The Cave of Wonders

MALFOY MANOR

25 JUNE, 2006

Lucius watched Hermione walk away for much longer than would be considered polite, if he was being observed; the swish and sway of her hips in that little dress she was wearing was like a fast-acting erection potion in human form, and he’d already been suppressing its effects for an hour. “Bollocks,” he grumbled, adjusting the waistband of his trousers as he left the office through the corridor that connected it to the library; his boxers beginning to feel uncomfortably tight. “Books,” he said aloud, trying to distract himself. “Think of all the dusty piles of smelly books.”

As he entered the library through the glass double doors at the end of the corridor, he found B.W sitting on a burgundy, leather, padded footstool in the corner, a stack of books beside her that was almost as tall as she was when standing. Her ears twitched and flicked as she read through the book in her lap, giving her away as completely ‘in the zone’. Of all the Manor elves, B.W was the most intelligent, so it was an easy bet from how engrossed she was, that like he and Hermione alike, with a stack that size, she would be busy for hours. 

Deciding not to disturb her, lest she show him elf levels of wrath - he’d been hit with that before, courtesy of Dobby, and didn’t want a repeat - he walked to the centre of the library, wanting to take in the space more thoroughly, and slowly spun in a circle. It was beautiful… classical in design; feminine in taste, but not overly so; deceptively huge in dimension, if one considered the outside of the ‘bungalow’; full to bursting with what he could only imagine was a wide variety of books on a thousand different topics. On top of all this, it was also spotlessly clean and elegant to the point of invoking his envy; she didn’t even have a B.W. He was quite sure, however, that should she choose to, she could poach his B.W.

He knew it was foolish to be shocked by anything she did anymore; she was simply beyond anything his tiny world had ever known before, and he could see that his world, and outlook had been tiny for so long. This trunk, this library, it made everything so much clearer… They - being everyone who had ever met or heard of her - had barely touched the surface of what she was capable of; and not just her intelligence, but everything else, her depth, and warmth, and compassion. 

The base level by which he could set his daily expectations regarding the abilities of Hermione Granger was shifting rapidly, because every day he discovered something overwhelmingly amazing about her, and every new discovery added to the evidence that she was nothing short of fucking perfection. In fact, it wasn’t just his expectation of her that had been raised; she had become the metre rule by which he measured others. Somewhat unfairly, he knew, because who else could ever measure up to this…

Lucius let out a low whistle as he finished his three hundred and sixty degree turn; on the outside, the cabin had the appearance of all the other single-level bungalows within the trunk, but inside, it was colossal. He was standing in a twenty-by-thirty-five metre, three-story extravaganza of knowledge. It made his head spin to even try to calculate the root equations of an expanded space this substantial within an already exceptionally expanded dimension. It was practically impossible without doing constant arithmancy for months. “No, I definitely can’t compete with her,” he admitted with a resigned sigh. “She just humours me with the logic problems in the bloody papers.” 

He stood with his one hand on his hip, just gathering the pieces of his broken brain and gesturing to all the grandeur that was before him. “Just look at this place; and I used to think myself intelligent. Salazar’s socks! I must seem like a complete- dunderhead to her. I am a complete dunderhead next to her, and a first-rate one at that.” Never had he felt so inadequate, or so content with feeling it. Harry and Draco had told him multiple times that she was one of those ‘beautiful mind’ people, but he’d never understood what they meant, until now.

B.W. coughed then, interrupting the beginnings of Lucius’ monologue and gaining his attention. “Pardon me, Master Lucius, but B.W must correct you, sir. Master is a third -rate dunderhead at best,” she explained boldly, not even quaking at his disapproval. Knowing this to be very unlike any elf, even B.W, Lucius held his tongue, curious to see how far her loyalty had already been won by the enchanting Miss Granger. “B.W is a second-rate dunderhead, sir.”

Lucius bit back a chuckle as he tried to understand his elf's logic, and failed. “Ah, I see, and who would be first in this unusual table of deficiency?” he couldn’t help but ask.

The look of exasperation on his favourite elvish companion was priceless, and he knew this entire moment was going to be well worth revisiting in his pensieve later. “Master of Potions, Severus Snape, sir. He is the first dunderhead, but after Missy Bookworm, all are dunderheads.”

There was no suppressing his amusement this time; a bark of laughter rolled up from his toes and burst free in a moment of true comradeship with his little friend. He couldn’t fault her simplistic and sound logic even if he wanted to, and whilst he had his own theories as to why Severus was so highly ranked as a dunderhead - ever letting Hermione slip from his grasp mainly - he wanted to hear B.W’s theory. “I can’t find fault with that sentiment, B, but I’m curious… Why, in your opinion, does Severus rank higher than you and I in dunderheadedness?”

He was grinning from ear-to-ear at the ridiculousness of the conversation, all sense of propriety evanesco’d with the choice of topic, as he pivoted on his heel, and picked a bookcase at random, beginning his casual perusal of the titles she had gathered. He didn’t have enough concentration to map a methodical route - that would have him walking by every bookcase without backtracking - Miss Granger’s brilliance had humbled him. Thinking about those ‘advanced’ arithmancy equations in the newspaper though, it tickled him that she thought he wouldn’t deduce how she really was just humouring him with her pleas for help. Yes, his intelligence paled in comparison to hers, but he wasn’t that dense that he didn’t know she was merely stroking his ego.

B.W let out a little huff, discarding the book in her lap and picking up another; from a few metres away, Lucius heard the rustle of paper as she turned her pages. “Master of Potions knows brewing and does brewing, sir. B.W would not want to touch the greasy, slimy things to try brewing; she would leave smudges on the pages of precious books. Master of Potions is therefore first rate dunderhead by default because he makes books messy.” 

