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Chapter Text

December 31st

“You have no idea how glad I am you’re coming to this, Hermione,” Ginny said, dusting a light layer of blusher over Hermione’s cheeks. “I swear, when Draco told me his dad said I could bring a guest, I basically melted with relief.”

“Oh, well, you know,” Hermione mumbled, her nose wrinkling in response to the ticklish softness of Ginny’s makeup application. “Thanks for picking me.”

“I wouldn’t want anyone else!” Ginny insisted, setting aside her makeup to stand back and take Hermione’s face in, like an artist with their canvas. “We have literal years to catch up on, remember. Plus, this is a good chance for you to, y’know, see Draco. I think maybe he’d like to apologise for a few things.”

Turning in her seat, Hermione eyed herself in the mirror that Ginny had propped against the wall atop a desk to create a makeshift vanity. 

They were getting ready in Ginny’s small studio flat at the furthest north side of Diagon Alley. She’d told Hermione that the rent was obscene – most of her Harpies earnings each month, actually – but it’d been worth it to have her own space for once in her life. 

It was worth every galleon, she’d said, to be able to leave her knickers lying around without some stupid boy getting up in arms about it and to put something in the fridge without having to ward it.

The knowledge that they were actually close to being neighbours had sent a little spike of excitement through Hermione and she’d been relieved that, fairly soon, she’d be able to reveal that to Ginny. 

Hermione had told her parents on Boxing Day that she’d been given a tip off on a flat while out with Neville and that she intended to pursue it. Their surprise had been apparent but the fact that they weren’t entirely sure how the rental market worked in the wizarding world made it quite easy for Hermione to spin a tale of personal recommendations and a laidback private landlord. 

Her mother had been batch-cooking meals for her freezer every day since, despite the fact that Hermione would only be living in the flat for small portions of the year.

“What do you think?” Ginny asked proudly, leaving Hermione in no doubt that she anticipated nothing but positivity with regards to her efforts.

Smiling, Hermione raised her hand to adjust one of the loose curls hanging from the sleek, pretty updo that Ginny had created using a combination of Sleakeazy’s and clever charmwork. 

Ginny had made her look lovely – Hermione wasn’t actually all that sure of the last time that she’d put makeup on her face or seen her hair so sleek and shiny.

“I love it,” Hermione said, leaning forward to admire the neat black flicks at the corners of her eyes. It felt almost a shame that she’d be wearing a mask.

Bending over, Ginny stepped in beside Hermione so that their faces were reflected side-by-side in the mirror. Her long red hair fell in waves, partially pulled back from her face, and she tipped her head so that it rested gently, comfortingly against Hermione’s.

"Good," she said, lifting her head and reaching for some lipstick. "Because you look fantastic."

While Ginny applied the lipstick, Hermione tried to adjust her dress robes. She'd used some savings to buy them new for the occasion, encouraged by Ginny who had been more than willing to return the favour of making a trip to Madam Malkin's.

Desperate to end the shopping experience quickly, Hermione had hurriedly selected a set in a black velvet brocade that Ginny had fawned over. 

The closer it got to needing to leave, however, the more Hermione worried the Queen Anne neckline was just a touch too low. Pinning her lower lip between her teeth, she pinched the neckline of the robes with her fingers and wiggled it upwards. 

"Stop trying to hide them," Ginny said, her eyes flicking down to look at Hermione's cleavage in the mirror. "I dream of having tits like yours."

Accepting the lipstick from Ginny with an embarrassed laugh, Hermione leaned forward to apply a thin layer herself. 

Flattening her lips then pouting, she returned the cap to the lipstick and admired Ginny's sleek silver robes in the mirror. 

"You look beautiful, Ginny," Hermione said softly, watching Ginny nervously smooth her robes down her slender frame with the palms of her hands.

“Promise?” 

Ginny’s shoulders visibly dropped with relief when Hermione nodded fervently in response. 

“I hate that this feels sort of important,” she said, frowning uneasily. “I also hate that I sort of care.”

Pushing herself to her feet, Hermione rounded the chair in which she’d been sitting to take Ginny’s hands in hers. 

“It’s just a New Year party with a wizard you like,” she said firmly. Hesitating, she added, “And his dad and god only knows how many other people.”

Ginny exhaled a short laugh, her chin dropping towards her chest. 

“Will you distract him again if I need it?” she asked, peering up from beneath her lashes. “Help me escape whatever convoluted test of worthiness he might have planned for me?”

“I’ll try,” Hermione said, squeezing Ginny’s hands. 

“Use those if you’re willing,” Ginny said, a cheeky grin lighting up her face as she nodded at Hermione’s chest. “As much as I’m sure he’d like everyone to think he’s so much more, Lucius Malfoy is but a man.”

Her cheeks immediately flooding with heat, Hermione cleared her throat and asked, “How long until the portkey?”

“Five minutes,” Ginny said, glancing over her shoulder at a clock on the wall. “It’s on the kitchen table with the invitation if you want to grab it. I’ll get the masks.”

Crossing the small flat, Hermione scoffed when she reached the kitchen table and saw the gilded peacock feather that was undoubtedly the portkey the Malfoys had created for the occasion. 

Lucius had told her that the arrival times were staggered so that he and Draco could greet their guests in a civilised manner and that she and Ginny would be last to arrive. He had not told her that they would be transported using something so needlessly ostentatious.

Holding up the gilded peacock feather, Hermione turned it between her fingertips, her head tilted contemplatively. 

It occurred to her that she had grown accustomed to seeing a far less polished Lucius Malfoy than everyone else and, experiencing a flutter of anxiety, she wondered if she should, perhaps, have better prepared herself for the version of him she was about to encounter.

“Ready?”

Jolted back to reality by the sound of Ginny’s voice, Hermione turned and met her in the middle of the flat. She allowed Ginny to place her black mask over her eyes and secure it with a tap of her wand before handing over the peacock feather and returning the favour. 

“Right,” Ginny said, holding out the feather for Hermione in one hand and clasping her tight with the other. “Off we go.”

Hermione and Ginny clung to one another's hands as they landed heavily in Malfoy Manor, the gilded peacock feather that had carried them falling to the gleaming marble parquet floor with a delicate tink.

The sharp click of smart shoes approaching made Hermione slowly ease her eyes open. Fractionally loosening her hold on Ginny, she looked down to see the back of Draco Malfoy’s blonde head as he bent over to pick the feather up from the floor. 

He straightened up, his eyes locked on Ginny and a disarmingly charming smile lighting his face. Reaching out, he took Ginny's hand – the one that wasn't gripping Hermione's with painful tightness – and raised it to his lips. 

Feeling like she was intruding, Hermione grimaced and looked away, her eyes immediately landing on Lucius who stood a few steps behind Draco.

He cut a tall, imposing figure, dressed in ludicrously fine, deep green dress robes with his hair pulled back from his face and his familiar cane by his side. He gazed at Hermione with such singular focus that she couldn't help but stare right back, her eyes locking on his.

"Granger," Draco said with an undercurrent of irritation.

"I, er –" 

Heart pounding, Hermione tore her eyes from Lucius to look at Draco who had, based on his raised eyebrows, said her name more than once. His face was tight and there was not a charming smile in sight for her as he stiffly bent in a half bow. 

"Malfoy," she said, awkwardly nodding her head because she had absolutely no idea what else she was supposed to do.

Not really wishing to make prolonged eye contact with Draco but not trusting herself to look at Lucius, Hermione snuck a quick glance around the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor. In so doing, she felt even more ridiculous for ever having suggested that the living room of her flat could have been a part of such a home. 

It was a cavernous, gleaming space and her eyes bounced between crystal and marble and gold, not entirely sure where to settle.

"Miss Weasley," came Lucius' familiar drawl, drawing closer to them. "Finally we meet. Delighted you could be here."

Hermione tried not to wince as Ginny squeezed her hand when Lucius came to a stop beside Draco.

"Mr Malfoy," Ginny said, her chin raised and her voice filled with confidence. "Pleasure."

Ginny thrust her free hand out and Lucius simply stared at it. Draco rolled his lips flat, his brow crumpling and Hermione wondered what it was that Ginny should have done instead. To her relief, Lucius did nothing but smoothly take Ginny's hand and shake it firmly. 

Hermione was sure she actually saw Draco’s shoulders drop with relief. 

Releasing Ginny's hand, Lucius turned his attention to Hermione, his eyes glittering. 

"And Miss Granger, isn't it?" he said, looking far too amused as far as Hermione was concerned. "Been a while."

"Mr Malfoy." Hermione extricated her right hand from Ginny’s hold to extend it to Lucius, along with a flat look of warning that told him to stop enjoying himself quite so much. 

Lucius slid his hand into hers, his fingers curving around her palm. Instead of shaking, he simply turned her hand and affectionately brushed his thumb over her knuckles. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Ginny glance around curiously. 

"Draco," Lucius said, releasing Hermione's hand but never dropping her gaze, "why don't you take Miss Weasley into the ballroom and get her a drink? I'd like a brief word with Miss Granger."

