Dial G for Granger [PG] for Ayla Pascal (1/3)
Title: Dial G for Granger
Author: Gravidy
Rating: PG
Recipient: Ayla Pascal
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any recognizable characters or creatures.
Warning(s): Language
Author’s Note: Recipient asked for humorous or quirky.
Summary: Hermione Granger is exploring a plethora of career options, such as lawyer, psychologist, and Supreme Dictator for Life. She’s going to make the Wizarding world a better place, whether they like it or not. Post DH, EWE, humor
“I remember it as though it were yesterday. Myself, so young and foolish, alone against the baleful forces of nature. So certain of my own invulnerability as I rode a Cirrus X50 into the worst storm I had ever seen. The sky was black and lit with jagged bolts of lightening, hinting at fury yet to come. The sea rolled beneath, just as dark and unforgiving as the heavens above, until I could not tell one from the other. I was tossed on the wind like a sparrow in a hurricane. As of yet, there was no rain to blind me, but that would come. . . .”
“Wait. Wait, wait, wait.” Twenty-two year old Draco Malfoy cut off his father’s story, setting his spoon down into his porridge bowl with a clank.
Lucius gave him a dirty look for cutting in.
They were both sitting at the breakfast table in the sunny parlor of Malfoy manor on a cool and gusty morning with a smattering of storm clouds on the horizon. The weather had seemed to make Lucius nostalgic or something because Draco had no idea what this story had to do with his original question (Do we have any more cauldron cakes?).
“Why the hell were you flying out over the ocean during a storm?” Draco asked.
Lucius took a sip of his coffee, “Obviously,” he said frigidly, still mad that Draco had interrupted, “I was very very drunk.”
Draco was sorry he’d asked.
Lucius shifted a bit and stretched luxuriously, drawing Draco’s attention once again to the fact that his always immaculate, genteel and proper father had decided to come down to breakfast with his long hair in knots and clothed in nothing but butt-hugging white briefs.
For Draco’s entire life, his father had never attended breakfast-or any meal-in anything less than full-suited dress robes with jeweled trim and velvet lining. Draco was certain, with a low but rising dread, that there was some deep, insidious meaning to this unbecoming and out-of-character scene, something just below his detection that would turn and rend him at a moment’s notice.
When Lucius first waltzed into the parlor in practically nothing, Draco had to blink spots from his eyes, first blinded by the paleness of his father’s torso and then by his brain’s own refusal to accept what his eyes were seeing. He’d been too stupefied to react at first-which he was grateful for in case this was some test of his pureblood nerves-and now he refused to ask, partly because he was certain Lucius wanted him to ask and partly because he was in a very deep sulk over the obvious differences between his own rather lean body and his father’s rippley-muscled one.
“Also, Esmeralda Zabini had triple-hex-dared me. There was no way my Pureblood honor would allow me to back down. Now, may I finish my story?” Lucius asked icily.
“By all means.” Draco sneered but only a little, terrified by now of where this was all leading.
Lucius cleared his throat, “When the rain hit, the wind came harder. I could not see the sky or the sea. I could not distinguish which way was up or which was down until I hit the water with all the force of flying directly into a castle wall.”
Draco winced, having actually experienced that once or twice.
“My broom snapped like a twig. My heavy robes dragged me down beneath the waves. I was tossed just as violently as I had been on the wind, only now the freezing water choked me with salt and brine. I do not know how long I struggled against the mighty deep. It could have been hours, it could have been minutes, when an odd humming noise broke through the howling of the storm and a strange creature appeared and pulled me from my watery death.”
Lucius paused to sip his coffee and Draco found himself leaning forward, actually interested now.
“Esmeralda had hinted that there were magical beings out on the ocean when the storms came, that the tempests themselves were meant as a barrier to keep wizards and witches out. I had not believed her and I do not know why this creature took pity on me. When I woke, I found myself in a curious vessel in the midst of a calm sea. My companion seemed to have done away with the violent storm completely. He was a very impressive beast: very tall and broad and dressed in strange black skins and as curious of me as I was of him. I understood little of what he told me, as his dialect was most strange, only that he had somehow become separated from the rest of his pack. Perhaps it was this loneliness that caused him to rescue a mere mortal such as myself.”
Draco was frowning, “What manner of creature was he?”
Lucius shook his head thoughtfully, “I was never entirely certain. I believe he was a type of Selkie. He called himself Navy Seal, though he was not blue colored at all. I was very grateful to Navy Seal and I felt very sad that he was alone on the ocean. It occurred to me then that, since he had saved my life, I might help him find his pack; but as no Wizard I had ever met had heard of these strange seals, I did not think I would be able to find them. So I decided to follow the next logical course of action and take Navy Seal home with me.”
Draco choked.
Lucius heaved a big, regretful sigh, “Navy Seal was not pleased with my decision. I should have known better then to take such a wild, majestic creature from its natural habitat, but he was so very impressive! And I could just imagine the envy of my peers to see that I owned this rare and marvelous beast. When I got him home, Narcissa loved him immediately, but poor Navy Seal seemed utterly angry and bewildered. I imagine a Wizarding home is a strange thing to a sea-faring creature. I tried to train him, but despite his intelligence, I had little luck. Navy Seal was incredibly stubborn and wily and quite deadly, as any wild creature is. He attacked Roger Avery twice, taking an arm off on one occasion, and he nearly killed Greg Goyle.” His father chuckled at the memory, “I told those idiots not to get too near but they did not believe me that Navy Seal was a magical being. They thought him some kind of pet Muggle, even after I explained to them that it had stormed for two weeks straight after I brought Navy Seal back to the manor. Navy Seal escaped many times during his stay and outwitted me more than once. See this scar here?” Lucius pointed to a thin slice from the bottom of his ribcage to his navel. “Navy Seal nearly gutted me.” And his father actually looked pleased. “I spent a few days in St. Mungos over that one. Despite that, Navy Seal was my best friend.”
His father sobered, “Then one day I came home from work early and found your mother . . . teaching Navy Seal some new games in our bedroom. Suddenly, I realized how wrong it was of me to try and tame a feral beast. The next morning, I took him out to the wilds and set him free. I have not seen him since, but neither have I forgotten him.”
Draco watched his father as Lucius stared morosely out the window towards the coming storm, “I don’t remember any Navy Seal.” Draco finally said tentatively, “ How long ago was this?”
Jolted from his introspection, Lucius frowned in thought, “Oh . . . I’d say about nine months before you were born.” And he stared at Draco.
Draco stared back.
There was a long, uncomfortable silence.
“Uh,” Draco’s voice squeaked in his throat, “Are you . . . are you implying that I. . . that I’m. . . .”
Lucius blinked and then speared Draco with a look of dawning horror, “Merlin no! Of course not! You thought that . . . and about your own mother? Why you sick little monkey.”
Draco sputtered, cheeks flaming, “W-well you said-a-and, and what was I supposed to think?”
“Your mother is a lady.” Lucius snapped haughtily, and Draco could have sworn he muttered, “And only I got to play those types of games with Navy Seal.” But he couldn’t be certain because he’d had enough of this nonsense and he slapped his orange juice down and screeched his chair back to stand up.
“What in the world is all this ruckus?” Narcissa breezed into the room cheerily, wearing a long white fur robe, her pale hair pulled back and neatly plaited. Draco waited anxiously for her to say something about Lucius’ state of dress, but she simply drew the curtains back and cracked the window to let some of the morning air in.
“I was just telling Draco about Navy Seal.” Lucius said around a mouthful of eggs, causing Draco to stare in unabashed horror. Yet still his mother ignored it.