‘Gods, I love this elf,’ he thought appreciatively, silently chuckling as he moved to another bookcase, promising himself to share this memory with Draco very soon. The new bookcase before him was full of colourfully spined books, the top shelf reaching no higher than his chest, but as he tilted his head to read what the tiny gold script said, he found himself gasping at the provocative titles… The Wizard’s Pleasure ; Oh Baby ; The Gift of Release . He had to read them twice just to make sure he wasn’t seeing things “Well, well, well,” he uttered in astonishment as his eyes dropped down to the next shelf, and found titles like The Kama Sutra , The Art of Seduction , The Power of the Dark Feminine and The Encyclopedia of Unusual Sexual Practices, all of which appeared to be muggle books, housed next to a carved divider in a phallic shape. “My, my-” 

“The next shelf down is Missy Bookworm’s collection of Sex Magic tomes, sir. She has a bigger selection from the Nandra tantric scripts than even the big library. Those spells have never been performed by witches from muggles before, Master… B.W wonders if Missy Bookworm has practised any of them. She would like the spring rituals, sir;  they is like elvish mating dances. B.W likes them.” 

Lucius was frozen in place, his mind misfiring with the wild images B.W had accidentally put in his mind’s eye, at least he thought it was accidental, and the ‘snake’ in his trousers was acting like a hormonal teenager. It reacted to even the slightest sexual provocation these days, and right now, his mind was supplying a myriad of them, all starring Hermione, for which he was mortified. He made for the exit of the library immediately, silencing the heels of his shoes as he went, acknowledging that he would never again be able to use the thought of books as a tool of deflation. 

The problem was, now that sex magic was on his mind, the idea of performing sex magic with Hermione was rapidly filling every synapse, leaving little room for anything else. Every delightful little space in this dramatic room, decorated with a tempered maximalist style, was turning into the voyeuristic paradise of his dreams, where all manner of tantric spells could be indulged in whilst he was balls deep in her quim. ‘Oh, the decadence…’

Lucius reached up with his left hand and smacked his own cheek as he reached the sitting room-exit to the trunk. He should not be having such thoughts about her whilst she didn’t even know of his interest; it was an invasion of her privacy and felt like he was- objectifying her. Though, if it was the other way around, and she was thinking of him in this manner, he knew he’d hardly mind; in fact, he very much believed he’d be delighted. Especially in light of the evidence… The half hard prick that had still been gathering power when he’d started walking was now harder than a battering ram, and ready to siege castle doors. 

He climbed the step ladder awkwardly, and rather uncomfortably, but with increasing haste, needing to be as far away from Hermione as possible. He’d succumbed to the urge once too often already, to wank to thoughts of her; after last night when he’d had to leave his own library in order to do so, he’d vowed to not do it again until she was at the very least, aware he was interested. The problem was, he could not control what his body was doing any longer, and it was maddening. 

It wasn’t humiliation exactly, he realised, as he fumbled his way out of the trunk, making his way to his own potion lab - which should mercifully be free of any spectators - though there were elements of embarrassment about his lack of self-control. No, the reigning emotion at the moment was shock, that he could still become so frequently aroused; he hadn’t had a stalk this insistent since he was a much younger wizard. 

He just had to hope that his luck, and the relative obscurity of having a large home, would continue; Narcissa rarely left her rooms before eleven these days, and with Draco living in London, the manor often seemed blessedly empty. Enough that he and his bobbing stalk would be able to get down the back stairs and across the west corridor, into Draco and Severus’ lab, unseen. Once there, he knew he would find a deflating draught; the most necessary draught he’d have taken in his life, because his erection had not been deterred by the walk; in fact, it had been further enhanced by the thought of Hermione bent over a cauldron, inspired by the knowledge of where he was heading. 

A few minutes later, he had arrived, and reached for the door impatiently, only to be met with resistance when he tried to walk directly through it. “Arrrghhhh,” he exclaimed sharply, as the solid panel of oak wood swung back toward him, the door handle painfully aligned with his currently very sensitive groyne. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuckity, buggering, fuck,” he cursed unashamedly, grabbing his still rock hard, and now achingly tender cock. “Ow,” he whined whisperingly, as he slumped heavily against the door frame and wall for support and watched his son, of all people, open the door.

“Nooo,” Draco gasped, his response immediate at the sudden image his father made, grasping at his family jewels with a pained look on his face. “Shit, sorry , ” he apologised, waving his wand to conjure an ice pack, and stepping back from the door so Lucius could enter the lab properly. He really wasn’t wanting to know the reason behind why his father had such a stonker, that he was walking through a door with it leading the way, but as the muggles said… Inquiring minds want to know. “Merlin, how do you still have a rager like that after getting it smacked with a door?!” he quipped, walking the line between danger and hilarity carefully, though barely holding his mirth inside, now there wasn’t a serious injury to deal with.

Lucius snorted, though was incapable of actually smiling with the throb that had started pulsating in his penis. “That is none of your business,” he answered testily, angrily swiping at the conjured ice, and wincing with each step he took toward the stools at the closest workbench. “Just get me a damn deflating draught, Draco,” he snapped, gingerly sitting down before he pressed the ice to his tender and abused groyne, whilst Draco did as he was bid.