Draco blinked bemusedly at his father. Then he glanced quickly from Hermione, to Ginny and then back to Lucius again, his mouth opening uselessly.

"Er –"

"We'll be but a moment," Lucius said lightly, turning his head ever so slightly to give Draco a firm look that said 'this is an instruction, not a suggestion'. "I'll come and find you when we're done – I need to discuss something important with you."

"Hermione?" Ginny asked uncertainly, her eyes flicking to Lucius. 

"It's okay," Hermione said, giving Ginny a reassuring smile and a squeeze of the hand. "I'll see you in a minute."

"Right," Draco said slowly, his eyes sliding from Lucius to Hermione and back again. "Okay, well –" 

Holding out an arm to Ginny, Draco invited her to take it with a gentle smile. Shooting one last glance at Hermione, who nodded her encouragement, Ginny slipped her hand into the crook of Draco's elbow and allowed him to guide her towards the sound of buzzing conversation and muted string music.

Left utterly alone in the empty hall, Lucius and Hermione simply looked at one another. Hermione waited until she could no longer hear Draco murmuring compliments to Ginny before she raised a single brow and crossed her arms.

"Subtle start, Lucius," she said dryly.

"They'll know soon enough," he replied soothingly. Running his gaze down her, he took a step closer, adding, "You look beautiful, Hermione."

Blushing profusely, Hermione peered around the hall to see it was still very much empty. She had once told him to try to compliment directly – to say the nice thing up front – but, actually, it was quite overwhelming when he did it with such obvious sincerity and admiration.

"Thank you," she said quietly, a need to occupy herself seeing her awkwardly pat down her robes to make sure she still had her wand. "You don't look so bad yourself."

“Those are new robes.” Lucius did not so much ask as assert, leaving Hermione little option to say anything but “yes”, with an accompanying shrug.

“I wish you'd told me you intended to buy new ones for the occasion,” he said, frowning. “I would have liked to buy them for you. You are my guest, after all.”

Hermione’s eyes flicked up in a roll. “I see,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her, “so does that mean that when we go through there I’m going to find you bought the robes of everyone in attendance? Very generous, Lucius.”

Her sarcasm earned her a narrow-eyed glare. “They are guests in the most general sense,” Lucius said. “As far I’m concerned you are my guest. Regardless of what we’re telling people.” 

Hermione’s heart tripped over itself, or possibly over one of the idiotic butterflies that had made a break from her stomach. 

“I do wonder, Hermione,” Lucius said softly, his eyes lingering on her red lips, “if the reason you are so incredibly reluctant to let me spoil you is that you’re afraid you might actually enjoy it.”

Hermione opened her mouth, more than ready to give a smart retort. But then she paused, actually taking the time to think about what he’d said. 

“You might not be entirely wrong with that,” she eventually said, drawing raised eyebrows from him. “Your home is…lovely.”

“Thank you,” Lucius said, the smugness radiating from him telling her that he quite agreed. “I'm glad you can finally see it.”

It was only as Hermione raised a hand to tuck a loose curl behind her ear that she remembered the mask she was wearing and noticed that Lucius was not wearing one at all. In fact, now that she thought about it, Draco hadn’t been wearing one either.

“Where’s your mask?” she asked.

“I’ve always felt that, as the host, I should be immediately identifiable.”

Lifting a brow, Hermione ran her eyes up and down his body, pausing pointedly on the cane and the blonde hair. “I think anyone would know you even with a mask, you know.”

“Even less reason to wear one, then,” he said archly. “Where’s yours?”

“Oh, ha ha,” Hermione muttered, raising a hand to the irritatingly bulky thing over her eyes, forehead and nose.

Sighing, Hermione peered over her shoulder in the direction that Draco had taken Ginny with a sense of sinking resignation.

“Should we go in, then?” she asked. “Might as well get it over with.”

Lucius gave her a last sweeping, assessing look before he nodded and gestured for her to join him in walking. 

The chatter and music grew louder as they crossed the entrance hall and Hermione curled her hands into fists in anticipation of being entirely swallowed up by sound. 

They entered a small annex and, through a set of grand double doors, Hermione could see a busy ballroom awaiting them. There were a few witches and wizards floating around outside the ballroom, conversing and drinking in the quieter and cooler space and Hermione stiffened when curious eyes turned to inspect them.

Lucius paid them no mind, however, and swiftly led Hermione into the ballroom proper where they immediately melded into the crowd of witches and wizards that surrounded the central dancefloor, their luxurious, brightly coloured dress robes pressing in on Hermione from all sides. 

“Can you see Draco?” Lucius asked, his eyes scouring the room over the heads of many of the guests and his grip on his cane tightening fractionally. 

“Maybe he's introducing Ginny to someone,” Hermione suggested, biting her lower lip as she peered around a heavily perfumed witch draped in magnificent blue silks to make sure that Ginny’s sparkling silver robes were not twirling on the dance floor. “Or showing her to the toilet.”

Sighing aggravatedly, Lucius absently placed a hand on Hermione’s shoulder to bring her closer to himself and out of the path of a floating tray while he continued to search the room.  

“Maybe,” he said, though his tone made Hermione think that he doubted it. With a sharp exhale through his nose, he glanced down at her. 

“I'll have to search for him, Hermione,” he said, appearing irritated by the inconvenience. 

Glancing back across the room, he narrowed his eyes and cast her a speculative look.

“But," he said slowly, "while I have you without Miss Weasley, I have just spotted someone I think it’d be worth your time speaking to this evening. Will you let me introduce you?”

“Lucius,” Hermione said, her heart sinking, “you said I wouldn't have to –”

“You won’t regret it,” he promised. “I wouldn’t introduce you if I thought it would be unpleasant.”

“Who is it?”

“Just an old acquaintance,” Lucius said, waving a hand. “I think you’d appreciate their conversation.”

Rolling her eyes in the face of his absurdly hopeful expression, Hermione made a shooing motion. “Just – fine. One person , Lucius. That’s it. Then take me to Ginny.”

A pleased smile creased the corners of Lucius’ eyes as he turned to begin moving again. 

The crowds of guests parted easily for them, though Hermione knew that had rather more to do with Lucius than with her. 

He murmured greetings to some of the people they passed but otherwise did not stop to speak, peering around every few seconds to make sure that Hermione was still at his side.

Eventually, they stopped behind a tall old wizard dressed in very traditional but high quality, frilly navy dress robes. Though the man was already in conversation, Lucius tapped his shoulder.

The man turned curiously to find out who wanted him enough to interrupt him, his words trailing off. 

He had fantastically bushy eyebrows just visible over his gold mask and a matching shock of white hair that did not quite manage to cover all of his head, leaving a small circle at the top which glinted beneath the many hundreds of floating candles in the Malfoy ballroom. 

“Lucius,” he said, sounding neither pleased nor angry by the discovery of who had interrupted his conversation. He held out a hand which Lucius shook. “Marvellous event as usual. Can’t fault a thing.”

Understanding they were not required, the small person to whom the wizard had been talking slipped away into the crowd and Hermione felt a twinge of guilt over their abrupt dismissal. She tried to express it using her eyebrows before remembering that her mask obscured them.

“Very kind, Maurice,” Lucius said, offering him a gracious dip of his head. “You’re well?”

“Oh, can’t complain, you know,” Maurice replied, shrugging. “Business is as good as it ever has been – circulation and subscriptions steady across the board, even with all those mutinous mumblings after I reduced the parchment quality.”

“It couldn’t be avoided,” Lucius said firmly, waving a hand like he was sweeping aside all of Maurice’s detractors.

“Exactly, exactly,” Maurice grumbled. “Parchment prices have been soaring.”

As Lucius offered a sympathetic hum, Maurice’s eyes drifted interestedly to Hermione. 

“Maurice," Lucius said, following the man's gaze, "I’d like to introduce you to Hermione Granger, a friend of Draco’s.” Turning to Hermione, Lucius gestured to Maurice. “Hermione, this is Maurice Durand, the owner of Ink and Think.”

Hermione’s eyes widened fractionally and she resisted the urge to punch Lucius in the ribs for not warning her about who exactly she was going to be speaking to. 

Maurice Durand was the owner of Ink and Think, the publishing house behind dozens of important wizarding periodicals, of which Transfiguration Today was, perhaps, the most prominent. 

“Miss Granger,” Maurice said with a genial smile. “Pleasure.”

Without a thought, Hermione abruptly thrust her hand out for Maurice to shake. Just as Lucius had done with Ginny, he blinked at it for a moment and Hermione bit back a grimace, vowing to herself to ask Lucius as soon as she got the chance what the fuck women were apparently expected to do in these situations. As Lucius had also done, however, Maurice easily took Hermione’s hand and shook it vigorously. 

“Lovely to meet you, Mr Durand.”

“Hermione briefly met your godson, Wheatley Whippet, through Horace Slughorn recently,” Lucius continued, drawing a disbelieving look from Hermione. Was he fucking serious ? “But their meeting was cut quite short, I'm afraid. Wheatley was a touch, er…in his cups.” 