“Oh? Have you never told him about Navy Seal before? Why ever not? You absolutely adored him.” Narcissa smiled impishly at Draco and poured herself some coffee from the silver pitcher.
“It’s still somewhat of a bittersweet memory.” Lucius admitted heavily and Narcissa cupped Lucius cheek fondly.
“Alright!” Draco shouted, flying upright, “What the bloody hell is going on?” he barked, chest heaving.
His parents stared at him as though he’d lost his mind.
“Whatever do you mean, darling?” Narcissa asked lightly as she seated herself next to his father.
“Why is dad in his underwear? Why is he telling me stories of getting drunk and flying into hurricanes? He hasn’t reminded me even ONCE today that I’m a Malfoy. This-this is not proper decorum. This is . . . this is bad manners! It’s . . . it’s like anarchy or something!”
Lucius sighed and rolled his eyes and actually reached down and adjusted himself. Narcissa, his proper lady mother, snorted at Lucius’ actions and elbowed him.
“Draco, you’re twenty-two years old.” Lucius complained in exasperation. “I raised you properly. I was the best role model for you that I could be. But you’re an adult now! I don’t need to spend every moment in your company showing you how to be a gentleman. I did my part and now I get to come down to breakfast in my underwear if I damn well feel like it.”
Draco stood still, a fine trembling shaking his body. He felt confused and frazzled. “Role model? Is that why you were constantly reminding me of my own name? Every day for years? Elbows off the table, Draco, you’re a Malfoy. Sit up straight, Draco, you’re a Malfoy. Lima beans do not go up your nose, Draco, you’re a Malfoy.”
“Well, yes.” Lucius agreed.
“Aagh!” Draco grabbed his head, “I was absolutely convinced that I had some sort of horrible disease and was going to forget my own name at any moment if someone didn’t remind me! I thought you just didn’t want to tell me, or maybe you had told me and I’d forgotten like I was about to forget my own name! I almost had a breakdown when I went to Hogwarts and no one finished their sentences by telling me who I was! I started doing it for them and nobody liked it! They thought I was pretentious!”
“Oh dear.” Narcissa sighed, fluffing her napkin, “Such an active imagination. I knew we should have taken him to that specialist.”
“Nonsense,” Lucius disagreed, eyeing Draco thoughtfully, “I think he turned out alright. Maybe he has a few . . . quirks, but most of the time you wouldn’t even know it.”
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!” Draco screeched.
“That reminds me.” Narcissa turned back to Draco, “Draco, the next time you have a wank, could you please clean up after yourself a little better? The House Elves are complaining.”
Draco felt himself go a brilliant scarlet-y red and almost swooned from sheer humiliation.
“Narcissa!” Lucius chided, “You’ll embarrass the boy!”
Narcissa turned her nose up, “Nonsense, Lucius, I’m his mother. I changed his diapers.”
Lucius flicked a bit of toast at her, grinning, “You lying wench! You ne’er! I’ll be buggered if you know the first thing about changing diapers.”
Narcissa giggled girlishly behind her hand and abruptly, something inside Draco snapped.
“Alright!” he said loudly but calmly, “I get it. I understand. You win.” He turned and started towards the door, “I’m moving out. I’ll go to the real estate office immediately and find a house to buy and move into it and you two can run around starkers and talk about gay bondage with selkies and ruminate over whether or not Lucius is my father and have long discussions about whether or not wanking makes the House Elves angry.”
The door slammed shut behind their son and Narcissa and Lucius stared after him for a moment before they exchanged sly glances and, finally, a celebratory high-five.
The door flew back open, “Oh, and dad,” Draco sneered, looking his father up and down, “You’re starting to get a gut.” And he slammed the door again.
“I MOST CERTAINLY AM NOT!” Lucius screamed, flying to his feet, “You miserable cur, get back here!” but he couldn’t help putting a hand on his belly defensively, wondering in mortal terror if he was, in fact, getting a gut.
Narcissa grabbed his wrist, tsking, “Don’t be silly, Lucius. He only said that to upset you.” And she gave his belly a kiss and a raspberry.
“So I keep telling Kingsley,” Harry Potter said through a mouthful of biscuits and gravy, “This isn’t going to work. Yes, I can’t seem to be killed and I can escape from anything, but magical cheating-death and Houdini powers aren’t useful to anyone but me. It doesn’t work on anyone else. I know. I’ve tried. But he doesn’t listen. Again. And he sends me with Dewhurst and his group into this hostage situation, right?” he paused to gulp some coffee.
Ron Weasley was shaking his head already, scraping eggs onto his toast, “This isn’t going to end well.”
Harry made an expansive gesture, “It was a nightmare! Nobody had even done proper intel on the situation. I guess they figured who needs intel when you’ve got the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. We had no idea what we were walking in to. So, of course. . . .”
“It was a trap.” Ron finished for him sagely, pointing at Harry with his fork.
“And now they’re all dead.” Harry settled his chin on his hand, “The bad guys, the hostage, Dewhurst and his team. There’s nothing left of the fortress but a fucking hole in the ground.”
“And you?”
“I broke my finger.” Harry flexed his now completely healed pinkie. “Took the mediwitch two seconds to set it to rights.”
Ron snorted into his hash browns.
“Would you like some more coffee?” a pretty young waitress asked Ron politely and he nodded without looking at her.
“I’ll have some more tea please.” Said Hermione briskly from her seat next to Harry and the waitress jumped about a foot.
The woman stared at Hermione for a startled moment then blinked and forced a smile, “Y-yes, of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you sitting there.” And she laughed a bit at herself for somehow not noticing the very sharp-looking young woman in a business jacket, silk blouse and skirt. Maybe it was simply the oddness of seeing such a finely dressed lady sitting with a huge red head wearing rumpled, baggy sweat clothes and a shorter, dark-haired man wearing what looked like a long, over-large black dress.
Hermione smiled neatly back at the waitress and reached across the table to pull her half-finished meal over to her side. Harry shot her a sideways glance but said nothing.
Ron waited until the waitress had gone and rounded on Hermione, “Where have you been?”
“I had a meeting.” Hermione said shortly, casting a warming charm on her food from under the table and tucking in.
“Not during our weekly breakfast, you don’t.” Ron grumbled, “This is getting ridiculous. I didn’t even see you leave.”
“She’s got another Time-Turner.” Harry tattled, and only looked smug when Hermione gave him the look-of-death.
“Who in their right mind gave you a Time-Turner?”
Hermione turned her nose up, “I have too many responsibilities to. . . .”
“She probably nicked it.” Harry tattled some more and laughed when Hermione’s cheeks went pink but she refused to look repentant.
“You snuck into the Department of Mysteries?” Ron was impressed.
“She’s working there now.” Harry practically sang and this time Hermione turned and punched him in the arm until he said ‘ow’ and cowered away from her.
Ron squinted, “I thought you just had the two jobs. Working with Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and teaching Muggle Studies at Hogwarts during the school year.”
“I do and I am.”
“She’s also on the Board of Governors, the Office of Fair Trading in Diagon Alley and she’s my personal legal and tax attorney.” Harry ticked them each off on his fingers, glanced at said fingers and licked the syrup off.
Ron let out a low whistle, “Better you than me.” He said to Hermione and had some sausage.
“I thought you learned your lesson in third year.” Harry taunted playfully.
“I also saved a few lives if you recall.” Hermione returned frostily, “I’m older now and I know how to manage my time so I don’t run myself into the ground.” She huffed, “There’s just so much to do and so very little time to do it. If everyone else were a bit more organized maybe I could be more productive.”
