Four

Voldemort Plus Ten: 2008

The time: Saturday

It wasn't the best way to spend a Saturday.

Hermione got up at nine, showered, slung on jogging trousers, a t-shirt, thick socks and her slippers, made the first of many cups of coffee, and set to work trying to understand tax.

Tax in the wizarding world tended to be fairly simple – one paid a percentage of one's income. Businesses paid a percentage of profit. The amounts were calculated from the paperwork provided by the goblins at Gringotts, and everybody banked with them. Naturally, everybody who could be bothered to cheat did so, but as long as the Ministry had enough funds to do what needed doing, the system (with its concomitant of bungs, bribes and old-boy-networking) worked just fine.

But this... This stuff was Byzantine.

By two o'clock her head was ready to explode, and all the coffee was giving her indigestion. She swapped slippers for trainers and nipped out to the local corner shop to lay in supplies of bread, Marmite, apples (on the grounds that a girl needed to have a vitamin now and again), and three of Heinz' best Emergency Steamed Puddings – two chocolate and one spotted dick, with a carton of custard to make it go down better.

By six, she was cross-eyed and very thankful when her alarm went off, reminding her she had an hour to get ready before she was supposed to meet the boys.

Looking at her reflection, she decided that Hermione Granger scrubbed up really rather well. The little black dress showed off her curves, the moderately high heels of her shoes made her ankles look pretty, tamed and piled hair allowed her to show off her favourite Venetian glass earrings, and a spot of make-up did wonders for her eyes and lips. She twirled. Shame this was just for Harry and Ron, really. Oh, well.

They had arranged to meet at a wine bar in Muggle London before going on for a meal. It was in a crowded and well-lit area, so Hermione was obliged to take Muggle transport. She arrived a little late, to find her friends and their wives cosily ensconced on the two bench seats at the table they had chosen, leaving a small stool for her to perch on. She hugged the boys and Ginny, air-kissed with Lavender, and duly perched, not without resentment. She'd been hoping for it to be just the three of them – which had probably been unreasonable of her. Ron went to fetch her a drink.

"You look fantastic, Lavender!" she said. "I'm amazed you've got your figure back already!"

"It's not that difficult, with the right techniques," said Lavender. "And Molly's such a dear, taking the children so I can spend some time looking after myself. Ron really appreciates it when I look my best, you know."

Oh, bloody hell, thought Hermione. It's going to be an 'I'm a real woman and you're not' session. She smiled brightly as Ron handed her a glass of a wine whose only redeeming feature was that it gave her an excuse to turn her attention away from Lavender.

"And Ginny! How lovely to see you after so long! How are the children? And the job?"

Ginny also looked fantastic, but as she spent her life coaching sports and her youngest child was four years old rather than three months, this was hardly surprising.

Baby talk ensued. Hermione assumed that one's own children would be interesting once one had them, but struggled to find anything that sounded remotely genuine to say about other people's. She felt as if she was drowning in a sea of her own indifference. Harry and Ron, revelling in proud paternity, astonished her.

Eventually, they turned to Ministry chatter. She was hampered by not being allowed to talk in much detail about her work, and by the fact that she didn't really feel able to roundly abuse her boss in the face of two of his children. Harry and Ron slipped automatically into Auror-specific topics, which were interesting but often excluded her. She was also finding it rather annoying trying to hold a conversation with Ginny and Lavender talking across the middle of it. Then something Lavender said caught her attention.

"You're writing a book?"

"It's not that surprising, Hermione," snapped Lavender.

"I didn't mean..."

"Molly and I are putting together a modern compendium of domestic and personal care charms," she continued a trifle defensively.

"Oh, but that's wonderful!" said Hermione with real enthusiasm. "You were always really creative with beauty stuff at school – just look at you now! – and Molly's a genius in the kitchen...."

"But I wouldn't expect you to waste much of your precious time on such housewifely stuff," Lavender said with sudden animosity. "Seeing as you're so busy running the world."

"Lavender!" exclaimed the other three.

There was an embarrassed silence.

"Actually, I was about to say that it's just the sort of thing I could really do with," said Hermione.

"Lav'll send you a copy as soon as it's published – won't you, sweet?" said Ron.

"Yes, of course. Hermione, I'm..."

"It doesn't matter, Lavender. Just a misunderstanding. Anyway, tell me when you expect to see it in print."

Feeling a little envious, she let Lavender talk about what sounded like one of the most sensationally useful books imaginable for a Muggle-born witch like her, until the other three relaxed and the conversation became more general. Then she took her leave.

"Hermione! What about the meal?" protested Harry.

