Two

Title: The White Peacock

Author: Bambu

AN: Please note, there are several quotes taken directly from 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows', and they have been bolded.

~o0o~

The next time he saw her it was winter. Lucius didn't recognize her at first; her abundant hair was shoved under a knitted cap the color of the leaden sky. And then, when she removed her scarf, Lucius saw a thin white scar on her throat ... exactly where Bellatrix had cut her in his drawing room twelve years before.

Of all the people he might have encountered at this time and in this location, Hermione Granger – Lucius would never call her Weasley – wasn't even on his list.

It had been a few years since he'd seen her, and motherhood had completed her transformation from the coltish young woman she'd been. She still had fine features of the sort which appear plain or beautiful depending on the circumstances. Several tiny scars marred her smooth skin which he'd never noticed; one, a small indentation just beneath the arch of her left eyebrow. Another dimpled her lower lip.

Lucius frowned. The scars' existence was disquieting, although he didn't quite know why. From knowledge born of painful experience he knew they weren't recent. He stared, tracing the tiny scars – there were seven – looking for a pattern. There was none. It was as if something had struck her in the face without her attempting to protect herself.

Then, as if Lumos had been cast on the cob-webbed corners of his mind, an individual moment stood out in bas-relief: the prisoners' escape from his home during the last days of the war. The chandelier in the manor's drawing room had fallen on Hermione during her rescue. She had been unconscious at the time.

Remembering Voldemort's unleashed fury when he'd arrived scant moments later, Lucius' shoulders hunched, and he shied away from the memory of his willingness to debase himself in front of the unstable Dark Lord. Lucius would have, and had, done everything within his means to keep his family alive.

Unaware of his presence, Hermione knelt in the snow, brushing off a headstone with her scarf. "I know I missed last year..." her voice carried over the odd stillness of the cold day, "...but I was unavoidably detained. I went into labor early. I had a boy, and we named him Hugo for my father, although Ron wanted to name him after Paddy Moran. I don't even like Quidditch. If I hadn't just given birth, I'm sure Ron would still be arguing about it."

She continued to tend the small grave mundanely, and Lucius curled his lip, wondering why she didn't use her wand. As Hermione worked, he considered his knowledge of her. She had married above her station, her daughter was two days younger than his grandson Scorpius, and now, he knew she'd named her son after her Muggle father.

Lucius was more familiar with her professional achievements. Pontius Carstairs thought highly of her, and she was a rising star in the world of Magical Law Enforcement. Once she'd become Deputy Director of the department, with dotted line oversight of the Auror program, the impromptu raids on Malfoy Manor had lessened considerably. In fact, there hadn't been one in over a year.

He should probably thank her. Instead, Lucius stood just outside the wrought iron gate leading to the Hogsmeade Cemetery, staring at the woman solely responsible for shoving the thin end of a wedge into the holdfast of his prejudice.

At that moment, Hermione shook her arm, dropping her wand into her hand. With a smile curving her lips, she cut swift wand strokes in the air, gathering the snow covering the grave into a pile at her knees, and then forming it into a miniature sculpture. Lucius admired her technique, but reminded of his own purpose, he opened the well-oiled gate and entered the graveyard.

As if a telltale had been tripped, Hermione reacted. Her wand sketched a defensive rune and a modified Protego created a wall of protection around her before she rose to meet whatever potential challenge faced her. When she recognized him she dropped her spell. Lucius arched an eyebrow, recalling a time that show of trust would have culminated in her death. "It seems several years of peace haven't blunted your reflexes."

"Thankfully," she replied, and as she spoke, her small scars disappeared under a subtle, non-verbal Concealing Charm.

"Wasn't it a rather energetic reaction to an unexpected arrival? I might have been anyone." Hermione's eyes flicked to his left sleeve, and when he spoke, his voice was as frigid as the ground upon which she knelt. "Point taken, Madam."

"No!" Hermione scrambled to her feet, absently kicking her proto-sculpture in the process. Snow fell in clumps and what appeared to be a head sheared off to land in a quiet flump on the hem of her cloak. "You misunderstand."

"Do I?" He took two steps to the left, choosing a path leading away from her.

"The spell isn't keyed to you, or ... er ... ex-Death Eaters, per se."

"Then--?"

"It's keyed to anyone who enters the graveyard with the intent of visiting Professor Snape's grave."

Lucius relaxed marginally. "Trouble with vandalism?"

"And zealous admirers."

"Admirers?"

She dusted the knees of her dark woolen cloak, and Lucius idly watched the snow puff and fall around her bare fingers. "You'd be surprised," she said. "On four separate occasions, we've apprehended witches in the midst of digging up his coffin. The most recent spent a year brewing enough Polyjuice potion to last her husband several months."

Lucius shuddered. "Revolting."

"I couldn't agree more. In any event, MLE reinforced its protections on the cemetery." She smiled then, her eyes sparkling. "As a result, there's been a decline in the number of petty defacements, especially at Samhain."

"An unexpected perquisite," he replied.

"Definitely." She glanced at the pile of slush at her feet, pouting in a moue of disappointment, but then she returned her attention to Lucius. "There are both specific and broad applications of the charm, and it's been put to use at Ottery St. Catchpole and the National Cemetery outside London."

Lucius leaned on his cane, the tip settling into the groove between bricks, and pursed his lips for a brief moment. "I assume the charm was developed by the Department of Mysteries."

"Actually, no. It was developed privately."

"Indeed. And you're privy to the information." The last word was said in a lilt, transforming his statement into a question.

"Of course I am."

"Will you give me the name of the charm's creator?"

She arched an eyebrow; Lucius noted it was the one with the invisible scar. "Why?" she asked.

Remembering her natural curiosity, he contained his incipient irritation. "The Malfoy Monument has been desecrated numerous times since the end of the war."

Hermione's eyes widened. "I had no idea. Have you reported it? No, of course you haven't." She was thoughtful enough not to pursue that line of query, and Lucius thought she might have begun to learn tact. Then she smiled and said, "My brothers-in-law developed the charm. Bill's a curse-breaker for Gringotts and George is quite an inventor. If you'd like, I'll speak with them on your behalf."