When Draco returned, Lucius was running a shaking hand through already ruffled hair; alarm bells went off in his head when his father looked less than ‘perfectly well groomed’, but putting that together with the apparent reason Lucius Malfoy had always been so cocky, he turned the bells off and handed over the draught. “Well, Mother is having a rather epic fit over what you’ve done to her new garden room, so, I know you weren’t fooling around with her, and… Faaatherrr!” Draco’s eyes went wide at the idea that had just entered his mind, but then he narrowed them as the pieces fell into place, along with a cheeky little smirk. “Granger’s here. In the library if I know her well, which I do. She ran for cover in your bibliophile wet dream after catching-” 

Lucius’ almost choked on the draught at the direction Draco was going in, and he swallowed just in time to through a word-stopping glare at his son; whatever he’d had been about to say, quite enough context had already been gained from Hermione’s account, that he did not need to hear first hand details. Discarding the empty phial on the worktop, he stood carefully, and walked, in a slightly less dignified way than usual, away from Draco. “Your mother put the solarium where I had intended to place the new library; why she’s in hysterics over the redesign of any part of my manor, when she plans on leaving it, and the name of Malfoy behind when we’re divorced, is beyond me,” he informed snidely over his shoulder, exiting the lab with the ice pack still clutched to the front of his trousers. 

Draco followed, hot on his father’s heels, concerned with how dejected his father sounded; to the outside observer, the words just sounded spiteful, but as his son, Draco knew there was more to it. “I actually think it’s more about your plan to destroy those rooms, rather than just redecorate them, and apparently the west lawn receives better light in the afternoon for her plants.”

“It’s not my fault the pair of you chose to only ‘redecorate’ when I wasn’t here, before she arranged for that monstrosity to be created in the exact spot I have intended to put the new library for over a decade,” Lucius grumbled, still clutching the ice to his groyne. “You both had free reign of the entire estate at the time, and every galleon in the vault to back up whatever project you wanted to work on, but she built an indoor garden , which by its very nature, belongs outside. Ridiculous!” 

Draco let out an unexpected and undignified giggle before clapping a hand over his mouth. “Sorry. I did warn her you wouldn’t be happy about the placement of her solarium, but you know what she’s like when she gets an idea in her head…” Draco justified, trying to cover his own arse as he continued to follow his father through the tapestry of Augustine Malfoy III, defending the Malfoy vineyards from the Spaniards in 1353.

“Rest your conscience, Draco; you are not to blame for how your mother chooses to fight our little civil wars, and I do not blame you,” Lucius promised, knowing this had often felt like a great burden to his son. “I will rearrange my thinking to suppose she feared I would not be released from Azkaban upon my scheduled release date, and so did not believe my library plans would go ahead.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at his father’s back in curiosity as they entered a narrow passageway; this was a very odd position for Lucius Malfoy to take, even within the familiarity of his own family. “That’s a very ‘unlike you’ attitude to take. If I didn’t know better I’d be asking ‘who are you and what have you done with my father?’ but, luckily, I do know better and I think Granger has had a bigger effect on you than even you realise.”

Lucius cleared his throat, wondering exactly how much Hermione’s influence had changed him, and how much he’d changed on his own. “Whilst I will admit Miss Granger’s presence in our lives has opened my eyes to many things I would not have previously considered worth my time, she is merely a contributing factor to my life as it is now.”

Draco suppressed a smirk, knowing that his father was talking complete and utter thestral shit. “Oh yes, of course,” he sprouted sarcastically, clearly still not afraid of pushing a sensitive topic. “Speaking of Granger though, it’s just occurred to me that we’ve not had a father/son chat in several weeks - in fact, it was well before the wedding so… If there’s anything you’d like to, um… ask me advice about-” 

“Do spare me even the slightest reference to dating advice, Draco,” he said gruffly, cutting the boy off before he could get going and coming to an abrupt halt. He’d caught on to where his irritant of a son was going with this line of conversation, and he had no desire to hear it. 

With a solid mass creating an unexpected obstacle in the dark tunnel, Draco, who had not halted when his father did, ploughed right into Lucius. “Sorry,” he mumbled, taking a quick step back. “Why did you stop?”

“Because there’s something you need to understand…” he answered in the dark, turning to face his six-foot-three son. “I know your mother has spoken to you about the divorce, but this is about after the rituals for dissolving our bond. Her silly notions on making Miss Granger the new Lady Malfoy are to be ignored. I have no intention of playing along with your mother’s games, because Hermione is a cherished friend, and I will not ruin the blessing her presence in my life has become by forcing her into some- contract. Do you understand me?”  

Draco scoffed, eyeing Lucius with a look of disbelief. As if he had any choice now that the snitch was flying. The dim lighting in the passageway, between the first floor of the west wing and the south corner of the east wing, on the second floor, showed enough of his father to see that the man had straightened shoulders, as in preparation for a verbal sparring match. Lucius was out of luck if he thought that was going to be the case, even if he was giving the ‘I’m waiting’ look whilst barely restraining the urge to tap his foot.  

The vehemence in Lucius’ reaction however, completely settled the doubts that he’d been niggling in the back of his mind since he’d spoken to his mother. Lucius was right about that part; Draco had been sat down by his mother shortly after the dramatic-desserted dinner, in which she had gone over the pending divorce, all the stipulations that came with it, and her plans for how to fulfil those stipulations. 

He could more easily see, now that it had been pointed out to him, that the overly sweet nature of his father’s friendship with Hermione screamed of not-so-hidden depths of feelings, from both of them; it was obnoxiously obvious really. Confident in this understanding, rather than the one that was trying to be forced out of him, Draco stepped forward and placed a hand on his father’s shoulder, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “ That , right there, is exactly why I think mother’s mad plan is going to succeed, and why you have my blessing to proceed with banging Granger when the bonds fall; not that you need it, of course, but it’s there anyway for your peace of mind. I’m quite sure everyone we know has thought about it… Harry and Severus even beat you to it.”

