Chapter Text
MALFOY MANOR
28 JUNE 2006
“Oh, my goodness! Is that a baby Niffler?!” Daphne asked, letting out a squeal of delight and pulling her husband down the small path that ran around the inside perimeter of Hermione’s trunk. At the end of it, a large knoll had been raised at the edge of the courtyard, with a Niffler burrow built into it. “It’s sooo adorable. Hello precious,” she said to it in a cutesy baby voice, crouching down to stroke the curious baby who had scurried across the group's path on their way back from the quidditch pitch.
Hermione was just about to smile, considering that she could agree more - nifflers were adorable and all things baby even more so - when the cheeky little thing pilfered a ring from Daphne’s finger and darted off into a nearby flutterby bush. The smile turned into a slightly unhinged belly laugh, and she turned back to her heavily pregnant friend and Theo, kneeling down on the grass and indicating they should do the same.
When her guests followed suit, Hermione held out a hand toward the bush, opening her palm to reveal a candied strawberry. “Come on, Mops,” she cooed, waiting for the telltale sniff of a small black nose to peek out between the leaves. “I’ve got your favourite…” she added in a sing-song voice.
It took a few more seconds of coaxing before the tiny, black-furred thief re-emerged, Daphne’s ring circling its left paw. “Daph, Theo, meet Mopsy. I probably should have mentioned the need to hide your valuables before you came down here, but thankfully, this little darling is still bribable to sweets,” Hermione explained, not taking her eyes off the furry thief and holding out her other hand. “Come on, girl… Time to swap. Your shiny trinket for mine.”
Mopsy crawled to Hermione, aiming straight for the strawberry, clearly not planning to relinquish her pilfered gold either, and as Daphne and Theo watched on, their hostess snapped her fist shut with the lure inside, and emphasised her other hand. The niffler, if it was possible, pouted, and begrudgingly dropped the ring into the open palm. “Good girl,” Hermione said with a smug smile, swapping which hand was clenched and which was open, before turning back to her guests. “She’s almost mature; the bribery won’t work once she is. Another month or so, and I’ll have to install some lockers in the entry closet where my visitors can lock up their valuables before crossing the ward barrier on the door.”
“She’s worth it,” Daphne enthused, a look of pure love on her face as the chubby little niffler crawled into Hermione’s hands and greedily chomped on the plump red treat. “Can I hold her?”
Turning to Daphne, who looked fit to burst with excitement, never mind the pregnancy, Hermione motioned to her hands and instructed, “hold out your hands in a cup shape,” before passing over the little bundle of fur and kleptomania. “The fae were the first to join the trunk, then I rescued Midge and Mopsy eight months ago on that trip to Seoul for the opening of the new dragon reserve. I found them in a muggle alleyway when I was exploring, and Midge had an injured foot. I couldn’t just leave them, so I took them with me, and thus began my own Scamander-inspired menagerie.”
Mopsy squinted her eyes up at Daphne, letting out a happy little coo to indicate her complete agreement with Hermione’s decision to not leave them behind, then returned her attention back to finishing the sugar-coated strawberry.
“Well, I can’t say I blame you,” Daphne replied brightly, cradling the furry little ball in her arms like a baby and tickling her furry round belly. “Hello, you adorable little thing,” she cooed, her voice simpering as she moved her hand slightly to scratch under Mopsy’s chin, eliciting cute little chirping noises. “Oh, you like that, don’t you? Positively perfect, aren’t you? From the top of your furry head, right down to this chubby little bottom,” the blonde witch fawned, tapping the said bottom lightly with one finger.
“I think someone’s maternal instinct is kicking in,” Hermione said with a laugh as Mopsy soaked up the attention and continued to chitter in delight.
“Absolutely,” Daphne agreed, turning her bright blue eyes on Hermione and nodding for emphasis; a smile gracing her lips as she held Mopsy to her cheek in a tender little hug and kissed the top of her head. “She’s so sweet! Theo, I want one; I positively need one, darling. Please say you don’t mind… We can convert your great grandmother’s old greenhouse into a habitat.”
As Daphne continued to coo and enthuse over the niffler, the rest of the small group, who had joined Theo and Daphne’s trunk tour, chuckled, and Theo put his arm around his wife from the side, resting a palm wide over her very round belly. With a sweet kiss to the side of her head, he reminded his wife that they only had a little over two months to go until they’d have their own baby to cuddle and coo over.
It was a very sweet, very Slytherin move, and Hermione decided it made for a good moment to wrap up the tour by introducing everyone to Quinella. It seemed however, that Draco had other ideas, and just as she was about to speak, he pulled two galleons from his pocket and flipped them in the air, causing Mopsy to immediately stuff the last of the strawberry into her mouth and scramble out of Daphne’s grasp. The tiny fur ball leapt into the air instinctively, her chubby paws reaching out and managing to wrap around one of the coins before she began to fall towards the ground.
Daphne gasped in horror at the thought of her hurting herself, even as Hermione and Harry both lurched forward to catch the cute klepto. Midge however, a very dutiful mother, ran out of their den, her own paws outstretched, and caught her daughter like a professional gymnast, just half a second before she would have crashed. And in a move that surprised no one who’d ever had a Care of Magical Creatures class at Hogwarts, also caught the second galleon with a back foot in a masterful display of agility and the skill her kind were known for.
“Nice reflexes, Midge,” Hermione complimented, stroking the mother-niffler’s head, even as the mole-like creature began eyeing Harry’s watch covetously. No one else commented, and it seemed like the little bit of drama had left the group slightly stunned into silence. This wasn’t exactly ‘action’ for the two Aurors present, nor was it the first time Draco had been ‘naughty’, tossing gold to her mini thieving horde of shiny-lovers.
Midge carefully set Mopsy down beside her and retrieved the coin from her back paw, letting out a small huff before waving the gold disk at Draco in an accusatory sort of way with a volley of annoyed, indignant squeaks before stuffing it into her pouch and pulling Mopsy back into the den. The continued huffs and squeaks sounded much like Hermione when she was in a snit, except, instead of ‘boys’ being the cause of Midge’s annoyance, the overwhelming feeling was ‘humans’.
It was a proper telling off too, and an absolute form of dismissal by anyone’s standards; however, it still came across as rather cute, if a bit silly, simply by the nature of the small creature it had come from. Thus, Draco’s laughter, though slightly sheepish in its veracity, was not frowned upon by the rest of the party. Harry’s laughter followed, not-sheepish at all, and Hermione broke next; within seconds, all five of them were in stitches. “She’ll follow through on those threats one day, you know?” Hermione warned, breathless with laughter as she issued a sharp elbow to Draco’s ribs and gestured for them all to get to their feet. “And I’ll be selling tickets to view the memory for a single knut,” she added smugly, regaining control of her amusem*nt and directing everyone back to the stone path they’d been diverted from.
Draco scowled at her and brought a hand to clutch his ‘wounded heart’. “The viewing of my death, especially at the claws of a vengeful mother-niffler, would be worth far more than a knut, Granger. Have we Malfoys taught you nothing about exploiting opportunities for profit?”
“Oh, but this way everyone would be ensured the financial means to witness your adorable little downfall,” Daphne interjected tauntingly as she turned around to pinch Draco’s cheeks. “For the first time in history, a Malfoy would be felled by a non-carnivorous creature,” she continued mercilessly before Theo pulled her away.
“Don’t ruffle his feathers too much, dear. Potter will whinge more than he already does,” Theo explained, smirking over his shoulders at the pair in question. “Though, you do have a point, sweetness; we know Ginevra would be first in line, and probably pay triple for the privilege.”
Draco huffed, bringing a hand up to rub at his abused cheek, and elbowing Harry for good measure. Within seconds however, the mood changed between them, and a longing, loving look was being shared between them, which made Hermione avert her gaze quickly. She didn’t really care about the copious amounts of great sex the pair had, but it stung when she saw the deep love pass between them, because she wanted to feel it. Even the loving looks Theo gave Daphne throughout lunch and the tour of the trunk hurt. She wanted to feel loved like that, and was starting to think that she never would. Deeply intimate companionship, a partner in life was something she wasn’t sure she’d ever had in a romantic sense, and she was beginning to feel starved of it.
Stuffing her melancholy back in its little box, she adopted her ‘nothing’s wrong’ persona, complete with bright smile and turned back to her friends. “Well, this is the final stop on our tour,” she announced cheerfully, halting the party’s progress outside the gym and spa cabin. “Welcome to Quinella’s. It’s a sort of wellness centre, run by Quinella herself.”
“Erm, this might be a silly question but, who is Quinella?” Theo asked. “You make it sound like we should know but it’s not a name I’ve heard of. Is she a witch?”
“Oh, no,” Hermione answered with a laugh. “She’s an elf in my employ - freed, of course - whose passion is to be the top Esthetic elf in all of Britain,” she gushed, the pride she felt over her elf friend’s dreams evident in her voice as she turned to pat Daphne’s baby bump lovingly. “Quinella is an absolute master when it comes to deep tissue massage and with the pregnancy, I thought you might enjoy the duration of the train ride to Zurich in her lovely hands. You can even use the grotto for a proper soak if you like.”
Daphne let out a moan of excited pleasure that was not fit for public consumption and closed her eyes, pulling Hermione into a grateful embrace. “Oh, you are a Merlin-sent witch, and I will be taking you up on that offer, right now,” she enthused with a chuckle, giving Hermione one more squeeze before relinquishing her hold to grab Theo’s hand. “See you in a few hours,” the pregnant witch happily called over her shoulder, heading directly for the spa door, and dragging her husband behind her.
“Have fun,” Hermione called back with a chuckle before turning her attention back to the boys. “Well, that’s those two sorted for a while. Why don’t you go and let Lucius know that the Greengrass-Nott’s will be boarding the train via my trunk,” she told them, her voice quieting for a moment as she glanced in the direction of her bedroom cabin and gave her head a little shake. “I want to get a walk in before we leave, and I’m sure Pansy and Goblin are still rearranging my wardrobe; I should probably remind them they’re on a deadline.”
There was little chance for the boys to reply as Hermione quickly veered off the path to the entrance closet, heading across lush green lawn toward her bedroom and ensuite. It was time to break up the fight between Pansy and her elf arguing over whether or not shoes and knickers should match.