"The Weasley brothers?" He smiled thinly. "Don't trouble yourself." Hermione's open expression shuttered and awkward silence blanketed them. It was then Lucius noticed how cold he had grown during their chat. "I'll bid you good day, Madam."

"Good-bye, Mr. Malfoy." After a moment she added, "Happy new year."

Lucius resumed his course, following the path kept clear by permanent charms until he took a byway, weaving between the rows of headstones, peering at names while searching for one in particular. Unlike Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape hadn't received an ostentatious memorial. His headstone was of modest size and made of excellent quality marble – the first, and to date, only, joint venture between the Potter and Malfoy families.

Lucius hadn't been to Severus' grave since he'd first been released from Azkaban, yet he'd succumbed to sentiment that very morning when he had realized it was Severus's birthday. It irked Lucius that he couldn't find the blasted grave. He was on the verge of drawing his wand and casting a Locater Spell, no matter how embarrassing it would be in front of a witness.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Hermione called out.

"Yes?" He turned in her direction. She hadn't resumed her earlier work, but had been staring after him, puzzlement clearly writ upon her features. "Aren't you visiting Professor Snape?"

"I believe we established that fact."

She pointed to the grave where she stood. "He's right here."

"I see," he said in that tone which meant he didn't see at all, but he altered course. When he drew near, she said, "If you'll give me a moment, I'll be leaving."

"I wouldn't want to interrupt." He leaned on his cane. "You clearly haven't finished."

She blushed. "It's all right. I try to come every year on his birthday."

Do you?, he thought. Aloud he said, "And when vandals break into his resting place."

"And when vandals desecrate his resting place." She patted the headstone affectionately.

He narrowed his eyes. She was Muggle-born like Lily Potter. She was highly intelligent like Lily Potter. She was linked intimately – if not carnally – with James Potter's son. He remembered James Potter, and Severus' heartache. "Just what was Severus Snape to you?" he asked sharply.

"Not that it's your business, but he saved my life. Mine and Harry's and Ron's." Her chin tilted, her eyes glittered with unexpressed emotion. "I deeply regret his death."

Lucius loathed the seeming inequity which colored every one of their recent meetings. "I shall return when you have finished, Madam," he said, the words stiff and formal.

"It's all right. I won't take long." She glanced at a watch cleverly strapped to her wrist. "The children will be waking from their naps any time." He saw her notice his flinch when she said 'children', but to her credit she said nothing. Not even to offer condolences over Draco and Astoria's recent miscarriage.

She was definitely learning tact. How un-Gryffindor.

Without further comment, Hermione pointed her wand at the mess from her earlier, interrupted attempt and cast a silent Evanesco before starting over. With one flick of her wrist a cube of pristine snow rose from the ground beyond the cemetery, levitated through the air, and then plopped at her feet. Fascinated, Lucius watched while she half-transfigured, half-sculpted the snow into an ice figurine standing guard over Severus' grave. It was in the shape of a doe.

Lucius cleared his throat. "How very fitting, Miss – Madam."

"He was very loyal to those he loved."

"Indeed he was."

"We should all be so lucky." Hermione's clear, brown eyes met his without accusation or suspicion.

"Draco was."

"Yes, he was," she replied softly.

Lucius looked at the dates carved into the headstone and regretted a great many things. Next to him, Hermione swooped to retrieve her brightly-hued scarf, abandoned when she had initially faced Lucius, and then wrapped it around her neck. She patted the headstone, said, "Happy Birthday, Professor," before turning toward Lucius, smiling. "It was nice to see you again, Mr. Malfoy."

"Thank you." He inclined his head. "May I say the same."

"You may."

"I beg your pardon?"

She laughed, and he was amazed by her audacity. Very few people teased him. Lucius ignored the rush of pleasure that accompanied the realization.

"You asked if you could say the same thing. You didn't actually say it, and I was giving you permission."

His lips twitched. "It has certainly been memorable."

Hermione laughed again, and made her exit. Just before she Disapparated, she waved.

Lucius looked down at Severus Snape's headstone for a long moment. When he left the cemetery ten minutes later, Hermione's sculpture had been transfigured into something more permanent than ice.

~*~

Excerpts from a Letter written to Draco Malfoy, strolling the Promenade, the Grange, Medstead, Hampshire, England by William Weasley, Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, no. 93 Diagon Alley, London, England

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

At the request of my sister-in-law, I am enclosing a license agreement for the Nuisance Reduction Charm. The terms of use for this charm are listed herein, but in general, the term of the license is in perpetuity, and your use of the charm is restricted to the Malfoy family mausoleum and any adjunct family memorials or graves.

.

.

.

The wand motions for applying the NRC should be rudimentary for a wizard of your capabilities; a variation on an ancient Egyptian Curse and a standard Keep Away Spell. You will find their specifics on the attachment; however ....

.

.

.

Let me reiterate, this license is for the Malfoy family exclusively, and there will be no fee for your family's use. Any infringements on the terms of the agreement, not that we anticipate such an event, will be investigated to the full extent of the law.

.

.

.

Should you have any questions, please do not hesitate to contact me, or my brother George. Correspondence can reach us at any Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

It won't do you any good to ask why, Malfoy. Hermione isn't telling.

Sincerely yours,

William A. Weasley

~*~

The next time he saw her Lucius was cloaked by a Disillusionment spell. Platform 9 3/4 was a hub of activity, the Hogwarts Express huffing steam and vapor like a Ukranian Ironbelly. He had made a promise to his grandson to see him off for his first year of school. Only for Scorpius would Lucius hide in public.

The tremendous amount of steam pouring from the scarlet engine aided rather than hindered his efforts, and as Lucius squatted next to Scorpius, he was certain of his obscurity. "I will write to you every week, and I expect you to do the same."

Scorpius glanced around him nervously, and then looked up at his father. "Yes, sir. I will."

