Chapter 3: The Mistress of Circumlocution
Draco reclined, popping his legs up to rest on top of his desk and taking a smooth swallow of the whiskey in his glass.
"Well I never!" one of the portraits said, eying his languid pose with great offence.
He flipped the bird at his Great Aunt Faustina Flint followed by a non-verbal silencing spell on all the portraits. In his experience, Malfoy ancestors trended towards judgement.
Draco did not feel like being judged. Nor did he feel like being the paragon of pureblood breeding right now. He needed a drink and to think.
How to best deal with Millicent.
Granger's face popped into his mind, "Alright" she had said. Alright? As if this wasn't a bloody disaster waiting to happen! Of course, he definitely did not want to be dragged into some kind of Malfoy-Granger-Weasley scandal. Merlin! Perish the bloody thought!
But how to quash it?
Just as he was settling on penning a note to his old schoolmate Miles Bletchley (Bletchley always seemed to know the most degenerate rumours about every one and also their dodgy uncle), a slightly ruffled-looking barn-owl came hurtling through his open window, almost crash-landing on his desk.
"Pshh!" he hissed, 'You almost made me spill my whiskey!"
The small, brown owl merely blinked up at him and then proffered a leg. He recognised the script that his name was written in at once.
"About time!" he told the owl. He opened the letter and another piece of paper fluttered onto his large desk.
Malfoy,
Ginny called in a favour and we managed to keep your name out of the Prophet.
Speaking of favours… About this favour you asked me for. I've been thinking about it and I think it's rather short-sighted of you to only consider using the elixir for Scorpius.
While I agree that this should be our primary concern...
(OUR primary concern? Since when had their been an our involved? He continued reading, blood pressure steadily rising).
While I agree that this should be our primary concern, I also think that the goodness that could come of this warrants some serious consideration.
Just think, Malfoy! Lycanthropy, Vampirism, Ventroposy, Magical Dystrophy and that's only naming a few off the top of my head - all could be cured.
Even if we can only take a small amount of water from the source, assuming that we find it of course, I'm sure there will be a way to synthesise the ingredients. Perhaps in a muggle lab. Padma Patil could help us, I'm not sure if you remember her but…
Here again he stopped at the US that was glaring at him from the page. His pulse continued to gallop. Curiously, his heart was also somehow sinking at the same time.
What. was. happening?
He jumped down a few paragraphs, toward the end.
I really do think that you should think about it. I mean, I don't want us to get ahead of ourselves but this could be the medical breakthrough of the century. We could even name the elixir after Scorpius, if you like.
Sincerely,
Hermione Granger
This time it was the WE that really started to get his goat. Was the witch trying to steamroll herself into his business? The sheer nerve!
With fury, he whipped open his desk drawer and retrieved a quill and parchment.
Granger, he began. (She did NOT deserve niceties).
Granger,
You have all of the subtlety of a charging rhinoceros. You are NOT, let me repeat this, you are NOT having anything to do with this expedition of mine beyond helping me to secure the right to visit that godforsaken country at the ass-end of the world.
I'm going to assume that big of brain of yours has comprehended me clearly. Please do not write back.
Sincerely,
Draco L. Malfoy
Without so much as waiting a beat, he grabbed the little barn owl (none too gently) and tied the missive to its leg.
"Take it back to that nightmare who feeds you," he told it firmly and then he watched it fly off with an indignant squawk.
It was only then that he noticed the smaller piece of paper that had fallen onto his desk. Sighing, he bent down and turned it over.
It was a wizarding photo of him firmly grasping Granger's elbow, she glanced over at him in surprise and lowered her gaze to where his hand grasped her elbow. Taken out of context, he could see how this might have been misconstrued as something (although it was quite definitely nothing!). It was an odd reaction from Granger. He supposed it was the first time he had ever touched her, outside of the few encounters at school that had been on the violent end of the spectrum. He could also see surprise in his own face.
He downed his drink and then poured himself another. A sense of dread and foreboding bubbling away somewhere inside. That night, he did not sleep well.
Over his breakfast, the expected occurred. The little owl was back. The indigestion started to set in almost as soon as he tore the envelope open.
Dear Malfoy,
Your absolute contempt for the rest of the world withstanding, surely you would want your name to be associated with the glory of inventing an elixir that could cure some of the world's most debilitating magical conditions.