“Hermione, if you get any more productive, you’re going to be running the Wizarding World.” Harry laughed and then became mildly frightened by the look that flickered briefly across her face, “At least cut back enough so that you’re not ducking out in the middle of our weekly breakfast. I get to see Ron almost every day but you’re very hard to keep track of.”
She had the grace to look abashed, “I am sorry, Harry. I haven’t really been making time for anything but work, have I? My parents complained about it the other day. My Uncle Dan is coming to visit and I said I didn’t have time to stop by.” She straightened up with a determined look, “I’ll make the effort to be a better friend and daughter.”
Her cell phone went off.
With an embarrassed look at Harry, she snapped it open and put it to her ear, turning away from her friends. The cell phone was one of the many Muggle inventions Hermione had steam-rolled into the Magical world in the past few years. She’d hated having to go to the floo or wait for a Patronus every time she needed to speak to someone; and the two-way mirrors were rare, expensive and impractical. So she’d collaborated with George Weasley and a few others on adapting and building upon the enchantments from the two-way mirror into a cell phone replica without electrical parts.
She currently owned the patents to, and the production company of, the Magical world’s only cell phone service provider.
Ron and Harry exchanged meaningful glances while Hermione spoke quietly into her phone. Ron poured more syrup on his sausages. She finally ended the call and looked up at them regretfully.
“I’m sorry. I’ve got to go show a few houses.”
“Show a house?” Ron asked blankly.
“Are you in real estate now too?” Harry wasn’t sure why he was surprised.
Hermione nodded weakly. “Apparently Draco Malfoy is looking for a place to buy ASAP.”
“Finally moving out of mommy and daddy’s place, is he?” Ron sneered then brightened, “Hey! Are there any cursed houses for sale? Sell him one but don’t tell him!”
“Ron, that would be unprofessional.” Hermione groused as she gathered her purse and got to her feet.
“And completely hilarious.” said Harry.
“I can’t believe you’re ditching our weekly breakfast for Malfoy.”
“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
She gave them both a kiss on the cheek and Apparated from the restaurant with a crack, causing immediate pandemonium among the Muggle diners who jumped and shrieked at the sound. One of the waitresses tumbled over with her tray of food. Dishes shattered on the floor. Those who had been looking in Hermione’s direction stared open-mouthed at the place where the young woman had been standing.
“What happened?”
“Was that a gunshot!?”
“Where did she go?”
Harry snatched up the rest of his breakfast, “Quick. Under the table! Under the table!”
Ron stuffed a mouthful of sausage, grabbed his plate of pancakes and slid under the table with Harry.
A moment later there was another crack as Hermione reappeared, looking aggravated. “Damnit! Obliviate! Obliviate! Obliviate obliviate obliviate!”
Harry cringed down as the spells went flying and the diners went screaming.
One of the more resourceful waitresses, Sally, if Harry remembered correctly, grabbed a patron and used her as a human shield, dodged the next spell aimed at her and dove behind the counter. She then quickly picked up a tray and used it as a shield, successfully blocking the next spell Hermione sent her way.
Harry was slightly turned on.
“You didn’t pay your tab!” Sally shouted accusingly.
That gave Hermione pause for half a second and Sally made the mistake of lowering her shield a bit, “Confundus!”
Sally got the spell full in the face and her tray dropped to the floor.
“Harry, would you get my bill? I’ll pay you back!” Hermione shouted and Apparated away.
Slowly, Harry and Ron climbed back up into their seats. The restaurant was a wreck and the patrons were confused and shell-shocked. Harry got up to help the fallen waitress clean her mess but she seemed to gather herself and shooed him away and slowly the diners started talking in low voices and then eating their meals, uncertain what had caused the ruckus to begin with.
Harry went to check on Sally, who was staggering a bit behind the cash register. “Finite.” He whispered, canceling the Confunding spell, “Sally, are you okay?”
“Blahgga-blah?” she swayed uncertainly and then coughed a little, “I mean, what happened?”
“I think you had a dizzy spell.” He said gently, “Why don’t you sit down?”
“A dizzy spell? Oh dear! What if it was an aneurysm? Wait . . . What happened to Nancy?” she asked, referring to the waitress who had dropped her tray and was now carefully scraping together the remains.
“Uh, she also had a dizzy spell. Probably.”
“We both had dizzy spells at the same time?” Sally asked sharply, watching Harry suspiciously, her eyes a bit wide and darting about nervously.
“Um, I guess? Er, check please?” he smiled uncertainly and scurried back to his table.
Ron had already gotten back into his seat and was eating again, though pensively. Harry sat down with a sigh and made a face at the remains of his meal. His gravy had gotten clumpy and grown a skin. Ron was looking at him but Harry was pretending he didn’t notice.
“Harry.” Ron groaned finally.
“What?” Harry started gathering his things, still not meeting his friend’s eyes.
“We have to do something. We can’t let this go on.”
“What are you talking about, Ron? Everything’s great.” Harry replied with forced cheer.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“I have no idea. . . .”
“She’s out of control.”
“Who?” Harry asked blandly.
Ron glared at him, glancing around tensely before whispering, “Hermione.”
Harry bristled and snapped defensively, “She’s doing a great job.”
“Yeah, of taking over the fucking WORLD.” He sighed, “Look, it was funny when she started teaching at Hogwarts and all of the kids started failing because her curriculum is insane. I mean, that’s no worse than some of the stuff that happened to us there. We failed potions every single year. And you didn’t mention it but I know she’s teaching History of Magic this year also and that McGonagall is talking about retiring and making Hermione the Headmistress. I was happy that Hermione got a second job at the Ministry and was getting her jollies by trying to free House Elves against their will. It was cool when she started helping George with the business end of running the Wheezes but even then I was starting to get nervous. She just doesn’t stop.”
“There’s nothing wrong with any of those things.”
“Individually no, but Harry, she’s on the Board of Governors now? How is that even possible if she’s teaching? How long before she’s deciding what they can and can’t teach at Hogwarts? She’s already cracking down on Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley; deciding what business can go where and what they can sell. She’s working in the Department of Mysteries. Stealing from the Department of Mysteries. She’s shooting up small muggle diners with obliviates, not once, but for the third time this year and that’s not her job. If there’s an exposure, she’s supposed to go through proper channels, contact the Ministry and have the Obliviators come out. But she doesn’t because she’s Hermione Granger and she believes she’s smarter and more capable than everyone else. If someone disagrees with her, she either steam-rolls them, hands out an obliviate, gets dirt on them or gathers power in another area until she can overwhelm them. I read the Daily Prophet, Harry, I’ve seen that she’s writing for them on the side of everything else she’s doing.”
Harry shrugged mutinously, refusing to say anything.
“She’s a fire-breathing monster and she’s going to eat the Wizarding World alive.”
“Not our problem.” Harry sat back slowly and smiled weakly up at a harried Nancy who had come to fill up his coffee. He put a couple sugars into the hot drink and took a slow sip. “We did our part and saved their asses once. If they want to hand over all control to her, that’s fine with me. She’ll be a fantastic Dictator and they’ll all be better for it.”
“Harry, we created her.”
“Bull. She’s always been bossy and overbearing and too smart for her own good. That’s why the two of us are still alive.”
“She also respected authority and obeyed the rules like every single one was a direct order from Merlin. Then we came along and she was lying to Professors, sneaking out at all hours, helping us break into the Ministry. She was a good girl, Harry.”
“Hey, the adults in our lives fucked themselves when it comes to respecting their authority. We didn’t do that.” He frowned, snapping, “What’s with you anyway? You’re not exactly the voice of reason. This isn’t like you.”