"Sorry Harry, Ron – there's a bit of an emergency on and I promised I'd work over the weekend. I'd better get back to it. It's been wonderful seeing you all. When can we do it again?"

"Soon, I promise," said Harry as he walked her to the door. "I won't let you be such a stranger in future, okay?"

"That's great, Harry. Maybe we can have lunch sometimes?"

*

It was very hard for Hermione not to cry on the way home, but the last thing she wanted was to make a spectacle of herself on the tube and have some creep think she was easy because she'd been dumped.

Though in truth it did feel as though she'd been dumped. Harry and Ron didn't need her any more. Ron's wife had never liked her, and Ginny, well – they were all at different places in their lives these days. Half the evening she'd felt as though they were talking a foreign language.

She felt her lip tremble and firmed it. She would not get maudlin over the good old days. She would get off the train, stop at the all-hours delicatessen for some of the vital ingredients in the Hermione Granger Patent Cheering Up Workout, and go home. Nine o'clock. Plenty of time to get well and truly cheerful.

*

Severus had spent an exhausting day persuading an alternately flouncing and snarling Lucius that becoming the next Dark Lord was the answer to nobody's problems. By the early evening, when his headache was reaching levels that made him think the pounding in his skull could probably be heard by anyone standing within a five foot radius, he was beginning to suspect that Malfoy was deliberately baiting him. He stamped off to the rooms he often occupied at the Manor, downed a phial of headache potion followed by a pot of strong tea, and spent the next two hours reading the copy of the Times that he had filched from downstairs. He took out a biro and did the crossword, knowing how annoying that would be. Eventually, Lucius knocked on the door.

"No, I am not going to help you bring down the British government. No, I am not telling you how to subvert the wards on Downing Street. No, it is not possible to Obliviate the PM as the job comes with special protections. No, I will not..."

"Severus, I was merely going to suggest that we go and talk to your admirable and hard-working Miss Granger, to see whether she has made any progress," said Lucius through the panels.

"At last – the man begins to see sense," Severus announced, opening the door.

Lucius was clearly anticipating his assent to the plan. He was dressed impeccably and carried a cashmere overcoat over one arm.

"Dear boy," he said, surveying the other man, "you can't possibly go out to London looking like that – particularly not when calling on a lady. Spruce yourself up. I'll give you half an hour." He picked up the Times and frowned. "Make that twenty minutes."

Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth – and Lucius choosing to be amiable at this point was manna from heaven, he thought, casually mixing his metaphors – Severus headed straight for the shower.

Shortly afterwards, two tall and very debonair gentlemen, one dark, one fair, arrived at the residence of one Miss Granger, spinster of some parish or other. They rang the doorbell.

*

Hermione's cheering-up routine generally went as follows:

Stage One:

1. Crop top, knickers, thick socks, no make-up, hair permitted to rampage wild and free.

2. Open bottle of wine plus large wine glass; good cheese.

3. Loud and bouncy music.

Succeeded by Stage Two:

4. Double choc (dark chocolate) ice cream with 74% cocoa chocolate splinters, chocolate sauce and extra chocolate; more wine.

5. Selection of favourite DVDs.

6. Dressing gown and teddy bear.

There were two reasons why she didn't hear the doorbell. The first was because, as nobody had ever rung it in the time she had lived there, she didn't know it was broken. The second was that she was well into Stage One and she wouldn't have heard it above the music anyway.

Severus was mildly concerned when Hermione didn't open the door; Lucius was mildly irritated. It was clear from the thud of music that she was at home. Lucius jabbed the bell again with his cane, then with a slight hiss dismantled the wards, unlocked the door and walked in, followed by a protesting Severus.

It would be hard to tell who was the more surprised – Hermione, caught in the act of pogoing round her flat in her underwear, or her visitors, who were accustomed to thinking of her as a serious young woman. Not that either of them particularly minded the vision she presented.

Hermione shrieked and grabbed for her dressing gown. Her hand alighted on her old teddy bear, which didn't provide much cover.

"Miss Granger," said Lucius gallantly. "How nicely you have grown up!"

*

Fortunately, Hermione's sense of the ridiculous asserted itself. It wasn't as if the situation could get much more embarrassing. She flicked off the stereo and quickly donned her large red bath robe.

"Come in, gentlemen. Well – come further in. What can I do for you?"

Even as Severus was clearing his throat, which was feeling a little constricted, Lucius smoothly took the lead.

He approached Hermione gracefully and raised her fingers to his lips.

"We were wondering, my dear, whether you might be persuaded to come to dinner with us."

Severus, who had noted Hermione's blush with chagrin, was pleased to see her frown and withdraw her hand.