Lucius gasped in the darkness, apoplectic about everything his son was saying and struggling to form words through the red mist that was descending. He’d raised the boy better than to speak of such things, at least this crudely, even if he knew he’d never win any awards for father of the year. Before he could even get a word out however, Draco continued… “Speaking of Harry, you should also know, I’ve given them my permission to let him in on all these goings on tonight. In fact, I suggested it; I don’t like lying to my husband about your current and future involvement with his sister, and I’d like to stop before he finds out some other way.” 

“Bloody unconscionable, the lot of you,” he growled, seething at the way they were slowly backing Hermione into a corner. Granted, he had agreed to go along with it all when he thought it was just his feelings that would get hurt when she inevitably said ‘no’; but now, with the possibility that her feelings really did run deeper, she would be hurt, again , by his family, when she said ‘no’ out of principle, because it was a pureblood contract forcing her into acting on her possible feelings. “Blast your mother and her damn meddling,” he barked anxiously, running his hands through his hair several times. If this backfired, he would lose Hermione as a friend, nevermind anything else, and that fear ran deeper than he was ready to deal with.

“Oh, but it’s very much to your benefit, Father, and her meddling has become rather good over the years,” Draco informed, amusement lacing his words as he lifted his free hand to Lucius’ other shoulder and gave the angry and anxious man a bolstering shake. “Now, listen; you’d have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to notice how your friendship with Hermione has done magical, wonderful things, for both of you, but that’s not the end of the story, or at least, it doesn’t have to be. Granger is fucking gaga over you, and she’s told Pans exactly that, in as many words, so just let the viperous little coven do their thing, and whatever guidance-” 

Lucius shook off his son’s hands, allowing his anger to simmer at the news of Hermione’s apparent confessions to Pansy, but only gave an unexaggerated eye roll to show that his emotions were turning the tide, before he returned to their walk through the tunnel. “I’ve done little more than buy the witch books, and whilst I understand that from the outside it may look like I’m giving into her desires, please remember that our family owes her quite the debt, and this is the only way she permits me to repay it. And before you start, yes, her company brings me a certain level of enjoyment, and yes, I find her to be a very beautiful witch, but that is as far as it goes, and it would be foolish of me to get my hopes up for the mere possibility of more, when whether she is ‘gaga over me’ or not, she’s as likely to run from a contractually-mandated set-up, as she is to have charges brought upon us all for the presumptuousness of making her the subject of it. I will not risk losing her completely, by contributing to the ruination of the one pure friendship I’ve gained in my life.”

“Au contraire, Papa,” Draco snarked back, and being well matched in height, kept up easily with his fleeing father, whose speed had increased to be free of this conversation. ‘Yeah, that’s not going to happen,’   he thought with amusement, itching to push at this newly sensitive side of the changed man. “You should hear the way she goes on and on about your little Prophet equations chats or the most recent quarterly blah, blah, blah of x, y and zed; it’s quite sickening actually.”

“Give it a fucking rest, Draco,” Lucius growled, feeling more bemused and confused now than actually angry. He needed time alone to process what he’d just been told, especially before he saw the witch in question again, whenever that might be; she’d gone into ‘work mode’ he assumed, which meant it could be days before she emerged. One thing he was thankful to his son for right now though, was the fact that he was nowhere near having the same ‘stalk’ problem as he’d left the library with; partially thanks to the deflating draught, but also because despite the subject of this unbearable little father/son catchup, his desire of an hour ago was now completely flat.

Draco ignored the request. “It’s actually hilarious that the man who was once so observant that he grounded me for a month for having a hair out of place, can’t see that Hermione Granger is head-over-broomstick in love with him; I mean, honestly, she literally lights up when you’re in the room, or when you’re just being talked about. All those academic things you discuss with her in your dirty little books, the books that you provided for her, have turned her head; and when you start on everything else she’s got rattling around in that colossal brain she walks around with, she practically comes on the spot. News flash, Papa… You - make her - happy.” 

The usually smooth gait of Lucius’ ever-hastening stride faltered, and Draco knew he’d hit his mark well. It was only the smallest of slips, and mostly covered by the fact they had just turned a sharp corner onto a staircase, but it had definitely been there, even if the elitist in him tried to style it out as a product of the dimly lit secret passageway. He wondered how he hadn’t seen it before… The man was as smitten as Granger. ‘Oooo, when all this is done and they’re married, I get to wind her up calling her ‘Mummy’. Sweet!’

Gripping the railing to pull himself up the last two steps, Lucius scoffed almost-convincingly at his son’s information, and turned slightly toward him after they’d squeezed through a narrow gap between two marble pillars. “Intelligent, stimulating conversation keeps the mind active and healthy, Draco. Your mother and I spent enough time and galleons on proper tutors for you, so that you might be capable of participating in said conversations…” he quipped haughtily as they reached the wider part of the passage, near the Lord of the Manor chambers, a touch of a bite to his tone indicating his displeasure with how lacking Draco had been in this area.

“Ha! The fact that you think we common folk have any chance at keeping up with her is a sweet delusion, father,” Draco replied with a laugh, increasing his own speed to walk alongside his dad  in the wider space and nudging him in the elbow with his own. “Hermione just humours us mere mortals,” he added wistfully, thinking about how it had taken getting to know her to understand that she hadn’t been outdoing him in school for sport, she just couldn’t help it. She somehow just outdid everyone, at everything, in life. “Just keep doing what you’re doing; she needs someone to treat her the way you do. You put a smile on her face and…” He trailed off  then, his humour over the entire situation leaving his metaphorical sails, as the shadow of recent events pressed down on him. 