Maurice’s lips flattened into a disapproving line. “Yes, that’s often the case with Wheatley these days,” he said grimly. “I can only apologise on his behalf. But Horace introduced you, you said, Lucius?” 

Lucius nodded and Maurice significantly brightened. 

“How wonderful – he’s such a dear man. We get some of our best reader letters from Horace, you know. I was most upset when he told me he couldn’t be here tonight.”

Hermione tried to smile and nod like that didn’t surprise her in the least, all the while thinking about the fact that she’d punched this man’s slimy godson directly on the nose. She was going to murder Lucius. 

Perhaps sensing the violent train of her thoughts, Lucius cast Hermione a warm, affectionate look. “Please excuse me for just a moment,” he said, smoothly extricating himself from the conversation. “I really must locate my son.”

It would be impolite to scream, wouldn’t it? To grab Lucius by his robes, haul him back into the conversation and insist that he see it through with her. Hermione glared ferociously but impotently at him as he turned away. 

“And how do you know Horace, Miss Granger?” Maurice asked pleasantly, drawing Hermione’s attention back to him. 

“We're colleagues at Hogwarts,” she said somewhat weakly. She could hardly leave now and, really, she reasoned with herself, Maurice Durand had done nothing but be perfectly polite to her. She could at least return the favour.

“I'm afraid I'm quite behind on the current staff at Hogwarts unless they’re old coots like myself and Horace. And Dumbledore, of course,” Maurice said with a self-deprecating smile. “What’s your subject?”

Pressing her toes down flat in her court shoes, Hermione said, “Muggle Studies.” 

Maurice stiffened ever so slightly. “I see.” His voice was light but, as he spoke, he turned his head to look at the retreating Lucius. Through his mask, Hermione saw his eyes narrow suspiciously, like he was wondering whether or not he was being mocked. “Are you really?”

“Yes,” Hermione said more firmly, ready to defend herself from whatever slight the wizard before her intended to throw at her.

Turning his head back to see Hermione’s raised shoulders and curled fists – her obvious preparation to be attacked – Maurice visibly softened. 

“So,” he said hesitantly, “that means you'll know something about Muggle cinema, then, will you?”

He’d have shocked Hermione less if he’d clucked  like a chicken. She blinked a few times before replying, “I… um. I – well, yes.”

Maurice nodded slowly, eyeing her speculatively. 

“Will you let me pick your brain awhile then, Miss Granger?” he asked, offering her a tentative smile. “Muggle cinema is a great passion of my grandson’s but I'm – Well, I'm afraid I don't often meet witches and wizards equipped to expand my knowledge on the subject. Certainly not at occasions like this.”

Just as hesitant and more than a little bit puzzled, Hermione tried to return Maurice’s smile, her shoulders fractionally lowering. “Of course,” she said.

With a single, purposeful nod, Maurice plucked two glasses of elven wine from a passing tray and handed one to Hermione. 

“He has a particular love of something my son calls cartoons,” he told her, shaking his head bemusedly. “So let’s start there, shall we?”

A smile crept across Hermione’s face and she took a sip of her wine, nodding her agreement.

Lucius left Hermione with Maurice, briefly pinching the bridge of his nose as he turned away. He was going to receive an absolute earful for that stunt, he could just sense it. However, Maurice Durand was far more palatable company than his vulgar godson and a far more useful connection for Hermione. 

Lucius really didn’t see why she should be limited to Transfiguration Today – best that she charm the man who would see her placed in any one of the prestigious periodicals that fell under the Ink and Think umbrella.

No one in his entire ballroom at that moment, Lucius knew, was better equipped to charm Maurice Durand than Hermione Granger.

Leaving Hermione in Maurice’s reliable company also freed Lucius up to find Draco, his spontaneously vanishing progeny. 

His grip tightening around his cane, Lucius scanned the room. He had told Draco he wanted a word. He had told him it was important. And yet the boy was nowhere in sight. There wasn't even a hint of that highly distinctive Weasley hair anywhere, either.

Grumbling, Lucius began to make his way towards the terrace when he heard his name being called. Steps faltering, he caught sight of Avery and Nott Sr gesturing to him, their long-nosed masks raised to sit on their foreheads so that they could drink more easily. 

This was why Draco was supposed to be present. They were supposed to share hosting duties and those duties wouldn't feel quite so onerous if Lucius wasn't forced to be a one man fucking search party. 

Nott and Avery were tiresome even when he didn't have other concerns.

Composing himself, Lucius approached Nott and Avery, nodding shortly to each of them. They could have five minutes of his time – just enough to be polite – and then he would search again.

"Lucius," Nott drawled. "Marvellous night as always." He raised his glass of elven wine in a toast and Avery mumbled his agreement, joining him. "Truly, it baffles me that you can pull something like this together without a wife."

Lucius briefly clenched his jaw and offered Nott a tight, insincere smile. What was it Hermione had said to him about tact and good wine?

"Who was that you were talking to?" Avery asked, glancing around Lucius' arm. 

Lucius did not even turn. "Maurice Durand." 

Avery scoffed. "The girl, Lucius."

"Obviously," Nott added.

Briefly pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, Lucius turned to see Hermione speaking to Maurice with growing enthusiasm. An affectionate smile flashed across his face but he flattened it before turning back. 

He still hadn't told Draco. And Hermione didn’t want to be known by people like Nott and Avery, she’d made that clear.

"You don’t know her," he said shortly. 

“Well, we know that,” drawled Nott. 

"If we don’t know her, she can’t be a pureblood." Avery frowned thoughtfully into his wine like it might present her family tree to him. 

"Distant French cousin?" he asked, raising his gaze to Hermione again. "I know you have them, Lucius." He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. "Pretty thing, by the looks of it. Bloody masks."

Nott hummed his agreement and Lucius' nostrils flared. 

"No," Lucius said. “Not a French cousin.”

"Oh." Avery's brow flattened in a way that made him look appropriately dim. "Well-connected half-blood on the make then, is she?" He chuckled, taking a large gulp from his wine before eagerly adding, "They’re always fun."

"No," Lucius said stiffly. "Excuse me, gentlemen. I have to –"

"Hold on a minute, Lucius," Avery cried, grabbing Lucius' arm. 

Gritting his teeth, Lucius shook him off. "What Avery?"

"You're being very vague, Malfoy," Nott said, arching an eyebrow. "If she isn't a distant cousin or some obscure little half-blood in search of a good husband, who is she?"

There was a predatory edge to the way Nott and Avery stared at Hermione that set Lucius' heart thudding loudly between his ears.

She was pretty and young, lighting up the room as she always did when she was engaged in a conversation that captured her enthusiasm. For Nott and Avery, two men who did nothing but move in the same crowd, she was new and, for that, intriguing. Enticing. Exciting.

Lucius knew Avery and Nott. He knew how he could stop those looks. He wanted to stop those looks or he wouldn't be able to go anywhere without Hermione and retain his fucking sanity. 

"She's a Muggleborn," he said brusquely.

Avery choked into his wine and Nott merely blinked once, his face closing over as his eyes snapped from Hermione to Lucius.

"A what?" Avery gasped, wiping wine from the end of his nose.

"A Muggleborn."

"And you invited her?"

"Yes," Lucius replied, like he couldn't understand their shock. "She’s an associate of Ginevra Weasley and Draco is quite intent on the girl."

"Well," Avery said, his chest swelling pompously, "now I understand why you introduced her to Maurice Durand: The Great Squib Producer." Avery laughed derisively and Nott smirked his appreciation. "Doubt there’s an ounce of magic left in those balls so there’s no waste in him emptying into her."

Lucius clenched his jaw, worried that he might be sick if he did not. Foolishly, he had not anticipated his own anger.

"Saying that," Avery continued, oblivious to Lucius' increasingly tense posture, "did you know Parkinson once told me the best fuck of his life was a Mudblood? Swears it was the Muggle in her – bit more animalistic. Maybe I should slum it and have a go at –"

"Get out, Avery," Lucius said sharply. His blood pounded in his ears. It was hard to hear himself think.

Avery halted, glancing at Lucius' white-knuckle hold on his cane before his eyes travelled up to his tight jaw and searing glare. There was a discomfited edge to the look he shot Nott, who merely shrugged in response.

“What?” Avery asked.

“I said get out,” Lucius repeated.

Avery uttered a disbelieving, nervous chuckle. "She's just a Mudblood, Malfoy." 

"She's not just anything, Avery" Lucius said, trying to hide the heat of his anger behind a flood of disdain. "She's a guest in my home."

"I'm a guest in your home," Avery said, raising a hand to his chest.

"You were," was Lucius' cold reply. "And then you reminded me what a boorish cunt you are."

Avery drew himself up angrily, his hold on his wine goblet tightening, but Lucius held up a quelling hand.

"Don't make a scene, Avery," Lucius said, a curl to his lip. "And make sure you take your wife with you, would you? That way we might have enough wine for everyone this evening."

