Nine

Voldemort Plus 10: 2008

The time: the following Monday – day of the Visit

Severus was fretting. They were late. And despite warming charms, thick clothes and restless pacing, it was no day to be out of doors.

Today was the day the HMRC inspectors were coming to view the Malfoy estate and to discuss its opening to the general public. The arrangements were in place – a few pegs and lengths of string marking out putative alterations, some cobbled-together proposals and plans for access and amenities, all cut-and-pasted on Hermione's wonderful computer and professionally bound thanks to the Number Ten stationery supplies cupboard. Lucius had perused the entire thing with an air of gentle tragedy, uttered a few choice death threats in put-upon tones, and returned to his work-rooms.

A weekend's brainstorming together had produced more in the way of a good entry into the world of international art theft than appealing offers to present to the PM.

Hunching his shoulders against a particularly unpleasant gust of wind, Severus nevertheless felt warmed, recollecting how the three of them had filled the small drawing room – a 'snug', Hermione had dubbed it – with scribbled-on parchments and Muggle paper, books devoted to the production of magical paintings, empty glasses and tea-cups, and, most importantly, the sounds of conversation and laughter. Yes, they had argued at times, but in the comfortable knowledge that disagreement was not the inevitable precursor to either hexing, hitting, or walking out. He suspected the situation had been just as much of a novelty to Lucius as it was to him. He had definitely caught Lucius looking at Hermione a few times with an expression that might, on another person, have been described as impressed. As for her, she was radiant, clever, warm, funny, and open in her expression of pleasure. He had the impression that she felt liberated by being with two people in whose company she was not obliged to hide her intelligence. Sweet Nimue, those years with Pottter and Weasley must have been purgatory.

A car horn blared through his train of thought.

Coming down the lane towards the temporarily un-Disillusioned gates of the Manor was one of the Ministry vehicles. As it passed through, its tyres crunching on the gravel, Severus caught a glimpse of Hermione in the front passenger seat, looking thunderous. He trudged up the driveway in the car's wake, with a Bad Feeling in his gut.

The car swept round and drew to a smooth halt in front of the house. The driver cut the engine and got out. Coming up level with them as the man went to open Hermione's door, Severus noted that he, too, was stony-faced. What was going on? Surely even Westwood couldn't antagonise everyone this early in the day.

"Don't ask," said Hermione as he opened his mouth. "Just. Don't. Ask."

She drew a deep, restraining breath before nodding to the driver to open the rear door.

Lucius, festively dressed for the occasion in unremitting black with one black pearl nestling in his cravat, was treated to the vision of Angela Westwood stretching one lithe and exquisitely-stockinged leg out, her foot resting just so on the gravel as the other came to join it. Her shoes were high-heeled, stylish, shiny, and apparently made of snakeskin.

Good move, thought Severus sarcastically, taking note of Lucius taking note. Lucius was an expert in decoding shoes.

She got smoothly out of the car, looking utterly perfect, and bestowed her trademark sunny smile on Lucius once more. Her severely-coiffed hair, a slightly unnatural but highly becoming shade of auburn, gave a note of colour to the grim November day.

"Mr Malfoy," said La Westwood. "What a pleasure to meet you again!" Her eyes swept across the facade of the Manor in a calculating fashion.

"Is it?" replied Lucius, surveying her in an equally assessing fashion which caused her to preen. His eyes moved to the underlings who were climbing out of the car, and then stopped as the four Muggles he expected to see were followed by one more.

This particular Muggle was female, about nine years of age, smartly dressed, carried an expensive-looking toy cat under its arm, and was the image of its mother. It skipped forward in a nauseatingly perky fashion.

"Hello! I'm Delia!" She smiled up at Lucius in a way Snape supposed she had been taught to think of as appealing.

Lucius gave her an expressionless look, which he transferred to the mother.