"I've already been out tonight, thank you. It wasn't a success and I'm not much in the mood for getting dressed up again. Sorry." She fussed with the way her bear was occupying the corner of its armchair. "I'm afraid I haven't made much progress yet with finding a way out of the tax thing, either, so you've had a wasted trip."

Severus did a quick stock-take of Hermione's arrangements for the evening – all the hallmarks of a person in need of consolation. He was no stranger to this frame of mind himself, and while Lucius' tastes generally ran to the more exotic end of the spectrum, he'd known the man in moods where a teddy would not have come amiss.

"Have you eaten this evening?" he asked with a frown.

She shrugged.

"Then it's my turn to buy supper. Is there a good Indian round here?"

His reward was to have a small smile bestowed on him alone.

"Well... If you're sure..."

Lucius, who looked anything but, remained silent at a glare from Severus. He used the time they took discussing the local takeaway menus to inspect Hermione's flat.

There were books. There were a lot of books, filling shelves and encroaching onto the floor. There were more in the bedroom, he noted, poking his nose through the door. There were one or two adequate art prints, and other than that the furnishings were simple, the colours warm and welcoming. The boxy Muggle gadgety things were an offence to the eye, though. He folded his coat and laid it carefully on the back of the sofa, then continued his inspection. He sniffed in disdain at the utilitarian bathroom and poked at the kitchen appliances with little interest. He had returned to the bookshelves by the time he heard Severus say,

"I won't be long. Will you be all right?"

Lucius rolled his eyes. As if he'd be stupid enough to do anything to the Granger girl. Especially without an alibi.

Alone with Lucius Malfoy, Hermione felt distinctly ill at ease. The last time she had seen him was at the trials, where his constitutional inability even to fake humility had assured him a very grudging reprieve thanks to extenuating circumstances. She suspected that the circumstances responsible for his avoidance of Azkaban would not have been found quite so extenuating had it not been for the number of people a) about whom Malfoy knew more than they were willing to have made public, and b) who were on the payroll. He had kept out of sight since then, but she couldn't believe that he would ever resist the temptation to continue pulling strings. She had never liked him and certainly didn't trust him – yet here he was in her home, of all places, in need of her help. Bah! She wasn't helping him, she told herself. She was only working to protect him because for once by pure coincidence he stood in the front line defending the wizarding world.

He was running a finger along the spines of her books, scanning the titles, but also looking around him with a vaguely puzzled air.

"I don't suppose it'll pass muster any more than the rest of my things, Mr Malfoy, but would you like a glass of wine?"

His cheek creased slightly as he curled the corner of his mouth in a smile.

"You mistake me, Miss Granger. I do not seek to criticise. Your arrangements seem very comfortable, and yes, I would be delighted to share some wine with you."

Well, his manners were good, when he chose. He even waited for her to take a seat first before he sank down onto her sofa, leaning back and crossing his legs. Silk socks, she noted.

She poured two glasses of the Australian Shiraz she'd opened and waited for some conversation to happen. He raised the glass to the light as he ran the wine across his palate.

"Well, this is very... drinkable, I must say."

Hermione didn't really go in for small talk – she'd never seen the point. However, Malfoy was sitting there drinking her wine and continuing to examine his surroundings as if something were amiss. After a very few minutes it became unbearable.

"Mr Malfoy, may I ask why you are doing that?"

Apparently a propos of nothing, he asked, "Where do you keep your shoes, Miss Granger?"

"I beg your pardon?" she blinked.

"Your shoes," he insisted. "Where do you keep them?"

Oh, shit, I'm shut in with a foot fetishist, thought Hermione, desperately wondering when Snape would be getting back to keep his apparently insane friend in check.

"In the cupboard by the front door," she replied carefully.

"Accio Miss Granger's footwear," he commanded.

She squeaked as her slippers were yanked off her feet to join the neat arrangement on her coffee table.

Malfoy looked flabbergasted.

"This is all?"

Hermione did a quick inventory: slippers, going-out shoes, winter shoes, summer work shoes, sandals, trainers, and one very old and well-worn pair of walking boots.

"It's enough, isn't it?" She was completely baffled.

Malfoy turned his full attention on her and graced her with a smile at once charming and very satisfied. It made her even more nervous than before.

"What a remarkable young woman you are," he stated.

*

When he returned to the flat, laden down with sufficient food to feed an army of navvies for a week, Severus found Lucius alone in the living room, and Hermione was shut in the kitchen, making crashing noises.

"Lucius, what have you done?"

"Did you know that your Miss Granger possesses only seven pairs of shoes? I think she only buys shoes she actually wears! She's deprived, the poor child!"

"I thought you hated Narcissa's shoe habit," Severus said, wondering how on earth Malfoy and Hermione had managed to get onto this subject and what exactly had been said to make her hide.