"You fucking –" Avery spluttered, outraged. "Nott, are you hearing –"

"Not my party, Avery," Nott said, raising a hand that said he wanted no part in whatever was happening. "I think you’d best do as the host bids."

"A joke," Avery barked, his cheeks ruddy with fury. "This is a fucking joke, Malfoy."

"No, that's you," Lucius sneered.

Able to stomach no further insult, Avery marched away. He flung his almost empty goblet of wine to the floor where it landed with a heavy clang and a pathetic splash, drawing a yelp of shock from a nearby witch.

Nott, however, remained where he was, a glimmer of hungry interest in his eyes as he took in Lucius' struggle to keep a grip on his temper. 

“Dear me,” Nott said with relish. “I expected music, Lucius, but not a show.”

“Just shut up, Nott,” Lucius said, agitatedly rubbing the side of his hand across his brow. 

He glanced over his shoulder at Hermione, relieved to see that she hadn’t noticed a thing. When he faced Nott again, he found he was being closely watched.

“What?”

“My uncle Milton, you know,” Nott said conversationally, “he had a curious penchant for hags. Quite upsetting for his wife. And Avery’s grandmother, rumour has it, tried to run off with a centaur of all things. Shame she never managed it – I think we can both agree he would have benefitted from inheriting a touch of their percipience.”

“What are you –”

“I myself will confess to having allowed my eye and, perhaps, other parts of me to wander where they shouldn’t over the years,” Nott continued blithely. “You see, we all have our little…vices, Lucius. Even the best of us – perhaps most especially the best of us – but we must make sure we don’t take them too far.”

“I don’t know what you are trying to get at, Nott,” Lucius said stiffly, “but –”

“Oh, come, Lucius,” Nott drawled, rolling his eyes. “I’m not Avery; I’m not thick. I, for instance, wouldn’t dare make a comment on her fantastic tits like he would.” Nott’s eyes slid past Lucius to cast a sly glance at Hermione. "Perhaps allow me to compliment the surprisingly refined and delicate line of her jaw instead."

Lucius glowered at Nott who merely took a long, smug drink from his wine. "Fuck off, Nott," Lucius hissed.

Nott’s eyes glimmered. "Oh, whoever she is, she is a problem, isn't she?" he said with an undertone of malevolent delight. “Lucius Malfoy, cunt-struck. Never thought I'd see that again." 

"I don't know what you think you know," Lucius said coldly. "But she is not a problem."

"Unless you get her with child," Nott replied, sidling closer to Lucius so that he could speak quietly, intimately. "A bastard is a problem, Lucius." Nott took another drink. "And a half-blood Malfoy by anything but marriage – perish the thought. You'd be risking some crystal clear waters with her."

“Perhaps make this your last goblet of wine, Nott.”

"I don’t know if you've finally fucked your way out of mourning or you just want to," Nott continued, heedless of Lucius’ lack of enthusiasm for the subject, "but you'd be better served skipping over your son’s unsavoury little associates and finding a good pureblood wife to get a spare heir on. I've heard the Greengrass girl is on the market, if it's young you're looking for."

"I have no need for another wife or an heir," Lucius said dismissively. "I have Draco."

"Yes, where is he, by the way?" Nott asked with sarcastic wonder. "Haven’t seen him since the start of the night. Busy with his pet Weasel prepping for another Prophet exposé?"

"Weasley is sacred twenty-eight," was Lucius' sharp response, "and a damn sight more suitable than that bint Draco tells me your boy has shacked up with."

"The difference is that Weasley doesn't want to be, does she?" Nott said, a flush of irritation appearing on his cheeks. "Her lot don’t care about any of that. How long before people are saying the same about the Malfoys, hm? Not long at all, I’d wager."

"Walk away, Nott," Lucius said, his face livid. "While you still can."

Giving Lucius a last irate but knowing look over the rim of his wine goblet, Nott swept away into the crowd. Through the sea of robes, Lucius saw him grab his son, Theodore, by the arm and snap something at him.

Inhaling deeply through his nose, Lucius closed his eyes and attempted to centre himself, the string music feeling like a violin bow running across his frayed nerves.

Turning, he looked to Hermione who was still engaged in what appeared to be a perfectly pleasant conversation with Maurice Durand. 

Rage and guilt swelled up in Lucius as he watched her.

He’d told her not to hide herself but, as his gaze drifted beyond Hermione and spied the prying stares of a group of nearby pureblood witches who did not recognise her, Lucius realised he wanted to hide her.

They were hyenas. Vultures. He didn’t want them to pick and tear at her wonderful strength. 

Hermione Granger could stand strong and lash out better than anyone he’d ever met. She was sharp and intelligent. Utterly ferocious when she wanted to be. But she was not heartless or unfeeling. Far from it. She’d revealed to him that there was a softness at the centre of her and while it was hardly a weakness – he rather suspected it was the source for much of her strength – he still felt it was his duty to protect it.

Lucius’ feet carried him over the room swiftly and, before he could stop himself, he placed a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. She stopped mid-sentence and looked up at him with some surprise. 

“Mr Malfoy,” she said, “are you –”

“I’m terribly sorry, Maurice,” Lucius said, “I wondered if I might steal Miss Granger away for just a moment. Quite important. Draco is asking for her.”

For just a fraction of a second, Lucius thought he saw some disappointment pass over Maurice’s face in the downturn of his lips and the pull of his brows. It didn’t surprise him.

“Of course, Lucius. Of course.” Maurice offered Hermione a warm smile. “A pleasure, my dear. Do seek me out later in the evening – we have much left to discuss.”

“Thank you, Mr Durand,” Hermione replied, beaming. “I will.”

“Maurice,” he corrected, taking one of her hands between both of his to shake it firmly. 

Shaking Lucius’ hand, Maurice departed their small group, heading in the direction of the terrace where, Lucius was sure, he intended to seek out some peace and quiet, far from the guests that ran along with lines of Avery and Nott.

“Lucius,” Hermione said quietly, her eyes worriedly searching his face. He schooled it into unreadable blankness. “Are you alright?”

“Perfectly fine, Hermione,” he said, looking over her head and coldly meeting the gaze of the interminably nosy Beatrice Parkinson. “Come with me a moment, please.”

He turned on his heel, moving swiftly and leaving Hermione little option but to follow him, though not without tutting impatiently to let him know she didn’t appreciate his abruptness.

“So, did you find Draco and Ginny?” she asked, ducking through the crowd with him in the direction of the exit. 

“No,” Lucius said, his mood not improving at the mention of his son. “I did not.”

The cool air outside of the main ballroom was a balm and Lucius gulped it down gratefully as he led Hermione back into the empty entrance hall of the manor.

“Where are we going?” Hermione asked when Lucius led her towards the right side of the grand staircase to begin climbing. 

“Somewhere I thought you might like to see,” Lucius said, glancing back at her to give her a somewhat forced reassuring smile. “It felt like a good time.”

As they progressed through the empty hallways of Malfoy Manor, Hermione eyed the paintings that lined the walls. Mostly, they were historical scenes and landscapes. Every now and again, however, they would pass a portrait that featured the unmistakable pale skin, cold eyes and faint sneer of a Malfoy.

Hermione sidled closer to Lucius and, without a word, he moved his cane to his left hand and slid his right into hers. 

“Lucius,” Hermione began slowly, glancing up at him. “About Maurice; is his grandson –”

“A squib,” Lucius confirmed. “One of his sons is, too. His youngest.” 

"Oh," Hermione said softly. She had suspected but hadn’t liked to ask.

"It’s made him an object of derision in pureblood circles," Lucius continued, "but his position and influence are otherwise unassailable." He glanced down at Hermione. "The talk mostly happens behind hands, you understand."

Hermione scowled. "Does he know that people –"

"Of course he does, Hermione," Lucius said quietly. 

Hermione thought of the way Maurice had tensed and looked at Lucius with suspicion when she had revealed her job title to him. He had thought Lucius was mocking him. Had thought him capable of that.

She considered Lucius' handsome profile and its resemblance to the ancient portraits they passed. Then her eyes dropped to his hand in hers, a small, perturbed frown knitting her brow.

"Please don't, Hermione," Lucius said, glancing down at her out of the corners of his eyes. 

"Don't what?" Hermione asked, looking up at him. His face was tired, his lips turned down at the corners.

"Lump me in with them," he muttered, sounding faintly disgusted. "Not now. Not anymore."

Not anymore. 

"No," she said slowly. "No, I won't." 

"Thank you."

"Why does Maurice come to these things then?" Hermione asked, growing irate on Durand's behalf. "He was a perfectly lovely man, he shouldn’t need to –"

"It’s a delicate balance," Lucius said, leading her around a corner. “There’s a degree of give and take.”

Hermione wasn't actually sure, at this point, that she'd be able to find her way back to the ballroom if left unaccompanied. 

"Ink and Think has been in the Durand family for generations, so Maurice can hardly be separated from it," he explained. "We enjoy his publications and we like to use the prestigious platform they offer. But Maurice also needs advertisers, donations, readers. He needs people to maintain the prestige built so assiduously by his ancestors, so he grits his teeth and attends events like this where he must."