…
Harry hadn’t wanted to wander far from where they were all set to meet before leaving for the train platform, so he’d pulled Draco into the solarium for a while, and got cosy in one of the alcoves of his mother-in-law’s indoor garden. He was also fairly certain that this was the path his sister would choose as her means to escape. Try as he might, it was hard not to feel a little smug by how well he had internalised Hermione’s little quirks, and sure enough, a mere five minutes after they arrived, he was rewarded for his insight… Hermione breezed past them, heading for the double doors in the far corner of the large room, uncaring or unknowing that he and Draco were present as her dainty heels ‘clicked’ quickly against the marble flooring.
His brows furrowed as he watched her slip out of the solarium, which led to the south lawn and the lake, for her habitual ‘after lunch’ walk, it was something she’d made them do during fourth year, when Ron was being a complete arse about the Tri-Wizarding Tournament, explaining it was to help him get in better shape. He’d quickly caught on however, to the fact that it was also a good way for both of them to let off their frustrations.
A good walk in nature always seemed to put things into perspective for her, much like flying did the same for him, and they both needed that, often. Draco’s ‘managing’ of him over the past few days had seen him in the air more than he’d been in months, and now something was niggling in the pit of his stomach. There were itchy thoughts that begged to be scratched in the back of his mind, mostly about the joint case that had interrupted their honeymoon, but now, some of the information from the Clearwater case was overtaking even that, and had him more concerned than usual. The truth of the situation was, pieces were fitting together where they shouldn’t be, and he wasn’t liking the image that was being painted; it was not an outcome he’d anticipated.
The suspicions were already there however, well before the case Percy had brought to them last week, having started with another victim at New Year, and pestered at him whilst the team worked on it. He’d hesitated bringing any of it up to Draco or Hermione because they would both want to talk about the root of his anxiety, which was his fear of losing those he loved. Months of mind healing after the war, and long discussions about everything he’d been through, had put the lingering trauma of his past to bed, but this nagging feeling was something else. Something was slightly off, in a very bad way, and he just knew it was more than his usual over-protectiveness of Hermione. She was in danger, he could feel it ‘in his waters,’ as Andromeda liked to say, even if he wasn’t sure he had any waters.
It was all putting him in a very difficult situation because if he tried to talk to them about his concerns for Hermione’s safety now, they’d both rationalise his anxiety away as a reaction to the events of the past week. He couldn’t exactly deny that was part of it, but not all of the panic he was still trying to subdue could be placed at the feet of their ex best friend, or the intrusion of his family. In fact, it was infinitely more complicated and he needed to get Draco to understand that it was something of an additional sense that had developed… trouble was brewing.
The only way he could describe it was a spidey-sense; he could feel it in the pit of his stomach, and the way the hairs on the back of his neck stood up when he lingered on the sensation too long. Something dark was heading their way, and he was beyond frustrated that he couldn’t put his fingers on what it was. Not to mention, Draco benching him at a time like this seemed detrimental to all of them, and not just because he was half a broom handle away from going stir crazy stuck on leave when there was so much work to be done and a new threat on the horizon.
Of course, the fact that his main distraction, Draco, was working nearly twenty hours a day was something of a hindrance too. The lack of perfectly sculpted porcelain glutes wandering about the house led to an ‘idle mind’ and as the saying went, that was not a good thing. Guilt churned in his belly; Draco wouldn’t be pleased that he was falling into the old habit of meddling, but it was becoming more than he could bear, to let the itch fester without scratching. Hours of time to meddle lay right at his fingertips and, after the bombshell that had been dropped a few days ago, he needed the distraction even more, so he’d been meddling.
There would definitely be consequences later, when he confessed to Draco, although it was possible he already knew the truth of it by now. Unconsciously, Harry tightened his grip on Draco’s thigh, beside his own, and leaned into the comforting presence of his husband. No matter what happened, they would get through it; he just hoped the ends justified the means when it came time for reports.
Draco and Robards were likely to flog him when they figured out he was still actively searching for Ron, but putting his underground network of information hunters to work yesterday had helped relieve some of the creeping anxiety that had set in. Of course, it had simultaneously added to it too, considering Ron had never been the subtle type, and information had already started coming back, in the wee hours of the morning.
The problem was, it conflicted with information at the Aurory about Ron's current location, and he’d had to make a quick decision about what to do with the contradicting evidence. After several minutes of umming and ahhing, he’d conceded to his deficit in the ways of Slytherin, and simply wrote what he knew on a slip of parchment before tucking it into the case file that Draco was keeping at home. The magic of the folder would replicate the added parchment, placing one in the original file in London, as well, meaning they would all soon know exactly where on the continent Ronald had fled too, and who was responsible for gathering the intel.
Though Harry felt marginally less like Sirius at an Order meeting for having helped with the case, nothing would help settle Harry’s worries; the new information and his forming theories only created more concern for Hermione, especially because she was leaving the safetynet of Britain. Here, she was practically untouchable, partly by reputation, but mostly because of his, and by extension, the Malfoys protection. As much as he hated the term when used in the newspapers, he and Draco were a ‘power couple’, and the reach that afforded him made his traumatised self want to hunker down and wrap her in a few dozen fidelius charms.
There was more than Ronald Weasley to be concerned about, after all; outside of Britain, pockets of the magical community were still hardcore blood purists, determined to eradicate the Hermione Grangers of the world; most were just smart enough, even in their smallmindedness to keep it below Voldy-levels of evil and destruction. It was because of these pockets that he and Draco still had such very active careers as Aurors.
The point was, that whilst Harry didn’t think Ron would be stupid enough to attack Hermione again on his own, the bastard was smart enough to know he could easily find a certain type of company to hate on Hermione with. And Harry and Draco knew ‘the type’ all too well; they dealt with them on a regular basis. The things he’d heard Death Eaters spew at them was nothing compared to the drivel that spewed from some of the other dangerous morons that still lingered and they hunted down. What Draco heard when they identified him always left Harry feeling cold, and sick to his stomach.
He didn’t want to think of what they’d say to Hermione; she had plenty of ‘fans’ on the continent, who had sent her ‘love letters’ over the years, and Ron knew about them all; every piece of flagged mail she received went through the Auror office to be investigated. It was why he’d listened to his instincts in the first place, and meddled, calling Robards Jr in to be his ‘eyes and ears’ in the office, as well as activating his ‘coin network’ of informants.
The information he’d received filled him with a twisted sort of pleasure, which if anyone found out about, he’d blame the dark spot on his soul where the stain of Voldemort’s eviscerated presence still lingered for, because of all the places Ronald could have chosen to hunker down, Romania was among the worst. The triangle of known dark covens where he’d been sighted was already on Harry and Draco’s radar and being investigated as part of a joint task force in Germany. ‘Good luck trying to hide there, you ginger git,’ Harry thought bitterly, trying to wrangle the disturbing images of destruction in his mind. ‘If the muggle thugs don’t jump you, the vampire community will certainly take their fill.’
He sighed a little, feigning sleep, his head resting on Draco’s shoulder as he mentally wrestled with the logistical nightmare that was balancing his life, family and job. ‘How is this my life?’ he internally groused, as his father-in-law walked past them muttering to himself about ‘interfering and scheming witches being the death of him’. He wouldn’t change anyone in his life for the world, but was peace and safety really too much to ask for?
The flustered wizard drew his concern through the marital bond he shared with Draco, and it dawned on him that Lucius was just as much of a target for the same hate groups who were after Hermione these days, and the pair of them going to Zurich without a security detail bothered him a great deal. Not because he thought they couldn’t look after themselves - he didn’t have a death wish - but there was always safety in numbers.
Lucius had an infamy all his own, of course, but Hermione’s celebrity status in the magical world made it hard for her to travel with any sort of anonymity, unless she was in disguise and they'd be lucky if she didn’t make international news headlines by the next evening, given the double scandal of being seen together; Lucius’ relative hermitry had done wonders for keeping their friendship out of the papers but that bubble was about to be burst, and the gossip columns would be filled with such juicy information tomorrow, like her location and breakfast.
The tabloids - and grubby journalists - made it so much easier for the ‘fans’ and sycophants to find her, because of course, there were the ones who loved her a bit too much, as well as the ones who wanted to kill her, and he wanted to curse them all into oblivion. ‘f*ck, I hate being on leave. I’m bloody useless stuck here; I need to work these new ideas against the Damyan case,’ he continued to whine in his head, trying not to think about the publicity his wedding had garnered.
They’d all been splashed across the papers, local and international, in the days after the wedding, obviously; they’d expected that, but Hermione had received just as much coverage at the event itself. Witch Weekly had labelled her ‘Hottest Witch of the Year’, at the same time as roasting her ‘single’ status, and condemning the way she prioritised work over finding a suitable wizard. And then there was Luna, of course; sweet friend as she was, the blonde witch’s attempts to ‘help’ only added to the maelstrom of press that singled Hermione out. Articles on her ICW work with the Mer-tribes in the North Sea and last year’s Vampire Legislation renewal certainly showcased some career-defining moments but also showed where Hermione’s allies lay. A team of DMLE officers had already had to be dispatched to the North Sea because of an attack on the merpeople there.
All the bits of pieces of information that he’d gathered were circling like dementors on a deviant soul, and were helping one of his many suspicions grow legs and prepare to run wild, as bigger puzzle pieces fell into place. It all led to a very unsettling idea, which required putting on his Slytherin head for a while to set a few things in motion before it had any hope of working. ‘They definitely need a security detail, one I can trust. Protection isn’t enough; I need hawk-eyed details in the reports about who is around her and why. Too invasive? Maybe, but I can grovel afterwards. She has to be safe, and if I lose my job over it, then… it’ll be worth it. Although, if it helps close a massive f*cking case… Maybe I’ll get lucky!’
Draco, having grown nervous at Harry’s quietness, rubbed the pad of his thumb into the middle of his husband’s forehead, taking in the carefully blank facial expression he found on the features he loved so much. “I sort of wish I hadn’t helped you perfect your occlumency. What are you overthinking?” he asked softly, dropping his hand into Harry’s lap to hold his hand.
“The same as always,” Harry admitted with a resigned sigh, looking up at the fluted glass door where Hermione had exited; her figure was distorted by the patterns in the glass panels, but still visibly growing smaller as she got further away. “Has Robards heard back from the German task force yet?” he asked, his gaze still staring after his first real friend in the wizarding world - Ronald Weasley no longer counted - and revelling in the firm grip of his lover and husband; it was his grounding point.
