still be burning it at the first opportunity, but it would do until she could replace or retrieve her stolen property.

When the time came for her hosted dinner, the meal itself went surprisingly well. Everyone, including Pansy, was civil and there was even some light banter. It was the least awkward dinner the five of them, plus little James, had endured since Ron introduced his girlfriend to them.

Pansy openly scrutinized her flat and found it wanting—this was actually her first time in the space—though, to her credit, the other witch did not voice her disdain aloud. For his part, Ron wore a look of sappy devotion on his face for most of the night, a sight she hadn't seen since his sixth-year snogfest of a relationship with Lavender Brown.

"I just need your lav," Pansy said, toward the end of dinner.

"Off the sitting-room, first door on the right," Hermione directed.

She didn't think much of her extended absence until Pansy came storming back out.

"What is this?"

"What is what?" Hermione asked, completely bemused by what the other witch could have found in her loo that was so objectionable. Her electric toothbrush? Her never-used flat iron?

"This," Pansy said, waving the horrid little bottle of hair tonic that Hermione ought to have thrown in the rubbish bin at the first opportunity. She'd stuck it toward the back of the counter because, if nothing else, the bottle looked nicely decorative. Its continued presence had quickly faded into the obscurity of oft seen home decor.

Clearly, Pansy had taken umbrage to her having it, but this still didn't account for the other witch's outsized reaction.

"Hair tonic, I'd assume from the label," Hermione said smartly, the others looking on in either similar confusion, in the case of Harry and Ginny, or unease, in the case of Ron.

"Yes, but what are you doing with it? Are you trying to steal Draco away from Astoria? They just had a baby, you! You—"

"What in world?" Hermione asked, completely confused, "Pansy, back up. I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

The other witch stopped short, reassessing her attack.

"You didn't get this from Draco?"

Hermione shook her head. "I haven't even seen Draco Malfoy in five years."

Inside, her mind was whirring with anxiety. The fact that Pansy would automatically jump to Draco being the source of the bottle was unsettling. It was far too close to the truth for comfort, even if it was the wrong Malfoy. Hermione had no doubt that Harry, at the very least, would put two and two together. Sometimes, she longed for the days when her friend was still the Boy Who Was Oblivious to Ninety Percent of What Was Going On Around Him. He'd unfortunately grown out of that at some point whilst becoming an auror.

"I may have jumped to conclusions," Pansy admitted unapologetically, "But don't try to tell me you bought this for yourself. You haven't even used it!"

She could always just ask Pansy and Ron to leave, but then the misunderstanding would simply fester. Outright denial would just make her look guilty, even though there was absolutely nothing to be guilty about.

"It was a grossly misguided… gift," Hermione begrudgingly admitted. "It's not important, really. I just completely forgot to toss it in the rubbish."

Pansy's ire completely evaporated at this pronouncement, and she grinned like the cat who caught the canary. Hermione felt particularly small and yellow.

"Granger, you dark horse. I didn't think you had it in you."

"What?" she asked, not liking Pansy's snarkily admiring tone. Hermione immediately went into defense mode.

"Pans, don't you think that maybe you should—" Ginny started, but Pansy interrupted.

"Granger's got a patron," she said triumphantly.

For a beat, Hermione was too stunned by Pansy's assertion to react.

"A what?" Ron and Harry asked at the same time.

Pansy let her gaze swing dramatically to each of the others.

"Muggles call them a Sugar Daddy."

Harry's eyes lit with comprehension. Ron's face twisted enough to indicate he got the gist, if not the particular rationale for the arrangement of words.

Hermione sputtered, shifting uncomfortably in her brand new, utterly unwanted, lacy underthings, "I most certainly do not!"

She supposed she should be glad Pansy wouldn't notice the other out-of-place gifts Malfoy had left behind, or this ridiculous little interlude would have been infinitely worse.

"Well, whatever the witchlings are calling it these days," Pansy shrugged. "Patron does sound rather staid."

"I do not have a—a patron, or a sugar daddy, or anything of the sort! And I'm definitely not accepting gifts from the likes of Draco Malfoy," Hermione defended vehemently.

"I can accept you're telling the truth about Draco. But it's if not some benefactor, how did you come by a hair potion that costs eighty-seven galleons per bottle?"

Hermione paled. She'd known the ridiculous hair tonic was expensive at first blush. She just hadn't bothered to figure out quite how expensive.

"Who else would hand out a gift like that? Forget me and Gin setting you up. Just jump the bones of whoever's giving you this." Pansy waggled the little bottle in front of her and pulled it away as Hermione tried to snatch it from her hands, "Oh, unless you were trying to make your sugar daddy jealous?"