Draco placed his hand on his son's shoulder, angling his body in such a way no one could read Scorpius' lips – should anyone be watching. Subterfuge didn't come naturally to Scorpius, who heaved a sigh of relief and stared blindly in the direction of Lucius' voice when it said, "Remember your manners."

"I will." Scorpius nodded, his flaxen fringe drooping to obscure his blue eyes from view. He whispered, "I'll miss you, Grandfa'."

Lucius briefly cupped the young boy's face. "And I you, Scorpius. I look forward to the holidays already. This year it's your turn to choose the tree for Yule."

Scorpius giggled when Lucius' knees cracked as he rose to his feet, and then it was Astoria's turn to have a few words with her son.

"I'll owl you later, Draco," Lucius murmured. Draco responded equally quietly, "Thank you for coming, Father."

"I wouldn't have missed it."

Instead of Apparating to Wiltshire, Lucius succumbed to nostalgic impulse, watching the departures taking place around him, reminded of his son's early, happier years. Before the Dark Lord's corporeal return.

As he meandered between family clutches, he marveled at the freedom from public censure his Disillusionment granted. Of course, he wasn't, by nature, the sort to hide from attention, but this day had been an exception to the rule, and Lucius enjoyed the novelty.

The train's dense vapor hid him as effectively as his charm, and by the time he'd reached the train's last car, a sneer had firmly affixed itself to his lips, and he knew why he didn't generally mingle with the masses. His tolerance for sentimentality was limited, and witnessing repetitive cloying farewells had taxed his forbearance.

"Hermione didn't believe I could pass a Muggle driving test, did you?"

Interest piqued, Lucius peered through the fog to locate the speaker whose tone carried a hint of challenge. When located, Lucius realized he was less than a handful of yards distant from the Potter and Weasley families, eight by his count,four adults and four children. He'd thought Potter had another son, but there was only one boy with Potter's messy hair in evidence.

Lucius was close enough to hear Hermione's response, "I had complete faith in you."

Yet, he was closer to her spouse.

Ron whispered, "As a matter of fact, I did Confund him," to Harry as the two friends hefted a trunk and an owl in its cage onto the train.

As the domestic scene unfolded, Lucius' gaze was riveted to Hermione's expressive face. She had heard her husband's aside, and her body language and fleeting expression were too revealing. He recognized the tilt of her chin and the head-toss. Her hair rippled in response to her movement; it was shorter than when she'd interviewed him in Azkaban.

Intrigued, despite his better inclinations, Lucius paused by the car's open door, keeping it between him and the two families.

For some reason, Lucius hadn't seen Hermione since that day at Severus' graveside, but he had followed her career's astronomical climb with interest. She was one of the Ministry's youngest department heads, and couldn't have reached that pinnacle without perseverance, competence and influence in the right places. Hermione and Astoria had remained friendly, and on occasion, Astoria mentioned more personal details than were published in the Daily Prophet or Witch Weekly.

"If you're not in Gryffindor, we'll disinherit you," said Ron, "but no pressure."

"Ron!" Hermione chastised, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling with irritation. "He doesn't mean it," she said to a young girl. If Hermione's tone was any indication, Lucius wagered she was accustomed to making excuses for her husband. For a moment, mother and daughter were united as they shared a long-suffering look.

Rose.

Lucius remembered the child's name from years before, when he'd sent Hermione two peafowl. She had never thanked him directly, but Draco had received an appropriate card.

Rose Weasley had her mother's features, but while she had inherited the Weasley coloring her genetic luck had held. There was only a light dusting of freckles across her nose. Her hair was thick, wavy and a deep mahogany, almost the color of the imported cocoa powder which dusted Lucius' favorite biscuits.

A younger boy, one who could only be Hermione Granger's son, stood to the side, speaking to a younger girl with vibrant red hair and green eyes.

"Look who it is." Ron's comment regained Lucius' attention. He followed the younger man's glance then gritted his teeth. They were looking at Draco. Hands itching to hex the misbegotten spawn of Arthur Weasley for his disdainful tone, Lucius reined in the inclination. He listened instead, his anger rising.

An exchange of head nods, and Ron spoke quietly, "So that's little Scorpius." Hermione, Lucius noticed, had smiled at Astoria and made a gesture which he interpreted as 'Floo me for tea soon', but her attention was diverted by her husband's next comment.

"Make sure you beat him in every test, Rosie," Ron said. "Thank God you inherited your mother's brains."

"Ron, for heaven's sake," said Hermione. "Don't try to turn them against each other before they've even started school!"

"You're right, sorry," said Ron, but apparently unable to help himself, he added, "Don't get too friendly with him, though Rosie. Grandad Weasley would never forgive you if you married a pureblood."

"Hey!" A dark-haired boy, the spitting image of Harry Potter, drew the families' attention from the topic of conversation, but Lucius watched Hermione quell her irritation. She pulled her daughter to the side, bending forward to speak quietly. Fortunately for Lucius, she'd moved closer to the car's door and him.

"Your Dad was just teasing, Rose. We'll be proud of you no matter where you're sorted, and you should make friends regardless of what house they're in."

"I know, Mum. You've told me before," Rose replied, but her eyes flicked to where her father stood chatting with her uncle and aunt.

Hermione's hand smoothed her daughter's hair, and Lucius admired the openly affectionate nature of the relationship. "Did I ever tell you I was almost sorted into Ravenclaw?" Hermione asked.

"You were?" Rose looked up. The innocent, trusting way she looked at her mother struck Lucius hard. It reminded him of Draco as a small child – before politics had interfered in their lives – and of the way Scorpius looked at his own father.

While Hermione explained that everyone had characteristics of all four Hogwarts houses and the hat took into account the student's own desires, Lucius turned so he could see his own family, regretting, suddenly and intensely, his having left them so soon.

The train's whistle blew and there was a scurry of activity on the platform as last minute farewells were said. In the distance, Scorpius abandoned his carefully taught manners and threw his arms around his father's waist. Draco hesitated for a fraction of a second, glancing right and left to see if anyone was watching, but then he returned his son's hug, his own expression one Lucius had never seen before. He blinked against the sting in his eyes, and told himself the steam from the train caused the reaction.