“Yes, and you have now used up your one free work question of the day. But you can tell me what you’d like me to do to you to help soothe these worries away,” Draco purred into Harry’s ear, wrapping an arm around his husband's shoulders and pushing against the smooth floor of the solarium to set the swinging bench they were on into motion.
It was a good move on Draco’s part, as it relaxed Harry enough to change his perspective, and open up a bit. The truth was, Draco had never been vocal about why he cared for Hermione as much as he did, but Harry suspected it had a lot to do with simply the way Hermione was: fierce, persistent, loyal, kind; it was very hard to not just love her in order to keep her around. In fact, with hindsight, it was quite a relief that by the time he and Draco had figured out there was more going on between them, she already had him wrapped around her little finger.
Now, it was five years later and Harry knew his worrying over Hermione would never be ridiculed, like it had been by Ron all the time, but duplicated, because Draco worried his cold, green heart over Hermione all the time, just as much as he did. There was a downside to this though, and it was happening… Harry found himself worrying over his own worrying because Draco didn’t need the added burden or stress of dealing with it.
With this in mind, he thought better of pushing his luck in this subject area, and just leaned into Draco’s warmth instead, letting his head fall onto his husband’s shoulder again. “Will you call Fawley? I want a quiet security team on them,” he requested softly, drawing small figure eights on Draco’s leg, inching closer to the top of his inner thigh as he went. When he felt Draco nod, he continued… “Also, it would really cheer me up if you’d tell me what kind of dessert I can lick off those dishwasher abs of yours…”
“Treacle, with the thick caramel sauce,” Draco responded without thought, his thigh muscle tightening under the teasing touch of Harry’s fingers before he finally let out a small guilty chuckle and batted Harry’s fingers away from the plaquet of his trousers. “And I’ve already started the process for a security detail; I called Fawley yesterday.” The swelling in his pants had already started, but increased now, as the abrupt and erotic subject change conjured images in his mind at the implied blow j*b that would be forthcoming at the end of Harry’s excellent licking. As his blood flow continued to speed south, Draco’s grip on Harry’s shoulder tightened.
Now, Harry pushed his luck… “And, why is there suddenly such a host of interest in our princess?” he asked, in a sweet, cloying voice, returning his fingers to Draco’s thigh to begin his teasing figures of eight again. He needed answers, and though Draco would see straight through the manipulation technique, hopefully, he would see that it was born of desperation, not malice. The joint case that interrupted their honeymoon had grown some informative little legs in the past forty-eight hours and somehow, Hermione was connected to it.
Neither he nor Draco thought Hermione had suddenly decided to become a dark witch and join a criminal enterprise, which led them to the conclusion that the dirty bastards they kept locking up were targeting her for some reason. Part of his frustration with not being on the case was not knowing what that reason was, and it had been the cause of many of his squabbles with Draco over the past two weeks.
Draco sighed. He was now too turned on to completely deny the request for information, not that he thought Harry would refuse to follow through with the sex if he did, but he understood how frustrating it had to be for his action man husband to be benched on such a personal case. If dribbling little tidbits of information kept him from pursuing it all too closely and maybe losing his job then he would. “It appears Princess has ruffled someone’s feathers with her current project, and they’re wanting to retaliate. Now, that’s all I’m saying and you can’t pry more out of me with your shoddy attempts at manipulation, so you might as well give up.”
Harry let out an indignant huff and poked Draco in the ribs, lifting his head to give his husband a devilish grin. “Want to make a wager on that? I’ll make you those tex-mex breakfast burritos you’ve been craving, and get up early tomorrow to train with you before work.”
Draco narrowed his eyes, but he couldn’t keep the corners of his lips from curving upwards a little. “You play dirty, Potter. I shouldn’t let myself fall for your tricks, but you're just so damn cute when you try to play Slytherin; and don’t think you’re going to get out of having a red arse tonight,” he intoned, the old pompous sneer marring his perfect porcelain features.
“That is Potter-Malfoy to you, Sir,” Harry responded, a smile full of every bit of charm he could rouse aimed directly at his lover as his fingers climbed the washboard abdomen he’d commented on only a minute or two ago. Leaning in, he gave Draco a smouldering look before stealing a quick peck on the lips pulling back with a slightly coy expression. “Is that because you noticed my meddling?”
“It’s adorable that you think you can be sneaky; I’m the snake in this relationship, love,” Draco scolded, giving Harry a heated look that had that tiny bit of edge to it, just before he struck fast - like the snake that he was - biting into his husband’s bottom lip hard, and pulling away still attached.
Harry knew better than to show his pain, but he also knew he would gleefully beg for more later. Still, no reaction at all was just as bad, so he curled his tongue out to lick at where they were still connected, and also let his hand drift down to the stiff co*ck that now filled Draco’s trousers.
“Not that I’m encouraging this disobedience, but I won’t deny you keeping your little informant coin network going; the information was useful. Just charm the notes into my handwriting so Robards doesn’t give me a hard time about being soft on you. There’s three more days left of your leave, and Andi will keep adding on the days until you tame that raging dragon stropping and stomping around inside of you.”
“You’ve never been soft for me,” Harry teased, trying not to let the smile get too large as he tucked his head back onto Draco’s shoulder and squeezed at the engorged muscle in his hand. “But I can manage that, at least I get to feel a little bit useful. I’m going mad with nothing to do but wander about the house and stew over what I’m not being told. Since Hermione left, I can’t even let off steam in her training pit. Will you at least bring your paperwork home so I don’t have to be alone all day? I miss you,” he whined before cringing a bit and confessing the morning's other wild idea. “Your mother shot down my idea to join the trip to Zurich as security detail…”
Draco let out a soft groan and covered his face. “First of all, please don’t mention mother when your hand is on my co*ck; and second of all, I’m entirely certain she did it for your own benefit. Salazar’s shorts! Do you really want to play witness to their mushy friendship antics the entire trip? I mean, it’s bad enough that they’re acting like they’re in some fluffy, slow-burn, idiots-in-love, romance novel, but my Gods, did you see the way my father kept eyeing her at lunch today? I need to scourgify my eyes and my brain. It conjured images it really ought not to.”
“Ugh! I know,” Harry agreed, sighing at the vomit-inducing love-lorn look on his father-in-law’s face earlier, and shuddering for emphasis. “You’re right; I don’t need to see that either. It is sort of cute though, how hopeless they both are. What did you say Pansy called it? Lumione?”
Draco scrunched up his nose and shuddered too. “It’s so bleurgh. I should have her membership from Slytherin revoked altogether for coming up with such Hufflepuffian sh*t, and have the term itself banned from use, like the Unforgivables.”
“Agreed,” Harry intoned seriously, as if they were actually discussing a fourth Unforgivable. He sat up straighter, releasing his husband’s co*ck and issuing a comically dramatic shudder. “Way too sugary,” he added, his need to be ‘extra’ anything right now pushing him on. “Although, you know she calls us ‘Drarry’, right?”
“Well, that’s not so bad, unless the papers get hold of it, and at least I get top billing,” Draco chuckled, reaching over to peck Harry’s cheek before leaning back to give the swing another gentle shove. The position also issued an invitation for Harry to resume the groynal massage.
“Yeah, but she saved the best for last…” Harry agreed with a smirk, taking up the invitation and returning his hand to its previous location. “I am the chosen one, after all.”
Draco groaned at the sensation of ‘the chosen one’s’ touch, but regained his equilibrium quickly; they often talked whilst giving hand jobs; concentrating on something else was a good way to hold off org*sm. “Does the security detail alleviate some of the worries?”
“Only fractionally,” Harry confessed with a snort, rolling his eyes before turning his head to look at Draco. “What about the Romania information? Did Dimitrov say he’d get it followed up?”
“Harry,” Draco growled in frustration, caught between a rock and a hard place as he pushed the hand away from his co*ck and left the swing, gracefully enough to not disrupt the swaying motion. “You can’t work Ron’s case, because doing so would be the very definition of ‘conflict of interest’. You’ve already proven several times over that you can’t be objective, and I refuse to allow you anywhere near it because I’d lose you to Azkaban,” he scolded in a quiet, angry voice, a simmering level of fear behind the anger of his words as his hands balled into tight fists at his sides.
Harry stopped the swing and stood calming away from it, closing the distance Draco had created between them, ready to confess what he’d put together during his forced time off. “I know it’s all connected, and I know that’s why you won’t tell me. I may have been seventh in the class in potions, but I was first in Defense and I’m not stupid; the Damyan case has been leading us here the whole time,” he defended himself softly, clasping Draco’s left hand in his own hand and starting to work out the tension in his fingers. “You and I have been all over the continent and back a dozen times trying to figure it all out, and the missing piece to both of our teams' work for the past eight months has been Ron and Hermione.”
It seemed like Draco was about to argue but Harry held a hand up to halt whatever he was about to say, and gave him ‘the look’; the one that said ‘shh love, I’m not finished yet, and here comes the good bit.’ The bond between them warmed in his chest as he fiddled with the gold band on his husband’s hand and continued with a smuggish smile. “Ron is the Aurory leak, I figured that out when I was pummelling his face; Hermione’s Vampire legislation being the tool that allowed the bastards in the Ministry to do the rest of the damage we’re both fighting, I came to more recently,” he admitted seriously, before throwing on a charming smile and pressing into the knot of tension on the palm of Draco’s hand. “Tell me I’m wrong, or tell me what Dimitrov said?”
“Gods, I hate it when you’re smart and smug about it,” Draco groused before letting out a deep sigh half moan, that had his tense shoulders dropping. “But it’s ridiculously f*cking hot. Now, tell me, promise me, you can keep your head about the Weaselby aspect of it,” he demanded, his silver eyes searching Harry’s intensely, looking for any shred of evidence that he wouldn’t be able to control himself. “Because if I think for one second there’s a possibility that you can’t, I will bench you and make my mother your babysitter. I will not lose you to Azkaban through sheer Gryffindor impulsiveness,” he uttered in a shaky breath. “Being ‘the chosen one’ will only get you so far; this enforced leave is proof enough of that, and it never impressed me anyway.”
