Eight

Voldemort plus ten: 2008

The time: a couple of weeks later

"The Master is in the Transfiguration room, Miss," said the house-elf when Hermione emerged from the Floo in the entrance hall. "Follow me, please."

Until that moment, she had not been aware that there was such a thing as a Transfiguration room at the Manor – but then, despite Severus' assurances, she had not until now visited Lucius' home unaccompanied, never mind gone exploring. He could have been hiding Westminster Abbey in there and she would never have known, the place was so huge. The elf led her up a third flight of stairs to a surprisingly plain oak door, where it left her to her own resources and wits.

The door was ajar, so Hermione peered round it before announcing her presence. With Lucius, caution was generally the wisest policy. It was a long, barrel-vaulted room, plainly decorated, but furnished with assorted tables and cases containing a plethora of randomly-assorted objects. North-facing, the windows admitted a clear though not brilliant light. Lucius was working at a bench placed side-on to the door, totally absorbed in his task as he pushed an object through a multitude of Transfigurations, changing it not only in form and composition, animate and inanimate, but also in size. Hermione was impressed at his facility – alterations in volume, mass and density as well as shape were never as simple as they looked, and yet here he was, pushing whatever the original thing had been through a rapid series of changes that made Auror-level tests look like exercises for ickle firsties. She wondered why he was doing it.

She spoke as he eventually laid down his wand and reached out to pick up the simple round stone that lay before him.

"Lucius?"

"Hermione!"

She blinked as his face broke into the first completely unguarded expression she had ever seen on it. He was handsome at the best of times, but with delight curving the corners of his mouth and crinkling his usually cold grey eyes, he was... devastating. And here he was, advancing towards her with both hands outstretched in welcome.

"At last you have decided to visit me as a friend should," he said. "What a great pleasure! And what brings you here, my dear?"

She didn't want to break his mood too soon, so she gestured towards the bench.

"That was quite a virtuoso performance!"

"That? Oh, that was nothing. Solids are really quite simple, but one needs to be really limbered-up before working on gases." He noted her look of curiosity. "It's a hobby, Hermione. We idle rich have to do something with our time. And in any case, I want to be fully – what's the expression? – on the ball before updating the textbooks."

"The textbooks?" Cogs whirred. "The school textbooks?!"

"And those of the Ministry. Emeric was my great-uncle, and used 'Switch' as his pen-name – Hufflepuff humour." Lucius rolled his eyes. "It's a family tradition, shall we say – the books, not being a Hufflepuff."

"Draco never said a word!"

"Draco never knew. He was quite sufficiently insufferable as it was, don't you think?"

Hermione laughed and moved further into the room, carefully touching some of the items lying around. Some of those which had been left mid-way through the Transfiguration process were very interesting, bizarre, or even grotesque. She was glad none of these involved animals – it had always sickened her to see the results of failed transformations at school, and had been a major motivating factor for getting everything right. She picked up a bar which looked as though it was half lead, half gold.

"It's a good thing the ancient Muggle alchemists never saw this sort of thing. They'd have had an apoplexy."

"Idiots. One can never change the subatomic structure of matter without using magic – mess it about a bit, perhaps; crack it ever smaller, of course. But change it? Pah!"

He Summoned a lump of iron ore and casually Transfigured it into a nugget of gold. "Child's play," he said. Concentrating a little, he then shaped the nugget into a locket embossed with a small but very lifelike portrait of Severus. "For you, Hermione, in honour and mockery of your heritage. You will find that it always bears the image of your true love."

He ushered her out of the room.

"So if you are of a fickle turn of mind, my dear, I suggest you keep it out of Severus' sight. Now – as I suspect from your expression you are the bearer of ill tidings, let us adjourn to more congenial surroundings."

Hermione was completely at a loss for words. In ten minutes, Lucius had allowed her to see more of himself than ever before, and she was deeply confused.

*

"Severus! What's the emergency? Hermione is being coy about it," said Lucius as they entered the library to find Snape irritably pacing.

"To be honest, Lucius, I don't really know either, yet," Hermione hedged. "All I got was a message on my coin saying 'time's up'."

"The HMRC people have finished at Gringotts. They are royally pissed off – both at the treatment they have received from the goblins, and by the fact that you apparently have no cash to speak of. The Westwood woman is on the warpath."