It was dawning on him that he’d been encouraged, by his godfather and mother, to speak with his father about the details of his current case, and how Hermione was involved. He sighed, at both the need to do it and the recognition that his husband’s affliction for ‘doing the right thing’ was rubbing off on him. Looking around at where they were on their little journey, he saw they were close to the passageway exit and reached out to pull on his father’s arm, knowing this would be best done within the privacy of this space. “Da-” he began, but stopped to let out a shaky breath, and had to try again. “I need you to look after her… Please,” he requested pleadingly, his breath uneven as flashes of the scenes he’d read about in case files over the last week threatened to escape the neat little locked boxes of his occlusion. 

He could see all the more clearly though, without the distraction of his case discolouring everything, and it was as plain as day that whatever was between his father and Hermione, the witch was really doing a number on the man; a tidal wave of emotion flitted across Lucius’ face as he silently stood in the last several metres of the passageway and took in the tonal shift of their conversation, processing it, recognising this was about more than simple concern for his son’s sister-in-law. 

Never in his life had Draco seen his father be so open, even in this non-verbal form. In the year before Hogwarts, he’d learned to fly astride the man’s broom, and they’d sat in the library for hours at a time, studying magical theory and arithmancy, but not once had he received more than a stoic ‘well done’ (with a pat on the shoulder if he’d made a particularly brilliant deduction). Even Severus was more giving with praise, when in the summer before school had begun, Draco was tutored in how to brew every potion on the first year curriculum. Not that it had done him any good, considering Hermione was in the same class but still… Severus had provided pumpkin pasties as reward for a job well done.

Lucius on the other hand… Until he was home from Azkaban last year and Draco witnessed the interactions and growing affection with Hermione, he hadn’t been sure the man knew how to really show love. And now, this unfiltered show of it at even the perceived notion that she might be in danger, had him swallowing down the green-eyed monster that was trying to growl and claw its way into him; now wasn’t the time.

He seemed to be piecing something together; a glint of the wizard he used to be, who Draco had once feared and revered, was glimmering in the steel blue of his eyes. “ Weasley ,” he growled, a new level of disgust burning in his tone. “This thing you are trying not to tell me… It is in regard to why the ginger third of the once Golden Trio, is no longer part of their lives?” he asked quietly, pushing open the door to the upper-east corridor, just outside of his private chambers.

Draco looked away from the piercing look he was receiving, and stared instead at that security painting on the open door - a herd of Abraxans that used to live in the Malfoy stables. “Fuck,” he whispered, his tone pained as images of Lucius filtered into his head - flying off in a cloud of black smoke to kill Weasley - and filled him with dread, satisfaction and envy.

“So, that is the case,” Lucius stated plainly, not betraying an ounce of emotion now. To do so would lead to him ending up back in Azkaban, he just knew it, and he’d sworn to never spend another minute in that shithole for as long as he lived. Occlumency was Merlin-sent at times like this, when all he wanted to do was commit any number of atrocities that would land him right back in a cell, and he didn’t even know the details of what had happened to Hermione. Given Draco’s expression though, he could guess. “Just tell me…” 

Draco stepped out of the passageway, nodding to himself as he went and tucking his hands into his trouser pockets, heaving a deep sigh; plausible deniability of sharing was out the window at this point, but he’d been taught well in the art of subtlety. “I don’t even know where to begin, or what to share with you; what I even should or shouldn’t share. This isn’t my story to tell and I feel like I’m betraying her just by bringing it up but I have to tell you something…” He sighed again. 

“Perhaps, I should…” Lucius began as he joined Draco on the landing, and placed a finger to his son’s temple, indicating the option of legilimency and not needing to say a word.

“No,” Draco said immediately, shaking his head for emphasis and shooting the idea down before he was too tempted by it. “There’s too much work stuff in there, and… Well, I doubt you’d want to see what Harry and I were up to this morning. I’m just stuck because I need you to know but I don’t know what she’d be comfortable with you knowing and- Ugh! Fuck! This is such a mess,” he growled in a whisper, tucking his chin to his chest and attempting a deep breath before trying again with more determination. “Ok. Let’s try this from another angle… You care for her, right?” he asked gently, deciding that maybe the softly-softly approach would be more effective, though he was still unsure exactly how to lead his father into the information. As the question, and the fact that he’d even asked sunk in, he searched his father’s face for the openness that had been there before, hoping the answer he needed would be there. 

Lucius took a step back, completely caught off guard by the wild shift in his son’s voice, attitude and topic. In that moment, he’d have needed to be completely without his senses to not notice how unsettled Draco had become, and not wishing to add to the many burdens on his son’s shoulders, he dug deep, for the single shred of Gryffindor substance he possessed, and allowed himself to be both brave and honest. “Yes,” he said simply, his smooth voice expressing the truth and the feelings that embodied the answer. “I wish to stress however, that I was not aware of how deeply that caring ran, or the nature of it, until recently.”

Draco nodded, not quite sure what to say.

“Draco, I hope you know, I would never have chosen to be unfaithful to your mother; physically has always been prohibited by our bond, of course; but emotionally, mentally, spiritually … From the day we took our vows and sealed our bond, I never thought of another witch,” he assured, hoping that his son understood that he’d not set out to harm their family again.