Harry felt his chest warm further as the bond between them urged him to comfort his husband in his grief, meaning he was putting a brave face on something that was truly scaring him. Pulling Draco to his chest, Harry wrapped his arms tightly around the long, sleek torso that was a temple he worshipped daily, and ran his fingers through the fine blond hairs at the base of his husband's neck, chuckling as he thought to remind his husband of the obvious. “You would be better off chaining me to your side, you never know what we Potters can get up to with some free time on our hands,” he teased. Draco tensed in his arms instead of playing along though, so Harry squeezed tighter and grew more serious. “I do not regret beating Ron to a pulp, and yes, I did lose my head for a moment, but don’t try to tell me you don’t think he got what was coming to him. He deserved every f*cking blow I delivered and more, but it’s out of my system now, and for you and for our Princess, I swear, I will keep the raging dragon of my temper chained up, and do what I do best.”
“You’re not wrong,” Draco confirmed without malice, pulling them back to the swinging bench. “He was the leak, and he is in Romania. Robards has Costello’s team combing through all that stuff thankfully. The newest pile of sh*t is mine to deal with… The goblin liaison officer showed up this morning from accounting, two fraud cases against Weaslby in hand, and of course it was after the daily briefing had happened so, I don’t have anyone to assign the leg work to. Now, that’s on my laundry list of things to get done this week too.”
“f*cking hell,” Harry grumbled, running his hands through his hair. “It just gets worse and worse-”
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” Draco interrupted with a derisive snort. “The fraud cases tie back to Gorgon and Hawthorn. It’s a giant damn acromantula web of a sh*t, and Shacklebolt is seven shades of livid that we’re only just figuring it out,” he groused, the deep furrows between his brows pinching tighter as he scrunched his eyes shut and let out a sigh of exasperation. “I only got a brief look at the new case files before I had to speak with him and get back here for lunch, but it’s bad, love. We need a clean team from an outside force to come in and do a quiet sweep through the entire Ministry to find all of Ron’s little messes. Kingsley won’t sign off on it though; no doubt embarrassed at the failure of our own forces to weed out the lame duck in his precious golden trio. I mean, sweet Salazar, ego is all that wizard is thinking with these days.”
“Jesus,” Harry exclaimed softly, reverting to his native muggle language in shock, as the gravity of the situation settled in his mind. “Why though? What’s the point of it all?”
Draco let out a humming sigh and set the swing back to swinging. “That’s what we need to figure out; as of yesterday really. We need to know exactly what Princess is working on and why it’s drawn so much attention. On the point of which, I think I have an idea… Getting my father to help with the details of it. Severus probably knows more than he’s letting on but he’s being a bit emotional at the moment, and mother doesn’t want him near Hermione anymore because she’s afraid he’ll ruin things.”
“Yeah, well, that’s probably a good call; Hermione can read him like a book,” Harry asserted, snorting a little and tugging at the scruff on his chin. “As for the idea of involving Lucius in a research mission - on Hermione’s project - he actually seems pretty adverse to whatever your mother is doing with Pansy? What makes you think he’ll even help us, or tell us what she’s working on if he knows?”
A soft snort was all Draco responded with as he patted Harry’s thigh. “I have my ways; besides, I suspect he’s been far more candid with me about his feelings for Princess than he has with my mother,” he remarked, a self congratulatory tone lacing the words, which made them eerily reminiscent of something his fourth year self might have said, albeit on a different subject. “Aaand, there’s a bit of something I want your coin network to cough up… Robards requested the financial statements for Weaslby’s accounts at Gringotts and Williams signed off on it. The ginger twat apparently has a lot of money stashed in foreign vaults and I’m confused as to why he was still choosing to live in that sh*t hole your team has been digging through.”
Harry wouldn’t mind knowing that too, but he had other, more important, things on his mind. Straightening his back and shoulders, he gave Draco a serious look; the one that said ‘you’re not going to like this but…’ “I think the coin network can definitely help with that, but I have something else in mind first… I need you to call Fawley and get her to double the security teams. And we need her to tell Dimitrov that Hermione and your Father are going to be in Zurich, but not until tomorrow; I want to see if the ‘information traffic’ sets him following after her, otherwise we have no way of knowing if the leak is bunged and we’re secure again. The tabloids won’t catch wind of them until it’s too late to publish for tomorrow morning, so Dimitrov is the only person, outside of Fawley and the family, who'll know they’re out of the country, let alone where they’ve gone.”
Draco nodded, letting out a low whistle as he pieced together what Harry was suggesting. The recent change in transportation type to Zurich, not to mention the delay it caused, meant Hermione’s arrival, as well as the shocking sight of Lucius Malfoy in public, would not be witnessed until well after evening editions had gone out, and easily missing the print deadline for the morning papers too. Goblin railway stations were discrete as well, so that wasn’t a worry. This plan gave them a sixteen hour window to set up their ‘fishing net’. There was just one problem left to consider… “You know she’ll hex us silly if she ever finds out we used her as bait, right?” Draco asked in his default deadpan tone, but couldn’t help but concede that the plan had merit.
“Oh, without a doubt, which is why she can’t find out,” Harry countered. “But if she ever does, then what is it you always tell me…? ‘It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission’. That goes doubly so for the chosen one, you know,” he added with a grin.
Draco shook his head with resigned affection for the ‘dangers’ his husband got him into, and the light, playful ego on him, which wasn’t even there really. The relief of smiling was needed, but dark thoughts chased away the momentary reprieve. “Damyan will absolutely follow them; if she’s somehow at the centre of this, you know that git will slink into the shadows here and pop up over there. In fact, I bet he moves before Dimitrov,” Draco suggested sourly.
“I’m hoping he does so we get the missing pieces of information for wrapping up these cases,” Harry replied, a cheeky grin firmly in place as he held up his fake galleon. “Merlin, I can’t wait to get that bastard in Azkaban.”
Draco tried to let Harry’s shameless enthusiasm rub off on him - there were still too many things that could go wrong - but the corners of his lips twitched upwards in spite of himself. “At least we know she’s quick with a wand,” he affirmed, giving Harry’s cheek a kiss.
“And deadly,” Harry added, his grin faltering a little as he felt the need to run his thumb across his throat backwards, in the universally known symbol for ‘you’re dead’. He refrained though, just about.
“Father said Hermione invited him - well, more like blackmailed him - into going on this trip, you know,” Draco explained, releasing the juicy tidbit of gossip he’d learned before lunch. Following Harry’s lead to stay upbeat seemed like a good idea, and this was definitely mood lightening material. His playful eyes only made the faux scowl - at the obvious feeling of ‘being played’ - on his face look more petulant than the sinister expression he was probably going for. As far as Harry was concerned, Draco couldn’t do sinister anymore, it all just came off as sexy.
Harry shrugged, as if failing to catch his husband’s point. This was the easiest stance to take when Draco and Hermione had squabbles. It was completely transparent however, even if the bonus of it was winding the blond up so much that angry sex was ensured later. Harry Potter wasn’t nearly as oblivious as he used to be.
“She cheated…” Draco blurted, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, then pouted like a child, folding his arms over his chest with a little huff, extending his lower lip far beyond where it belonged. It was testament to how well he and Harry had come to know each other, to trust each other, that they could play these little games, that tested each other’s patience. Harry loved this pout, and it would definitely evoke a sassy retort; that would make the angry sex that Harry was angling for, more like a wrestling match. “She played the biggest card in her hand, the largest weapon in her arsenal… She leveraged help on his new library.”
The truth was, Pouty-Draco had been rather annoying at school, but there was something about understanding just why the pout was there that made it stupidly attractive. Harry tried not to fall for the mood-brightening ploy, but failed miserably, the corners of his lips already twitched upwards. Although, there was an element of sexual tension that added to that too. ‘That’s my girl,’ he thought fondly, mentally cheering for his best friend at the magnificent feat of getting one over on two Malfoys at once; the witch really was an overachiever. “Tell me, lover - was it the blackmail tactic she employed, or simply the fact that she got the better of you that made you double the donation to her charity?” he teased with a smirk, before leaning in for a quick kiss.
Draco wasn’t even remotely upset with losing the bet to Hermione really; getting Lucius out of the house was a goal they all shared, and the words ‘by any means necessary’ has been bandied about several times at the setting of said bet. With the information they’d gained in the interim, about Lucius’ romantic interest in Hermione, and the fact that she would have helped with the library regardless, it was easier to believe that Lucius’ capitulation had more to do with her feminine wiles than the blackmailing efforts.
Draco’s pouting vanished; regardless of the methods employed, his father had agreed to go and was happy about it, meaning relief was chief amongst the feelings of all those who cared about such things. “Oh, add one to the list; it was definitely the Slytherin move, even if she ruined it…” he commented.
It was sort of an ongoing, inside joke between them that there was an ever growing list of reasons why he was in the Gryffindor Princess’s debt, and Draco had been candid about all of them over the years. It was why Harry now frowned, wondering how she could’ve ruined anything, given the outcome. So, he waited for the end of the story.
“Apparently, and I quote, ‘she nearly jumped out of her skin’ after he agreed to go. Merlin, the look on his face; he was practically giddy in the retelling,” Draco explained with a grin. “Honestly, how you were so in the dark about them two is beyond me; he’s arse over broomstick for her.”
“Am I ever going to live that down? I’m not as oblivious as I used to be; Hermione is just- a blindspot for me,” Harry confessed with a bit of a cringe.
“Hence the enforced leave you are currently enjoying,” Draco teased, setting the swing to swing again. “And no, you’re never going to live it down. Even when they’re married and have given me several dozen siblings, it will still be a source of great amusem*nt to all that you didn’t know they were mad about each other.”
Harry rolled his eyes; he was slowly getting more used to the idea of his sister and father-in-law maybe being together in the future, but he kept his doubts to himself. For now, he let the teasing go; he’d get Draco back later… In bed. “They’re not even going to some fancy resort with a beach and fancy co*cktails; she got him out of the house for more books,” Harry changed the subject, needing to get the conversation back on track. “Not that we should be surprised, and at least they’ll be too preoccupied to notice what’s going on.”
“Exactly, which is an absolute blessing.” Draco discretely sighed in relief at getting Harry on side with the idea of encouraging Hermione to focus on her work; the less she focused on everything going on around her, at home and abroad, the better. “It’s what she needs; a good, proper distraction so we can do our jobs and keep her safe.”