Lucius paid minimal attention to the nearby scramble of Weasleys and Potters, enough to avoid being detected, but not enough to follow their conversations. His eyes were focused on Scorpius kissing Astoria on the cheek, and then the little blond head was inside the train while Draco offered his wife a handkerchief to dry her tears.

Magically, doors slammed shut, and as the train chugged out of the station, Draco and Astoria were among the first to Disapparate. The remaining Potters and Weasleys disbanded, the Potters with jovial waves and smiles, Ron departing with his curly-haired son in tow, "Are you really going to let me ride your broom, Dad?" and a negligent farewell to his wife. "See you tonight, Hermione."

Hermione, Lucius noted, remained on the edge of the platform staring at the plume of smoke disappearing in the distance, the very picture of an anxious mother watching her first-born leave on the train. Even the glimmer of her tears added verisimilitude to the impression. Except Lucius had been there for the entire episode, and he had seen the moments her façade cracked, when her frustration and disappointment had shown through. He doubted anyone else had noticed.

He respected her enough to leave her in peace. Regrettably, however, he hadn't counted on the way the sound of his footsteps would carry on the nearly deserted platform. On the heels of the realization, Lucius simultaneously dropped the Disillusionment spell and said, "Good morning, Madam Granger."

Startled, Hermione shrieked, one hand flying to her throat, the other snapping her wand into her hand from a quick-release sheath she wore. "Medusa's snakes!"

Unsuccessfully, Lucius attempted to suppress the grin her reaction sparked, and he said, "I had no intention of disturbing you."

"Well you did." She frowned, but recovered quickly. "Why do you assume your presence would disturb me?"

"You appeared lost in thought."

Too-intelligent brown eyes scanned the rest of the platform, its lack of population, before they returned to rest on his relative proximity. Her eyes raked him from toe to crown, resting on his jeweled tie tack before coming to rest on the pale blue eyes gazing at her. She asked, "Care to explain?"

Lucius brushed the immaculate sleeve of his robes. Deliberately to needle her, he said, "I don't believe we're on intimate enough terms."

Her eyes narrowed. "Then you leave me no choice but to speculate. Shall I?"

He said nothing, suffering her perusal, repressing an atavistic itch between the shoulder blades when she was no longer in his peripheral vision. Not that he expected a hex, but they had been enemies, and he had instigated the provocation.

"Scorpius," she said when she finished circling him, "departed for Hogwarts today. You're known to dote upon him..."she raised a finger when he snorted, "...no interruptions, please. You declined to state your business, and I'm extrapolating a theory." He held her gaze with his, noticing as he had before, that she was an excellent Occlumens. "As I said, Scorpius left today, and he might or might not have had the chance to say good-bye to you."

Beginning to enjoy himself, Lucius smiled at her. "I might have said my farewells at his home."

She shook her head. "You've only just returned from Paris."

Lucius' good humor took a Wronski Feint, plummeting to the depths of the metaphorical Quidditch pitch. "How..."

"Aside from your clothing, which is a little haute couture for a morning at the railway station, Astoria mentioned it when I saw her yesterday. Considering the morning's headlines, I've concluded you were here to see your grandson with as little fanfare as possible. After you bid Scorpius farewell, you sought a discreet location from which to Disapparate. Of course, you chose the least populated end of the platform..."

"Of course," he murmured.

Once more she looked between his current position and the location her family had been standing. She tilted her chin, her spine stiffening, and the lightness of her tone modulated into something harsher. "...where you couldn't resist eavesdropping on my family. I do hope we gave you a good show."

Lucius didn't notice the acid dripping from her last comment. His attention had caught a bit earlier. "The morning's headlines?"

"Your former fiancée gave Rita Skeeter an exclusive interview."

"Fuck."

His expletive wrought a sound from her, something between a snicker and a giggle. After a moment, she asked, "You didn't know?"

"As you rightly concluded, I've only just returned..." he glared at the gloat playing peek-a-boo behind her lips, "...and came straight to the station. No, Madam Granger, I didn't know." He closed his eyes hard enough to furrow his brow. He said, tightly, "You were right about my desire not to draw undue attention. Scorpius was nervous enough. I did not want to cause him -- Why am I explaining this to you?"

"Perhaps because I'm in a position to understand." They stood in silence for a moment, and then she blurted, "Lavender Brown? Really? She's not up to your usual standards."

He glared at her. "You don't hear me casting aspersions on your choice of husband."

"Ron's..."

"Ron's what?" he interrupted her. "You forget I was standing right here."

Her eyes flew wide, her cheeks flushed. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough to know you married a boor." The words and are desperately unhappy hung in the air between them as if Voldemort had been resurrected to sketch the fiery letters with his wand.

Hermione turned from Lucius, her shoulders rigid. "That's none of your business."

"As my choice of fiancée is none of yours."

Hermione nodded curtly. "My apologies."

"Are unnecessary. " He moved so he could see her face, unconsciously looking for the smattering of scars he knew existed, yet there was no blemish to mark her smooth, porcelain skin. It was a perfectly blank mask, but Lucius knew his comment had struck as true as a Lacerating Jinx. "Loath as I am to admit it, your assessment of Miss Brown is accurate."

She glanced at him through her eyelashes. "It's equally difficult for me to make the same admission..."

"You did."

"I did what?"

"Your assessment of Miss Brown was accurate; you don't need to make the admission a second time."

Hermione hadn't been discussing Lavender Brown, and they both knew it. It did, however, take her a moment to catch on, and then she offered him a tentative smile. "All right, Mr. Malfoy. I won't."

"One of these days, I'd like you to call me Lucius," he said, and was surprised to find he meant it.

Her smile broadened. "And one of these days you'll call me Hermione."

"Fair enough."

It was then he noticed her glance at the clock beyond them, and her mouth dropped open. "I'm late."