"Ridiculous," Hermione muttered. 

"Reality," Lucius said on a resigned sigh, coming to a stop before a grand set of double doors.

“It shouldn’t be,” Hermione said, stopping by his side and staring determinedly at the doors. She squinted at the round brass handle on the rightmost door, just about making out the phrase ‘scientia potentia est’ carved in the wood around it. 

“I'll confess,” Lucius said, reaching out to grip the large handle at the centre of the left door, “increasingly I find myself rather wishing it wasn’t.” 

Without another word, Lucius turned the handle and pushed, sweeping out an arm to invite Hermione to precede him into the room. 

Shooting him one last suspicious glance, she stepped over the threshold and gasped. 

“Oh, Lucius.”

It was a library. A truly lovely library. 

“I don’t think you’ve ever said my name quite so rapturously, Hermione,” Lucius said with quiet amusement as he stepped in behind her and closed the door. 

Hermione paid him absolutely no mind, walking further into the room but turning all the time so that she could take in everything. 

The rows and rows of tall mahogany bookcases; the balcony that ran around them and the sliding ladders to access it; the cosy seating area by the fire; the books . So many books. Practically up to the ceiling.

Raising her chin, she looked up at the glass dome in the centre of the roof and smiled to see the starry night sky pressing against it. 

“You like it?” Lucius asked.

Dropping her gaze to where he stood near the seating area, positively radiating pride, Hermione raised a brow. “You know I do,” she said. “How could I not?”

“You’re welcome to visit at any time,” Lucius said, setting his cane on an armchair and slowly crossing the dark wooden floor towards her. “Spend as long as you like. There are some books in here that I doubt you’ll find anywhere else.”

“You should have copies made of books like that, Lucius,” she said breathlessly. “For preservation. I mean, what if something happened to – I should make copies. Can I?”

“You,” Lucius said, stopping in front of her to look down at her, “can do whatever you like, Hermione. This library has long been in need of someone who will appreciate it.”

Lucius raised a hand to her face and gently lifted her mask away. Hermione wrinkled her nose and he smiled, slipping the mask into the pocket of his robes. 

“Much better,” he said, brushing his thumb over her cheek. 

“Are you sure we should be up here?” Hermione asked. “Shouldn’t you find Draco?”

“Yes, I should,” Lucius said. “I just wanted a few minutes with you.”

Hermione raised her hand to cover his, pressing his palm more firmly against her cheek. “Are you sure you’re alright?

“I think I’m realising just how much I prefer your company to that of everyone else’s downstairs.”

A gratified smile passed over Hermione’s face. “That’s nice,” she said, lowering her hand. “I prefer yours too. But –” 

She abruptly poked Lucius in the centre of his chest. Hard enough that he uttered a noise of indignant shock. 

“That’s for not warning me it was Maurice Durand that you planned to introduce me to.” 

She poked again just as hard, if not harder. “And that’s for not telling me whose bloody godfather he is!”

Stepping back from her with an offended look, Lucius said, “I expected a more verbal retribution.”

“But you recognise you deserve one,” Hermione said, crossing her arms sternly.

“Perhaps,” he muttered, frowning and rubbing his chest in small circles. 

Silent, Hermione raised her eyebrows and waited until Lucius glanced up from beneath his brow to see them.

“Sorry,” he grumbled.

“Forgiven,” Hermione said graciously, rolling briefly onto the balls of her feet. “Because he was very nice and I don’t regret speaking to him – you were right in that sense.”

Lucius ceased rubbing his chest and glowered at her. “I think one poke might have sufficed then.”

“I disagree.” 

A more serious expression settled on her face and Lucius straightened up warily when he saw it. 

“I know you like to say I only have to ask, Lucius,” Hermione said. “But just…” She sighed, raising a hand to her brow. “Just tell me sometimes. Don’t use the fact that I don’t always know exactly what to ask you against me.”

“If I’d told you exactly who he was, Hermione, you would have refused to speak to him.”

“You don’t know that,” she said, her tone hardening. “And even if I had, that would have been my decision to make and regret.”

Lucius opened his mouth to reply but the words stuck in his throat in the face of Hermione’s unwavering, uncompromising gaze. 

“You might be older, Lucius – more ‘worldly wise’ – but you don’t always know better,” she said, her tone patient but expression broaching absolutely no argument. “Certainly not where I’m concerned.”

“I do know you, though,” he said defensively. “And I know how capable you are. How much you could do.”

“But so do I, ” Hermione insisted, raising a hand to her chest and closing it into a fist. “I know my worth, Lucius. I knew it long before you did. So promise me that, going forward, you’ll make sure that I have all the same information you do before you ask me to make a decision concerning me. That’s only fair, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said, with an undercurrent of sullenness that made Hermione purse her lips. “But what if I think you’re making the wrong choice?”

“Then discuss it with me.”

“That’s bloody exhausting sometimes, Hermione.”

“Good!” Hermione snapped. 

Sighing, her shoulders dropping heavily, she fell a step back and clasped her hands in front of her, twisting them together apprehensively.

 “Look, I appreciate how much you care, Lucius,” she said. “I do. But I – I want a partner. Not some kind of guardian or – or string-puller. Even one that has the best of intentions.”

Something shifted in Lucius’ expression and Hermione might not have noticed it had she not been studying him so intently. A slight sliding of his jaw. The most fractional raising of a brow.

“Do you want that?” she asked quietly. “Don’t you like the idea of having a partner?”

“I do,” he said slowly. “But I also –” Lucius tilted his head, frowning. “I'm quite partial to being needed, Hermione.”

“Isn’t it better that I want you?” she asked, taking a tentative step forward, her heart thudding increasingly quickly. 

She wasn’t sure she’d ever been so up front about her feelings but she needed him to understand and she wasn’t sure he would unless she laid it out for him. It was hardly fair to expect him to. 

She was his, yes, but she was still herself. She would never let go of that pure, whole sense of self for anyone. It was what had made her fight Lucius so hard in the first place. It was the need to protect it that had, in the end, driven her away from Ron.  

“I –” Lucius paused, frowning as his eyes searched hers. 

“You’re a choice for me, Lucius,” she continued, stretching out a hand. “I want you. Regardless of what you can offer me.”

Lucius’ grey eyes dropped to her outstretched hand and flicked back to her face. Surely, she hoped, he would see that there was actually more security in that. 

His lips parted but Hermione had to wait many agonising seconds before finally heard him reply, “Alright,” and felt the warmth of his palm settling against hers, his long fingers curling around her hand. “I think, perhaps – yes, that is better. As long as you’ll at least act like you need me sometimes.”

A tremulous smile spread over Hermione’s face and she squeezed his hand, feeling him return the pressure. 

He tugged gently to invite her to take a step closer and she did, sliding the hand that wasn’t in his over the fine material of his robes to settle on his shoulder. Her heels, small as they were, made her slightly taller and she liked the way it helped her look more directly into his face.

She was just inching her face towards Lucius’ when he said, “Wait.” A tension had settled in the corners of his mouth and, pausing, Hermione raised her gaze to his.  

“Hermione,” he said, his hand tightening around hers. “I always intended to bring you in here. I knew you'd want to see it. But…” 

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his eyes closing like he was actively forcing himself to speak his next words. 

“I’m hiding you.” Feeling her stiffen, he brought a hand to her waist to hold her. “To protect you. For no other reason than that.”

“From what?” she asked, her voice tight and her body tensed, ready to pull away at any moment.

Lucius’ eyes flicked up to the ceiling and, in that small movement, Hermione could see his irritation at himself. 

“I told Avery and Nott that you’re a Muggleborn and our conversation may have become…heated.”

“Lucius –”

“They don’t know who you are or what you do,” he assured her. “But you know that –” Though Lucius looked at her, his eyes did not quite meet hers. “We will be an object of derision. Perhaps even more than Maurice.”

A faintly disparaging breath of laughter left her. “You say that like you didn’t already know it.”

“Of course I knew it,” he said irritably, his eyes finally snapping to hers, “ but you just told me you want to know everything I know and I happen to know the things that will be said and the people that will say them rather better than you do.”

Nodding her understanding, Hermione rolled her tongue in her mouth as she studied his face. 

He wore an expression she wasn’t accustomed to seeing on him and she struggled to read it. There was worry in it. Insecurity. Anticipation of injury.

Strangely, she rather got the sense that Lucius was waiting for her to tell him that what they had was not worth the trouble it would inevitably bring.

Was it?

“I suppose I’ll be an ambitious little Mudblood trying to fuck her way into a more advantageous position,” Hermione said, trying for nonchalance but falling short. “And you’ll be a –”

“Blood traitor who didn’t have the good sense to keep his perversions to himself,” Lucius finished for her. "Among other things."

An angry roil started in Hermione’s stomach and she gripped Lucius’ shoulder more tightly. “Will they say it behind their hands like they do with Maurice?”

He tipped his head consideringly. “Some of them.” 

“They’ll all just say it straight to my face, won’t they.”