"Yes, but – Severus, even you have more footwear than this pitiful collection!"

"Oh, just shut up, Lucius. Put the shoes away, and mind your manners if you don't want the pair of us sent away with a flea in our ear. You being whimsical is probably the most frightening thing she's seen in a very long time."

He went into the kitchen and deposited his bags on the counter. Hermione was washing up forcefully.

"This isn't really what I had in mind for my Saturday night, you know," she said to the soapy water. "I think Mr Malfoy might be a bit unhinged."

"He has an odd sense of humour at times."

"I wish..." Hermione hesitated. "I wish he hadn't come. That it was just you."

She was still addressing the bubbles, but he felt a sudden warmth.

"I know you have little enough cause to like him, Hermione, but give him a chance. He's been very lonely, these past years."

At this first use of her given name, she looked up.

"You're a good man... Severus," she said. "But don't worry. I won't tell anyone."

*

It was an odd, and oddly pleasant, evening for all of them. Lucius was having a 'when in Rome' experience. He had never before eaten curry while seated cross-legged on the floor at an expanded coffee table. Nor had he ever had a spirited argument with anyone about what film to watch on the television while eating. Nor had he anticipated that any such activities could be remotely enjoyable.

Hermione would never, even in her most improbable dreams, have imagined that she would ever enjoy anything a Malfoy would say or do, but she found Lucius' opinions on the food, the wine, the films, and pretty much anything were entertaining and wittily expressed. He was clearly making an effort – and for her, a Muggleborn and erstwhile opponent, which made it all the more astonishing. In fact, she found that the banter between him and Severus, and the way they turned to her for adjudication, both set her at ease and made her feel special. She realised that she had never seen Severus in a situation of equality and friendship with anyone before, and was touched to be included.

As for Severus, he found himself wondering what life might have been like had he ever experienced this sort of un-agenda'd companionship when he was younger. Even with Lucius, who had grown to be a good friend, he had always been guarded. Somehow, Hermione's presence defused that, and while they jibed at each other in their customary fashion, it was less barbed than usual. Certainly the food helped, and the unusually large amount of wine they had all consumed –

("Quaffed," insisted Lucius. "On such occasions, the process is known as quaffing!"

"Well, pass it over so I can quaff some more," said Hermione, reaching forward and inadvertently affording them both a splendid view of her cleavage.

"Lucius, stop leering at Miss Granger over the matar paneer and do as you're told."

"I vote we drop all the 'Miss Grangering' and 'Mr Malfoying'," said Lucius, holding the bottle just out of reach so he could continue to ogle.

"In favour," responded Hermione. "Now pass it over, Lucius, before I have to send Severus to get it for me."

"You don't want to come and fight me for it yourself?"

"Now you're just being silly.")

– but he had never, in all the time he could recall, ever felt so unthreatened.

They ended up sitting on the sofa together, watching My Fair Lady. Hermione, in the middle, put a little space between herself and Lucius, whose apparent fascination with her shoes had resurfaced from time to time. This, given the dimensions of the sofa, put her very close to Severus. It seemed only natural that she should gradually relax against him, and that his arm should come round her shoulders, and that leaning should morph into something that could only be described as snuggling.

"Ah, what a charming tale," said Lucius slyly as the film progressed. "The lovely and spirited young protégée falling for her cantankerous and unattractive mentor..."

"He's not unattractive," protested Hermione sleepily from where her head was now resting on Severus' lap, one of his hands toying with her hair while the other rested carefully on her waist.

"Which makes you Colonel Pickering, you doddery old codger," Severus said. "Does Hermione really want you to play with her feet?"

"S'nice," she mumbled.

*

Hermione was woken by her bladder fairly early. She staggered out of bed (who had put her there?) and into the living room, where the dim light filtering through the curtains showed that her visitors had made themselves at home on the sofa and on the floor. That was unexpected, but perhaps just as well. None of them had been in a fit state to use magic the previous night, and the Floo would just have made them puke. Bladder empty and teeth cleaned, she was just beginning to realise the extent of her hangover as she headed for the kitchen. Ugh – the air in the flat was redolent of sleeping men and stale food. Merlin – it was just like being with the boys. She grabbed her laptop and started to make coffee.

She stopped in her tracks.

It really was like being with the boys, she thought. Only better.

Author Note:

"Navvies": "Navvy" is a shorter form of "navigational engineer" (USA) or "navigator" (UK) and is particularly applied to describe the manual labourers working on major civil engineering projects. The term was coined in the late 18th century in Britain when numerous canals were being built, which were also sometimes known as "navigations". (from Wikipedia)

Also used in the phrase "to work like a navvy".