"Far be it for me to stand in the path of Magical Law Enforcement." He stepped to the side, dramatically sweeping his arm out of her way as if gesturing her to precede him.

Hermione laughed. "Thank you, kind sir. "

"It was nothing, Madam."

"Seriously, though," she said, "despite your regrettable habit of eavesdropping..."

He snorted. "One time does not a habit make. And as I recall, you were the one..."

Hermione cleared her throat and interrupted him. "As I was saying, it was nice to see you again. Mostly. And while I'm not exactly sad about the break-up of your engagement, I am sorry if it's made you unhappy."

"Not unduly." He aligned the cuff of his shirt with the sleeve of his jacket, carefully not looking at her. "It was a miscalculation, and one sooner rectified than later."

She was astute enough not to comment on any other mistakes he might have made in his life. "Well. Good-bye," Hermione said.

Spurred by the vestigial remains of good will, Lucius commented, "If you decide to do something about the albatross hanging around your neck, Carstairs will do right by you."

Hermione blinked several times, her mouth opening as if to speak, but then she nodded and spun on the ball of one foot, disappearing from sight with nary a sound to mark her departure.

~*~

Excerpts from a letter written to Lucius Malfoy, Esquire, the Billiard Room, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England, by Scorpius Malfoy, First Year, the Library, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, near Hogsmeade, Scotland

Dear Grandfather,

You were right about Hogwarts. The castle is very big. I think it will take me weeks to find my way without having to ask a Prefect for direcshuns. The professors are kind and the Headmistress welcomed us first years before we went into the Great Hall when we arrived. I really like the charmed roof. Do you think Mum and Dad would let me have one at home?

.

.

.

You never told me the feast would have all my favrit things. There was bread-and- butter pudding for afters and I had seconds. Please don't tell Mum she might send me a Howler!

.

.

.

I think Professor Longbottom will be my favrit teacher he knows so much about plants and how they work. Did you know he grows many of the ingredents for Potions classes right here? It reminds me of your greenhouses at the manor.

Professor Slughorn is just like you told me and I don't like him much. My new friend Rose doesn't like him either and he likes her. He keeps telling her she's a lot like her mum and it makes her turn all pink.

.

.

.

Mum and Dad probly told you I'm in Ravenclaw. I like it. I already have two friends, and Mum's pretty chuffed about it. I think Dad's a little sad. You aren't sad too I was sorted into Mum's House are you Grandfa?

Please write back.

Sincerely yours, (that's what Rose says you're supposed to write)

Scorpius

PS Will you send me one of those quills that sorts out bad spelling? Mum says I have to learn on my own, but it would make writing to you easier. Maybe it could be our little secret?

~*~

Despite following his romantic misadventures in the press, a thing never to be admitted, several years passed before she saw him again. It was during Easter Holidays, and Hermione had met Rose and Hugo for a late lunch and an even later dessert when they'd come to Diagon Alley with their Uncle George. There they had met some of their cousins and school friends for the day.

The majority of Rose's and Hugo's friends had already departed, except one. Hermione had never before seen Scorpius Malfoy away from his parents, or in a setting other than Hogwarts or Platform 9 ¾, and she was favorably impressed.

The foursome ate Fortescue's ice cream at one of the tables set along the alleyway while Rose described her mother's recent acquisition of a house in Cheshire. "It's closer to Hogwarts. The Floo's hooked up to the Ministry," she said, "and it has the advantage of being several counties distant from Dad's place." She rolled her cone in her fingers, tongue dragging through the ice cream to leave a swirl. "The pond will be especially nice this summer. Delilah hates it so we don't have to worry about peacock poo."

"Delilah?" Scorpius laughed, and a shaft of sunlight kissed his hair, its flaxen locks shining like galleons. "You've never told me that, Rose. Did you name the peacock Samson?"

Despite herself, Hermione was impressed Lucius' grandson would know the Muggle biblical reference.

"The first time we heard Samson cry at night," Hugo said, relating an oft-told story, "Dad was certain we were being attacked. He ran into the garden, hexes flying from his wand."

Rose giggled. "Poor Dad. He hadn't bothered with a dressing gown or slippers. He stepped right in poo and went sliding down the back slope, right into the stream at the bottom of the hill."

Scorpius grimaced, but laughed. "I'll bet he wasn't happy."

"It was lucky for Samson Mum had followed Dad downstairs, or I think we'd have eaten roast peacock for Sunday lunch!" Hugo repressed a shudder and slouched in his chair, his ice cream had already been consumed in three or four swift bites.

Rose said thoughtfully, "Dad always did hate the peacocks after that."

"Nah, Rosie, he always hated them..." Hugo corrected his sister, "...and now they're really happy at Mum's new place. There's enough room. You should see it, Scorp."

The blond replied, "I look forward to it."

Hermione smiled as Hugo launched into the story of Samson and Delilah, their first brood and two pernicious garden gnomes. In one facet of her life Hermione and her ex-mother-in-law saw eye-to-eye, Hermione had never been very harsh with garden gnomes. Her little colony would flourish but for her peacocks, whose population was considerably larger than the original brace delivered by one of Draco Malfoy's house-elves sixteen years before.

In truth, Hermione loved her country home. Muggle in origin, it had been inherited by the youngest daughter of the family, a witch, who had adapted it for her wizarding family. Regrettably, they had been killed during Voldemort's first rise. The house had passed to a distant pureblooded cousin delighted to offload it to Carstairs, Avery & Lovegood as agent for one of their clients.

It was just right for Hermione, any guests who might come for a weekend, and the children when they were home for the summer and alternate school holidays. When Hagrid had visited he'd been in raptures over the empty stables, and she had plans to turn one end of them into a guest cottage.

With a contented sigh, Hermione savored a bite of her Nasturtium Iridescence ice cream -- scintillating pieces of petal melting into golden flavor in her mouth -- reflecting how well Hugo and Rose had taken the dissolution of their parents' marriage. It was the final seal of approval Hermione hadn't needed, but appreciated.