“I know,” Draco responded genuinely, having heard as much from various people within their ‘small but close’ circle of family and friends, and seeing it for himself.  Curiosity, over these apparently newfound feelings his father had for Hermione though, had to run its course, and in giving this new version of the man before him a sincere appraisal, he had to let out a soft chuckle. “Oh it’s true, what uncle said... She has tamed you,” he added with a broad grin, before sobering a little at the rising ire in the eyes that were so like his own, where the vulnerability that had been so warily on show, was closing down fast at the perceived threat of mockery. “Don’t think for one second, any one of us believes that to be a bad thing,” he assured quickly. 

“I believe it is time to return to the Weasley of the matter,” Lucius interrupted, not wanting to hear more of what he was sure would be a sentimental conglomeration of platitudes about love and forgiveness.

Shaking his head, Draco ignored the attempt at a change in subject and continued on as he’d planned. “You still don’t get it… The badge of honour we have achieved in this act of - for the lack of a better word - submission; one-by-one, we -” he explained, pulling a hand from his trousers and gesturing between them, “-mere mortals fall under her spell, and when we do,  it is impossible to not discover how good life can be. ‘We deserve good in this life, and sometimes great change must come to pass before that good finds its place for us and settles.’ She told me that; cornered me and pulled the ‘big sister’ act after Harry and I caught feelings.”

His son closed the distance between them and gripped him by the shoulders, their equal heights bringing them into something of a soft stare-off, each looking at one another with a different kind of respect. Lucius felt pride swelling in his chest for the man his son had grown to be. “I am beyond happy that good has found its place for you and settled, you deserve it; and she… deserves the world handed to her on a gilded platter.” 

“ You deserve it. And what better chap to hand it to her than a loaded, dashingly handsome one? Quite possibly a job  that only a Malfoy is suited for. Luckily for you, father, I’m taken, and into ze broomsticks…” 

Lucius let out a soft chuckle and rolled his eyes, giving his son a smirk as warmth bubbled through his chest. Despite what he’d been through, Draco had become a very fine man, generous, caring, and most importantly, loved. It lifted his dark soul considerably. “Stating the obvious a bit late, son,” he quipped smugly. 

“You think?” Draco asked sarcastically, a half-smile on his lips as he sighed again. “It’s a bit creepy how alike the two of you are, you know?” 

“I am curious about the ways you see Hermione and I as alike, except for the love of books,” he said lightly, brushing Draco’s hands away with a small smile of own. “But I wish to change, and I can see there’s more you’ve got on your shoulders than the trivial matter of my commonalities with Miss Granger. Come, let’s finish this conversation in my sitting room,” he offered, wrapping an arm around Draco’s shoulders and guiding him towards the master suite.

“I actually need to check in with mother; she has the photos from the wedding photographer. Then I really have to go into the office,” Draco explained, pulling away with a glum look crossing his features at having to decline. “After dinner tonight? We can go for a walk, and with a bit of luck, I’ll have figured out what I can tell you about everything that’s going on.” 

A thread of worry tugged at Lucius’ chest and, without any forethought, he pulled his son into a tight hug, practically holding on for dear life and hoping Draco would understand the meaning of it… That no matter what, he would always be present and supportive for him. “How about we take to the skies tonight? It’s been some time since we rode about the grounds together, or walked the path in the southern woods.” 

“Sounds great,” Draco agreed, pulling back from the rare embrace with a broad smile, a touch of mistiness making his eyes shine brighter. “I’ll see you later,” he added, hoping to avoid a further, messy, emotional scene because a hug almost made him cry. Turning on his heel, he stalked down the corridor towards his mother’s suite, his powder-blue, French Aurory robes swishing about his legs. 

“Be safe,” Lucius found himself calling out to the retreating form of the best thing he’d ever done in his life, a well of emotions bubbling in his chest as pride, love and something that felt very like goodness settled softly in his heart. “I’m proud of you.”

Several metres down the carpeted hallway, Draco paused to slow his stride, turning to walk backwards and facing the man who had raised him once more, a smile radiating from ear to ear. “I always am, and I know. Thank you… I’m proud of you too,” he called back, not taking his eyes off his father until he backed around a corner and fell out of sight himself. “I love you, dad,” he said in a whisper, as a single tear fell meaningfully onto his robes, turning the powder blue to navy.

“I love you, son,” Lucius said quietly once Draco was out of sight, releasing a deep sigh and heading into his suite. It was unchanged from the way he left it three hours earlier, except that the elves had made his bed and scented the room with bergamot and lime; a personal preference for a refreshing atmosphere, but as he made a  direct line for his walk-in wardrobe, he could smell something sweeter permeating the air too - rose maybe, or peonies. Too weary to think on it, he sunk into the armchair that sat in the American-style ‘closet’, plonking his arse down like a commoner, with little care for decorum. 

“Sweet Nimue! They’ve all gone mad,” he said on a resigned exhale, resting his elbows on his knees, and his head in his hands. It seemed that for all the changes and good that was now in their lives, every single person in Hermione’s life was still willing to manipulate her into being his future wife… even him, though it was much more begrudging from his camp than the others. “Oh, bollocks! I’m just as bad.” 

He couldn’t deny his feelings for her anymore; they stood proud of him whenever she was around and bubbled just below the surface like a poorly guarded secret when she wasn’t, so he certainly couldn’t deny wanting to have sex with her, even when the feelings ran much deeper. He was categorically, certifiably, head-over-broomstick for the witch, and according to almost everyone else he knew, she felt the same way. “Well, if that’s true, it changes everything,” Lucius confessed to his closet/wall, rubbing his hands down his face as he let out a groan and slumped backwards, hitting his head on the back of the chair. “All aboard the crazy train.”