The hand on her waist squeezed possessively. “Not if they value their lives.”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione fixed him with a quelling look. “Be serious, Lucius.”

“I very much am.” His face was stony, his lips set in a thin, determined line. 

Sighing, Hermione shook her head slowly, her eyes falling closed. Lucius said nothing but his hold on her stayed firm.

“Alright.” She swallowed, her eyes fluttering open to find Lucius already looking at her. “Well, maybe this – this is a decision then, isn’t it? You told me and I’m deciding that, when the time comes, I’ll face that. They deride me regardless and I’m not going to let them stop me getting what I want.”

Lucius’ chest visibly expanded as he inhaled deeply, his forehead clearing.

“And that would be me,” he said.

“Yes.”

“The thing you want,” he said, nudging his head forward like he couldn’t be quite sure that he’d heard her properly. “That’s me.”

“Lucius,” Hermione said, her tone dipping with warning.

A satisfied smirk quirked at the corner of his mouth. “Just clarifying.”

He pulled her closer so that her body was flush against his and bent to press a surprisingly chaste kiss to her lips. 

“What do you choose?” she asked, drawing her head back to search his face. 

“You,” he said with a certainty that made her stomach swoop in a deep arc. “They can say what they like about me , Hermione – I know every one of their dirty secrets and I am not the one that needs to be ashamed.”

“So, all purebloods are as filthy as you then,” she said, a teasing smile rising to her face.

“Most of them are so much worse,” he murmured before kissing her again, more fervently this time. 

His hand slid from her waist around to her lower back, bringing her more tightly against him, but Hermione drew back, the hand that had been gripping his shoulder pushing him away.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be so –” She winced, nudging her head pointedly in the direction of the door. 

“We place all kinds of protective charms on the manor for events like these, Hermione,” Lucius said, his fingers massaging a slow, soothing circle into her lower back. “Can’t have people just wandering out of the ballroom and into any part of the manor they please.”

If he’d thought that would make her return to kissing him, he’d been wrong; all he succeeded in doing was arousing her curiosity. “What kinds of things?”

“Well.” Lucius tilted his head, mentally searching through the various charms and wards he’d had to apply earlier that evening. “Unless you’re in the company of a Malfoy, any attempt to venture further than the entrance hall will just lead you right back to it.”

“That’s fascinating,” Hermione breathed. “It must be very intricately modified charmwork to be so specific. Are the books on the charms in here? Can you show me?”

“Yes.” Lucius pressed a single kiss to her lips. “Just give me two more minutes and then I’ll give you –” He kissed her again, longer this time. “A proper tour.”

“Okay,” she mumbled into him, “but be quick.”

Making an incredulous noise in the back of his throat, Lucius kissed her more forcefully, like he was trying to prove something to her. The petulance of it only served to make her giggle. It was, she reflected, really just as well that Ginny had charmed her makeup so well. 

Lucius walked her backwards until her back hit the end of a tall mahogany bookcase and Hermione’s laugh turned into a gasp at the feeling of the cold wood through her dress robes. It contrasted sharply with the heat of his hands on her waist and the leg he immediately pressed between hers.

Lucius kissed his way over her cheek and down her jaw and Hermione tilted her head back and to the side to give him easier access.

“Would you prefer this or books?” he asked, his voice low near her ear.

“Books,” she said through a moan, her hands gripping his shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

Lucius scoffed disbelievingly into her neck and pressed his thigh up and harder between her legs so that she could feel the friction even through her robes and knickers. He nipped at the delicate skin of her throat and she made a soft panting noise but shook her head.

“Still books, Lucius.”

“Draco, we've been far too long. I really think I should get Hermione –”

“I suppose it would please you, then, if I told you that everything in here is yours?” he asked, his words broken by the kisses he trailed down her neck. 

Hermione’s eyes fell closed and her head dropped back against the bookcase with a heavy thud. “Yes.”

“It’s all yours, Hermione,” he murmured in her ear, his breath ticklish on the shell of it. “All the books. And me.”

Grabbing his collar, Hermione pulled his lips to hers, grinding herself against his leg. Lucius chuckled and gripped one of her thighs through her robes to encourage her to wrap it around him, making her rise onto her tiptoes.

"This is the last place, I promise. We can bring her up here too in a minute."

The door to the library swung open and Draco strolled in, speaking over his shoulder. 

“Really, Gin, we both know that if Granger wants to be anywhere during a party it’s in the library – she's fucking –” 

He turned and froze at the sight of Lucius pressing a witch to the bookcase. “Father?”

What followed was a scramble. 

Hermione yelped, immediately relinquishing her hold on Lucius just as he swore and stepped back from her. With her hold on him and his on her removed at the same time, Hermione lost her balance, toppling sideways so that Lucius was forced to wrap his arms back around her middle and pull her back against him to straighten her up. 

All the while, Draco stood ashen faced and aghast, rooted to the spot. Ginny fully entered the room just behind him with her hands clamped over her mouth but whether it was to hide shock or amusement, Hermione honestly couldn’t tell. 

“Granger?” Draco exclaimed when Lucius finally stepped back from Hermione, satisfied that she wasn’t going to keel over.

“Hermione?” Ginny breathed, dropping her hands from her face to reveal that she was, in fact, hiding shock and amusement. 

“ Draco – ” Lucius began, stepping forward with a hand outstretched to his son. 

“Malfoy,” Hermione said, her eyes darting anxiously from Draco to Lucius’ back.  

“What the fuck is going on?” Draco demanded, his cheeks tinted pink and his eyes gleaming as they darted back and forth between Lucius and Hermione. 

“ Nothing,” Lucius said.

“Nothing.” Draco’s simple repetition of his father was resplendent in many shades of mockery. They really were quite alike sometimes.“It doesn’t look like ‘nothing’. It looks like you two were point six of a second away from shagging in the middle of the fucking library!”

“We were not,” Hermione snapped, marching forward to stand beside Lucius. Her cheeks were blazing hot and she did not doubt that they were a horrible blotchy red. Beacons of her own guilt and embarrassment.

“We weren’t?” Lucius asked under his breath, glancing at her out of the corners of his eyes.

“Lucius,” she hissed, smacking his arm. “For god’s sake.”

“Hermione,” Ginny said, a wide grin unfurling over her face as she took them all in. “This is ‘getting on’?”

“You knew about this?” Draco asked sharply, half-turning to look at Ginny.

She held her hands up immediately, shaking her head. “I didn’t.”

“Ginny,” Hermione tried to explain, extending her hands beseechingly. “I couldn’t say anything. It was –”

“Oh, ‘couldn’t’?” Draco sneered. “That sounds like restraint, Granger. Good to know you’re actually capable of –”

“Where have you been all evening?”

The brusque, authoritative interruption from Lucius made Hermione, Draco and Ginny start simultaneously. Together, they turned their eyes on him. 

He stood straight-backed and unashamed, levelling Draco with a stare that made him visibly shrink. 

Lucius did not, Hermione knew well enough, take kindly to being on the back foot. He was more than prepared to turn the tables.

“I’ve been showing Ginny the manor,” Draco replied, crossing his arms tightly, immediately on the defensive. 

“And in so doing, avoiding all of your hosting responsibilities,” Lucius replied, his voice hard and uncompromising. “Not a single guest has seen you all night thanks to your apparent preference for creeping around the east wing.”

“You’re one to talk about creeping in the east wing!” Draco cried, unfolding his arms to sweep one in the direction of Hermione. 

“This wouldn’t have happened had you waited for me to speak to you as I asked, instead of running off to play the tour guide,” Lucius replied.

Draco blinked rapidly, pink tints appearing high on his cheeks as he clearly tried to figure out how he had become the one being told off. 

Perhaps reticent to push back against his father when he looked so commanding, Draco opted to turn on Hermione.

“You.” 

He raised a finger to jab it in her direction and she squared her shoulders. She would not be scolded by Draco bloody Malfoy. 

“I say some mean things to you at school so you just decide to, what, mount my father ? What the fuck is that? Just curse me like a normal person!”

“Draco –” Lucius began severely.

“Don’t be an idiot, Malfoy,” Hermione snapped, striding straight past Lucius to face his son with her hands balled into fists. “Not everything is about you. And they were more than just ‘mean things’, you conveniently forgetful prejudiced pig.”

“Hermione.” Lucius strode forward to place a hand on her shoulder but she shook him off aggressively, never taking her eyes from the increasingly puce Draco. Something about the growing contrast between his face and his white blonde hair soothed a spitting vindictiveness in her.

“I am not a –” Draco spluttered and cast a mortified look at the astonished Ginny over his shoulder. “Not anymore.” 

Spinning back to face Hermione, he rearranged his features into an ugly sneer and took another step towards her, looming over her. 

“And anyway I didn’t hate you just because you were a Muggleborn, Granger. I actually mostly hated you because were immensely fucking annoying! You were so bloody up yourself and desperate to prove that you were so clever –”

“To show everyone like you who thought I couldn’t be that they were wrong!” Hermione said, her voice rising shrilly.