During the final two years of Hermione's marriage, Ron's and her friends had begun to take sides. What had been a real blow to Hermione was how many of their friends sided with Ron. Of course, he had openly talked about his unhappiness, while Hermione's modus operandi was to subsume her misery in work.

If she were painfully honest with herself, Hermione would admit she hadn't the gift of easy camaraderie. Too serious, too studious and too driven for many people, but those who had remained her friends were ever-lasting. Among those few, Harry and Ginny had never taken sides; neither had Neville and Hannah Longbottom.

Many was the evening Hermione had curled up in an overstuffed armchair in front of the Longbottoms' fire, sipping a hot toddy while soaking in the rich contentment which imbued her friends' home. The night before she left Ron, Hermione had sat in that same chair and thanked her friends for their company. "You know how unhappy I've been. How unhappy Ron and I both are."

Hannah had said, "We'll always be here to listen. Not that you take advantage of it."

Hermione had smiled ruefully. "No. I'm not terribly good at accepting help when it's offered, but I can't tell you how much it's meant to me these past months ... just being here has been ... well ... it's a very clear example of what a marriage should be, and what mine is not."

"Hermione!" Neville had exclaimed while Hannah said urgently, "We never meant for you to feel like that."

"I don't." Hermione had reassured them. "You haven't done anything to make me feel that way. It's just – you're wonderful together, and I don't think Ron and I have ever been wonderful together."

"Are you sure?" Neville had asked. "It seems like you've always been together."

"Considering what we all went through, it was pretty much a foregone conclusion that we'd marry," was Hermione's response. "Not that we haven't had good times, but...." She had shrugged. "It's taken me a few years to reach a decision, especially with Rose and Hugo to consider."

"Years?" Hannah had leaned forward, her expression one of earnest dismay.

Hermione had nodded. "I finally realized we aren't setting a good example for Rose or Hugo." She'd set her teacup on the table. "I'll understand if you don't feel you can support my decision."

"Hermione," Neville had said, speaking as if she were a homesick first year he'd found wandering the halls of Hogwarts castle, "you were my first friend at school – on the train no less – and if you think I'm going to abandon you over this ... well, I don't know what I'll do, but don't you think it!"

The evening had ended in tears all around, but Hermione had returned home with renewed confidence that her decision had been the right one.

Suddenly, Hermione realized while she'd been mentally strolling down memory lane, her ice cream was melting in sticky rivulets off the spoon and onto her fingers. She quickly wiped her hands on a serviette, bits of iridescent flower petals clinging to the white linen.

At the other side of the café table, Rose giggled at something Scorpius said.

Hermione smiled when she remembered the expression on Ron's face the first time Rose wrote a letter home: Remember that boy, Dad? Scorpius. Well we both sorted into Ravenclaw, and he's an all right bloke."

When Hugo had followed Rose to school the next year, he had become the third member of their triumvirate. Fortunately for them, Ron had become resigned, if not happy, about the acquaintance. For Hermione, the added bonus of the children's friendship was Astoria Malfoy.

Hermione still remembered the morning after her divorce had been announced in the Daily Prophet. Astoria's majestic eagle owl had entered the Ministry, evaded all attempts to dissuade it and swooped through Hermione's office doorway on level six, bearing a note of sympathy and an invitation to tea.

The following Saturday had seen Hermione at the Grange. Draco and Astoria's home was vastly different than Malfoy Manor. Its atmosphere was warm and welcoming, and Hermione had practically been bowled over by the kennel of dogs who greeted her at the Apparition point. Even Astoria's three Crups had offered Hermione pack status.

Over Turkish coffee instead of tea, an indulgence Draco didn't share with his wife but Hermione quite liked, Astoria had said, "I don't believe you can call a five-bedroom house with outbuildings and eight acres of land a little place in the country, Hermione."

"Wait until you see it, Astoria. It's quite cozy. There are two reception rooms."

"And a library?"

"Well, no, but..."

Astoria's smile had widened to a grin. "Of course, you'll make one of the reception rooms into a library."

Hermione giggled, and then blushed. What forty-year old witch giggled? Astoria's gentle laugh had warmed the room, and the two finished their afternoon in amiable discussion of the final stages of Hogwarts' Rebuilding Project.

Spooning a last bite of ice cream, Hermione idly listened to Rose, Hugo and Scorpius' plans for their summer -- Quidditch games over the pond and field at her new home – and watched the passersby.

"You must come to the manor," Scorpius said. "I know my Grandfather would be delighted. He loves nothing better than a pick-up match. Rose, you'll be Seeker."

"Only if I get to be Beater," Hugo chimed in. In their love of Quidditch, Rose and Hugo were Weasley to the bone.

As if the conversation had conjured his presence, Hermione saw Lucius before he saw her. There was no mistaking his carriage, the loose white hair, breadth of shoulder, or the elegant robes. In anyone's opinion, Lucius Malfoy was a fine figure of a man.

Twenty-some years of peace had wrought many changes in the wizarding world, among those was Lucius Malfoy's ability to walk through Diagon Alley unmolested, and even by many, unrecognized as a former Death Eater.

Of the teenagers, Hugo noticed him first. "Oi, Scorp! Isn't that your Grandad?"

The blond straightened in his chair, craning his neck to see where Hugo had indicated. "It is!" he said with considerable enthusiasm. "I haven't seen him since Christmas. He's been in Brussels." Scorpius looked at Hermione. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," she replied. Scorpius grinned, excused himself from the table and vaulted the low fence around the outdoor dining area of Fortescue's.

"Thanks, Mum," Hugo said. "Scorpius is our friend and all, but I know you don't like Mr. Malfoy."

She eyed her children. "I'm not the one who has an issue with Mr. Malfoy. It's your father and Grandad Weasley who dislike him."

"Didn't he torture you during the war?" Hugo asked.

His sister was disgusted. "Don't you know anything?"