“You’re right! It’s not! And do you think I like this? Being Mr. Deep-Thoughts? I’ve been waiting for you to do or say something about it. Ginny has been on my back for months about it and I’m tired of ignoring it. I’m an Auror now. I made an oath to uphold the law and maybe you think I just became an Auror so I could fight Dark Wizards but I also wanted to protect us. My people. My freedom. That’s important to me.”
Harry was silent.
“Harry,” Ron said gently, “She’s not happy.”
Harry looked up sharply.
“She just told us that she doesn’t visit her family. She only sees us once a week and then she skips out half the time. She doesn’t have any other friends. She hasn’t had a relationship since she and I broke up. And I know she’s just trying to help everyone but she can’t fix the whole world and trying to is killing her.”
Harry let out a long breath and slumped. “Shit.”
The agency was oddly empty and Hermione glanced at the notes at the front desk but couldn’t find any hint of who had called her to take Malfoy’s unexpected appointment.
She wondered again, mutinously, just why it had to be her to take Malfoy’s assignment.
“Mr. Malfoy, right this way please.” Hermione stalked past the well-dressed Malfoy heir without looking up from her files.
“That’s Lord Malfoy to you, commoner,” Malfoy started snobbishly and then finally seemed to see her. “Granger?” The stuffy pompousness deflated a bit.
She stood at the doorway to her office, unimpressed, “You are not Lord Malfoy, so don’t give me any of that.”
He grinned and it was a bit mischievous, making him seem even less rigid and starchy, “True, but no one ever realizes that and, if they do, they don’t have the balls to say anything.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow but refrained from commenting as she led him into her office and took a seat behind the desk. Malfoy waltzed into the room in a manner that reminded her of his father and propped his silver-headed cane by the door. He was, in her opinion, a bit overdressed for a trip to the real estate agency. His pale hair was slicked back; he was wearing black kid gloves and an impressively bulky, fur-lined, silver-buckled and onyx-beaded monstrosity of a robe.
He made a show of looking about disdainfully and gave his cloak a little flip as he strode forward dramatically, “What a quaint little office.” He said in rich, drawling tones. “I suppose it may hold my magnificence . . . for now.”
She couldn’t help it. She snorted a little, amused, and tried to hide it by turning her face away with a delicate cough.
He dropped the haughty-act, plopping into the seat across from her. “Sooo, real estate agent.”
“What sort of dwelling are you looking for today, Mr. Malfoy?” Hermione ignored the prompt, opening a folder.
“I honestly thought you’d be more of a librarian. A teacher, maybe. Something to do with books.”
“We have quite a selection currently available. Everything from pent-house apartments in the city to castles on several hundred acres of land.”
“I mean, I’m glad to see you serving your Pureblood community but I’m certain there is a way you could do it that involves books.”
Hermione dug another folder out from her files drawer.
Cursed houses it is.
“By the way, shouldn’t you have served me tea by now?” Draco continued, crossing one knee over the other.
Actually, yes, she should have.
Feeling slightly aggravated, Hermione started to rise when Ginger, the office House Elf, appeared with a crack, carrying a full tea set.
“Now Ginger,” Hermione started calmly. “You didn’t have to. I could have. . . .”
“NO!” Shrieked the Elf with a furious glare at Hermione, “Bad Lady is sitting down and letting Ginger do her duty or Bad Lady is getting mop water on her head again!”
Hermione sat back slowly, manicured nails biting into the armrests of her chair as Ginger smiled sweetly at Draco and served him tea and biscuits. Malfoy picked up a biscuit, expression carefully controlled but eyes triumphant.
Ginger disappeared with a pop and Hermione glared at the spot the Elf had occupied. “You win this round, Elf.” She hissed to herself, making Draco snort around his mouthful of cookie.
“So . . . real-estate agent.”
Hermione’s head whipped back to him, “I don’t have all day, Mr. Malfoy.” She ground out.
“Of course you do.” He returned jovially, “And call me Lord Malfoy.”
“Hmm, I don’t need something as large as the manor.” Draco mused idly, tapping a finger to his lips as they stood in front of what had to be the tenth small castle that Draco had seemingly chosen at random, and dismissed just as casually, “But I don’t want anything as small as a cottage.”
He paced a little, ignoring a slightly frazzled Hermione whose entire morning was shot and things weren’t looking so great for her afternoon either. At least he seemed to have finally gotten serious and stopped making her show him house after house just for the hell of it.
“I want a bachelor pad, but something with attitude.”
“Erm, I have several houses that were previously owned by Dark Lords.” Hermione offered, holding up four folders from the armload she was juggling.
Draco spun around, looking shocked and excited, “Really?”
“Absolutely.” She tried to make her smile friendly.
“And you didn’t think to mention this before I wasted my entire morning?” He eyed her disapprovingly with just a hint of suspicion, “Just what are you up to?”
She tried not to freeze guiltily. So three of the four houses previously owned by Dark Lords were horribly cursed. So were four of the ten she’d already shown him (she’d sort of had to work herself up to it).
The suspicion on Draco’s face suddenly melted into surprise and then something smug and Hermione had a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach, but Malfoy only dusted imaginary lint from his shoulder and gestured to her grandly.
“Show them to me.”
The first house obviously didn’t impress Draco.
The location was prime, a little wooded knoll overlooking a Wizarding town. The house itself was an eight-bedroom, four-bathroom dwelling painted a pale, pretty blue with white shuttered windows. There was a lovely flower garden out front.
“This is the house of a Dark Lord?” Draco asked with quiet disbelief, not even able to sneer through his horror.
Hermione glanced through her notes, frowning. “The Dark Lord Pyjamas The Terror.”
Draco mouthed the name silently, staring at the little house.
“I think this was his vacation home.” Hermione offered lamely, scratching her head. It was also the only house of the four not horribly cursed, “A Dark Lord has to go somewhere to relax every once in awhile, I guess.”
“Are you certain he was an actual Dark Lord?” He questioned doubtfully and Hermione was insulted that someone would imply that she had made a mistake.
Hermione skimmed her notes, “Yes, he was degreed and everything. I think he was briefly mentioned in ‘Dark Lords of the 21st Century’ but otherwise, you won’t find any books about him. If he had grand designs or evil schemes, he either never mentioned them or never acted on them.”
“Huh.” Malfoy murmured in disinterest, “What’s next?”
Hermione dug through her portkey ring.
“This one is nice!” Draco crowed as they appeared before a white metal fence. Hermione put her portkeys away and started digging through her other key ring to find the magical key for the huge padlock keeping the gate closed.
They were on a narrow road sparsely populated by a few large houses, each with a handful of acres of land. The house before them was incredibly ‘modern chic’ especially for the Wizarding world. The front was white and rounded and extended up five stories with windows slightly protruding. The sides squared off and stacked into two sections with the largest section at the bottom. The sides were painted an almost brick brown. The front ‘lawn’ was a mixture of beautiful landscaping and modern wizarding art with a gazebo, several Avant-garde statues and a fountain.
“It’s so different from anything I’ve ever seen!” Draco rambled on, “I think my father would hate it. Mother would disapprove on principle but secretly love it.”
Hermione was impressed herself and wondered why she’d never seen or shown this house before. The curse on it must have been really bad if there wasn’t more interest in this place. She checked her file and saw that it had only recently been vacated and that the house next door had sold only a month ago.
“What kind of Dark Lord lived here?” Draco asked eagerly.
