Six

Voldemort Plus Ten: 2008

The time: Monday

It was an apprehensive-looking Minister who stepped through the fireplace into his office rather earlier than usual on Monday morning. It was a Minister who expected to be thoroughly told off. It was a Minister who had spent nearly the whole weekend tinkering in his shed in order to avoid confessing to his wife what he had done. It was a Minister who was reduced to trembling nerves by the fact that his aide was in an inexplicably sunny mood when she walked through the door carrying an armful of files.

"Good morning, Minister!"

"Good morning, Miss Granger." He didn't risk the hug.

Hermione dumped the folders unceremoniously on the Minister's desk and opened the diary.

"Hermione..." Arthur began.

"Sit down, Arthur. We have a lot to get through, and I want you to pay attention."

"Hermione, I'm..."

"What's done is done. Now we have to try to deal with it. I haven't the patience for excuses or apologies, Arthur, so let's just get on, shall we?" She Summoned a chair of her own.

Arthur wasn't used to this. He was used to post-mortems, emotional blackmail and many, many words; he was used to making excuses, sidestepping issues, and putting on the charm. Witnessing Hermione take the bull by the horns in such a fashion suddenly made him very glad for his son's sake that she had turned him down.

She sat, winced, and conjured herself a cushion.

"Unusual amount of exercise this weekend," she explained. "Now – here's what we're going to do."

Arthur learned that he was going to be called on to exercise the very skills he had developed in his married life to stall any and all pressure from Downing Street to get on with sorting out taxes. Throwing bureaucracy in the path of the ravening hordes was his role. For the moment, Hermione and Snape were going to handle the rest of it.

"Now, Arthur, I'm going to do my utmost best to get us out of this mess," your mess, he heard, "but it's going to take time. I'm going to have to do a lot of research, which means that I will be working half days. I need to use my computer, so I have to be outside the Ministry. So now you and I are going to go through the diary, make sure that the bare essentials of my duties can be completed in the mornings, and show you what needs to be done in the afternoons. You're going to have to do some of the donkey-work," she warned, giving him a stern look, "and you are not going to deviate from the guidelines we settle here because I don't have the time to clear up after you. Now, let's get on. Mr Malfoy is going to be here at noon, and I shouldn't imagine he will be in much of a mood to brook delays."

Arthur gave her a doleful look.

"Hermione, I'm so sorry to have thrown you into the path of that man," he said gently.

In return, he received an expressionless glance.

"You might have thought of that before. However, I dare say I will manage – and Mr Snape can be relied upon in a crisis."

*

Lucius was in full Intimidation Mode when he swept into Arthur's office. Hermione kept her expression neutral as she rose from her chair. Arthur unwisely chose to attempt bonhomie.

"Lucius! What a long time it has been!" he exclaimed, extending his hand.

Malfoy glanced at the appendage as though it were a rotting fish.

"Weasley," he said. "Miss Granger, I trust the Ministry is not going to fall apart without you while you are assisting me with the rectification of this, erm, situation."

"Assisting you?" exclaimed Arthur. "Hermione isn't working for you, Malfoy!"

"I beg to differ. Since you have decided to offer me as a lamb to the slaughter," Lucius sneered, looking un-lamblike, "and Miss Granger is attempting to undo your sterling efforts, she is, in fact, being so good as to work on my behalf. Come along, Miss Granger," he ordered peremptorily.

Arthur looked so upset and guilt-ridden that Hermione relented for a moment and patted his arm, before she was ushered out by her tormentor. She was laughing, though, as she stepped out of the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron.

"That was cruel, Lucius!"

"Then why are you laughing?"

"What did he do this time?" asked Severus, making room on the bench for her.

"Oh, he came in looking as magnificent as can be and gave poor Arthur the full 'you are an insect' treatment. I must say, I never thought I'd enjoy seeing anyone on the receiving end of that, but just at the moment...," she shrugged. "So, what time's the appointment at Gringotts?"