"Well, if I have no money, then there is little they can do, so there's an end to it. Let them tax the Weasleys and the Potters if they want to add a few Knuts to their coffers."

"It's hardly that simple. Weasley said you were the wealthiest man in our community, didn't he? That means that if you are cash-poor then you are asset-rich. The tax inspectors want to inspect your estates."

Lucius looked out of the window.

"And then?"

"And then they will want to take some of them away."

"Muggles. Here. And confiscation of Malfoy property. I think not. It's time I had a serious talk with your precious Prime Minister." He sounded ready to bite.

Hermione hunted through her pack of papers.

"It won't help," said Severus. "Between Westwood nagging him and the magical 'slippages' he keeps having to call for Aurors to fix, he is not feeling particularly sympathetic at the moment."

"It is of little moment how the man feels. He will be brought to understand that he is in error, and that the consequences of persisting in his error will be... painful."

"You can't go in there firing off hexes like there's no tomorrow, Lucius! See sense!" snapped Severus. He stopped his restless movement to face the other man squarely. "Do you know what the consequences would be? The term 'witch hunt' wasn't coined as a metaphor – and these days the Muggles are capable of a great deal more damage than they were four hundred years ago."

"I will NOT submit to this outrage, to this invasion by a pack of stunted oath-breakers!" Lucius snarled through stiff lips.

"Then you will find yourself living through another war. A worse war – and one of your making. Lucius – think!"

"I will NOT allow..."

"Stop it!" cried Hermione. "Just... stop right now. Please."

She gestured round the library, where the signs of magic getting out of control were evident. The two men exchanged a glance and backed down from the confrontation, both breathing hard.

"Hermione...," began Severus, reaching for her hand.

"Forgive me, Herm–," Lucius said at the same time.

"Just shut up and listen! Shouting gets us nowhere." She drew a deep breath. "Now – sit down, the pair of you, and start thinking like Slytherins instead of like men."

They sat. Hermione faced them, hands on hips, wearing an expression that reminded them strongly of McGonagall.

"Now – your basic Gryffindor tactic when faced with a threat would be...?"

"Charge in like a mating erumpent," offered Severus.

"You're too kind. But what does a Slytherin do when threatened?"

"Use the threat as –" began Lucius.

"An opportunity!" they all said together.

"So – the PM wants money. Why does he want money?" asked Hermione.

"Because the economy's going arse over tit, everyone's watching their purse strings, and the whole country regards him as a failure," Severus said.

"So, instead of offering him money...," she prompted.

"We offer him something he wants more," finished Lucius. "Thereby both getting him off our backs and placing him in our debt. Severus, you have brought a gem into our little circle."

"Well, don't get cocky, boys," Hermione blushed. "Because you two are going to have to work out just exactly what to give him. And now here's the bad news, sort of, for you, Lucius."

He raised an enquiring eyebrow, causing her to wonder briefly whether Severus had picked up the trick in emulation of his youthful idol.

"That Westwood woman moves fast – very fast. She's been bogged down by the goblins for a week and she'll be in a hell of a mood, if I'm any judge of character. She's been handed carte blanche by the PM and she's going to wave it about until she gets what she wants. We're going to have to let her have a little of that, I'm afraid, while you work on something for the PM."

"Which means?"

"You're not going to like it."

"I think we've established that. Tell me."

Hermione pulled a print-out from her bag.

"Okay – the thing that often happens when someone inherits property is that they have to sell off a part of that property in order to pay the tax due on the inheritance. However," she said more loudly, to cut off whatever Lucius was about to say, "there is a get-out: the Conditional Exemption Heritage Property tax incentive."

Severus snorted and then, looking at Lucius' unsuspecting expression, began to laugh silently. His attack of hilarity rapidly threatened to get out of hand, and he excused himself with a gesture, heading for the far end of the room.

"Severus?" Hermione was concerned.

"I think you had better tell me the worst," said Lucius sourly. "My friend has an entirely too well-developed sense of the absurd, at times..."

Hermione thought she heard the muffled words 'adventure playground' coming from the shadowy recesses between the bookshelves.

"...and while it may have helped him keep his sense of perspective in his former life, it has an unfortunate tendency to break out at inappropriate moments."

"Well, it's quite simple, really. All you have to do is declare your property to be part of the nation's heritage, and then it won't be taxed."

"...tea rooms!..."

"Entirely too simple. The catch, Hermione, the catch."

She sighed.