"I was sure you wouldn't mind if I brought Delia along – she has a little cold, so I had to keep her away from school for the day. And in any case, as she's part of the target audience if you are going to open Malfoy Manor to the public, we could consider her an integral member of the team, couldn't we?" Snape had never before thought anyone could combine resemblance to both a shark and a fluffy kitten in one expression, but somehow Westwood managed it.

"Quite," said Lucius stiffly. "Shall we go in?"

Westwood smiled fondly as her daughter pushed ahead of him and bounded up the steps to get to the door first.

Lucius smiled suavely as the child bounced off the wards still in place at the open doorway and sat down hard.

She was unhurt, but the fat tears were not slow in coming. "Mummeeeeee!"

Severus, bringing up the rear with Hermione, murmured, "You've had to put up with this all the way from London?"

"Even her flunkies want to exterminate the brat," she said. "It's going to be a long afternoon."

Lucius ushered them inside. The Muggles gawked at the impressive entrance hall, with its black-and-white marble floor and complex candelabra. The Malfoy portraits had all been variously bullied, cajoled and bribed into immobility for the occasion, but Hermione noted that every one of them wore the same bad smell expression. She could hardly blame them.

"Ooh! Mummy! Look at this!" said the Brat, grabbing an anatomically-precise porcelain figurine of a satyr.

"Miss Westwood, you should refrain from handling the items you see in this house," said Hermione firmly. "One does not touch other people's property without permission." She ignored the answering pout and the sharp look from the Brat's mother for her presumption in correcting the child. "Mr Snape, would you bring your colleagues in here, please?"

Aunt Emilia's salon, named for the forbidding portrait that dominated the room, was Snape's least favourite part of the Manor. It was a fact known to very few people – only two, to be precise – that his preference was for warm colours and clutter. Emilia Malfoy's taste had run to grey and gold with accents of green and black, and spindly, formal furnishings. It was the perfect room in which to receive unwanted visitors. Lucius had ensured that there had been no fire in the grate for three days, and the air was frigid. Hermione settled the inspectors in uncomfortable chairs, pointed 'Mr Snape' towards a nicer one, headed off the Brat's exploratory instincts by seating her at a window with a colourful book, then took station at Lucius' side.

"So, Mrs Westwood," he began, "what do you need to see, to accomplish your mission?"

She was undisturbed by his cool demeanour. Instead, she uncrossed and recrossed her elegant legs, smiling up at him from where she sat.

"Mr Malfoy – as you will by now be well aware, if your assistant has been doing her job..."

Snakeskin shoes and now bitching about Hermione, thought Severus. Ooops.

"...we shall be making an initial inspection today, to gauge the approximate taxable value of your property, should you decide not to go ahead with your plans for opening, and to assess the seriousness of your intentions to do so."

Lucius nodded at Hermione, who distributed the neat folders of plans and progress reports. The three of them had spent a busy couple of hours on Sunday afternoon setting up illusions of foundation digging for a state-of-the-art visitor centre and one or two other projects.

"Thank you. Should we feel you need any advice or assistance in your plans, I am empowered to bring in the experts from English Heritage."

Severus noticed that Hermione was glaring and turned to look. The Brat had taken to unravelling one of the heavy gold tassels on the curtain cords. Westwood also looked round.

"Don't do that, Sweetie," she said mildly.

The Brat ignored her mother and continued her fiddling without further admonishment, until the cords suddenly swirled themselves up out of reach. Snape gave her two minutes to find something else to destroy.

"Shall we begin, then?" invited Lucius.

*

It had eventually taken a Compulsion Charm to keep the little monster in its chair. Hermione didn't bother to be subtle about it.

"Did you just use... magic on my daughter?!" exclaimed Westwood, starting to her feet and filling the word with an unexpected degree of loathing.

"Yes, Mrs Westwood, I did. Your child has already damaged the curtain-cords, scored the surface of a polished table with her crayons, and, through sheer inattention, spilled hot chocolate on a valuable carpet. Thus far, her behaviour would be more suited to a zoo..." as an inmate was the clearly-understood omission "...than to a civilised house. "She has also interrupted an important meeting several times."