Lucius, very pleased at being referred to as "magnificent", leaned back in his seat.

"There is time enough for lunch, my dear, and apparently –" he glanced around "– to stir up a storm of gossip."

Sure enough, nearly everyone was glancing their way with expressions ranging from puzzlement to outright hostility. What was worse was the presence of a large group of Aurors, including Harry and Ron, having what had been a rowdy lunch together until Malfoy arrived. Hermione's heart sank as she could almost sense the testosterone levels in the pub soaring. There was some discussion at the other table, and then Hermione's friends rose and approached. She glanced at her companions. Severus was poised and watchful; Lucius was lounging indolently, looking at the menu, but she noticed that his hand was resting on the head of his cane.

"Hey, guys," she greeted the boys.

"Is everything okay, Hermione?" asked Harry. "Snape," he acknowledged, glancing at Severus. Lucius, he ignored. Ron, on the other hand, was glaring openly.

"Of course, Harry – why shouldn't it be?" Hermione tried for a light tone, but she was both annoyed and embarrassed.

"Don't pretend this is all normal, 'Mione," snapped Ron. "What the hell are you doing here with Malfoy? It's bad enough that you're with Snape again..."

"You're being very rude, Ronald," she replied evenly.

Ron shook off the hand that Harry had put on his arm.

"You're in bad company! I want to know that you're all right!"

"Then why are you looking at Mr Malfoy and Mr Snape, and failing to address your concerns to me – if indeed your concerns are for me?" Hermione said. "I am perfectly able to take care of myself, and frankly it's none of your business. Please stop making a scene and go and enjoy your lunch."

Ron turned angry eyes on her.

"I'm an Auror, Hermione, so it is my business..."

"What? To harass people who are committing no crimes, and to interfere with discussions sanctioned – no, required – by the Minister?"

"My dad would never..."

"The Minster has entrusted me with something important, Ronald. It might be a good idea if you let me get on with it, don't you think?"

"Come on, Ron," coaxed Harry. "If Hermione says it's official business. Sorry, Hermione – just wanted to make sure."

"That's fine, Harry..."

"Blimey, she really does think she's running the country," said Ron.

So that was it.

She turned her back on them and sat down. "Have a nice lunch, Harry, Ron," she said.

Severus watched Potter pull the Weasley boy away, then turned his gaze to Hermione's set face. She was looking at the specials board and plainly seeing nothing. Lucius flung his menu onto the table.

"I think we can find somewhere a little more civilised for our discussions, don't you, Miss Granger?" Heading for the entrance to Diagon Alley, he tossed a couple of Galleons to the barman. "A round of drinks for the gentlemen of the law, please, Tom!"

*

It was a novel experience for Hermione to spend time with two men who put themselves out to restore her good humour, rather than rolling their eyes and talking about Quidditch while waiting for her to 'get over it'. By the end of lunch, she even felt almost ready to face the goblins. Generally, she kept her visits short and uncontentious, but this time....

Lucius demanded to see the Director of the bank. The goblin at the desk asked if they had an appointment and received a long stare in response. Hermione read the subtext: Malfoys don't need to make appointments. She didn't know whether to be amused or apprehensive about what kind of reception this would get them.

They were shown down a series of corridors before their guide knocked at an ornate door, which he then opened. An unusually tall goblin stepped from behind the desk.

"Mr Malfoy, it is a pleasure. My name is Goldfinger."

Hermione and Severus exchanged an amused glance.

"Mr Snape," said the goblin, adding, "Miss Granger," in a tone too neutral to sound anything but hostile. "Am I to hope that you have come to make amends for the dragon incident?"

She cleared her throat.

"That was all explained a long time ago, Mr Goldfinger," she said.

"Explained, yes; justified – I don't think so," he replied in the same expressionless way. "However, that is beside the point for now. What can I do for you today, Mr Malfoy? Judging by your escort, it must be something important." The goblin's eyes gleamed.