“I know,” Harry said with a sigh, sitting up and running his hands through his hair again. “I know it’s all for a good cause but I hate keeping things from her; especially things that are this big. Who did Fawley send anyway?”
“Toussaint and Goyle; Durmont and Grey,” Draco answered, listing the names of the foremost formidable wizards borrowed from the private security firm his cousin operated out of France. “Once the train leaves, I’ll make a floo call so Luc can send Auclair’s team as well; bulk up the numbers. The Ministry wouldn’t foot the bill for more than four security but they don’t fully understand what’s at stake. More nifflers, more gold, right? Oh, and Theo was one step ahead of us though; he’s got Merrill’s team covering him and Daphne for the trip too.”
“I love the way Slytherins think,” Harry quipped, grinning with sudden promise as he turned to his husband and unceremoniously pulled him into his lap for a good snog. There was a three-fold reason for doing so; firstly, he just wanted to, secondly, it was the only sure fire way to distract both of their minds from the chaos they had to sort out, and third, it was an easy way to show his appreciation for the proactive approach to Hermione’s safety.
Draco responded eagerly, deepening the kiss for several long, hot moments, before pulling back to run his fingers through Harry’s ever-unruly fringe. “Is that the only thing you love about Slytherins, Potter?” he asked with wiggling eyebrows.
Leaning in, Harry nipped at Draco’s lips, showing that he wasn’t nearly done with him as his hands started to roam the hard plains of his husband's chest. “About the Slytherin right in front of me, hardly, but I don’t think we have nearly enough time for me to tell you all the things I love about my Slytherin,” he teased, adding little kisses along Draco’s jaw bone to his ear, and thrusting his hips upwards. “You need to convince Andi to sign off on my return to work,” he murmured between nipping skin and sucking earlobe.
Long fingers wound their way into Harry’s hair as neatly trimmed nails scratched against his scalp and he felt his head pulled back harshly. Draco was taking control, aggressively nipping back at the pleasure points along his jaw and neck. “No love,” was all he said in answer, and it was all that was needed, given the cool certainty of the tone he delivered it in, before claiming Harry’s lips in another searing kiss.
‘Merlin, I love his tongue,’ Harry thought, his whole body heating as he closed his eyes, letting out a low hum of pleasure as Draco pulled away to take in a lungful of air. His fingers scratched at his scalp though and it took a concerted effort to not sound disappointed at the lack of contact. “Fine… I mean, I’m practically useless stuck at home, twiddling my thumbs, when we have so much to worry about. What if-”
Draco interrupted with another fierce kiss before jumping up from the swinging bench and pulling Harry with him by the belt buckle. “No. No more acting like a worry wart, and no more work talk; you’ve got to heal properly before you go back, and Andi has put me in charge of signing you off. Finish the leave you’ve been given, and I’ll do my paperwork at home, but the pouting has to stop.”
“You’re one to talk about pouting,” Harry snarked, reaching a hand around his jailor to pinch his bum.
Draco rolled his eyes; it was a predictable argument. “They’ve got security; I even owled Charlie Weasley to have some draconic backup on standby, if need be. Now, it’s time to put a brave face on it because if Hermione catches you in this mood she’ll fret, and we do not need a fretting and distracted Princess, or rather Father doesn’t need to be stuck on a train with a fretting Hermione.”
“I’d pay to see him try to handle it though,” Harry interrupted with a begrudging chuckle. He knew Draco had a point, he was just bored at home, and felt so impotent; at least, when it came to helping with the cases and protecting Hermione. After the impromptu snog session, impotence was really not a physical problem.
Draco snorted. “Actually, I was thinking… Do you think we should warn father what it’s like to travel with her?” he asked, in a far too chipper voice. Harry couldn’t help but wonder how deep the childish pleasure in his husband ran, that would be gained from warning Lucius about ‘the mostly benevolent, but very adoring fans’ they’d all had to deal with at one time or another.
Harry didn’t really have an argument against the idea, as Draco pulled him along; after all, it was probably wise to inform Lucius of what tricks were best employed to get Hermione away from a crowd. Absently being tugged toward an unsuspecting father-in-law, he allowed his mind to circle around the idea of Lucius and Hermione again - something he’d been avoiding since the day he’d learned on ‘the plan’ because he still wasn’t entirely sure about the whole situation - and knew, could see, there was potential. Spending time with Lucius made Hermione happy, anyone could recognise that, but as her best friend, he knew Hermione Granger was a tall order to try and meet; some impressive wizards had tried, and all had failed. It was so hard to be part of the team that might be setting her up for another heartbreak. “You really think she likes him like that? Outside of drunken DILF conversations, I mean,” he asked, holding the door to the east wing open.
“Hundred percent,” Draco replied confidently, snickering a little and nudging Harry in the ribs with his elbow as they rounded a corner, starting up the staircase to the second floor, “Pansy supplied me with a rather illuminating memory on that front, which convinced me wholeheartedly, and you, my dear, really must finish looking through the proofs from the wedding photographer. There are three photos that my not-so-flowery best friend has already earmarked to announce their engagement. I know it’s probably still a bit weird for you, given how muggles rarely do the second-cousin-twice-removed marriage thing anymore but we are their only connection, and you’d have to be deaf, dumb and blind to not see that what they have… It didn’t come from us,” he explained excitedly. “They’re sort of mad for each other; almost like us but much more - what’s that weird word you use for when boys fancy girls instead of other boys?”
“Hetero?” Harry mused aloud.
“Yeah, that, which obviously makes it ghastly,” Draco exclaimed, a dramatic face of nausea being over-acted to further make his point, with hand gestures.
Harry usually loved seeing his husband get excited about scheming - either his own or Narcissa’s - it just didn’t usually involve Hermione or the rest of her life. It meant that this was one of those things where he had to trust… Slytherins. And on the whole, these days, he did; it just didn’t feel quite natural to do so. He still heard Ron’s voice in his head from his first day at Hogwarts… There isn’t a witch or wizard who went bad that wasn’t in Slytherin.
It wasn’t true, of course; Peter Pettigrew sprang to mind without prompting; Gilderoy Lockhart, pride of his own mirror, and no doubt, Ravenclaw House once upon a time, was another prime example, and now Ron himself. Sighing to himself, he decided to just trust his gut, and swallowing around the lump of apprehension in his throat, gave one of the best people he knew, a tender smile. “That good, huh?” he asked, actually interested. He had so little teasing material when it came to Hermione; this could be fun.
“It’s father and Granger; two of four humans on earth that I am the farthest thing from being remotely sexually interested in, but these photos are as hot as dragon fire,” Draco said with a grimace, even as he fanned himself. “I swear to you, love, I would not have given mother my support unless I’d seen it for myself. We’re going to have competition, mark my words.”
“Ugh! Draco, don’t put those images in my head,” Harry scolded with a cringe, having to shake his head to rid it of the mental pictures that had just been painted there. As Draco laughed, he circled back to the dumbfounded feeling he had about the entire situation. On one hand, he was happy she was happy and knew Lucius to be a competent wizard, who would protect her, but on the other, how was he supposed to feel about it all? Should he be trying to shut it all down for her? Should he just tell her? How would she feel about the scheming when she found out? Because she would, she always did. How would she react when she found out? He didn’t even know if she planned to act on her feelings for Lucius or if she wanted to.
He’d stayed mostly silent about her relationship with Severus whilst it was happening, silent but supportive, giving their old professor the benefit of the doubt and trusting him with Hermione. That had all gone perfectly well, until it hadn’t, but then, the issue had never been anything to do with age; someone more mature and worldly suited Hermione. He could see it, now that he was looking, how obvious the potential was for more than the happy friendship Hermione had with Lucius; he’d just been too wrapped up in Draco to really notice before, too relieved just to see her coming out of her depressed moments when she dedicated all of her time to work. ‘Well, she still dedicates all of her time to work but at least it’s not alone anymore, and she’s doing it with a smile.’
When they found Lucius, he was sitting at his dressing table, just finishing a conversation with Tibbs about what to pack for his trip, and lifting a cup of tea. Automatically, Harry erected his occlumency shields. It wasn’t a response to anything personal against his father-in-law, but triggered by the residual dark aura that still clung to the older Malfoy; Severus had the same effect. Years as an Auror caused some things to just become ingrained.
Lucius watched as Draco and Harry approached, their expressions bearing a mix of amusem*nt and seriousness. He could see a sheen of something in his son-in-law’s eyes and knew his occlumency had been triggered again; it was getting better. Still, in a dark part of his soul, it felt good to know he still had it in him. Raising an eyebrow inquiringly as they drew nearer, he was intrigued by their alternative expressions. ‘This should be good,’ he thought aspirationally, setting aside the three pocket squares he had just been about to have Tibbs send back to his wardrobe.
It would be a lie to say that he and his brand new son-in-law had the best of relationships, though it wasn’t particularly bad either. No insults or hexes had been thrown upon their reintroduction, or since. Draco’s chosen companion had been polite, if quiet, at that first meeting, but it was certain that past events had still played heavily on his mind, making the event more awkward than words could possibly describe. It had improved a lot in the last year, and Narcissa (and Hermione) constantly reminded him that repairing the relationship between he and Draco, and by extension Harry, would take time.
‘They’ve all had half a damn decade to get this comfortable, and I’m just expected to jump in and swim at the deep end…’ he thought unkindly, his mind focused mostly on the trip and how he might use it to have Hermione expound on her feelings for him, now it had been established that she had some. He hadn’t really seen Harry since the confrontation about the contract though, and he felt that same creeping awkwardness as the ‘you remember Harry, right?’ conversation. ‘As if I’d ever forget.’
He’d been home from Azkaban for less than a week when it happened… Draco had walked Harry Potter, of all people, right into his study, and had the gall to ask, “you remember Harry Potter, right?” Lucius had still been rather emancipated at the time, and barely spoke, but had been ‘with it’ enough to raise an eyebrow. “Yes, that Harry Potter,” his son had replied to the unuttered question. “Well, I just thought I should let you know, he’s my fiance.”
He still wasn’t sure how, as a father, he was supposed to respond to that, but he hoped they swam through the awkwardness well enough now. Blinking, Lucius pulled his head from his internal grumblings, and abandoned the path that led toward panic attacks. Instead, he turned his attention from the cufflinks and other accessories scattered on his dressing table to the approaching pair.