Lucius looked over both Hermione and Draco who were, at this point, within arm’s reach of one another, to a wide-eyed Ginny. “Would you like a tour of the library, Miss Weasley?” he asked politely.  

“Oh, well done, Granger,” Draco barked, throwing his arms wide. “You proved me wrong. Silly me for not just fawning over you after you laid me flat with my wrongness and lorded your perfect marks over everyone.

“Um –” Ginny glanced nervously at Lucius. “Hermione?

Oblivious to Ginny, Hermione laughed mirthlessly, her head falling back. “So, you were jealous ,” she jeered at Draco. “Of course you were!”

“I imagine they’ll be a minute,” Lucius said, gesturing to invite Ginny to walk around the arguing pair.

“I was not jealous,” Draco shouted, a strand of blonde hair falling untidily across a vein bulging in his forehead.

Ginny took a wide berth around Hermione and Draco. Hesitating for just a moment, she slipped her hand into the crook of Lucius’ proffered arm and allowed him to guide her further into the library. 

“You obviously were,” Hermione insisted. “Couldn’t impress daddy when my marks were so much better than yours so you –”

“Do not call my father daddy!”

“I’ll call your father whatever I want, Malfoy,” Hermione snarled, her anger and embarrassment making her want to do nothing but push Draco to his limit. “And I guarantee you he’ll like it.”

“You warped fucking –”

“And why are you only shouting at me anyway?” Hermione cried. “He was involved too!”

Breathless, Hermione looked around wildly for Lucius, more than willing to pull him back into the fray. 

It took a moment for her to spy him across the room with Ginny, explaining an inscription in the edge of one of the bookcases to her as though there was not an explosive argument happening nearby.

“Sneaky prick,” Hermione hissed at the same time that Draco mutinously growled, “Fucking hypocrite.” 

Hermione turned back and, catching Draco’s furious eye, whined with exhausted frustration, dropping her head into her hands. She heard Draco groan with disgust and the shifting of his robes as he did something similar.

“How the fuck did this happen?” he eventually asked, sounding just as weary as she felt and a good deal more confused. 

Shaking her head, Hermione lifted it from her hands to meet his gaze. “It’s a really long story, Malfoy.”

Draco’s face contorted with disgust. “That better not be some kind of snide euphemism, Granger, because –”

“Oh, for god’s sake.” Hermione planted her hands on her hips, her eyes flashing with renewed indignation. “No, actually, Malfoy,” she said. “If I was going to be euphemistic about your father’s penis then I’d have said it was a story of immensely satisfying girth.”

Draco’s eyes widened with horror. “Shut up!”

“You started it.”

“No, you started it by trying to ride my father’s leg against one of our bloody bookcases,” he snarled, throwing a disgusted look at the bookcase in question like it was a still-bloody crime scene. “I’ll have to burn it now!”

Hermione scoffed. “I’ve ridden more than his leg, I can assure you.”

Draco moaned like a wounded animal and, dropping his face into his hands, bent his tall body forward like he was trying to fold himself into a protective box. 

“Stop it,” he groaned. “Please, Granger. Fucking hell, stop it. I can’t.”

They were silent for a moment, Hermione glaring at the top of Draco’s head while he attempted to pull himself together. Eventually, he slowly straightened up, dragging his hands down from over his eyes to peer at her over his fingertips. 

Chin raised, Hermione met his gaze unblinkingly. She was not ashamed. Would not be shamed. Lowering his hands entirely, Draco sighed and squinted at her, like she was someone he knew but couldn’t quite place.

“Granger,” he began, his far less combative tone surprising Hermione so much that some tension leaked out of her, her shoulders dropping by a fraction. “Do you know what kinds of things he’s said about Muggleborns? Never mind Muggles.”

“Similar to the kinds of things you said, I imagine,” she said, relieved that her voice remained steady. “Unimaginative, cruel and utterly wrong.”

Draco’s face crumpled and he glanced briefly over at where Ginny was lifting a book from a shelf while peering nervously in their direction.

“I am…” He stepped towards Hermione to look down at her seriously, his voice dropping. “I am trying to be better. And I’m…” Rubbing a hand up his face and dragging his fingers through his hair, he exhaled harshly. “I’m genuinely sorry for everything I said to you in school around all that…stuff, okay?” 

Dropping his hand, Draco was met with Hermione’s flatly unimpressed expression, her arms crossed tightly, protectively, over her middle.

“I am,” he insisted. “It was stupid and it’s possible that I –” Clearing his throat, Draco rolled his shoulders back. “It’s possible that I was slightly jealous. But you were bloody annoying and he – ” Draco jabbed his finger over Hermione’s shoulder in the direction of Lucius. “Was on my back all the time, y’know. It was a fucking pain. You were meant to be shit at magic and you weren’t and I bore the brunt of it.”

“No,” she said coldly. “I bore the brunt of it.”

“Well, yeah, I mean if you want to look at it from that –” He cut himself off in the face of her furious glower. “I’m sorry.”

Hermione considered Draco silently. She considered him for so long that he began to grow visibly agitated and she sighed.

“Okay,” she said, shrugging.

Draco frowned uncertainly. “Okay?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, nodding. “Okay.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, what do you expect me to say, Malfoy?” Hermione asked, unfolding her arms to throw her hands wide.

Draco rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing. “I dunno,” he muttered. “I forgive you?”

“Okay,” Hermione said, like a very patient parent with a very insistent toddler. “I forgive you.”

Pouting, Draco shoved his hands in the pocket of his robes. “It doesn’t sound like you mean it.”

“Well, I don’t right now,” Hermione snapped. “That’s why I didn’t voluntarily say it.” Taking a deep, steadying breath, she added, “One day I probably will. Honestly. If you make Ginny happy.”

“I will,” he vowed. “I promise.”

They stared at one another warily, both of them absorbing the most civil interaction they’d had in their entire time of knowing one another.

“Aren’t you going to apologise now?” Draco prompted, ruining it as far as Hermione was concerned. 

“For what?” Hermione asked, her voice rising with disbelief.

“For –” Draco’s eyes slid over her shoulder and he nudged his head in the direction of his father. 

Hermione raised a hand to her brow, rubbing the side of her forefinger along the lines in her forehead like she might be able to smooth them away. 

“But I’m not,” she said. “I didn’t do it to hurt you, Malfoy – I like him.”

“What do you mean you like him?”

Pinning her lower lip between her teeth, Hermione hesitated. “He's…mine,” she finally said softly, struggling to look directly at Draco’s open-mouthed incredulity. “I'm his. We promised.”

Draco blinked, closing his mouth to swallow. “Granger, what –”

“Aren’t you done yet?” 

Hermione flinched on hearing Lucius’ drawl behind her. She turned to find him and Ginny standing together a few steps behind her and Draco. 

Ginny met Hermione’s eyes and all Hermione could read in the younger girl’s expression was, ‘Hermione, what the fuck?’ 

Understandable, really.

“You realise I could have asked the same of you two just a minute ago,” Draco said, stepping forward to stand with Hermione and face his father. “Hypocrite.”

There was a very slight but, to Hermione, noticeable drawing back of Lucius’ shoulders which spoke to his discomfort around Draco’s accusation and anger. 

“I’m hardly that much of a hypocrite, Draco,” he said with deceptive coolness, tipping his head in the direction of Ginny. “Are you not here with the witch you like after I gave you permission to pursue her and invite her?”

Draco stiffened and Ginny turned her head to look at Lucius disbelievingly, her long red curls falling forward over her shoulder. “Permission?” she asked.

“I didn’t need your permission,” Draco said sharply to his father before turning an imploring look on Ginny. “I didn’t need his permission.”

“You sought it,” Lucius said.

“Yeah, more than you sought mine!”

“Why,” Hermione asked with an exasperated edge, “would your father need your permission to be with me ?”

“Well he might’ve mentioned that he was planning to start shagging my former classmate!” Draco exclaimed. “I’d have raised some minor objections. Perhaps flagged a concern or two.”

“My relationship with Hermione is not dependent on your blessing, Draco,” Lucius said, catching Hermione’s eye. “Remember that I’m your father – I wanted you to know out of courtesy.”

“Oh, relationship.” Draco nodded impressively and sarcastically. “Sounds serious. So, does this mean the pressure is off us –” He gestured to Ginny – “To get married and do the whole heir thing?”

Ginny’s mouth fell open. “Heir?” 

“No, it does not,” Lucius said to Draco before turning to Ginny and adding, “And yes, Miss Weasley: heir. Heirs if you can possibly manage it.”

“Hold on a bloody minute –” Ginny said, drawing herself up and flicking her hair back over her shoulder. 

“What, so you get to just fuck about and keep it casual?” Draco asked, raising a mocking brow. “I’m shocked, Granger; you always struck me as a ring-on-the-finger type.”

“Oh, just shut up, Malfoy.”

“Draco,” Ginny said, an urgency to her tone, “I really think we should have a talk about –”

“It is not a question of my commitment to Hermione,” Lucius interrupted, his focus entirely on Draco. “It is a question of what she and I have agreed and that is in no way a part of it.”