His mind, unsurprisingly, snagged on the increasingly likely possibility of sex with Hermione, and stayed there, ruminating on the idea as if it was actually a forgone conclusion. He had no doubt it would be incredible, in spite of their twenty-plus year age gap; maybe even because of it. She had seemingly endless levels of energy and vibrancy, whilst he was barely into his prime as a wizard, despite having lived without sex for an unfathomably long time. Not that he would be content with just sex and friendship with Hermione; that had been the summation of his marriage to Narcissa, and if it was truly possible to have unconditional love, he would never settle for less again. 

The problem he currently found himself in, was that he had no clue how to nurture such a love from the connection he had with Hermione, or if it was even possible. Falling in unrequited love was easy, it was all in one’s own head (and arguably heart), and groyne, and as much as he admired and respected the whole person she was, having his feelings returned would lead to a whole new host of challenges for him. Like transparency…

Resting his hands on the arms of his chair, Lucius stared up at the cream, artex ceiling, the dark chandelier painting the room in a softish golden glow that he could instantly liken to the bright copper hues that shifted in her irises when she laughed. “Fuck, I’ve got it bad,” he breathed out, contemplating the predicament he found himself in, and just how he’d managed, as a fifty-one year old ex-Death Eater, to be as smitten as a niffler for gold, over Hermione Granger. 

The world had truly turned upside down in the last year, and the slightly paradoxical world he was now living in seemed too good to be true, certainly more than he deserved... His health was restored and better than it had been in decades; the Malfoy vaults were bountiful and increasing, despite the inevitability of a divorce settlement; a happy son, who was married, in love and successful; and a best friend whom he’d very much like to punch in the face - muggles had such satisfying ways of doing things - for stealing his wife. The loss of his wife was not the heartbreak it should be, which he was grateful for, because  it meant that once again, his friendship with Severus would even out… eventually; it always did. 

On the whole, there was very little Lucius felt he was lacking in his life, except for the one thing he desperately wanted, but knew all the gold in his vaults couldn’t buy… love. Ironically, however, it seemed the Gods were smiling on him, because there was a witch in his life who cared nothing for his vaults, or his colourful past, but was the destination of his ‘road less travelled’; the road to love. The most ridiculous thing about it all really, was that his soon to be ex-wife and son, were not only in support of his walking this road, but practically pushing him down it. 

Lucius could barely even snort at the absurdity of it all, but he did anyway. Not even five minutes ago, Draco was making his opinion absolutely clear on the idea of Hermione joining the family - officially - and of all the ways he imagined his son might react to the idea of his sister-in-law becoming his step-mother, full support was not one of them. “Madness!” The pair of them were encouraging him like cheerful little Hufflepuffs playing Slytherin games, and the scariest thing about that was that he was starting to enjoy the idea of playing the game himself.

Riding a Gringotts’ rail cart without steering or breaks was less dramatic than life at the Manor right now, but he supposed that was just the influence of Gryffindors in general being frequent visitors (or houseguests), and what Hermione brought in specifically. She was a rush of vibrancy and life, and far more brilliant than anyone had found a way to quantify. She was unsteerable, though he wouldn’t mind having a go at it, and he highly doubted anyone had ever attempted to ‘pull the brakes’ on her without suffering a severe case of whiplash; she was an unstoppable force. “Just jump in and hold on tight,” Lucius advised himself with a low mutter, voicing the conclusion of his quiet musings. 

He couldn’t dare to be worthy of such a magnificent witch, in this life or the next, though he wished with everything he was, to have the courage to try. Her friendship and forgiveness was already a gift from the gods to him, and more redemption than he knew he deserved, but he was sorely tempted, after the conversation with Draco, to believe there could be more. He just hadn’t found such courage yet, to risk what he had with her… “Merde, Cissa needs to leave it alone for a while,” he sighed, his fears over Hermione’s reaction to the revelation of the contract tightening their grip on his chest. The weight of his cowardice was pressing in too, like a physical force, suffocating and inescapable, but he knew how to act on it, having done so for almost all his life... 

Pushing himself out of his chair, Lucius chose to forgo the trouser change, storming from the palatial wardrobe instead. He would be damned if he let his wife’s schemes ruin his friendship, and as long, anxious strides carried him across the floor of his suite, he remembered Draco’s confession that Harry was being informed of the divorce tonight, and all it entailed. “Well, that’s that then…” he said to the main door out of his rooms, a sinking feeling taking hold of his stomach as his hand halted on the knob. It was futile to try and stop all the scheming now; a summoned family-only dinner always actually meant ‘family meeting with food’, and it was scheduled for just ten hours later.

“Bollocks,” he muttered, feeling completely at odds with himself, and exhausted by the back and forth game his mind kept playing with his heart. Alone in his room, he decided it was time to stop the struggle and just give in to the inevitable. He couldn’t change what was happening, and if he did lose Hermione over it… Well, at least he’d have the satisfaction of telling Narcissa he was right, even if under those circumstances, he’d take no pleasure in it, and he’d never deserved Hermione’s friendship in the first place, never mind anything else; it was a miracle she spent any time with him at all. Pursing his lips in consternation, he admitted it to himself… it was time to give up all pretence of not being willing to risk anything and everything to be with that witch. 

There was absolutely something between them, and only time would tell where that something could lead. For now, he would show a united front to Harry on Narcissa’s plans, promise to be good to Hermione, if she accepted, and try to have a positive outlook on the possibility that she might say yes to it all. 