Hermione paused her struggle with the lock to look through her notes. “Um, Dark Lord Franko McJoyKill. Owner of Igor Industries, Britain’s largest-well, I guess its only-purveyor of Dark Lording supplies. Renowned for driving his neighbors slowly insane until they kill themselves . . . waaaaaait a second. . . .” Draco, who had been rubbernecking through the fence, jumped slightly when she grabbed his shoulder. “Malfoy,” she said carefully, voice trembling just a little, “Be calm. I’ve made a mistake.”
He frowned down at her and then froze as something behind her caught his attention. All the color left his face.
“This isn’t McJoyKill’s house.” Hermione admitted breathily.
Draco gulped, still staring behind her, “This is the house next door?” he hazarded.
“Um, yeah.”
Slowly, giving in to the inevitable, she turned around, cringing slightly.
Franko McJoyKill was pressed so hard against the fence next door that for a moment Hermione thought he was trying to squeeze through. He had thick, black hair gelled up in stylish spikes and a cliché ‘villain’ goatee. He was grinning at them so hard his face looked about to crack.
“Neighbors?” he asked hopefully, eyes flicking between Hermione and Draco. His hands trembled with excitement where they squeezed the bars of the fence.
Draco tried, unsuccessfully, to tuck his much larger frame behind Hermione. Hermione rapidly tried to juggle the folders, grasping desperately for her ring of portkeys, not caring which she grabbed. She smiled weakly at Franko.
Franko smiled harder. “Perhaps you’d like to come in for tea.” He whispered, “I could get you a catalogue of my latest merchandise…” Still a soft, gentle voice, “Igor Industries, number one in providing for practitioners of the Dark Arts. We’re having a sale. . . ”
Draco perked up, “A sale?”
“No!” Hermione grabbed him and they portkeyed away.
They reappeared so violently that Draco stumbled and Hermione fell on her butt, grasping her folders tightly to her chest.
“Why did you do that?” Malfoy yelled, “We were going to talk business!”
“Why did I do that?” Hermione bemoaned to herself just as angrily, “If I let him have you, then my afternoon would have been freed up!”
Draco sputtered.
Grumbling, Hermione carefully got to her feet, managing to still spill papers everywhere.
“Is this the next Dark Lord’s house?” Draco asked shortly, while Hermione gathered everything.
“No.” Hermione grumbled, stuffing papers haphazardly back into their respective folders.
“Oh.” He sounded slightly disappointed and Hermione glanced up at the sprawling white stone structure with twisting spires that seemed to be carved right from the mountainside it sat on. It was beautiful.
“If you like it, who cares if it wasn’t owned by a Dark Lord.” She scanned her notes, “I’m sure it has some sort of history to it.”
And then she winced when she saw it was originally designed and built by a famous Muggle architect and then enchanted by his Muggleborn children.
“What kind of history?” Draco asked.
“I don’t know. History?” she shrugged. “All buildings have history.”
He frowned, “I want to see the other Dark Lord houses.”
“Ugh, fine.”
“Now THIS is a Dark Lord’s house!” Draco beamed, obviously impressed.
Hermione found herself agreeing with a gulp.
The black and twisted castle sat on a flat bed of barren rock suspended magically over a lake of bubbling lava.
“But . . . it’s a little much, don’t you think?” the blonde finally admitted reluctantly. “I mean, maybe if I had a full-on Dark Lord career this would be a great office-kinda cliché maybe-but . . . it’s not real homey.”
Oh thank Merlin, Hermione thought, inwardly slumping in relief as she eyed the narrow, rickety little wooden bridge that led to the awful black castle. She didn’t want to actually have to show the place but she knew if she showed her reluctance that Malfoy would jut HAVE to check the place out.
“Who lived here?” Malfoy asked.
Hermione checked. “The Dark Lord Aegrus,” she murmured finally, “Real nasty piece of work but, you’re right, not very original. Built an army, conquered a city, became a necromancer, tried to gain immortality, then choked on a chicken bone.”
“At least that’s the official story!” Malfoy shot her a pointed look, “There are some who say it was a peanut allergy. Aegrus is one I have heard of. I had an action figure of him when I was little.”
Right. Figures.
“This place is a lot older than the other ones we’ve looked at. Aegrus died about three hundred years ago. Pyjamas the Terror is still around somewhere and so is McJoyKill, obviously.”
“I had no idea before today that we had living Dark Lord’s in Britain.” Draco mused.
“We have several. You just don’t really hear about them unless they go aggro. They were more common in the 1960’s and 1970’s before Voldemort went around and slaughtered maybe ninety percent of them.” She ignored Malfoy flinching at the name, “Voldemort was calling himself a Dark Lord before that, but I think that’s when the University granted him his Dark Lord degree honoris causa.”
“Say what now? You need a degree to be a Dark Lord?” Malfoy looked stunned.
Hermione frowned, “Of course you do. Historically, you had to prove to a council of Warlocks that you had talent in, and had mastered, one or more areas of the Dark Arts. Today, you attend Academia Sinistro somewhere in the North Sea for two to six years, study whatever areas of the Dark Arts you’re talented in, then write a thesis about how you’re going to take over and/or destroy the world.”
Malfoy folded his arms, distinctly putout, “I’ve never heard of such a place as Academia Sinistro.”
“Well, it’s sort of a ‘don’t call us, we’ll call you’ type of place. And the class size is generally small as you not only have to have talent in the Dark Arts, but you have to survive the curriculum. They turn out about three to five Dark Lords a year.”
“There couldn’t possibly be that many Dark Lords! We’d be overrun!”
“Sinistro alumni don’t necessarily use their degree to start wars or take over the world or anything, despite their thesis. Some of them need the distinction or want the connections. I don’t think you can even get a job in parts of Bulgaria unless you’re a certified Dark Lord. And not all areas of the Dark Arts are useful for battle and world conquering.”
“What do you mean?”
“Take Parseltongue for example. It’s a Dark Art but it’s certainly not going to help you conquer the earth.”
“I’m sure it would if the Wizard were creative enough.” Malfoy snapped back belligerently.
Hermione ignored him, “And having so many Dark Lords mucking about actually helps prevent conflict, as many of the more hostile ones are too busy stopping each other’s plots to ever get around to taking over the world themselves.”
“Then how come I’ve never met any of these supposed Dark Lords besides . . . well, the Dark Lord.”
“You have actually. Dumbledore had his degree.”
“You’re making this up!”
“I am not.” Hermione snapped, getting cranky because of the heat from the lava. She wiped her forehead, and quickly cast a cooling charm, “He was a contemporary of Grindewald.”
“Someone would have mentioned it! Back-back . . . you know when. The Ministry tried for years to destroy his reputation.”
“No, they wouldn’t have mentioned it. They wanted to discredit him. To make Dumbledore look like a crazy, stupid old man. If they’d claimed he was a Dark Lord, it could have backfired, either garnered Dumbledore fear and respect or made them look like liars.”
“There is no way Dumbledore was a Dark Lord. If anything, he’d be a Light Lord.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, “There is absolutely nothing stopping him from having a Mastery of both Light and Dark Arts. Dark Lord is an earned title, it’s not an occupation, it has nothing to do with intention, it’s not an appellation for someone who runs around killing people and trying to take over the world. Light Lord isn’t even a designation. Those who might be called Light Lords are too self-righteously humble to even think about referring to themselves as such. They hardly ever even meet together, because if they did, they might decide to do something good for the Wizarding world. And that would be using their ‘grand powers’ to influence the world around them, which would then lead to an endless, philosophical argument amongst themselves about whether or not it’s right and just for them to use their magnificence to change the lives of us poor, insignificant peons, even if it is for the better. Some will think they have no right to interfere at all and others will think it’s their duty to do something and then everyone will end up doing nothing at all.”