"I dare say you have little experience of children, Miss Granger." Nor are you likely to, you frumpy little bitch.

"Enough to recognise bad behaviour, Mrs Westwood." Especially on your part, in bringing her here and expecting us to lump it. "But I dare say she is just tired and fractious from being unwell." My arse. "I would like to reassure you that she will feel no ill-effects..." unfortunately "...from the spell I used, any more than she has from your obliging me to extend the geas to include her, so that she may understand us."

"Ladies," complained Lucius in his pose of bored aristocrat, "could we just get on with it? I'm sure we could all do with a walk, and we can't see the place until all this dull stuff has been discussed."

Hermione was secretly very disappointed that the inspectors had thought to bring wellies for the tour of the grounds. She had been looking forward to seeing them, especially Westwood – in truth the others were pretty inoffensive – struggle with the muddy paths. She herself settled for warming and dirt-repelling charms to protect her lovely boots.

While two of the HMRC juniors went off to view the estate as a whole with one of the gardening elves – whose appearance caused no end of consternation among the Muggles, in particular the Brat, who had to whimper and attempt to cling to Lucius' hand – the rest were taken on a tour of the areas closer to the house. Westwood cooed over the knot garden and admired the extensive kitchen gardens, though it was unusual, she said, to see so many poisonous plants in the herb beds – this after shrieking loudly when Darling Delia started to pick the Lords-and-Ladies without anyone else apparently noticing. In the rose garden, she briefly rested a hand on Lucius' sleeve as she exclaimed over the beauty of the bushes, which were still in bloom so late in the year.

"Divorced from a rich husband and looking for another, I'd say," commented Severus sotto voce to Hermione.

"Bloody hell, yes!" said one of the junior inspectors, who had exceptionally good hearing. "And I bet she's got something on the boss, because she always gets this kind of job."

"She never brought the Bride of Chucky along with her before, though," said the other. "I don't suppose your boss has a very deep well somewhere on the property, does he, Miss Granger? I'm sure I could wangle a big rebate for that."

Hermione laughed, though she was beginning to worry about what was brewing when Lucius' nostrils went white at the vision of the Brat dancing up to her mother with a ripped-off bunch of his prized black roses in her hands.

But, "Perhaps you'd like to have a go in the labyrinth, Miss Westwood," was all he said. "It's one of the best in England, and only very clever people have been able to reach the centre."

"Severus – what's he got hiding in there?" Hermione hissed. "He said 'reach', not 'find'...! I really don't think we can get away with any fatal accidents today, you know."

"Mr Malfoy," said Severus, over the prattle of the Brat, "as we are beginning to lose the daylight, perhaps a view of the foundations and the first part of the adventure park would be a better idea. Mazes can be more... complicated... than one anticipates, from what I have heard."

"Spoilsport," mouthed Lucius.

"And Miss Westwood, perhaps you would pick up those flowers you have dropped before they are stepped on. It would be a shame to trample such priceless blooms."

The child scooped them up higgledy-piggledy.

"I don't want to carry them! They're prickly!"

"Let me take them, then," said Hermione, holding out her hand. The flowers were roughly thrown at her and the Brat skipped off after her mother, who had spotted the glasshouses.

Hermione sucked at her hand where a thorn had caught her. "Ouch."

"I swear I'll..."

"Lucius – no. She's not worth the risk of imprisonment," Hermione said round her thumb. "Let me do it – I'd probably get a fairly short sentence for a first offence."

The greenhouses were steamy-hot. While Hermione's hair seized took the opportunity to frizz to monstrous proportions, she was pleased to see Westwood's coiffure begin to look limp, though the woman compensated by loosening her coat and suit jacket sufficiently to display a long and elegant neck. This she presented to advantage, looking slightly sideways up at Lucius.

"Why, Mr Malfoy, what an amazing abundance of fantastic plants! You will take the horticultural world by storm when this becomes public!" She cupped her hand senusously around a peach and bent her head to inhale its perfume.

Lucius, however, was not to be moved.