"Very well, then. You have to allow public access. And you have to prove that you are allowing public access. Sorry, Lucius. As long as we don't have anything better to offer the Prime Minister, you're going to have to let Muggles in."

*

Hermione sent a gently fuming Lucius off with the National Trust handbook so he could familiarise himself with the horror to come. Then she cornered Severus.

By the time she discovered his hiding place, he had regained his calm, but there was still a look of unholy amusement on his face. It suited his saturnine features, making his mouth, in particular, irresistible. So Hermione didn't bother troubling herself with resistance.

"I don't suppose it's the Malleus Maleficarum that's making you smirk like that," she said, unglueing her lips from his and tipping up his book to read the spine. "What on earth got into you?"

"The potential for disaster inherent in this whole situation..."

"Is hardly a laughing matter, I would have thought."

"Oh, but just wait until you see la Westwood again, Hermione. The woman's a... a barracuda! She's been in my office every bloody day, talking about Lucius this and Lucius that. Quite frankly, I don't think she knows whether she wants to destroy him or marry him, but whatever it is, their next encounter will be worth selling tickets for." He laughed again. "I don't know who to be sorrier for, though right now, Lucius gets the lion's share of my sympathy."

"I see what you mean," she replied, smiling back at him. A propos of nothing, she added, "I do love you, Severus."

"You do?" he sounded surprised.

"But of course I do! Did you doubt it?"

"I can't do otherwise than doubt it, Hermione," he said.

"Don't do that, Severus. Never do that. I'll have to tell you more often, won't I?"

"It would help," he admitted wryly, and drew her tightly to him, so she could no longer see his face. She found it hard, sometimes, to keep up with his changes of mood.

"Lucius gave me something today," she said, remembering the locket.

"He did?"

She showed him.

"I don't know why he made it for me, but I think he's pleased you've found some happiness, you know."

Severus traced the likeness of his own face with a careful fingertip.

"He made it?" he said neutrally. "He must really like you, Hermione. I know of only two other people for whom he has actually created something."

"And you are one of them."

"Yes."

"Poor Lucius. I think we need to take him for a day out, Severus. With ice cream, and postcards, and things to climb on."

"And you say I have a strange sense of humour."

*

Hermione was never quite sure afterwards how the day culminated in plans for larceny on a fairly egregious scale, but what was certain was that Lucius learned enough about letting the Great Unwashed trample over hallowed sanctuaries to provide him with an almost evangelical fervour for helping the PM out of his plight.

They hired a car for the trip. It would have been simple enough to Apparate to the vicinity, but as Hermione said, if they were going to research the opening of a stately home, then they were going to do it properly. Severus, revealing another unexpected skill, took the wheel. By the time they arrived, Hermione was a nervous wreck and Lucius looked green.

"I'm driving back," said Hermione as soon as her feet were back on terra firma.

"Yes, Severus, do please give Hermione the keys. Now would be a good time. Thank you, dear boy."

"My dad always said I drove like a little old lady," protested Severus.

"And the little old lady in question would be...?"

"Granny Snape. Fine old buzzard, she was. Could get a hundred and twenty out of a Reliant Robin." He saw their faces. "I'm joking! Honestly – some people can't cope with a little excitement."

"Whirling and stalking off don't work nearly as well without the billowy robe, you know," Lucius remarked.

Hermione giggled.

"He was an absolute maniac on the Quidditch pitch, you know," confided Lucius, taking Hermione's arm and setting off in leisurely pursuit. "The Slytherin trophy cabinet – the one in the common room – has a whole shelf dedicated to his exploits as a Beater. He broke limbs on the entire Gryffindor team in his fourth year, and after that McGonagall insisted on either banning him or making him Keeper."

"And Gryffindor never scored another goal against us until I left school. It was more satisfying than ensuring they all went down with dysentery before every match – which was your advice, I seem to recall. Will you two stop dawdling?"

"Hermione, my dear, is it really necessary to have such a huge area for storing just seven cars?" Lucius was surveying the car park and the ugly little pseudo-classical entry booth.

"It's mid-week in late autumn, Lucius. At the height of the season, the car park will be full to overflowing."

"What an eyesore."

They came to the gatehouse, where Severus paid what seemed an inordinately large amount of money for the three of them to gain entry and a lavish guide book. Hermione flicked through it to the estate plan, which she spread out on one of the picnic tables in the courtyard.