Lucius explained the need for concealment of his wealth, should Arthur be unable to hold back the Muggle government inspectors before a solution to the problem was found.

"This is not an insignificant thing you are asking of Gringotts, Mr Malfoy," stated the director. He leaned forward and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. "Many rules will have to be, at the very least, bent. This will be ... expensive."

"Just how expensive?" enquired Lucius suspiciously.

"You know what we want."

"And you know that it is not something with which the Malfoys are prepared to part."

The goblin sighed.

"Might I suggest that we adjourn to a less formal setting, where refreshments will be served to you, for our negotiations? I have something I must see to beforehand, but I will join you shortly."

The clerk, whose name was not, much to Hermione and Severus' secret disappointment, Oddjob, conducted them down some more passages to another ornate door, which he opened to reveal an opulent meeting room, complete with a side table embellished with coffee and cakes. Lucius led the way impatiently inside, but as Severus and Hermione crossed the threshold, the door slammed behind them and the illusion faded. They were shut in a featureless vault, lit only by a weak lamp suspensed in a cage from the high ceiling. The refreshments turned out to be a tin jug of water and one battered cup. Never let it be said that goblins were liars.

"What the...?" began Hermione.

But before she had time to say more, Lucius was in action. His face contorting into a snarl of pure vexation, he whirled, drew his wand and fired off a curse straight at the lock. Severus jumped forward to knock his friend's arm up and disrupt the spell, but Malfoy was quicker. It was, of course, a wasted effort. The lock was goblin-made. The curse ricocheted, causing them all to duck. What was less expected was that it kept on going, bouncing off the end wall of the vault and coming back for them at a slightly different angle. The men, busy yelling at each other, did not notice, so it fell to Hermione to cast Protego over them all. There was a glare of sickly yellow light as the curse bounced off the magical shield, going crashing into another wall and continuing its crazy route round the vault.

"It's no bloody use! Calm down, man!" Hermione heard Severus snap over the hiss and fizzle as the curse hit her shield again.

"They'll regret this...," hissed Lucius.

"Do you mind?!" she shrieked, her wand arm beginning to shake from the effort she was putting into her spell. "It may have escaped your notice, but this bloody thing is amplifying with each bounce, and I can't even begin to try to neutralise it without some bloody help! Lucius – what did you DO?"

"It's a simple disintegration spell – it shouldn't be doing this!" he yelled back. They all flinched at another impact.

"I can't hold it much longer – DO something!"

"Containment Charm – both of us!" shouted Severus. Lucius nodded grimly. "Hermione, as soon as I give the word, lower your shield. Got it? NOW!"

Hermione lowered her wand and instinctively curled into a ball with her arms over her head, so she didn't see what the wizards did to stop the curse, but when she dared to look, they both had their wands trained on a seething ball of yellow energy. Between them, they were compressing it, forcing it to become ever smaller. Lucius was sweating, his mouth clamped into a thin line; the cords were standing out in Severus' neck as he put all his strength into the task.

"The jug, Hermione!"

She rolled to her feet and ran for the jug, which she placed on the floor between them. They forced the glowing ball into it and let go. There was a hiss of steam, a flash, and a loud bang. Then all that was left was a puddle of molten metal. And silence.

Hermione sat down suddenly, feeling a strong need either to giggle or to cry, but she forced herself to do neither. It took a good few deep breaths, and quite a bit of clinging to the hand that Severus laid on her shoulder, but she managed.

"Why... why have the goblins imprisoned us?" she asked.

"I think this is what counts as 'negotiation'," Severus responded drily. "Lucius? Aside from the little matter of you learning to control your temper, there must be something you have that the goblins want very badly if they're prepared to risk killing the three of us with this kind of security measure."

Lucius ran his hands back through his hair a little shakily, avoiding their eyes.

"Please accept my apologies, both of you," he said.

"Lucius...," threatened his friend.

"Very well. All right! It's the armour."