(Oh, so she was trying to appeal to the Slytherin in him now, was she? Too bad the Slythering was slytherish enough to see exactly what her strategy was!)
I never said I wanted in on your quest. Although I would point out that YOU were the one who told me I needed a project.
Clearly you also need my help as you continue to be EXTREMELY vague about how you actually plan to find the source of your mythical water in the first place.
He could imagine it all now. How she had run her Ministry these past years. Through sheer obstinacy and a refusal to hear the word no.
Is this how Potter had survived against all the odds? How he had managed to defeat the Dark Lord? Because she had decided that it was what she wanted and not stopped nagging until it was so?
Well. He was not going to let her wing this round (Oh ho!) He would make an unbreakable vow with himself right here and now if he could!
Glowering, he took the parchment, turned it over and violently took a quill to it without even reading what else she had to say.
Granger,
Find your own damn quest. I mean it. I would prefer to wait another year than to put up with your meddling. BUGGER OFF.
DM
He finished his breakfast secure in the knowledge that she would still help him to secure the visa. Her 'do gooder' nature wouldn't let her get in the way. There was something about telling Hermione Granger to bugger off that really lifted the mood. He floated through the rest of his morning, content that he had out-manoeuvred her.
Draco returned to his study having enjoyed a leisurely fly around the grounds and then a long lunch. There was a familiar owl perched on his desk. Briefly he considered making a run for it.
With some trepidation he crossed the room and took the parchment from the proffered leg. The owl stared up at him mockingly.
I'm coming over at 1pm.
-HG
That was all that it said.
He checked his watch. It was 5 minutes to 1.
Springing into action he raised his wand and in a salvo of spells began to block the floo, seal the doors and windows, batten down the hatches, summon the Manor's legion of defence demons and strengthen the wards.
But it was not enough, it was all too late. There was the familiar crack of Milto the house elf.
"Is the master expecting a Ms. Hermione Granger, sir?" Milto asked in his plummy drawl and then added for good measure, "Milto is believing that Ms. is the former Minister for Magic, sir."
Draco, who still had his wand raised and his mouth open, closed it with a snap.
How the FUCK had she managed it?
"Bring her in then, please Milto," Draco replied, resignedly.
Milto bowed deeply, raising one hand to keep the austere-looking fedora on his small, lumpish head. It had two large holes cut in the side for his ears. Milto had informed Draco that it made him feel minacious. Draco was fairly confident that Milto did not know the meaning of minacious (Draco also did not know the meaning of minacious but that was not the central point.)
Granger bustled in fairly heaving with the kind of impatient, busybody energy he remembered from their youth.
"Malfoy, you're insane," she told him in lieu of a greeting, "have you even thought any of this through?"
"Well hello to you too, Granger," he sniped, "So pleased to have your unwanted company."
She wasn't wearing a stained, Chudley Cannons abomination today but that was about all he could say that might be construed as complimentary. Her hair was positively wild and it looked like it was actually crackling with barely restrained huffines. She had on another pair of obscene muggle trousers and a t-shirt that was at least two sizes too big with a tear (a bloody tear!) in the right sleeve. Also, she had mud caked on her boots. It was the final insult and it would not be borne.
"Did you waltz in from the barn you were born in?" he couldn't stop himself from asking with obvious disdain.
That was enough to stop Granger in her tracks with a huff that blew some of the frizz out of her eyes.
"I beg your pardon?" she asked.
"You gave me exactly 5 minutes' notice for your visit and yet I seem to be the only person here dressed for decent company," he replied, gesturing to himself in his neatly pressed robes.
Granger rolled her eyes, "I was cleaning out the garden shed" she told him. He noticed her glancing down at her soiled shoes. Was that a blush creeping up her neck he noticed?
"And?" he asked, incredulous.
She ignored him and pointed to the whiskey on his desk, "Can I have one of those?"
"No" he replied petulantly and he didn't feel a bit embarrassed about it. She should feel embarrassed for her absolute lack of decorum showing up with barely a warning, her hems sodden with manure (probably).
"Why not?" She asked, indignant and lurching for the decanter which he quickly whizzed out of her grasp with a non-verbal accio.
"I don't feel like sharing," he told her but in a way that made it clear that what he meant was 'I'm not sharing with YOU.'