"Pansy," Ron chided. "There is absolutely no way Hermione has some kind of patron. I mean have you—"

"Ron, you should definitely stop while you're ahead," Ginny interjected, before her attention was demanded by a fussy, booster-chair trapped James.

"Someone left it for me on my desk at work. I wasn't about to use it even if I couldn't find evidence of tampering, but I just… thought the bottle was… nice," Hermione finished lamely.

"So, let me get this straight. You don't actually know who left it for you?" Pansy plunged forward doggedly, undeterred by Hermione's reticence.

"Er, well—"

"We're all done here aren't we? How about we tackle the washing up? Hermione, I'll help you in the kitchen," Harry cut in.

Oh, damn, she was definitely going to be interrogated. But given her choices, Hermione far preferred her oldest friend in private over whatever it was Pansy was doing.

"Right, let's move to the sitting room," Ginny offered to the other two. "Pans, you can tell me about that new café—"

"Is Lucius Malfoy bothering you?" Harry asked as soon as they were alone with the dirty dinnerware.

Hermione let out a burble of nervous laughter. That wasn't precisely how she expected him to begin his inquiry out of the gate. Then again, Harry's hero complex had never quite gone away.

"What? No," she denied, "I mean, I think he's made it his life's mission to bother me, but, really, it's fine."

Perhaps not exactly fine, but she neither wanted nor needed any help putting the arsehole in his place.

"But he was behind the tonic Pansy found, right?" Harry asked.

The tonic was the least of her worries if her knicker drawer was any indication.

"That was just a terrible joke on his part. I can handle him."

"If you say so," Harry said, eying her with keen consideration as Hermione washed a plate and handed it over for him to dry. "Are you… dating him?"

Hermione didn't drop the next plate back into the sudsy water, though it was a narrow thing.

"Of course not. Why would you think that?"

She hoped she hadn't put on the denial too thick, no matter that it was the truth. Hermione wasn't sure what she and the Prat Who Shall Not Be Named were doing, but dating was far and away from being an accurate descriptor.

"Well, he was in your flat last night. You've been even more busy than usual lately. And you just both looked rather cosy," Harry said, his tone speculative.

Cosy? Was Harry being serious?

"We were arguing literally seconds before you showed up."

Harry scratched the back of his head before he went back to drying.

"If you say so. Just going with my gut."

"Do you ever think you may be watching too many muggle telly murder programs, Detective Inspector Potter?" Hermione challenged. She doubted she could throw him off the scent entirely, but she could downplay his suspicions, at least.

"Maybe. But my instincts are usually right."

They washed and dried dishes the muggle way in silence for a few moments before Harry spoke again.

"I noticed the new wards someone set up for you. You know I don't agree with that obscure ministry law you're always referencing as an excuse to not have any."

"What are you trying to say, Harry?" she asked, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Well, you tend to bully people you care about, Hermione."

Hermione flung the sodden dish cloth in his face. Sadly, his reflexes allowed him to catch it before it could land with a satisfying smack.

"It's just kind of interesting that you've found someone that might be able to bully you back. I mean, I don't trust the blighter in the least, and I still think I owe him a hex or two, but I trust you. But if he can manage to implement a safety measure that I've been trying to convince you to do for years, he can't be all bad."

"Harry, there really isn't anything going on between me and Mr. Malfoy," she replied, holding her hand out for the cloth so she could finish the last of the silverware.

"Okay. Fine," Harry said, relinquishing the cloth. "I'm not going to say anything else about it for now, but I'm here if you ever need to talk. Gin, too."

"You haven't mentioned anything about this to her, have you?"

Hermione gritted her teeth. The last thing she wanted to deal with at the moment was a well-intentioned Potter tag-team on the subject of Lucius Malfoy.

"Not yet. Didn't want to stress her out until after the baby comes. The healers said it would be any day now. That's why Molly's practically kidnapping us tomorrow."

Well, that was a relief, at least.

"There really is nothing to discuss, but thank you, Harry. Really."

"Well, I'm here if there comes a time that there is. Or if you ever need to snoop around in his office or anything, I'll be happy to look the other way," Harry grinned mischievously.

Hermione's breath caught at the confirmation that Malfoy did have an office at the ministry.

Obviously he did, being an officially seated member of the Wizengamot, but if Harry actually knew where it was and could get her inside undetected? The gears in Hermione's mind started turning. Lucius was out of the office for the rest of the week. She had all but given up on petty revenge until his most recent egregious overstep of boundaries, but his latest stunt could not go unanswered.

"Actually, Harry, now that you mention it—"