"Would you kindly dissuade your daughter from gorging on the apricots, madam? They are being grown for a special occasion."

She laughed prettily.

"Aren't children a trial? Delia, darling! You'll spoil your tea if you carry on. Now do come here and be a good girl!"

The Brat pocketed a couple more of the fruit before joining her mother. She ignored Lucius.

"Where are the exciting plants, Mummy?" she whined. "These are dull."

"We have some exotica through here, if you enjoy that sort of thing," invited the master of the house.

Unfortunately, the Brat had enough sense to keep her fingers and head out of the Titan fly-trap, and she noticed the writhing of the Venomous Tentacula before getting too close to make the observation academic. She was, however, very much drawn to the pretty markings on the giant Bornean pitcher plant, which had been discovered and brought back by Lucius' grandfather. Severus had always thought of it as the Dustbin Plant, such was its size and undiscriminating appetite – and indeed, it was at that moment shaking with the struggles of its latest meal. The Brat strode fearlessly up to it and poked it hard.

"Cool!" she said. "What does it eat?"

Lucius looked at the cuddly toy which was still firmly clamped beneath her arm.

"Kittens," he replied. "Shall we go and see the new foundations now?"

*

Returning to the house at dusk, they passed through the stable yard. Severus wondered whether Lucius had deliberately arranged the demise of the last peacock for the occasion. Certainly, the enthusiastic crunching noises the dogs were making had an effect on the visitors which he seemed to find most gratifying, particularly when one of them got up to sniff at Westwood with a bloody muzzle. It sneezed at her perfume, spraying both her and the Brat with droplets of gore.

"Sweet dog," murmured Lucius, caressing its ears.

By the time the whole party reassembled in the house, Westwood was evidently planning some swingeing tax impositions, house opening or no house opening. She and the Brat both refused Hermione's offer of a Cleaning Charm.

"I don't believe you're magic!" said the Brat. She pulled a crayon out of her pocket and brandished it in Hermione's and Lucius' faces. "Hokey pokey! Abracadabra! You're just mean and I wish I could turn you into frogs and squash you!"

She threw the crayon on the floor and stamped off.

"Charming," said Severus. "Mrs Westwood, unless you have any further questions for Mr Malfoy, I think we might return to London now. If anything else comes up, I am sure Miss Granger will be available to answer any questions and provide assistance. I will be able to contact you easily, Miss Granger?"

"Of course, Mr Snape, Mrs Westwood. I can let you have a Muggle telephone number with an answering service. I check it every day, so there should be no difficulties." She turned towards the junior inspectors. "Gentlemen – I hope you have seen everything you need to on this visit? Then I am sure the Ministry driver will be happy to take you back to London in warmth and comfort. Refreshments will be available in the car." Her smile just failed to include their superior, to whom she now offered her hand. "I'll wish you a good trip back, then..."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Brat sidling up to a particularly fine Chinese vase, hand extended.

"Oh, no!"

It was the last straw for Lucius.

Everything seemed to happen at once.

The Brat, with a smug smile, sent the vase crashing to the floor. The veneer of civility, which had worn very thin, fell away from Lucius' enraged snarl. His wand was in his hand.

"No!" shouted Severus, already on the move but too far away to intervene.

Hermione threw herself forward.

She crumpled to the ground as the hex took her full force.

*

There was a moment of silence before pandemonium broke out.

The Brat dashed into its mother's embrace, from where it sobbed over-dramatically that the bad man was scary and wanted to hurt her. Westwood, ignoring the fallen woman near her on the floor, began to shout imprecations about assault, and lawyers, and damages. One of the other Muggles, clearly embarrassed, knelt down where Lucius had thrown himself onto the cold marble and was cradling Hermione in his arms.

"Sir? I know some first-aid. Perhaps I can help make her comfortable while we wait for an ambulance?"

Severus was there too, reaching for Hermione, but his hand stilled when he saw Lucius' twisted expression.

"Severus – get them out of here. Obliviate them."