“I never agreed to it either!” Ginny cried, raising a hand to her chest.

“I told you, Draco,” Lucius said, gesturing to Ginny. “I told you she wouldn’t understand what is expected of a Malfoy. She is a Weasley –”

“Lucius!” Hermione cut in, aghast.

Lucius faltered, evidently surprised that Hermione was the one to be reprimanding him. “What?”

“They’ve just started seeing one another,” Hermione said disbelievingly, glancing between Ginny and Draco. “Give them some time.”

“Draco does not have the luxury of time in this matter,” Lucius replied firmly, his gaze sliding from Hermione to his son and hardening. “I told you to pick a wife, Draco, not someone to start ‘seeing’.”

“A wife? ” Ginny had gone so pale that Hermione was tempted to inch towards her in case she needed to catch her.

“I did,” Draco said, clearly embarrassed by the extent to which he was revealing the depth of his feelings for Ginny in front of her. “But I didn’t think it had to be immediate!”

Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “Of course it has to be immediate,” he growled. “The Malfoy family needs another heir. I have told you this repeatedly.”

“Then you two do it,” Draco ordered, pointing between Lucius and Hermione. 

“We will not!” Hermione exclaimed, staggering away from him.

“Why should we?” Ginny demanded, her expression fierce.

“Yeah!” Draco rejoined.

“I have an heir,” Lucius said, the only one of them still speaking at a conversational volume as he addressed Draco. “You. It’s your turn to secure the line.”

“I’m not some heir oven,” Ginny barked. Hermione knew that beneath Ginny’s hair her ears would be a flaming red, the way Ron’s had always gone when he was furious. “I’m a professional bloody Quidditch player. And I have things I want to do before I have a family.”

“I did try to tell him you’d feel this way, Miss Weasley,” Lucius said, “but he did not listen.”

“No, you didn’t listen,” Draco snarled, pointing aggressively at his father. “I told you I don’t want to rush into the marriage and children thing. I told you.” 

Draco took a deep breath and turned to Ginny, his brow creased and his voice dropping drastically to just above a whisper. 

“Look, Ginny, do – do you want to have a family?”

Taken aback Ginny stammered a few noncommittal sounds, her eyes darting from Lucius to Hermione before settling on Draco. Seeing his sincere, curious face she appeared to soften slightly, though not entirely and not without some reluctance.

“I mean –” Ginny lowered her voice, stepping towards him like she wished it was just them. “Yes. One day, yes. Eventually. But definitely not now.”

“Same,” Draco said, reaching out to take one of her hands in his.

A bright flash of violet followed by a loud bang overhead made all of them flinch. Craning her neck, Hermione peered through the glass dome in the roof of the library just in time to see a second, red firework light up the night sky. 

Scowling, Lucius reached into his robes and extracted a watch from the pocket of his waistcoat. Consulting it, he rolled his eyes and muttered something about the fireworks being “fucking early” with a resentful glower in Draco’s direction. Apparently, he held him responsible.

It was useless to try to have any kind of conversation over the explosive bangs, whizzes and pops and Hermione found herself rather grateful for the breather than the fireworks enforced. 

As the bright, multi-coloured lights flashed over them and the loud bangs echoed in the space around them, she looked to Lucius and found he was already looking at her, tired and more than a little irate but like all he really wanted to do was wrap her up and take her away. 

Clenching her jaw, she held out her hand to him and, with no hesitation, he took it. 

Steeling herself, Hermione looked to Draco and Ginny and found them watching her and Lucius. Draco’s eyes were fixed, unrelentingly mystified, on their joined hands. Ginny, however, met Hermione’s gaze and offered her the smallest of worried smiles. 

When the sounds of the fireworks became intermittent rather than constant, Hermione squeezed Lucius’ hand, asking for his attention. 

“Lucius,” she said softly, “why does it have to be –” A blue firework whizzed and popped outside. “If they want the same thing eventually, can’t they just take their time?”

“No,” Lucius said, releasing Hermione’s hand. “They can’t.”

Clearly feeling the accusatory weight of the gazes of the three much younger people to whom he was talking, Lucius tensed, his hands curling into fists.

“He doesn’t know what will happen tomorrow or even later tonight, Hermione.” Lucius jabbed a finger in the direction of his bewildered son. “He flies hundreds of feet above the ground every week like the future of this family does not depend on him. He takes his life – his health – for granted.” 

Lucius turned his gaze on Draco. “Everything can change in the blink of an eye, Draco. You say you want to take your time like the amount available to you is in your control – it is not. You of all people should know that it is not.”

Immediately, Draco crumbled under the weight of an understanding that neither Hermione or Ginny could possibly have. 

“Father,” he said, moving towards Lucius. 

“No –” Lucius stepped back from the group, raising a hand to his throat and tugging against what appeared to be a sudden tightness in his collar. “I’m sorry, Hermione, please excuse me for a moment.”

“Lucius –” Hermione said, reaching for him. 

“The guests will need –”

“Father, don’t,” Draco implored.

Without another word, Lucius marched through the group in the direction of the exit. His shoes clicked sharply and swiftly on the floor and he didn’t even stop to pick up his cane from the chair on which he’d left it.

“I’ll be –” Draco turned a distressed, pleading expression on Ginny. “I’ll be a minute,” he vowed. “I promise. I’m sorry. We – we can talk. We should. Please don’t leave.”

“Go,” Ginny said, releasing him and shaking her head.

“Malfoy –” Hermione started, her heart racing with concern.

“Wait here, Granger,” he said firmly. “Please.”

It was tempting to insist that she see Lucius, that she be allowed to find out if he was alright, but Hermione knew it was the wrong thing to do – this was not a moment for her.

Turning on his heel, his robes billowing, Draco followed Lucius, disappearing through the door to the library and into the corridor beyond. Hermione dared not follow. Unaccompanied by a Malfoy, she could not even begin to guess where she might end up. 

“Why do I feel,” Ginny said dazedly, “like that conversation ended up being about a bit more than what we were actually talking about?”

“Because that’s usually a safe bet with Lucius,” Hermione said tiredly, her eyebrows bowed with worry.

They stood in silence, staring at the door until Ginny finally said, “So…”

Steeling herself, Hermione turned to Ginny and found the younger witch’s eyebrows raised, her expression expectant. “Lucius Malfoy.” 

“Yes,” Hermione said weakly.

Ginny shook her head, shrugging. “Couldn’t have – I don't know – given me a heads up, Hermione? A tiny warning?”

“I didn’t –” Hermione cringed. “I’m sorry, Ginny. It’s pretty new and I just – well, I didn't want something like this to happen.”

Ginny raised a brow and Hermione nodded. 

“So, I suppose I was stupid,” she admitted reluctantly. “I should have told you. We were supposed to tell you tonight. And I do mean actually tell you. Not show you, like we ended up doing. But please don’t tell anyone else – we’re trying to keep it relatively quiet for a while.”

Rolling her lips flat, Ginny nodded slowly and considered Hermione. “And you definitely don’t want to let him knock you up and put a ring on it to take the pressure off me?” she eventually asked lightly.

Hermione choked on air. “Ginny!”

“What?” Ginny asked, holding her hands out. “It looked like he was pretty keen on giving the first bit a good go at the very least, Hermione.”

“Ginny.” Hermione winced and laughed reluctantly. “Don’t,” she said, shaking her head. “I have no intention. Marriage and kids, y’know, I’m not really sure that’s something I even want and he’s done it already.” She paused, glancing over her shoulder to the door through which Lucius had departed. “Keeping all that out of it suits us, I think.”

Ginny hummed, an understanding but thoughtful sound. “Well,” she said, “while I do want those things, I’d rather wait. I knew the old pureblood families were a bit mad about this stuff but this is…fucking beyond.”

“Draco will talk to him,” Hermione said assuredly.

“You think it’ll work?” Ginny asked doubtfully.

“Lucius just wants him to be happy,” Hermione said, shaking her head. Catching Ginny’s eye, she offered her a hopeful smile. “He told me that once.”

Her expression grim, Ginny nodded. “Yeah,” she said, “well, let’s hope he wants Draco to be happy more than Draco wants him to be.”

“I get the impression that Draco wants you to be happy more than anything,” Hermione said, receiving a surprised but appreciative look from Ginny in response.

One last, very delayed firework flashed yellow overhead and popped pathetically, drawing both of their gazes skyward. 

“I always thought you’d suit someone older,” Ginny said thoughtfully.

“Is that just because I like a book and a quiet night in?” Hermione asked sceptically, lowering her chin to look at Ginny. 

“It is because you like a book and a quiet night in,” Ginny said grinning, meeting her eyes. 

“By the way,” she added, lowering her voice and almost speaking out of the corner of her mouth, “what’s the deal with the cane? Is it a –”

“It’s not a compensation,” Hermione assured her meaningfully.

“Oh.” Ginny raised her eyebrows, her lower lip pushing out. “Well.” She rolled briefly onto her toes and then directed a respectful little half-bow at Hermione on landing. “Congratulations. Let’s hope it’s hereditary. “