“You sound as though you have experience on the matter.”
Hermione made a face, “They meet about once every ten years. And for good reason.”
“Why wouldn’t, um, You-Know-Who have gone to the Academia then?”
“Voldemort was a half-blood, Malfoy. His father was a Muggle. There was no way he would have been invited to Sinistro.”
“A half-blood?” Draco stood there with an inscrutable expression and then he slapped his fist down in his palm as though having an epiphany, “So THAT’S why he went so crazy!”
“Oh don’t even start!” He gave her an innocent look and she huffed, “We have one more Dark Lord’s house to see and I want to get out of here before those corpses that are slowly dragging themselves towards us arrive. So let’s go.”
Malfoy made a face, “No, it’s past lunch and I’m starving.”
“Then should we continue this meeting some other time?” She asked briskly. Please. Like never?
“No.” he sniffed again, startling her by tucking one of his arms around hers and knocking several folders to the ground in the process, “Business lunch.”
And they vanished.
The corpses stopped dragging themselves and one of them let out a disappointed moan. No one ever stayed to chat.
Part 2
ferretbush_post is the account the mods use to post the gifts. It has not created any of the gifts.
Author: Gravidy
Rating: PG
Recipient: Ayla Pascal
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any recognizable characters or creatures.
Warning(s): Language
Author’s Note: Recipient asked for humorous or quirky.
Summary: Hermione Granger is exploring a plethora of career options, such as lawyer, psychologist, and Supreme Dictator for Life. She’s going to make the Wizarding world a better place, whether they like it or not. Post DH, EWE, humor
“I remember it as though it were yesterday. Myself, so young and foolish, alone against the baleful forces of nature. So certain of my own invulnerability as I rode a Cirrus X50 into the worst storm I had ever seen. The sky was black and lit with jagged bolts of lightening, hinting at fury yet to come. The sea rolled beneath, just as dark and unforgiving as the heavens above, until I could not tell one from the other. I was tossed on the wind like a sparrow in a hurricane. As of yet, there was no rain to blind me, but that would come. . . .”
“Wait. Wait, wait, wait.” Twenty-two year old Draco Malfoy cut off his father’s story, setting his spoon down into his porridge bowl with a clank.
Lucius gave him a dirty look for cutting in.
They were both sitting at the breakfast table in the sunny parlor of Malfoy manor on a cool and gusty morning with a smattering of storm clouds on the horizon. The weather had seemed to make Lucius nostalgic or something because Draco had no idea what this story had to do with his original question (Do we have any more cauldron cakes?).
“Why the hell were you flying out over the ocean during a storm?” Draco asked.
Lucius took a sip of his coffee, “Obviously,” he said frigidly, still mad that Draco had interrupted, “I was very very drunk.”
Draco was sorry he’d asked.
Lucius shifted a bit and stretched luxuriously, drawing Draco’s attention once again to the fact that his always immaculate, genteel and proper father had decided to come down to breakfast with his long hair in knots and clothed in nothing but butt-hugging white briefs.
For Draco’s entire life, his father had never attended breakfast-or any meal-in anything less than full-suited dress robes with jeweled trim and velvet lining. Draco was certain, with a low but rising dread, that there was some deep, insidious meaning to this unbecoming and out-of-character scene, something just below his detection that would turn and rend him at a moment’s notice.
When Lucius first waltzed into the parlor in practically nothing, Draco had to blink spots from his eyes, first blinded by the paleness of his father’s torso and then by his brain’s own refusal to accept what his eyes were seeing. He’d been too stupefied to react at first-which he was grateful for in case this was some test of his pureblood nerves-and now he refused to ask, partly because he was certain Lucius wanted him to ask and partly because he was in a very deep sulk over the obvious differences between his own rather lean body and his father’s rippley-muscled one.
“Also, Esmeralda Zabini had triple-hex-dared me. There was no way my Pureblood honor would allow me to back down. Now, may I finish my story?” Lucius asked icily.
“By all means.” Draco sneered but only a little, terrified by now of where this was all leading.
Lucius cleared his throat, “When the rain hit, the wind came harder. I could not see the sky or the sea. I could not distinguish which way was up or which was down until I hit the water with all the force of flying directly into a castle wall.”
Draco winced, having actually experienced that once or twice.
“My broom snapped like a twig. My heavy robes dragged me down beneath the waves. I was tossed just as violently as I had been on the wind, only now the freezing water choked me with salt and brine. I do not know how long I struggled against the mighty deep. It could have been hours, it could have been minutes, when an odd humming noise broke through the howling of the storm and a strange creature appeared and pulled me from my watery death.”
Lucius paused to sip his coffee and Draco found himself leaning forward, actually interested now.
“Esmeralda had hinted that there were magical beings out on the ocean when the storms came, that the tempests themselves were meant as a barrier to keep wizards and witches out. I had not believed her and I do not know why this creature took pity on me. When I woke, I found myself in a curious vessel in the midst of a calm sea. My companion seemed to have done away with the violent storm completely. He was a very impressive beast: very tall and broad and dressed in strange black skins and as curious of me as I was of him. I understood little of what he told me, as his dialect was most strange, only that he had somehow become separated from the rest of his pack. Perhaps it was this loneliness that caused him to rescue a mere mortal such as myself.”
Draco was frowning, “What manner of creature was he?”
Lucius shook his head thoughtfully, “I was never entirely certain. I believe he was a type of Selkie. He called himself Navy Seal, though he was not blue colored at all. I was very grateful to Navy Seal and I felt very sad that he was alone on the ocean. It occurred to me then that, since he had saved my life, I might help him find his pack; but as no Wizard I had ever met had heard of these strange seals, I did not think I would be able to find them. So I decided to follow the next logical course of action and take Navy Seal home with me.”
Draco choked.
Lucius heaved a big, regretful sigh, “Navy Seal was not pleased with my decision. I should have known better then to take such a wild, majestic creature from its natural habitat, but he was so very impressive! And I could just imagine the envy of my peers to see that I owned this rare and marvelous beast. When I got him home, Narcissa loved him immediately, but poor Navy Seal seemed utterly angry and bewildered. I imagine a Wizarding home is a strange thing to a sea-faring creature. I tried to train him, but despite his intelligence, I had little luck. Navy Seal was incredibly stubborn and wily and quite deadly, as any wild creature is. He attacked Roger Avery twice, taking an arm off on one occasion, and he nearly killed Greg Goyle.” His father chuckled at the memory, “I told those idiots not to get too near but they did not believe me that Navy Seal was a magical being. They thought him some kind of pet Muggle, even after I explained to them that it had stormed for two weeks straight after I brought Navy Seal back to the manor. Navy Seal escaped many times during his stay and outwitted me more than once. See this scar here?” Lucius pointed to a thin slice from the bottom of his ribcage to his navel. “Navy Seal nearly gutted me.” And his father actually looked pleased. “I spent a few days in St. Mungos over that one. Despite that, Navy Seal was my best friend.”
His father sobered, “Then one day I came home from work early and found your mother . . . teaching Navy Seal some new games in our bedroom. Suddenly, I realized how wrong it was of me to try and tame a feral beast. The next morning, I took him out to the wilds and set him free. I have not seen him since, but neither have I forgotten him.”
Draco watched his father as Lucius stared morosely out the window towards the coming storm, “I don’t remember any Navy Seal.” Draco finally said tentatively, “ How long ago was this?”
Jolted from his introspection, Lucius frowned in thought, “Oh . . . I’d say about nine months before you were born.” And he stared at Draco.