“Hi Lucius," Harry began, tilting his chin slightly in greeting before leaning over the dressing table to inspect the slew of items there. “We just wanted to pop by because Draco made me aware that you’re probably not familiar with the challenges that usually arise when it comes to travelling with Hermione.”
Lucius gave a nod, silently urging them to continue; they all knew he wasn’t familiar with whatever these challenges might be; he had never travelled with Hermione before. He hadn’t even travelled alone in almost a decade. Something about how they were dancing around the heart of the conversation and not just spitting it out, had his suspicious nature zeroing in on Potter, and narrowing his eyes.
Narcissa had an uncanny way of drawing people into her little schemes, and after ‘the conversation’ a few days ago, he had no doubt Harry had been brought further into the fold of her plans. This smelled far more pungently of his son’s work though, and by extension, their blood ties to her. In fact, Harry had already said as much, and as accepting as he was becoming of the boy, he couldn’t lie for sh*t, even with occlumency.
Whilst he waited for whatever this revelation about Hermione’s travelling habits was, he thought back to his conversation of barely thirty minutes ago, when he’d shouted at his soon-to-be ex-wife whilst she trimmed a bouquet of Malfoy Peonies for Hermione, humming happily as she did so. It had been impossible for him to not state, though rather more loudly than intended, that he had no intention of beginning his ‘courtship’ of Hermione during their Zurich trip.
Having to point out that he was still bound to her, and so couldn’t act upon anything a courtship initiation might inspire anyway, had been less than his finest moment, but to his utter astonishment, the maddening witch had just laughed. “What exactly is it that you find so funny about this situation, Cissa?” he’d thundered in response, to which she had issued one of those insane, ‘Black witch’ grins, and told him, “it is the perfect time to charm Hermione, Lucius darling, because you do not yet have the freedom to be complete letch and paw all over her like you want to.”
He’d stormed off at that point, unable to counter her argument with substantial validity, and now, his son-in-law (and assigned Parole Auror) stood before him, looking constipated and uncomfortable. It was time, he suspected, despite the ruse of Hermione being something of a difficult travel companion, for the threatening ‘chit chat’ from ‘big brother’ Harry, even if she was almost a year older.
No one was really fooled by the notion that he was good enough for her. ‘Playing nice’ he may have been since his release, but Lucius was not worthy of anything from that witch, or any of them really, and he knew it. He’d accept whatever he had coming to him, with grace. It had been a lovely dream, for a minute there, to imagine a happy future with the sweet young witch who had brought him back to life, but without Harry’s approval, Narcissa’s scheming would fall flat. It was clear that where Harry went, Draco followed these days, even if they offered the illusion that it was the other way round, and Narcissa would not risk her son for anything.
Draco elbowed Harry after a few more moments of no one speaking, giving him a scowl before apparently giving up and speaking himself. “It's not adversaries you need to be concerned about on this trip. I mean she has several, and of course, I want you to be careful, but she can handle herself on that front. It's the adoring fans that you really have to watch out for. Fan is short for fanatic for a reason, and hers are madder for her than you are.”
Lucius tried to scowl at that last little bit of sass from his son, but couldn’t dislodge the frown that took over his features; this was not the conversation he’d been expecting, at all. “Adoring fans?” he asked in disbelief, the confusion evident in his tone as he gestured for them to expound.
“Absolutely,” Harry answered, finally speaking, with a chuckle, and popping the tension that had built in the room. “If you’re not watching, it’s easy to lose her to a crowd, and it only takes a matter of seconds if your mind wanders to something else. She has quite the following in the wizarding world now, thanks to her numerous projects over the years, and how she helped me out. There’s even a club, called ‘Hermione Granger, The Power’, relating to that old prophecy from…” Harry paused, not really wanting to bring up that horrendous day in the Department of Mysteries, but knowing Lucius had to know. The Power practically considered Hermione a goddess, and they were worldwide. He cleared his throat. “From the nineties.”
Lucius remained silent, not wishing to comment as his mind swirled back to the events surrounding that day, and his stomach began to churn. He’d been sent to Azkaban, the first time, after that day. It was because of that day that Draco had been given the impossible task of killing Dumbledore. Harry and Draco both remained silent as they allowed him to feel his feelings and bury them again. He was grateful. At length, he took a deep breath, smiled a little to show he was not about to fly into a rage or fall into a deep depression, and simply asked, “what else?”
Wanting to bring the atmosphere back to something light and pleasant, if teasing, Draco grinned, thinking of one of his favourite ‘Hermione’s fans’ stories. “Remember Austria three years ago-” he asked Harry, not removing his eyes from Lucius, a devious little look in his eyes. “She got all wrapped up with some mob of witches, and when we found her it was three hours later, at an all ladies bath house, teaching-”
Harry clapped a palm over his husband's mouth with the speed of Mopsy after a strawberry, preventing him from finishing what he was about to say. “He doesn’t need to know the details unless they come from Hermione, and I certainly don’t want to be reminded of them.”
Lucius couldn't help but smirk at the image of Hermione being mobbed by adoring witches; he had never really shared the fantasy of most wizards, of being with more than one witch. One was plenty; especially given the ones he ‘chose’. Returning his thoughts to the matter at hand though, and recognising it for the entirely unexpected scenario it was, what he really wanted to know now was, what had she been teaching that group of witches in a bathhouse?
Harry continued, his tone more serious now. “As for the wizards, they usually want one of two things: using her as arm candy or using her brilliant mind for their own gain. Either way, it’s always using her for something, never actually loving her for her, which she more than deserves. I think we can all agree on that.”
Draco nodded in agreement. “Precisely. f*cking screwts, the lot of them!” Draco growled, before taking a breath and addressing his father again. “Anyway, in Harry’s capacity as big brother, he thought it best that you were informed of what to look out for, and act as her valet during the trip. All you have to do to ensure she makes it to each appointment is throw out her titles a few times. Works like a charm.”
Harry gave Draco an agreeing look before turning his green eyes back on his father-in-law and pinching the bridge of his nose, acting like the flustered brother. “Clarify Drake, or she’ll hex him, and I don’t want to get pulled over to Zurich just to sort out some tiff between them that you caused.” They had discussed no such thing, but they’d learned to catch one another in conversations, much the way the Weasley twins did, and it was a valuable asset in their careers.
“Titles? Plural?” Lucius asked before his son could clarify anything, suddenly highly intrigued as to why he had not heard anything of these titles from the witch herself. Had she been made a Lady of the Magical World during his time in Azkaban? Her own House? “What are Miss Granger’s titles? I’m assuming you mean her Masteries,” Lucius questioned. What on earth had he missed between the lines of Quidditch World Cup scores, changes in Hogwarts teaching staff and wedding planning? If Hermione had titles… That changed several things in how he would have to conduct his courtship, if they ever got to that stage. He felt as if he’d just missed a step on the way down the grand staircase, and was falling, unceremoniously to the bottom.
Harry’s shoulders dropped and he rolled his eyes, sighing in exasperation at having to explain something so mundane. “The Masteries are part of it, but in that she prefers Mistress Granger to Madam Granger; she says…” he explained, waving his wand at his throat before speaking in a perfect rendition of Hermione’s voice. “Madam’ makes me sound like I’m in my fifties, and I didn’t use the time turner that long, thank you very much.”
As Harry cancelled the voice-changing spell, Draco laughed, unable to not find hilarity in Hermione’s voice coming out of his husband’s mouth. Lucius was hard pressed not to do the same, though it was more disconcerting for him than amusing, and his mind was stuck on a specific detail of Harry’s magically enhanced impression. “Time turner use?”
Cringing, Harry realised what he’d just given away and shrugged to move on, fast. “Story for another time. Not important right now,” he said quickly, even as it dawned on him that Hermione had told him the time turner usage had to be approved by the Board of Governors, which at the time, Lucius was a member. ‘How doesn’t he know about that?’ “Anyway, Mistress instead of Madam, remember that. Although, if it’s a really unruly crowd, you can always pull out the one Draco is fond of throwing around… Grand Sorceress. I mean, it’s accurate, bestowed, and will definitely do the trick, but…”
“But what?” Lucius asked as soon as Harry paused, invested in the whole story now, even if he’d rather hear it all from Hermione. His mind was also stuck on… ‘Grand Sorceress? There hasn’t been a Grand Sorceress since Morgana Le Fey.’
“Well, Hermione always says that's going a bit far, to pull out the big title just to get rid of a few fans, and your son has received a hex or two from her every time he uses it, but-”
“But it’s always worth it,” Draco finished, doing ‘the Fred and George thing’ as he liked to call it, even if it wasn’t what Harry was about to say.
“I’m only telling you so the big title is like the biggest spell in your arsenal. Just, erm, use it sparingly. Even Severus got a stinging hex to the backside for using it once - on Draco’s advice, of course, meaning Draco got the same thing in triplicate from Severus.”
Lucius snorted a little at the story, but gave the pair an understanding nod as he tucked his hands into his robes and recapped the instructions aloud. “Stick to Mistress Granger; watch out for lecherous men. Got it,” he summarised, discarding several more items from his vanity that he did not wish to take to avoid showing the boys that he was actually freaking out. How had no one informed him that his likely future wife was a Grand Sorceress? Even Narcissa hadn’t said anything.
And how had he been fool enough to not research the young witch who was being schemed into being his future wife? Had anyone? All he knew was what he’d been told by Harry and his family, and apparently, that wasn’t enough. Surely there was a biography written about her numerous accomplishments thus far, right? He was a bit lost in thought and couldn’t begin to fathom what she had done to earn such a prestigious title as Grand Sorceress and before thirty at that… “Grand Sorceress? How?” he questioned, chuckling in sheer amazement, just because there was nothing else to do.
“It’s a long story,” Draco and Harry said together, both smirking.
“O-kaay…” he said slowly in response, calming his laughter and shaking his head. ‘Sweet Merlin, I’m in over my head,’ he thought, feeling more in awe of Hermione than ever, and completely overwhelmed. Narcissa was just playing a cruel game attempting to bring them together. He was a washed up Death Eater with nothing to offer Hermione Granger except for gold and books; she was so far out of his league, Narcissa’s plan suddenly seemed even more ludicrous than it had before. Even when she was twelve, Hermione had outwitted him, and now… ‘How will I ever live up to what she deserves?’ No one had mastered alchemy in centuries.