‘The Lollipop Guild’, as he had decided to deem the little Lumione taskforce of Cissa, Pansy and Draco - thanks to Hermione showing him ‘The Wizard of Oz’ - would never be dissuaded from their childish tactics now they’d got a taste for them; so, if he was to ensure it was all done properly, and with as much respect to Hermione’s free will as possible, he’d have to ride the crazy train too. He just had to hope that in the end, when his marriage bond dissolved and they divulged the whole truth to Hermione, of what a courtship with him would result in, she would be sympathetic. Evisceration in the wake of her completely understandable fury did not sound appealing. 

‘Salazar, give me strength,’ he pleaded, his mind already siding completely with Narcissa and providing an image of Hermione, walking down the aisle in the ball gown she’d worn to Draco’s wedding. “In for a knut, then,” he challenged aloud, using his considerable talent with mind magic to set the memory on course to an alternative ending… In his mind’s eye, he was the one waiting at the end of the aisle, surrounded by a traditional binding circle as she, dressed in sheer ceremonial robes, walked enticingly nearer and nearer, her hair loose and wild. 

“Fuuuuck…” he groaned needily, as he played the thought too far, his imagination only too happy to be let off its leash and comply with its reckoning of what her lips would feel like, taste like against his own as they sealed their bond, his cock buried to the hilt inside her. “Dammit! Too Far…” he grunted, shifting his thoughts back to the reality of his empty bedroom, the just too hot sensation on his left ring finger, and the uncomfortable feeling of his once again, too tight trousers. 

The physical attraction, he was certain ran both ways, but for a Malfoy that was easy to come by. The challenge would be to figure out how to earn her heart… presuming, of course, that Draco’s assessment that she was already ‘gaga’ for him was not quite as accurate as they all wanted him to believe. She was a Gryffindor, after all; surely, it would be more obvious if she was even half as in love with him as his family claimed. 

‘Could there be a book in existence, for how to court such a witch as Hermione? Is it already in my library?’ he wondered hopefully, feeling at a complete loss as to how he might proceed, now that he’d decided he should actually do so. Ironically, if he was ever after a book, the person he would ask, was Hermione. In the end he laughed the idea off as futile; there was no one in existence like Hermione, nor had there ever been someone like her, so who could have written such a magnificent text. Resting his head against the cool wood of his door, he sighed. “Books will be written about her for centuries to come, I have no doubt, but for this… Gods, I’d have to write the thing, and sadly, I don’t know the first thing about love.” 

The wooden panel beneath his forehead warmed in sympathy; the Manor wished to support its Master, and Lucius smiled a little. “You’re right. I must stop these self-destructive - what is it that Hermione calls them? - thought patterns? I have a choice here. I am home, I am safe,” he lectured himself, lifting his head and patting the panel in thanks as he straightened his shoulders, internally shaking off his melancholy.

With a new but nervous sense of determination, he pulled open the door and headed toward the safety and sanctuary of his library, needing to think about exactly how he was supposed to proceed, even knowing, deep down, that Harry’s reaction later would be a huge factor in what should happen next; for him anyway. As a preliminary first step, he would focus on not occluding so heavily around Hermione. Letting her see the emotion in his eyes during their interactions seemed like a good idea, and he would put genuine feeling into their activities and conversations… 

For the love of a good witch, he would do what no other Malfoy had done before, and be as Gryffindor as it was possible to be; no plan, no scheme, no ulterior motive, just upfront emotion, instead of the decades of mental shields he’d built between him and everyone else that he usually hid behind, because in answer to her lecture of just an hour ago… he trusted her too. 

Nurturing the friendship they already had, and allowing her to see how it had developed and evolved for him, would be the most blatant form of honesty he had ever shown, and when it came to the crunch, he just had to hope it would be enough. At the thought that it might not be, he gulped around a lump of dread that tried to settle in his throat, and pushed the negativity out of his mind, refusing to focus on it. She would say yes, because he trusted the blush on her cheeks when he stood too close; she would say yes because he trusted his son’s word. Narcissa’s barking mad scheme to make Hermione the new Lady Malfoy was going to work, and for the first time since he’d heard about it, he let himself believe.

A soft smile made its way onto his lips as he made it to the library in record time, only to have it drop at the sudden sight of her trunk in the middle of the sitting area. “How did I forget she was here?” he wondered, his heart rate picking up with panic as his feet turned right, the instinct to flee again, strong. It wasn’t until he was three quarters of an aisle away, walking near the collection of fictional tales that he stopped himself. “No!” he said sharply, looking down at his feet. “What is the point of making a decision not to run anymore, if you two refuse to listen? There will be no more running, do you hear me? We are not a Hufflepuff.” 

Steeling himself to employ the idea of courage, Lucius ran a hand down his front and focused on the shelves in front of him, looking for something to either distract him or help him. The collection was a set of first edition muggle classics, and brought his smile back, which eased the tension on his lips as an idea formed… Confidently, he pulled one of the tomes from the shelf and looked at the title. ‘Perfect,’ he thought in victory, recognising the title as one of Hermione’s favourites, and actually one he’d read before. 

His recollections of the plot were sparse, though it would surely have clues in it as to how he might go about romancing her; so, with his new study material in hand, he returned to the sitting area and made himself comfortable in his armchair, toe’d off his boots, and flexed his socked feet on the footrest. ‘This is a good idea,’ he promised himself, turning to the first page. 

‘It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man, in possession of a large fortune, must be in want of a wife…’ He scoffed almost immediately, thinking of how Hermione would absolutely disagree with that sentiment, but in his case, it was absolutely true, and his mind was now absolutely set on her being his Elizabeth Bennet.