"Rose." The tone warned her daughter, but Hermione turned toward her son. Hugo had inherited his hair and its color from her, but his was tamed by keeping it two-inches short. Otherwise, when people saw him with Ron, it was obvious they were father and son. And yet, Hermione never saw her ex-husband when she looked at Hugo; she only saw her child. "Mr. Malfoy did not torture me."

"But Dad said..."

She looked him straight in the eyes. "Your father wasn't there."

"How could he rescue you if he wasn't there?"

Hermione glanced down the alley to where Scorpius greeted Lucius. Despite the lack of physical demonstration, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that grandson and grandfather were fond of one another. "As they will be joining us shortly," Hermione said, "I will be brief, and I expect you to listen and treat him with the respect you give all your friends' families.

"Bellatrix Lestrange tortured me in front of the Malfoys, but they were not in a position to object. Remember that, son. They were victims of their own mistaken prejudices and essentially prisoners in their own home.

"The war is thankfully over, and I have met Mr. Malfoy a number of times since then. Not only has he been perfectly cordial, he's been helpful."

Hugo frowned. "All right, he's reformed if you say so. But still. Dad said you were unconscious when he and Uncle Harry got to you, so how do you know Malfoy didn't--"

Rose interrupted her brother by waving her ice cream spoon in his face. He pushed her hand aside, and a chunk of dark chocolate splatted to the marble tabletop, where it lay melting and ignored by the small family. "I told you to ask Mum about this last year."

"Last year?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowing in concentration. "Before or after the divorce was final?"

Rose rolled her eyes and answered her mother's question. "You know how Dad is, Mum. He was talking about 'the war years' while chatting up Abigail Smith."

In spite of Ron's eagerness to bolster his standing in his children's eyes, Hermione had always stressed the fact their exploits were a result of necessity and survival, not glory or fame.

Hugo nodded in agreement with his sister, and said, "Her brother brought her to dinner when he and his wife were over. I didn't like Mr. Smith at all."

"Zachariah Smith had dinner at the cottage?" Hermione's eyebrows rose in shock.

"He was working on a case with Dad and Uncle Harry," Rose explained.

"And he talked about my being tortured?"

"No," Hugo said, and it was clear from his expression that his father had suddenly developed feet of clay. "Dad brought it up. Rosie's right. He was .... I thought ...." He pursed his lips, and then said, "Dad made it seem as if Mr. Malfoy really enjoyed hurting you."

"It's simply not true," Hermione responded gently. "In fact, Mr. Malfoy couldn't have –"

"Why?" Hugo asked.

Before she could reply, an urbane male voice provided the answer. "Because, Mr. Weasley, I had been stripped of my wand for the better part of a year."

Hugo leapt to his feet, flushing a deep and unbecoming red as he faced the speaker. Rose mouthed, 'I'm sorry,' to Scorpius, who stood behind his grandfather, cheeks a ruddy hue and his lips thinned in anger. Torn between wanting to mitigate her son's faux pas and her own rampant curiosity to see how Lucius would handle the situation, Hermione remained silent and watchful. She relaxed when Hugo offered his hand to the older wizard.

"Please accept my apology, Mr. Malfoy. I was merely..."

"Being understandably protective of your mother." Lucius accepted the hand and the apology. He then nodded cordially to Rose. "Miss Weasley."

"It's nice to see you, Mr. Malfoy," she said.

Scorpius resumed his seat at the table next to Hugo's empty chair, elbowing his red-headed friend on the way down. The adults pretended they didn't see the byplay, and Lucius spoke to Hermione. "It's evident where your son inherited his honor."

Hermione's cheeks flushed with pleasure. "I'd like to think it was all his own, but thank you for the compliment just the same. Won't you join us?"

"It would be my pleasure."

Before he could summon an empty seat from a nearby table, Hugo took the three steps necessary and moved the chair for Lucius. Giving the older man a hard stare, he said, "I learned more than honor from my mother, Sir."

Hermione's chastising, "Hugo!" was ignored by her son and the recipient of his challenge. Rose placed one hand on Scorpius' arm, restraining him from physically launching at his friend.

Lucius' mouth pruned in thought, one eyebrow arched at Hugo, who at fifteen was nevertheless as tall as the older wizard. "I don't believe my grandson has mentioned your House, Mr. Weasley? I assumed you were a Gryffindor...."

Hugo tilted his chin. "Hufflepuff. The first Weasley in four generations actually."

Lucius sat in the chair Hugo provided and said blandly, "My mother was a Hufflepuff. It was commonly acknowledged amongst the family that my father was firmly under her thumb."

Hugo grinned. "Save us from Slytherin cunning, brash Gryffindor, Ravenclaw's cutting observation, and the resolve of the Hufflepuffs!"

Lucius chuckled. "Quite. Now if you will be good enough to fetch my ice cream, I believe I will consider you the most remarkable young man of Scorpius' acquaintance."

"But, Grandfa," Scorpius exclaimed, "you said you already ate."

"Now we have proof manners aren't hereditary." Lucius smiled tightly, and Scorpius looked abashed. "As I have just left Carstairs at the Camelot Club, Scorpius, I can assure you I have already dined. However, ice cream isn't food. It's manna from heaven."

There was general laughter at the table, and then Scorpius joined Hugo on his quest for penance. After a moment, Rose said, "If they're left to themselves, they'll order you the Crystal Cave, Mr. Malfoy, and I don't think all of us together could finish it." She rose to her feet and strode after her brother and friend.

For a moment, Lucius and Hermione basked in the unusually fine afternoon. Then he said, "Had I known we would be meeting, I would have more than my own respects to pay. Carstairs thinks quite highly of you."

Hermione smiled. "The sentiment is mutual, I assure you. After all, I have him to thank for my present state."

"Indeed?" Lucius leaned forward slightly. "What state would that be?"

"The possession of a new house that suits me perfectly."

"Ah, yes. The Cheshire place. It has a pretty prospect." Hermione's eyes widened, and he answered her unasked question. "I considered it when Draco and Astoria married."

"Oh?"

"After due consideration, it was too far from Wiltshire."

Hermione understood perfectly, but she only said, "The Grange suits them well. It's a beautiful home."