"Is that the way you treat a guest who not only suppressed a potentially embarrassing news scandal but also managed to secure you an expedited visitors pass from the Australian Magical Government?"
"I don't recall asking for your help with the photos," Draco snapped back.
Granger rolled her eyes at him, "How about trying a 'thanks very much Hermione.'"
"How expedited are we talking?" he asked begrudgingly.
"Paperwork will be filed in the morning with the International Wizarding Relations Agency. Visa by the end of the week," she told him with a small satisfied grin. "Now can I have a drink please?"
Draco sighed and then snapped his fingers smartly and the whiskey began to decant itself into a highball. He walked over and grabbed it before offering it to Granger, all the while wondering whether he was happy she came through or annoyed.
"So you came through in the end," he told her with a small mock salute, "well done, Granger".
He could swear she was preening under that small bit of praise. Some things never changed.
"Malfoy," she stated after taking a generous sip and screwing up her face at the taste, "You know what your mythical water source likely is, don't you?"
He eyed her, caught between curiosity and an intense desire not to indulge her arrogance. Clearly she thought he did not know.
"What, Granger?" he snapped finally, "A highly magical pond?"
"Obviously, it's the famed Fountain of Youth. There are loads of stories about it dating back thousands of years. Muggles and Wizards have been claiming they have found a magic spring or fountain that will keep them eternally young in countries all over the world. Your sample obviously came from the real Fountain of Youth."
Draco shrugged, "Maybe. I'm not all that interested beyond the important role the water plays in my elixir."
Hermione snorted in a rather undignified manner, "What, are you saying you wouldn't want to be young forever?"
"I'd prefer my son to be alive in 5 years time," he shut her down.
She winced, taking another swig of whisky as silence permeated the room for a moment.
"I'm a bit concerned about your planning or rather, your lack of planning. Have you even any idea where the fountain might be?" she said after a moment.
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead pulling a map from the pile of papers he had hastily organised before she arrived. He placed it before her smugly.
"I've narrowed it down to several regions," he said, gesturing to several large red circles. "The explorer that sold Abraxas the vial of waters was named Ferdinand Fairweather. I managed to use my contacts to track down the journal he kept during his travels in the Antipodes. Fairweather's journal only referenced the location of the spring embodying the ancient and untamed spirit of the land. I cross-referenced with his official biography which has a fairly shaky map of the route he travelled and I think we can narrow it down to any of the following regions: the Blue Mountains, the Daintree Forest, Kakadu, Uluru or Tasmania. There are some reports he made it as far as the West coast but I haven't been able to confirm…"
Draco watched as Hermione's head fell into one of her hands with a dramatic smack.
"What now?" He asked, annoyance peaking.
"It's only that you told me you needed a month to locate the fountain and here you are identifying half of Australia as a possible location," here she paused, sighing heavily in a way that seemed to suggest that being around Draco was making her bones ache. "Have you any idea how big that country is? You do realise Tasmania is an entire state, right?" she demanded. "Furthermore, how do you intend to traverse it? And have you ever considered that you might have to travel through Country that is protected by Indigenous Australians and barred to outsiders?"
No and no, Draco thought to himself. But he wasn't going to tell her that.
"I'll manage," he replied with a sniff.
"I'm coming with you," she said suddenly and with a look on her face that implied she would broker no arguments.
Draco started to chuckle. He was expecting this, of course.
"I'm serious!" she told him.
"Granger," Draco said after indulging a few more hearty chuckles, "I told you to get a project but you can't just have mine."
"You need me, Malfoy. Honestly, I'm amazed you haven't already realised that."
"Potter needs you," he told her firmly, "I, on the other hand, am not imbecilic like that bozo and his sidekick."
She looked hopping mad at that.
"You're awfully chummy with that bozo these days," she hissed.
"So are you," he retorted, "Sometimes individuals of superior intellect hang around with bozos."
She could tell she was halfway mollified because he had inadvertently complimented her intellect.
"This is a quest of historical significance!" she cried after a beat.
"While I agree that the life of my son is significant to the core of any universe I would choose to live in, I'm not entirely sure what this has to do with you ?"
"I'm coming with you," she asserted.
"This is not the story of Hermione Granger and the Undying Quest for Praise and Glory!" he replied, "this is the life of my SON," he almost roared the last word, surprising even himself.