"So what do you want to do first?" she asked.

Lucius was eyeing the amenities askance, curling his lip at the tastefully-designed and discreet-but-clear signs directing them to the Saddlery Cafe, the Lady Meringham Restaurant, the gift shop, the family activity centre, the educational centre, the Meringham Garden Centre, the toilets....

"They let people pee in here? Complete strangers? Common people?" He was aghast.

Severus looked at the threatening November sky and wrapped another coil of his black scarf round his neck.

"I suggest we have a look at the grounds while it's still possible. Come along, Lucius. Stop cringing and try to have a good time."

"Here?" Lucius said faintly.

The gardens of Meringham Park proved soothing to the Malfoy nerves, up to a point. Some visionary seventeenth-century lord had spent a great deal of time planting trees in well-chosen spots, thus creating for his ancestors a pleasing variety of romantic woodlands and open vistas. A few silly little temples and grottoes added accents, and the gardeners clearly had a talent for persuading the English countryside to look pretty even under dull autumn skies. Hermione thought the cross-country jumps were an unsightly intrusion into the general effect, but Lucius said he rather fancied having a go. Severus unshrank a basket he produced from a pocket and induced them both to come on a mushroom hunt along the smaller pathways in the woods.

He and Hermione were arguing over the identity of a nondescript little fungus that might or might not have been extremely poisonous when a rushing, crackling noise alerted them to the fact that they were not alone. Coming down the narrow path at breakneck speed were three garishly-costumed people on mountain bikes.

"Watch out!" shouted the one in the lead.

Severus and Lucius both reached to pull Hermione up from where she was crouching, their hurry causing her to lurch into a tangle of brambles. The basket of mushrooms was upended and half the contents crushed. Lucius was liberally splashed with mud. His wand was out in the blink of an eye.

"Lucius, no!" shouted Hermione as she clung to Severus for balance, trying not to fall further into the blackberry patch.

But, almost out of sight, one cyclist skidded and fell hard, another swore as several spokes snapped and his rear wheel buckled, and the third, swerving to avoid crashing into his companions, instead careened into a tree.

"Don't look at me like that, Hermione – no-one died!" Lucius helped to get her back on the path, then assessed the damage to their persons. "Dear girl – your lovely jacket is scratched to bits!"

"Oh, what?!" Hermione was very fond of that leather jacket. "Serves them right," she growled, surveying the damage. "This'll never look right again!"

Lucius paused in restoring his customary elegance to flick his wand at her. "Hey presto!" he said sarcastically. "You really don't think like a witch, sometimes, my dear."

"Pack it in, Lucius – it's not her fault she comes from a Muggle family." Severus had fished a shrunken first aid kit from another pocket in his black trench coat and was hunting for a salve for Hermone's scratches. "Old habits die hard," he said, seeing her look. "I never leave home without it. There you are – good as new."

They picked up what remained of the mushroom haul and headed back for the formal gardens. Hermione glanced back at the groaning cyclists.

"Should we send help, do you think?" she asked worriedly.

"No," replied both her escorts.

The gardens were pretty, but loud-voiced ladies in tweed, stealing cuttings and discussing their neighbours' doings, were guaranteed to charm neither Malfoy nor Snape.

"Is it lunchtime yet? We can go to the restaurant via the playgrounds, to see what the set-up is." Hermione noted their reluctance. "We might as well see the whole thing, you know."

The area for very young children was deserted and bleak under the drizzle; the adventure section, which sported an impressive range of challenges, nevertheless left Lucius particularly disappointed.

"You mean, they call it a snake pit and dangle children over it, but there aren't any snakes at all? Where's the fun in that?" he complained.

One lone, harassed-looking mother was trying to patch up a grazed knee on her daughter while also supervising two boys as they charged around alternately throwing themselves onto the equipment and kicking a football around. She winced as they tore a muddy path right between Hermione and Severus.

"I'm so sorry!" said the woman. "Are you okay? I am never taking them out ever again – not until they're at least thirty. Brian! Stuart! Come and say sorry!"

"Just imagine a whole horde of the little darlings all running around in the sunshine, having fun," said Lucius stiffly as they continued on their way. "Now, shall we see what horrors the catering department is to perpetrate upon us?"