"Obliterate us? What the...? You! You're one of them!" screeched Westwood.

"Petrificus totalus!" shouted Lucius, with a sweeping motion of his wand arm that took all of them in. "Severus – get rid of them, and make sure they remember none of this." He took a deep breath. "See that this young man is rewarded somehow, will you?"

Still holding Hermione closely, he got to his feet and turned away.

"I will see to her. She'll be all right."

"She had better be, Lucius. She had better be."

*

Hermione surfaced painfully, becoming aware that she was cradled against someone's chest and shoulder. A soothing voice was murmuring to her, a voice she knew – one she liked. She opened her eyes and looked groggily up at... Lucius. What was she doing in Lucius' arms? She frowned, which was not a good idea, as it made her head hurt even more. She whimpered a little, and was gently rocked.

"Hush. You're safe," he murmured to her.

"Lucius?"

"Forgive me, Hermione."

"What happened?"

"It was a Stunner, just a Stunner. You and your asinine Gryffindor heroics."

He pressed his lips to her forehead, smoothing away her renewed frown.

"You... you tried to hex a child. A child." She laughed shakily. "Even if there was provocation..."

A cough racked her, and when she could breathe again, she found she was once more pressed against Lucius' racing heart. It seemed a good place to rest. He drew back a little and looked at her.

"That you should have been injured again in my house, when I promised you safety. It's unforgiveable."

"Lucius, don't apologise. It's out of character." She smiled tiredly. "Just don't do it again."

She was a little surprised when he briefly touched his lips to hers before laying her back against the sofa cushions.

"Rest now."

*

When she woke again, feeling somewhat stronger, it was to the sound of shouting outside the door. The words were indistinct, but she knew the sound of a bitter row when she heard it. She sat up and gingerly swung her feet to the floor. Her muscles still twitched – an angry Lucius cast a powerful hex – but she was unharmed apart from the bruises gained by falling. She bent forward, elbows on knees and forehead cradled in her palms, listening unhappily to Severus arguing with his friend. The door handle was turned, and through the widening gap, their words were audible.

"You couldn't let it lie, could you?" Severus snapped. "You have to get so damn shirty about every little thing..."

"This day has been one long insult from start to finish! How could I let it pass? Tell me that – how could I?"

"Very easily. You and your precious Malfoy pride. Pah! It's quite easy to live with insults, Lucius – I should know. You just learn to swallow it..."

"Swallow all that? From them?"

"Yes – swallow it. And wait for the right moment. I thought you were a Slytherin."

"You should have let me deal with this my way from the very beginning instead of tiptoeing around kowtowing to the whims of an idiot and a Muggle!"

"Oh, yes – your way. And what a good way you've just proved that to be, with Hermione injured and me having to clear up your mess as usual."

"Stop it!" Hermione whispered into her hands. "Stop it. Stop it."

Severus had come fully into the room, and swiftly crossed to Hermione. He sat next to her and drew her to his side. Lucius followed. He stood before them, looking haggard. Hermione raised a tear-stained face.

"Severus, I want to go home and rest now."

"Of course."

"And Lucius? You're right. We should never have let things get this far. We've all been having fun messing about and trying to duck out of things, but it's no good. There's another way – I know there is – without resorting to violence. Some way with no mess to clear up. But..." She sighed. "I'm too tired."

Severus helped her to her feet.

"No – it's all right. I'll manage the Floo by myself. Just one thing," she added. "Don't fight while I'm gone. Not over this mess, and certainly not over me. You are friends. If I have learned nothing else over the past weeks, I have learned that. Now use it – pool your energies. I'll be in touch soon."

And with a hug for Lucius and a kiss for Severus, she was gone.

*

For a little while, silence prevailed in the room.

"We don't deserve that young woman, you know," said Lucius, finally.

"Now he learns humility...."

*

Author Note:

b>Lords-and-Ladies (Arum maculatum), bears highly poisonous, bright red berries. It seems the sort of thing that might be found in any decent potioneer's garden....

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arum_maculatum