Draco stared back.
There was a long, uncomfortable silence.
“Uh,” Draco’s voice squeaked in his throat, “Are you . . . are you implying that I. . . that I’m. . . .”
Lucius blinked and then speared Draco with a look of dawning horror, “Merlin no! Of course not! You thought that . . . and about your own mother? Why you sick little monkey.”
Draco sputtered, cheeks flaming, “W-well you said-a-and, and what was I supposed to think?”
“Your mother is a lady.” Lucius snapped haughtily, and Draco could have sworn he muttered, “And only I got to play those types of games with Navy Seal.” But he couldn’t be certain because he’d had enough of this nonsense and he slapped his orange juice down and screeched his chair back to stand up.
“What in the world is all this ruckus?” Narcissa breezed into the room cheerily, wearing a long white fur robe, her pale hair pulled back and neatly plaited. Draco waited anxiously for her to say something about Lucius’ state of dress, but she simply drew the curtains back and cracked the window to let some of the morning air in.
“I was just telling Draco about Navy Seal.” Lucius said around a mouthful of eggs, causing Draco to stare in unabashed horror. Yet still his mother ignored it.
“Oh? Have you never told him about Navy Seal before? Why ever not? You absolutely adored him.” Narcissa smiled impishly at Draco and poured herself some coffee from the silver pitcher.
“It’s still somewhat of a bittersweet memory.” Lucius admitted heavily and Narcissa cupped Lucius cheek fondly.
“Alright!” Draco shouted, flying upright, “What the bloody hell is going on?” he barked, chest heaving.
His parents stared at him as though he’d lost his mind.
“Whatever do you mean, darling?” Narcissa asked lightly as she seated herself next to his father.
“Why is dad in his underwear? Why is he telling me stories of getting drunk and flying into hurricanes? He hasn’t reminded me even ONCE today that I’m a Malfoy. This-this is not proper decorum. This is . . . this is bad manners! It’s . . . it’s like anarchy or something!”
Lucius sighed and rolled his eyes and actually reached down and adjusted himself. Narcissa, his proper lady mother, snorted at Lucius’ actions and elbowed him.
“Draco, you’re twenty-two years old.” Lucius complained in exasperation. “I raised you properly. I was the best role model for you that I could be. But you’re an adult now! I don’t need to spend every moment in your company showing you how to be a gentleman. I did my part and now I get to come down to breakfast in my underwear if I damn well feel like it.”
Draco stood still, a fine trembling shaking his body. He felt confused and frazzled. “Role model? Is that why you were constantly reminding me of my own name? Every day for years? Elbows off the table, Draco, you’re a Malfoy. Sit up straight, Draco, you’re a Malfoy. Lima beans do not go up your nose, Draco, you’re a Malfoy.”
“Well, yes.” Lucius agreed.
“Aagh!” Draco grabbed his head, “I was absolutely convinced that I had some sort of horrible disease and was going to forget my own name at any moment if someone didn’t remind me! I thought you just didn’t want to tell me, or maybe you had told me and I’d forgotten like I was about to forget my own name! I almost had a breakdown when I went to Hogwarts and no one finished their sentences by telling me who I was! I started doing it for them and nobody liked it! They thought I was pretentious!”
“Oh dear.” Narcissa sighed, fluffing her napkin, “Such an active imagination. I knew we should have taken him to that specialist.”
“Nonsense,” Lucius disagreed, eyeing Draco thoughtfully, “I think he turned out alright. Maybe he has a few . . . quirks, but most of the time you wouldn’t even know it.”
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!” Draco screeched.
“That reminds me.” Narcissa turned back to Draco, “Draco, the next time you have a wank, could you please clean up after yourself a little better? The House Elves are complaining.”
Draco felt himself go a brilliant scarlet-y red and almost swooned from sheer humiliation.
“Narcissa!” Lucius chided, “You’ll embarrass the boy!”
Narcissa turned her nose up, “Nonsense, Lucius, I’m his mother. I changed his diapers.”
Lucius flicked a bit of toast at her, grinning, “You lying wench! You ne’er! I’ll be buggered if you know the first thing about changing diapers.”
Narcissa giggled girlishly behind her hand and abruptly, something inside Draco snapped.
“Alright!” he said loudly but calmly, “I get it. I understand. You win.” He turned and started towards the door, “I’m moving out. I’ll go to the real estate office immediately and find a house to buy and move into it and you two can run around starkers and talk about gay bondage with selkies and ruminate over whether or not Lucius is my father and have long discussions about whether or not wanking makes the House Elves angry.”
The door slammed shut behind their son and Narcissa and Lucius stared after him for a moment before they exchanged sly glances and, finally, a celebratory high-five.
The door flew back open, “Oh, and dad,” Draco sneered, looking his father up and down, “You’re starting to get a gut.” And he slammed the door again.
“I MOST CERTAINLY AM NOT!” Lucius screamed, flying to his feet, “You miserable cur, get back here!” but he couldn’t help putting a hand on his belly defensively, wondering in mortal terror if he was, in fact, getting a gut.
Narcissa grabbed his wrist, tsking, “Don’t be silly, Lucius. He only said that to upset you.” And she gave his belly a kiss and a raspberry.
“So I keep telling Kingsley,” Harry Potter said through a mouthful of biscuits and gravy, “This isn’t going to work. Yes, I can’t seem to be killed and I can escape from anything, but magical cheating-death and Houdini powers aren’t useful to anyone but me. It doesn’t work on anyone else. I know. I’ve tried. But he doesn’t listen. Again. And he sends me with Dewhurst and his group into this hostage situation, right?” he paused to gulp some coffee.
Ron Weasley was shaking his head already, scraping eggs onto his toast, “This isn’t going to end well.”
Harry made an expansive gesture, “It was a nightmare! Nobody had even done proper intel on the situation. I guess they figured who needs intel when you’ve got the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. We had no idea what we were walking in to. So, of course. . . .”
“It was a trap.” Ron finished for him sagely, pointing at Harry with his fork.
“And now they’re all dead.” Harry settled his chin on his hand, “The bad guys, the hostage, Dewhurst and his team. There’s nothing left of the fortress but a fucking hole in the ground.”
“And you?”
“I broke my finger.” Harry flexed his now completely healed pinkie. “Took the mediwitch two seconds to set it to rights.”
Ron snorted into his hash browns.
“Would you like some more coffee?” a pretty young waitress asked Ron politely and he nodded without looking at her.
“I’ll have some more tea please.” Said Hermione briskly from her seat next to Harry and the waitress jumped about a foot.
The woman stared at Hermione for a startled moment then blinked and forced a smile, “Y-yes, of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you sitting there.” And she laughed a bit at herself for somehow not noticing the very sharp-looking young woman in a business jacket, silk blouse and skirt. Maybe it was simply the oddness of seeing such a finely dressed lady sitting with a huge red head wearing rumpled, baggy sweat clothes and a shorter, dark-haired man wearing what looked like a long, over-large black dress.
Hermione smiled neatly back at the waitress and reached across the table to pull her half-finished meal over to her side. Harry shot her a sideways glance but said nothing.
Ron waited until the waitress had gone and rounded on Hermione, “Where have you been?”
“I had a meeting.” Hermione said shortly, casting a warming charm on her food from under the table and tucking in.
“Not during our weekly breakfast, you don’t.” Ron grumbled, “This is getting ridiculous. I didn’t even see you leave.”
“She’s got another Time-Turner.” Harry tattled, and only looked smug when Hermione gave him the look-of-death.
“Who in their right mind gave you a Time-Turner?”
Hermione turned her nose up, “I have too many responsibilities to. . . .”