“Ask her about it,” Draco offered absently, interrupting Lucius’ tumultuous thoughts as he winked at Harry, thinking his father had seen. “Or you could ask B.W; that elf knows more about our resident bookworm than I do.”
Of course, he’d seen the wink the boys shared, and letting out a derisive snort, he passed the small cleaning kit for his pocket watch to Tibbs, as well as his spare set of reading glasses. “Do you think me so gullible, son?” he asked, eyeing Draco with an annoyed brow rise. “I’m sure she’ll share the story with me when she’s ready, and as she’s not a permanent fixture in the Manor…”
“Yet,” Harry interrupted begrudgingly, but with a similar sense of entitlement to answer back that Draco often displayed.
Lucius took a deep breath to keep his temper. “As she’s not a permanent fixture in the Manor, yet,” he added begrudgingly, “it’s unfitting to call her our resident bookworm. B.W might take offence…”
“Not likely,” Draco quipped with a smug smile. “That elf likes her more than any of us. Did you know they have tea parties, and book club reading days?”
“Yes, I did. I have been invited twice, in fact, and point conceded on B.W’s preferences,” Lucius' remarked dryly, pointing toward Tibbs’ right hand, where the elf was holding a pair of loafers in his long, bony fingers, three inches from another pair of almost identical loafers. His mind wasn’t really on the shoes though… For the last two nights, Narcissa had been pestering him for more than he felt capable of giving, especially when it came to Hermione, and he’d practically just sat there and nodded along, having already given in to the plan and agreed to stop fighting it.
This option though, the way his son and Harry presented it, as just being the person to look after Hermione and keep her fanatical fawners away, he was more than capable of. It brought relief actually, easing some of the tension from his chest and shoulders, and allowing the urge to back out of Zurich altogether wane.
Having the more defined role whilst away with her, of acting as a sort of buffer between Hermione and ‘her public’, helped ease his anxieties a lot. Despite Harry and Draco’s warnings, that was a much more desirable position than the things Narcissa had been suggesting he try - officially at least. Mentally however… ‘Stop lying to yourself,’ he scolded in his mind, the disembodied voice echoing around the space which always seemed to be filled with images of Hermione these days. ‘The moment Narcissa explained the change in travel arrangements, all you’ve done is imagine fantastic sex in the back of your train car with that sexy little witch as the world passes by in a blur.’
Keeping his thoughts out of his eyes with a second degree occlumency shield, Lucius gave the boys a long, scrutinising stare before turning back to his dressing table, sending the selection of cufflinks and tie pins he’d chosen for the trip into his trunk. “I see. So, I am to be a bodyguard, her protector from admirers and the less savoury?”
“Basically,” Draco confirmed, nodding at Harry with a mischievous glint in his eyes whilst his father’s back was to them. “From what I remember, you're rather skilled at handling situations in a diplomatic fashion,” he added in a slightly sarcastic, if complimentary, tone, his voice trailed off slightly before he took a bolstering breath. “Father, I’m sure just flashing that dazzling smile of yours - which genetics blessed both of us with - at the crowds, will have them scurrying off. We trust you'll do an excellent job.”
“Nor does it hurt that your presence and reputation are still rather formidable, should anyone get too persistent,” Harry added, making it sound like a genuine compliment. “I know it’s not quite the image you’re going for anymore but, when did anyone ever want to cross a Malfoy? Well, except for me and my friend about a hundred years ago.”
They all chuckled at Harry’s humorous reference to the past. It still surprised Lucius how much things had changed in the years since the war, all the things he’d missed. Little by little, he was accepting it more easily, with the help of his family and Hermione. This trip, for example, seemed as though it was going to be far more eventful than he had initially anticipated, though he was intrigued by the unexpected changes now, not fearful of them. “Very well,” he agreed, a smile tugging at one corner of his lips, belying the comfort level he felt with this new arrangement. “I shall act as Hermione's valet, and protector from adoring fans.”
“Great,” Draco enthused with a grin before turning to Harry. “Why don’t you go find mother and remind her it’s almost time for father and Hermione to leave; and collect Hermione from her walk too. I know she’s probably packed already but you know how easily she loses track of time.”
“Yeah, sure,” Harry replied with a half-smile, before something occurred to him and he grinned. “Are you sending me to do all the rounding up so you can sneak into the kitchens and snaffle Motsi’s apple pie? I’ve already told you, I’ll still want you if you get love handles,” he teased, pinking at his husband’s slender hips.
“Actually, no,” Draco disagreed, scowling a little. “And I’ll remind you that apple pie or not, I am in peak physical fitness. If you must know, there’s a bit of House business to attend to with father before he leaves. Now, go do as you're told,” he ordered bossily, bussing Harry’s cheek with a kiss and turning him towards the open door, patting his backside as he ushered him out.
Lucius watched as Harry was directed away and the look in his son’s eyes told him that they would not be speaking of ‘House business’ at all, but more likely returning to the almost-conversation that had been due after dinner the other night. The room was quiet again with the anticipation of it, before Tibbs piped up. “Is Master going with Missy Bookworm?” he said, tapping a bare, bony foot in what was obviously impatience.
Rolling his eyes, Lucius pulled his gaze away from the door his sons had just left through, and turned his attention to the stubborn elf, who’d been giving him almost as much grief as Narcissa, letting out an exasperated sigh as he scowled. “Yes, Tibbs; you may finish packing my trunk,” he answered, his voice displaying far more indignance than he really felt, but the overly familiar creature was playing his last nerve like a fiddle. Although, the reminder of what all of his elves called Hermione was also too damn cute for words. They all took their cue from B.W on that one.
Draco stepped back through the open door with slightly sagging shoulders; all traces of joviality and teasing were gone as he anxiously ran his hands down his face and let out a deep breath. ‘f*ck, this is gonna be tough,’ he thought unhelpfully, giving his father an appraising look and tucking his hands into the pockets of his Auror robes. “We didn’t get around to this the other night but it’s something that you really need to know. I just don’t really know how to start. Bringing you into this knowledge without risking more than I am willing to give up is practically impossible,” he explained cryptically, looking at anything else in the room but his father and feeling fifty shades of uncomfortable.
On the other side of the room, Lucius felt his familial magic tug at his solar plexus as the bond between them let him know that was deep in his feelings over whatever the topic of this conversation was supposed to be; he decided to give the boy a break and start things off for him. “Severus wrote to me on the subject I believe you are trying to broach. The bastard was as effusive as ever, of course, and barely gave me enough information for a complete picture of what Hermione went through, but having those pieces meant in light of your reaction when Percy Weasley showed up, I’ve managed to make my own, somewhat devastating conclusions.”
Draco nodded, still not ready to voice what he knew, lest he ‘do a Potter’, and go hunt down Ron himself to beat him into a bloody pulp. The familial bond let him know his father had more to say though, so he didn’t comment, just gestured for him to finish.
“An overheard conversation between your mother and her elf filled in what was missing, and whilst I share your desire to see the youngest Weasley lad hung, drawn and quartered, I am willing to leave that in your more than capable hands, within the letter of the law, of course,” he told his son, emphasising the last part with more than enough subtext… Until the law isn’t enough. “My role, especially given the plans for my future title as her husband, is to look after Hermione, and I will do so, as well as I am able, for as long as she lets me. I said as much the other night.”
“You knew?” Draco asked rhetorically, in shock. “I’ve been dreading telling you this for days, going over how to not betray Hermione’s confidence and still give you all the necessary information, and you already knew? Unbelievable!”
Draco was mostly talking to himself, Lucius realised, as it became harder to understand him. He’d switched to French, and was mumbling more than speaking, sounding angry at himself. Lucius cleared his throat to cease the pointless self-flagellation. “I am sorry you felt you couldn’t come directly to me with your worries, but you can stop fretting now, at least about bringing me into the information. Whatever else comes to pass between Hermione and I in the future, she is a dear friend, and I would protect her, with or without this information,” Lucius confessed, pressing his right palm into his sternum, purposefully sending comforting magic to his son through the familial bond.
“I know, this is just…” Draco trailed off, taking in a deep breath, before letting it out in a heavy sigh and wandering over to the bench at the foot of his father’s bed. “Thank you, that helps. You should also probably know… I’ve hired a private security team to cover you and Hermione whilst you’re away. Theo has too for that matter, for he and Daphne. Hermione’s a high profile target, and you will be too considering no one has seen you since your release. I’m expecting the team to be fourteen large at all times across the four of you, though these guys aren’t like anyone you’ve worked with before,” he explained, reclining into the bench a bit and giving his father an appraising look.
“I see, and where did you find this formidable group who are willing to work for us?” he asked, giving Draco’s Auror uniform an obvious once over. It wasn’t that he doubted his son’s word or integrity, but most private security firms in the magical world were built and maintained by dark wizards, and whilst the Malfoy name was once synonymous with those darker alignments, that was no longer the case. Now, he couldn’t help but be a little apprehensive about this snippet of information, especially given the smirk he was getting off his son. It was so reminiscent of Severus, it set him scowling, rolling his eyes and grumbling “get on with it,” to himself.
“I went to Luc Fawley in Tèrènez,” Draco chuckled, wandering over to the large windows to look out over the lush manicured lawns of his old home. “He’s cornered the market in stealth security over there; you’ll never see, hear or even smell these guys unless they want you to. He also only works for family and the good guys,” he informed, watching Hermione turn into the hedge maze, likely headed for the rose garden.
“Well, that’s something,” Lucius said with relief. “I knew he was in the business, of course, but if he’s gone elite, then all the better for us, right?
“Absolutely,” Draco replied enthusiastically, turning his head slightly to speak over his shoulder. “And I know this probably goes without saying, but don’t go looking for them. Princess will notice, because she notices everything, and,” he gestured between them “-we really don’t want her discovering how Harry and I hire private security to tail her whenever she travels. We’d be hexed to the south pole and back for it, and then never hear the end of it either, so just- don’t let her know.”
Lucius folded his arms across his chest and glared at his son, though it lacked heat; he understood why Draco was asking what he was. He just didn’t like it. “I don’t like being asked to lie to her; I’ve not done so since returning home, and I would prefer to keep it that way.”
“But-” Draco tried, but was forestalled by Lucius’ hand being held up to stop him.