He watched as she fumbled for something to say and came up with nothing. Self-satisfied, he took another swig of whiskey and slammed the glass down on his desk.
This seemed to jolt her.
"Scorpius is a dear," she told him, "and I will do absolutely everything in my power to make sure that he does not endure the same fate as your late wife," she said earnestly, "but I do not think you have considered all of the implications of…"
"Go away, Granger," he snapped, biting back a roar. "I understand that you are feeling rather sorry for yourself but this is none of your business."
He watched the red creep up her neck, over her cheeks and into her eyes like a band of soldier crabs marching across a beach.
He was so sure that would have been enough. Instead he saw the steel come into her posture and knew that he wasn't facing down some footsoldier in this battle. No, this was a battle-hardened General.
"You have created an experimental elixir without Ministry sanction or regulation. I will make sure you get the proper permissions to make it and administer it to Scorpius," she told him with a deathly calm, "but I will also bury you so deep in red tape you will lose all sense of direction," she smiled at him, "I will get in your way at absolutely every turn. You will be buried in paperwork and you will rue this day. Your forms will need to fill out forms. I'll make sure every potion ingredient you import is inspected three times over. You won't so much as stir a cauldron without signing your name in triplicate. Don't think I don't know how".
He stared at her blazing little form. She was the better part of a foot shorter than he was but she had her hands planted on her hips in what he recognised as her signature Ministerial power stance. She cast a long shadow on the wall behind her. He noticed that her hair seemed even wilder and more energetic (was this the source of her admittedly impressive magical ability? Had she learned how to harness buildups of static electricity?) She wasn't bluffing.
"Are you… threatening me?" he asked, quiet and dangerous.
"Absolutely," she replied, more dangerously.
It was at this point that Draco realised she was very serious. There was a terrible shudder that worked its way through his body imagining what she could (would!) do to him.
"No!" he whined (he wasn't proud of it).
"I'm coming," she told him simply.
"You can't just boss your way into an adventure!"
"Have you met me?" She retorted.
"But we can't stand each other!" Draco tried to reason.
"That is immaterial," she replied, as it were obvious.
It wasn't just pride keeping him from accepting Granger's help—though there was plenty of that. It was the fear that she might see the cracks in his plan, cracks he couldn't afford to acknowledge at this point.
"Granger I don't want to be ungentlemanly but if I must resort to poisoning your breakfast to get you to drop this, I probably will."
She merely rolled her eyes, "In my experience, your attempts at poisoning have been rather ineffective. Hold on," she told him, taking a small muggle device out of her pocket, "I know I've got a good packing list somewhere in here. I can share it if you'd like."
And it went on like that for some time, with Draco making increasingly violent threats and Granger pretending not to hear him and insisting that he would need several pairs of bamboo socks.
"NOT anything synthetic Malfoy, you wouldn't believe the humidity!" she was saying, marching around the room like she owned it and tapping on her flashy little device. He was mad, he was offended (as if he even owned anything synthetic!) and he was ultimately defeated.
After some time, he found himself sitting at his desk in quiet contemplation. It had been so long since he had felt this familiar feeling. She was more like Astoria than he had realised, she too hadn't ever taken no for an answer. That's how they ended up with Scorpius. Astoria had never threatened him with paperwork, though. Draco was astounded by how very Slytherin Granger could be.
Where Astoria had been strategic and subtle though, Granger had basically leapt out of the floo on a mission and hadn't stopped until she had bulldozed him into submission. It had left him feeling rather bothered but also strangely alive. Certainly, the ringing in his ears and fury bubbling away in his mid-section indicated he was not dead.
He took a breath and reminded himself of what really mattered here. He hadn't liked the look of Scorpius in Hogsmeade, he'd looked a little piqued around the eyes. He didn't understand why she was so insistent on helping, nor did he want her help, but there were more important stakes in the game.
And so it was settled. Hermione Granger would accompany Draco Malfoy to Australia to find the mythical Fountain of Youth... or Rejuvenation... or whatever.
"Granger you do realise that my life insurance premiums went up the minute you announced your intentions to come along," he said, resigned.
"We might even have fun," she told him, her eyes sparkling in a distinctly Grangerish way. He could see her brain whirring with activity, "You might want to update your Will though, just to be safe," she added as an afterthought.
What was this sinking sensation? Ahh yes, doom.