"Indeed. Astoria is a gracious hostess and has exquisite taste,"

Hermione grinned. "You would think so. She chose Draco."

Lucius smirked, and then Scorpius returned to the table, an obscenely abundant mountain of ice cream in a sparkling crystal dish floated behind him, magically directed by one of Fortescue's enchanted spoons. With a flourish, the dish settled lightly to the table. Scorpius said, over his shoulder to Rose, "If it's manna from heaven he wants, then it's manna from heaven he gets."

Hugo arrived then, handing out other spoons and serviettes all around.

Genially, Lucius commented, "The most remarkable young man of Scorpius' acquaintance," before he took his first bite of Lemon Fizz. Small bubbles floated off the surface of the pale yellow ice cream to burst in a rainbow of color. The group dug into the dessert, chatting amiably, and Hermione smiled more than she had ever expected in Lucius Malfoy's company.

In the end, Rose was right. The five couldn't finish the Crystal Cave, but they certainly made a valiant effort. As the sun sank into the west, the clock in Gringotts' tower tolled the hour and Scorpius wiped his mouth. "I have to go. I'm to meet my father at Flourish and Blotts."

"I'll accompany you," Lucius said, wiping his own mouth fastidiously before rising to his feet and becoming the forbidding pureblooded figure with whom Hermione was familiar. He had donned the persona as one would a cloak against inclement weather, and she wondered if it was how he approached all his public appearances. "Thank you for your company," she said.

"I enjoyed it," he replied, apparently as surprised as she at that fact.

"We'll walk with you, Scorp," Hugo said. "Rose and I have to be at Three Dub in half an hour to Floo home."

Lucius' gaze rested on Hermione. "And you, Madam?"

"I'm afraid it's back to the Ministry for me." They filed through the low gate leading to the alley proper, and turned toward the bookstore. "It has been a wonderful afternoon though."

"Indeed."

"I'll walk with you as far as the bookstore."

Rose sauntered down the alley, behind Scorpius and Hugo and just ahead of where Hermione strolled with Lucius. "You've been really busy, Mum. Even if we were staying with you for the hols, this would probably be the only time we'd see you."

"It's not that bad, Rose," her mother chided.

"Close though," Hugo called back over his shoulder, siding with his sister. "But it's okay, Mum. You've got us for half the summer. And now that you've left that rubbish flat, we can practice our game."

Hermione sighed dramatically. "You only love me for my Quidditch field."

"Oh, that's it," Hugo laughed. "Never mind the fact you gave birth to us."

Rose hung back, looping her arm through her mother's. "You really don't mind that we're with Dad for the hols, do you?"

"You were with me for most of Christmas, and he's your Dad. Whatever else he may be, he loves you both dearly."

"Thanks, Mum." Rose squeezed Hermione's arm before catching up to the boys.

Hermione slowed, and Lucius, being a gentleman in many things, matched his pace with hers. She glanced at the teens, ascertaining they were enmeshed in a conversation and then glanced at her companion. He was already looking at her. "Yes?" he asked.

"I wanted to thank you." His surprise was evident, and she continued, "I know it was some time before I followed your advice, but when I was ready, Mr. Carstairs did 'take care of me'."

Lucius inclined his head.

"You were right." Hermione paused, turning toward him fully. "I was desperately unhappy, and when you pointed it out, I knew I would have to face up to it."

"For what it's worth, I am ... happy ... for you." He grimaced as he said happy, and Hermione laughed gaily. "Oh, my sweet Merlin!" she exclaimed, "You look utterly ... oh, dear. I shouldn't tease you, but that look..." When he frowned she laughed harder.

"Madam--"

"Don't backtrack now," she said. "I'm sorry I laughed at you, but friends ...." She trailed off, and then said stiffly, "I beg your pardon." Hermione quickened her pace to catch up with her children, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. She had teased him once at the Hogsmeade cemetery, and that memory, coupled with the playfulness of their afternoon, had let Hermione forget for a few minutes who he was, who she was, and the fact they'd been mortal enemies thirty years before.

She heard him lengthen his stride, but she reached Hugo and Scorpius before Lucius reached her, and she wouldn't look at him. The good-byes were affectionate between Rose, Hugo and Scorpius, plans for their return to school in mid-spate. None of the three noticed the change in Hermione's manner, nor Lucius' unsuccessful attempts to catch her eye.

She chivvied Rose and Hugo to the joke shop so they wouldn't be late. Just before they reached number ninety-three, Hugo said, "Mr. Malfoy wasn't what I expected."

"Oh?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah. I thought he'd be like Nott's father, sneering and making faces as if we stink up the air."

"Scorpius told you his grandfather wasn't like that," Rose said in exasperation.

"Yeah." Hugo paused outside the Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, and turned toward his sister. "Maybe now he's not, but he was once."

"Maybe he's grown up." Rose wrinkled her nose as she spoke, and then she giggled. Hugo laughed and opened the door to his uncle's shop. Hermione tried to smile, but their comments had given her something to consider.

~o0o~

Excerpts from a letter written to Hermione Granger, the Breakfast Room, Grove House, Holmes' Chapel, Cheshire by Lucius Malfoy, the Library, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England

Madam Granger,

My daughter-in-law assures me Apollo will find you in Cheshire rather than at the Ministry, and I know Astoria to be a woman of remarkable perceptiveness.

.

.

.

I trust you and your children are well, and that you have enjoyed more time with them during the remainder of their holidays.

.

.

.

I request your indulgence and rely upon your sense of fair play in reading my missive. When last we met my regrettable response, or lack thereof, to your friendly raillery was not, as you so obviously concluded, a matter of distaste. The past twenty-five years has seen me imprisoned, vilified, impugned, and scorned. I have many acquaintances but few friends. That you, who have more reason than many, should be so cordial astonished me.

.

.

.

If you would allow me to show my remorse, I would be honored if you would dine with me Saturday next at a venue of your choosing.

In closing, I remain respectfully yours,

Lucius Abraxas Malfoy

~o0o~