“I understand your desire for added protection, and I respect it. There is so much I have not been brought up to date on, and before you say anything, yes, I know the gaps in my knowledge of the last eight years are my fault. I wasn’t ready to examine my past more closely, but I’m working on it, and certain things must be faced sooner rather than later. I would be a fool, for instance, to think that just because Riddle is gone, all of the pureblood dogma went with him.”
“Yeah, we’ve come across a few hidden pockets of hangers on,” Draco explained with a nod. “but they’re being weeded out. About the ‘not telling Hermione’ though?” he prompted.
Lucius sighed. “I will not behave in a way that draws her attention to the fact that we might have security or attempt to find them directly, but if she notices them anyway, I will not lie to her. I’d like this trip to be enjoyable for her; she’s seemed a little out of sorts recently.”
“She is, and with good reason - just like we didn’t want, that huge brain of hers is making connections and worrying her - which is why despite our concerns about this trip, I think it’s for the best thing for distracting her from all the- stuff going on here,” Draco explained seriously, getting up from the bench and approaching his father, Auror robes swishing around his ankles as he closed the distance and placed a hand on his father’s shoulder. “Thanks, by the way, for not fighting me on this; I know you and Princess are more than capable of handling yourselves, but I’d rather you both just enjoy yourselves, and I know if you’re having to look over your shoulder all the time, that won’t be the case.”
Lucius gave Draco a warm smile before a soft chuckle bubbled out. “She is rather insightful, isn’t she? Adept even, at sniffing out when something’s on your mind.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” Draco informed knowingly, his trademark smirk firmly in place. “She’s worse than a niffler after gold, especially if she gets an idea in her head; and no matter whether she thinks something’s wrong yet fixable, or you're hiding something from her, she’ll figure it out.”
“Salazar, save us from well-intentioned Gryffindors,” Lucius quipped, raising one blond eyebrow and shrugging off his son's hand. “Although, I have no idea what we’d do without her,” he confessed more quietly. “Now, away with you; I need to finish preparing for the trip,” he instructed warmly, not wanting to let Draco know that his final ‘preparations’ involved having a wank so he didn’t embarrass himself on the train.
Sashaying his way towards the exit, Draco remembered something else he needed to mention, and turned just before he reached the door with a slightly grim expression. “One more thing; Harry and I suspect the project she’s working on is drawing the attention of some of the lowlives we’re after, and whilst I’m not asking you to break her confidence, a bit of a heads up when you figure it out would be appreciated.”
Lucius wasn’t an idiot by any stretch of the imagination; foolish at times, yes, but he’d never been one to not fit pieces of information together quickly when needed. With a flick of his wrist as he scowled into the space between him and his son, the door to his suite closed with a slight slam, blocking Draco from leaving; another flick had the door both locked and warded. “Draco, we are done with the half-truths and mind games,” he advised sternly. “Your Auror oaths do not take precedence over the responsibility you have to the blood in your veins. I have no intention of asking you to divulge more than necessary, but I believe, if there are threats to Hermione, it’s time to fill me in a little more coherently than whatever little pony show that was with Potter.”
“Damn it,” Draco muttered, his head bent with his body still facing the closed door. ‘This is going to be a disaster,’ he thought anxiously. ‘Though, he has a point,’ his subconscious added, feeling the tug of familial magics nudging him toward honesty and confession.
“Draco,” Lucius called, his voice a little softer, but with an increased sense of urgency. As much as he wanted the information so he was better informed about the situation with Hermione, he’d also heard the witch say that ‘a problem shared is a problem halved’, and he hoped to help unburden his son.
A short internal battle was crossing Draco’s face as he turned to face his father and the conversation he’d been avoiding for weeks. With a final grimace, he let out a sigh. “Fine, but not a whiff of any of this to her, do you understand? One bloody wizard in her life should practise the art of keeping a lid on their damn anger,” Draco growled, frustratedly running his hands through his hair.
“I lived through the same sh*t show you did,” Lucius snapped, wishing the boy would get on with it; he had to finish getting ready for the trip, and the time to leave was drawing closer by the second. He really needed to have that wank. “Give me some damn credit.”
Draco rolled his eyes, dipping his chin again and tucking his hands into his pockets, his face serious as he began... “Post war, a lot of the Ministries felt it prudent to create partnerships with one another through the DMLE. Harry and I have been working with two specific agencies within those partnerships on a string of four cases. The investigation has been active for the last eight months and we’ve been at it to the point of breaking, but we’re always just a half second too late, or short,” he growled, his frustration showing.
“And how does that relate to Hermione?” Lucius asked, though he almost didn’t want to know.
“The new cases involving Weasley and his ‘runner’, tied more things together than we bargained for, and not in a good way. One of Harry’s little gut feelings from a few weeks ago is starting to play out, and we don’t know how much yet, but somehow, Hermione is wrapped up in it all.”
“Hence the reason for the added security,” Lucius surmised, before narrowing his eyes in accusation. “And you’re, what… Hoping to draw out someone worthy of catching? I should bloody hex you for trying to use us as bait,” he groused.
“You can take your frustrations out on me when the pair of you get back and we’ve caught these arseholes, in the training pit with Princess,” Draco promised with a hesitant smile. “In the meantime, just… Be careful. I know our relationship has never been exactly- close, but as much as I’m worried for Hermione, I don’t want to lose you either.”
Lucius swallowed the lump that appeared in his throat at the genuine emotion in his son’s voice, turning away to hide his emotion, and flicking his hand at the doors again. “No more games, Draco,” he demanded, the tightness of his voice giving away more than he wanted as he slammed many layers of occlumency shielding into place. “I expect to be kept informed of as much as you are capable of sharing. As I have always taught you, bending rules is not the same as breaking them. A daily security report is to be posted under my door by five o’clock each morning during the Zurich trip, and then in person, once we have returned.”
“Understood,” Draco acknowledged, not seeing the need to fight such a request; having his father work with him rather than against him was a blessing he wasn’t willing to throw back in the Gods’ faces. “They’ll already be on the platform when you arrive in Zurich, and you’d better get a move on, old man; the train departs in thirty-five minutes. Best not to be late!”
At the sudden reminder of their imminent departure, Lucius felt awash with a new, excited sort of apprehension as Draco finally left the room, the door shutting softly behind him. “Right, okay… Extra security means extra eyes,” he said out loud, trying to put on an excited voice to convince himself that was a good idea. From a security point of view, it was, of course; from a personal one, he really had no desire to leave the manor. There was no backing out now, and at least he would be in excellent company for the duration. The fact that said company was someone he had spent so much time recently imagining himself balls deep inside of, on multiple surfaces, was just a bonus.
Unfortunately, that was the problem with all those extra eyes; he wouldn’t be doing or imagining anything of the sort. “Damn,” he grumbled quietly; this was why he preferred the security of home; it came without extra eyes to watch one’s every move. And now, he didn’t have time for that wank either. “Double damn,” he added with a growl.
“Tibbs, pack a few deflating drafts as well,” he called to the elf in his closet, whilst the necessity of such a potion was on his mind. He was going to get addicted to the damn things if his co*ck didn’t start behaving.
Trying to put his unruly penis out of his mind, he strode to the foot of his bed, where two identical journals sat waiting to be packed along with everything else; one was for himself, the other, which was magically linked to his, was to be a gift for Hermione. They were once considered a traditional courting gift, but had long since fallen out of fashion. It was his hope that the gesture would not be read too into as a gift, were he to present them to her.
“Packed already, Sir,” Tibbs replied coolly as he took the journals from Lucius’ hands and packed them into the trunk, snapping the lid shut with a flick of his fingers. “In your hand luggage for easy access…” he added, handing his Master an over-the-shoulder, soft, leather briefcase. “Tibbs used Missy Bookworm’s expanding spell on the pocket, Sir; there’s four and twenty phials for you, Master.”
Tibbs’ faith in his lack of self-control was not comforting, even if his preparing for it was. Twenty four draughts should certainly last for the week they were away. If not, he had a bigger problem than he realised. “Thank you,” he expressed genuinely, ignoring the elf’s implied sass as he exhaled and put his hands on his hips, glancing over his rooms; there was nothing left unpacked that he would miss for a few days, so if he also ignored the need for a wank, he was ready to go.
With a nod to Tibbs, the elf vanished with his luggage and he was alone in his rooms again. He’d not spent a night away from these rooms since his release from Azkaban, and though everyone suggested it was time, Lucius really didn’t have any desire to be parted from the warm luxury and quiet familiarity of his home. It was comfortable, safe, and had everything he could possibly need or want, including a certain curly-haired witch.
And, now that he’d been convinced to give into his feelings for said witch, all he wanted to do was rush in, head first, like some besotted fool. He’d just imagined doing so from the comfort of his/their library, not several thousand miles away, with the eyes of a full security detail (who was reporting directly to his son) on them at all times. He could curse Narcissa for her meddling, and for getting him to admit his feelings, not to mention Hermione for wanting him to go on this blasted trip with her in the first place. He was damned (by the witches in his life) to endure the next week, whether he wanted to or not.
“Patience Lucius,” he reminded himself. There were things to be achieved first, like the disillusionment of his marital bond to Narcissa. That was essential, lest he be cursed with excruciating pain if he tried to even touch his future wife. He and Narcissa had reached an agreement on terms of their divorce settlement; she’d signed the decree with her solicitor, and now they were on a path they could not return from. It would only be a matter of time before the goblins responded to their request to break the bond, and then the waiting game would begin. He could only hope it wouldn't take long for the bond to fully dissolve.
Then came the slightly terrifying part; he would need to secure his new bride within seven cycles of the moon, or there was a very real possibility of losing his magic. Depending on when the bond dissolved, that was pretty much by year’s end, and less than six months would be too short a time to find an acceptable bride by normal standards, but to court and win the affections of a witch such as Hermione Granger, seemed close to impossible in so small a window.
Admittedly, he had faced worse odds and survived, which was why he planned to not to gripe about Narcissa’s scheming, and focus on maintaining their friendship through divorce whilst also figuring out as many little details about Hermione as he could and developing his friendship with her into whatever their unexpressed feelings wanted. To start with, the journals meant they could exchange notes with increased frequency, at the same time as ensuring secrecy and saving the owls endless trips across the country, as they had done in months past.