"What? The one in your entrance hall?" said Hermione, remembering a very fine assemblage, engraved, embossed, and inlaid with gold.

"Indeed. It is goblin-made – their finest ever – and was worn by my ancestor Cyrus de Malfoi at the Field of the Cloth of Gold in 1520. In it, he was invincible, and he, alone of all the French knights, so impressed King Henry that he was awarded estates in England." Malfoy was all pride as he recounted the bare facts.

"It's lovely, Lucius. And I'm right in thinking you would never part with it, not even over your dead body?" Hermione continued.

"Certainly not!"

"How about over ours, as we either starve to death in here, get slaughtered by a stray spell, or gassed because I, for one, am beginning to need the loo?"

He blinked a little at that, and Severus snorted with laughter.

"Lucius," she said gently, "have you ever worn the armour? Did your father? Grandfather? Great-grandfather? Anyone since the sixteenth century? No? Then it's just a lump of metal. A pretty one, to be sure, but a lump of metal nonetheless. The Malfoy name is more than that, surely?"

She went to sit against the wall, where she leant her head back and closed her eyes.

"Think about it," she added.

The goblins were quite accommodating once Lucius reluctantly declared that he would agree to their terms. Hermione stayed diplomatically in the background while the arrangements were made. She could see how much it pained Lucius to part with a treasured piece of family history, and didn't want to make it any worse for him. Severus was sufficient support. As they left the Director's office, she held back, allowing them some privacy and mulling over again the closeness of their bond. A clawed hand closed on her arm. It was Goldfinger.

"My thanks to you, Miss Granger," he said. Evidently, he had been listening in to the conversation in the vault. "I think we may consider your part in the matter of the dragon... resolved."

"You're welcome, Mr Goldfinger. Oh – and just one thing? It might also be in your interest to do the best job possible for Mr Malfoy, because if the Prime Minister gets one toe-hold in our economy, he's going to come after Gringotts, too."

Her steps were light as she emerged from the bank into the chill, grey afternoon.

*

They found a nice wine bar in Muggle London in which to calm their nerves. Hermione had rather a bad conscience where Lucius was concerned, but he seemed to have shrugged that matter off and had resumed his usual impeccable gallantry. Severus was behaving as though nothing of note had occurred, so she decided to follow suit – but she had to confess to herself that Lucius' exhibition of volatility had been unnerving. Impressive, but distinctly unnerving. Yet he had followed Severus' lead through the crisis....

"You seem distracted, Hermione," Severus remarked, taking her hand.

"Not really," she smiled. "But I'm going to have to go home soon and see if I can beat my computer into submission so I can carry on with undermining the government."

"Perhaps I might help," offered Lucius.

Hermione was surprised. Surely he knew nothing of computers?

"Severus, would you trust me with Hermione for a little while?" he continued. "I'm sure you have something you could be getting on with until we reconvene for dinner."

"Just don't go anywhere without plenty of witnesses," Severus warned Hermione. "Yes, Lucius, I'll let you have her, but do try to bring her back in one piece. I'll meet you here at six-thirty."

One squeeze of the fingers, and he was gone. All of which smacked of male plotting, she thought, giving Lucius a suspicious glance.

"Drink up, my dear," he instructed. "We have somewhere to be."

*

Kevin, junior manager of an up-market computer specialist's, perked up at the end of his long day to see a pretty young woman push the door open. She was followed by a... rock star? It wasn't someone he knew on sight, but then Kevin was in his early twenties and this man would have been performing for an older generation, but, oh – he was way cool, in an opulent-goth sort of way. Long blond hair, pulled back into a highwayman's pony-tail, rich black suit cut long and worn with a green brocade waistcoat and... snake? jewellery, and a cashmere coat.

"Have a look around, my dear, and see what catches your eye," said the rock star to his daughter.

"What are you up to, Lucius?"

Not his daughter, then.