The soup wasn't bad, though it was expensive. The steak pies were volcanically hot and of indifferent quality under their towering lids of chemically-excited puff pastry, and were also expensive. The carrot cake and tea were superb, and almost worth the price. Even Lucius had to admit that – especially as he went back for a second slice. However, the ambience of scrubbed pine and mass-produced olde-worlde decorations didn't encourage lingering, and it was with some relief that they finally entered Meringham House itself.

One of the advantages of the English climate is that in a stately home, on a Thursday in November, one will usually have room to breathe and even to look. One may stop to poke fun at the bulgy gods and hefty nymphs cavorting on the ceilings ("I don't think I could rest easy with her floating above my bed," said Severus), one can snigger at the dirty jokes in the papyri collected by Lord Whatsit on his Grand Tour and subsequently mistranslated as love songs, and one can stop for as long as one wants to admire the most stunning portrait one has ever seen.

"Oh – wow!" Hermione breathed, entering yet another salon and coming face-to-face with the Duchess Caterina. The lady in question was undeniably one of the most beautiful women Hermione had ever seen – young and fresh of complexion, but also possessed of great dignity. She was seated on a throne, gorgeously robed in silver silk and heavy gold embroidery. An enormous and ornate ruff framed her face.

"Severus! Lucius! Come and look at this!"

"I can't believe he translated it as 'woven purse'," Severus was saying as they entered. "What a dunderhead!"

She was reading the handbook entry aloud.

"...and it's one of the last portraits Rubens ever painted," she finished. "Isn't she..." Hermione didn't complete the question. She stopped, open-mouthed, when the portrait unmistakably smiled at her.

"My Lady," said Lucius, bowing formally.

"At last!" said the Duchess with a strong Italian accent. "People I can actually speak to without sending them mad! And who are you, that you should be visiting this Muggle establishment?"

Lucius performed the introductions with his usual flair, rather embroidering her and Severus' accomplishments, Hermione felt. But she was flattered, and blushed.

"Ah! A Malfoi! I should have known by your looks, Signor! I see that your family has lost none of its poise with the passing years."

The flattery went to and fro for a while. Then it emerged that the Duchess's Squib grandson had sold her portrait when he lost his fortune at the gambling table, and since then she had been obliged to behave like dead paint – well, ever since accidentally sending one of the daughters of the house to Bedlam.

"I die of boredom, my friends! It is bad enough to be stuck in this stupid corset and ruff, but all I have to look at all day is the same set of chairs, those stupid landscapes, and troops of lumpen Muggles! There is nobody to talk to!" She lowered her lashes and looked through them at Lucius. "Just think how my existence would be lightened, were I to be placed next to that wonderful picture of Sir Guy de Malfoi that dear Pieter Paul made. Such a dear friend...." She sighed dramatically and placed a hand to her breast. Then, catching Hermione's ironic stare, she laughed. "These Malfois!"

"Producing an exact copy would be quite a challenge," said Lucius.

"Especially as the Muggles have very sophisticated ways of detecting fakes," Severus added.

"I can't believe you're seriously considering stealing a Rubens!"

"Come, now, Hermione," cajoled Lucius. "Would you really feel good about leaving Caterina here?"

Severus took her hand.

"And in any case, we'll need your help – an undetectable copy demands some very complex Arithmantic input, you know. And we're both aware that's one of your strengths."

"It'll be fun, too," Lucius added. "There's never enough sheer fun in life!"

"You're a very irresponsible pair," she said.

They were on the point of leaving, having given their promises to the Duchess, when she called Hermione back to have a quick word.

"It is good to see a young witch of this modern world," mused the lady. "So much has changed – your hair, your clothes, your speech.... And your two wizards treat you completely as an equal! What an extraordinary young woman you must be. I look forward to knowing you better."

Hermione choked a little.

"They're not both – I mean, I'm with Severus! Lucius is a friend, that's all!"

"Really, my dear? Well, it is good to have such... friends," said the Duchess archly.

*

Author Notes:

1.The National Trust: an organisation dedicated to the protection of the nation's heritage. http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/

2.The Reliant Robin: a small, three-wheeled car and butt of many jokes. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reliant_Robin

3.Meringham Park is my invention. However, the portrait of the Duchess Caterina is closely based on a Rubens portrait to be found at Kingston Lacy in Dorset. http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/main/w-vh/w-visits/w-findaplace/w-kingstonlacy/w-kingstonlacy-seeanddo.htm This page bears a photo of it.