The man answered with a shooing motion and a playful tap on the girl's bum with the cane he was carrying. Weird, but rich, very rich, thought Kevin, feeling rather like a rabbit in headlights as the man approached.

"You are in charge of selling these machines," stated the rock star.

"Yes, sir." Kevin was annoyed that his voice came out rather tremulous.

"I wish to buy one for my assistant. The sort she can carry around."

"Well, sir," began Kevin, "there's the newest model..." He quavered to a halt under a contemptuous stare.

"I don't want to be lectured, boy. I want a computer. The best. Do you understand?"

Kevin swallowed and nodded. The young woman was at the other side of the shop, but she had turned to listen and was beginning to look concerned.

"Get me the best, make sure it has everything it could possibly need, and sell it to me. Bearing in mind, of course," said the man in friendlier tones, "that there will be consequences, should the thing not be absolutely perfect."

Kevin found that he had no desire to find out about the consequences.

"Hermione, my dear," said the man, turning those cold eyes to his companion, much to Kevin's relief, "why don't you verify the details with the helpful young man?"

"This really isn't necessary," she said with an admirable lack of fear.

"On the contrary. I am partly responsible for breaking your present machine, so it seems only fair. In addition to which, I am used to the best. You are working for me, so I insist that you should have the best to use in my service. Now do get on with it – this place is unbearably tedious."

Kevin spent ten minutes discussing the specs with the girl. He'd never done anything so fast, but she was focused and, he felt once the grilling was over, a good match for her employer.

"Very well," he said, "that'll come to...," and he named a satisfying price.

The man produced a gold credit card, at which the girl looked surprised, for some reason.

"You should be aware, Hermione, that wherever I may happen to find myself, I always try to have the means to get what I want." He leaned close to speak softly in her ear. "Exactly what I want."

*

She couldn't deny the frisson she had felt at Lucius' words. It confused her and kept her quiet as he completed the transaction and they left the shop.

"Knut for them?" he enquired, tucking her hand into his arm in what she was beginning to recognise as a habitual gesture.

"This really wasn't necessary, Lucius," she said quietly, looking at the shop windows on the far side of the road. "But thank you, anyway. Sorry, I'm not being very gracious about it, am I? I – I'm not used to receiving lavish gifts out of the blue."

"Such a shame, my dear." He glanced at his pocket watch. "Now, we must hurry – Severus can't abide tardiness, and I can't abide it when he pouts."

She laughed and picked up her pace.

They were late, but Severus wasn't pouting. Far from it. He was waiting at a table tucked into a cosy niche, a bottle of Pauillac open and breathing next to three glasses on the table, and a very satisfied smirk on his face.

"That's the 'I've just caught Harry Potter breaking the rules again and I'm going to get to punish him because Dumbledore's not here' expression," teased Hermione. "I haven't seen that one for a long time. What have you been up to?"

"Three bookshops," he replied, ignoring Lucius' eye-roll, "and... this."

He produced a large box from under the table. He opened it to reveal a lovely pair of boots, simple, elegant, in a fine and supple brown leather that called out to be touched.

"Do you like them?"

"Severus! They're lovely!"

"Let me put them on you."

It was a curiously intimate thing to be doing in public, more so under Lucius' predatory gaze, but Hermione found that such qualms were far less important than the feeling of Severus' hands slipping the boots onto her feet and cradling her calves as he zipped them up. Then there came a brief caress of magic as he shaped them to fit her perfectly. Pleased with himself, he looked up.

"Hermione! What's the matter?"

Her eyes were brimming with tears. She looked from him to Lucius and back again, then flung her arms round his shoulders and began to sob into his collar. He held her tightly until she quietened.

"Hermione?"

She shook her head and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hands.

"Sorry. I must look a fright."

Severus, confused, looked to his friend.

"I think, dear boy, that our Hermione is simply unused to being treated like the priceless treasure she is." He poured the wine. "Now, drink up, both of you. Severus, show us the books you bought, and let us have a civilised conversation. Tomorrow, the real work begins."

*