“She probably nicked it.” Harry tattled some more and laughed when Hermione’s cheeks went pink but she refused to look repentant.
“You snuck into the Department of Mysteries?” Ron was impressed.
“She’s working there now.” Harry practically sang and this time Hermione turned and punched him in the arm until he said ‘ow’ and cowered away from her.
Ron squinted, “I thought you just had the two jobs. Working with Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and teaching Muggle Studies at Hogwarts during the school year.”
“I do and I am.”
“She’s also on the Board of Governors, the Office of Fair Trading in Diagon Alley and she’s my personal legal and tax attorney.” Harry ticked them each off on his fingers, glanced at said fingers and licked the syrup off.
Ron let out a low whistle, “Better you than me.” He said to Hermione and had some sausage.
“I thought you learned your lesson in third year.” Harry taunted playfully.
“I also saved a few lives if you recall.” Hermione returned frostily, “I’m older now and I know how to manage my time so I don’t run myself into the ground.” She huffed, “There’s just so much to do and so very little time to do it. If everyone else were a bit more organized maybe I could be more productive.”
“Hermione, if you get any more productive, you’re going to be running the Wizarding World.” Harry laughed and then became mildly frightened by the look that flickered briefly across her face, “At least cut back enough so that you’re not ducking out in the middle of our weekly breakfast. I get to see Ron almost every day but you’re very hard to keep track of.”
She had the grace to look abashed, “I am sorry, Harry. I haven’t really been making time for anything but work, have I? My parents complained about it the other day. My Uncle Dan is coming to visit and I said I didn’t have time to stop by.” She straightened up with a determined look, “I’ll make the effort to be a better friend and daughter.”
Her cell phone went off.
With an embarrassed look at Harry, she snapped it open and put it to her ear, turning away from her friends. The cell phone was one of the many Muggle inventions Hermione had steam-rolled into the Magical world in the past few years. She’d hated having to go to the floo or wait for a Patronus every time she needed to speak to someone; and the two-way mirrors were rare, expensive and impractical. So she’d collaborated with George Weasley and a few others on adapting and building upon the enchantments from the two-way mirror into a cell phone replica without electrical parts.
She currently owned the patents to, and the production company of, the Magical world’s only cell phone service provider.
Ron and Harry exchanged meaningful glances while Hermione spoke quietly into her phone. Ron poured more syrup on his sausages. She finally ended the call and looked up at them regretfully.
“I’m sorry. I’ve got to go show a few houses.”
“Show a house?” Ron asked blankly.
“Are you in real estate now too?” Harry wasn’t sure why he was surprised.
Hermione nodded weakly. “Apparently Draco Malfoy is looking for a place to buy ASAP.”
“Finally moving out of mommy and daddy’s place, is he?” Ron sneered then brightened, “Hey! Are there any cursed houses for sale? Sell him one but don’t tell him!”
“Ron, that would be unprofessional.” Hermione groused as she gathered her purse and got to her feet.
“And completely hilarious.” said Harry.
“I can’t believe you’re ditching our weekly breakfast for Malfoy.”
“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
She gave them both a kiss on the cheek and Apparated from the restaurant with a crack, causing immediate pandemonium among the Muggle diners who jumped and shrieked at the sound. One of the waitresses tumbled over with her tray of food. Dishes shattered on the floor. Those who had been looking in Hermione’s direction stared open-mouthed at the place where the young woman had been standing.
“What happened?”
“Was that a gunshot!?”
“Where did she go?”
Harry snatched up the rest of his breakfast, “Quick. Under the table! Under the table!”
Ron stuffed a mouthful of sausage, grabbed his plate of pancakes and slid under the table with Harry.
A moment later there was another crack as Hermione reappeared, looking aggravated. “Damnit! Obliviate! Obliviate! Obliviate obliviate obliviate!”
Harry cringed down as the spells went flying and the diners went screaming.
One of the more resourceful waitresses, Sally, if Harry remembered correctly, grabbed a patron and used her as a human shield, dodged the next spell aimed at her and dove behind the counter. She then quickly picked up a tray and used it as a shield, successfully blocking the next spell Hermione sent her way.
Harry was slightly turned on.
“You didn’t pay your tab!” Sally shouted accusingly.
That gave Hermione pause for half a second and Sally made the mistake of lowering her shield a bit, “Confundus!”
Sally got the spell full in the face and her tray dropped to the floor.
“Harry, would you get my bill? I’ll pay you back!” Hermione shouted and Apparated away.
Slowly, Harry and Ron climbed back up into their seats. The restaurant was a wreck and the patrons were confused and shell-shocked. Harry got up to help the fallen waitress clean her mess but she seemed to gather herself and shooed him away and slowly the diners started talking in low voices and then eating their meals, uncertain what had caused the ruckus to begin with.
Harry went to check on Sally, who was staggering a bit behind the cash register. “Finite.” He whispered, canceling the Confunding spell, “Sally, are you okay?”
“Blahgga-blah?” she swayed uncertainly and then coughed a little, “I mean, what happened?”
“I think you had a dizzy spell.” He said gently, “Why don’t you sit down?”
“A dizzy spell? Oh dear! What if it was an aneurysm? Wait . . . What happened to Nancy?” she asked, referring to the waitress who had dropped her tray and was now carefully scraping together the remains.
“Uh, she also had a dizzy spell. Probably.”
“We both had dizzy spells at the same time?” Sally asked sharply, watching Harry suspiciously, her eyes a bit wide and darting about nervously.
“Um, I guess? Er, check please?” he smiled uncertainly and scurried back to his table.
Ron had already gotten back into his seat and was eating again, though pensively. Harry sat down with a sigh and made a face at the remains of his meal. His gravy had gotten clumpy and grown a skin. Ron was looking at him but Harry was pretending he didn’t notice.
“Harry.” Ron groaned finally.
“What?” Harry started gathering his things, still not meeting his friend’s eyes.
“We have to do something. We can’t let this go on.”
“What are you talking about, Ron? Everything’s great.” Harry replied with forced cheer.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“I have no idea. . . .”
“She’s out of control.”
“Who?” Harry asked blandly.
Ron glared at him, glancing around tensely before whispering, “Hermione.”
Harry bristled and snapped defensively, “She’s doing a great job.”
“Yeah, of taking over the fucking WORLD.” He sighed, “Look, it was funny when she started teaching at Hogwarts and all of the kids started failing because her curriculum is insane. I mean, that’s no worse than some of the stuff that happened to us there. We failed potions every single year. And you didn’t mention it but I know she’s teaching History of Magic this year also and that McGonagall is talking about retiring and making Hermione the Headmistress. I was happy that Hermione got a second job at the Ministry and was getting her jollies by trying to free House Elves against their will. It was cool when she started helping George with the business end of running the Wheezes but even then I was starting to get nervous. She just doesn’t stop.”
“There’s nothing wrong with any of those things.”
“Individually no, but Harry, she’s on the Board of Governors now? How is that even possible if she’s teaching? How long before she’s deciding what they can and can’t teach at Hogwarts? She’s already cracking down on Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley; deciding what business can go where and what they can sell. She’s working in the Department of Mysteries. Stealing from the Department of Mysteries. She’s shooting up small muggle diners with obliviates, not once, but for the third time this year and that’s not her job. If there’s an exposure, she’s supposed to go through proper channels, contact the Ministry and have the Obliviators come out. But she doesn’t because she’s Hermione Granger and she believes she’s smarter and more capable than everyone else. If someone disagrees with her, she either steam-rolls them, hands out an obliviate, gets dirt on them or gathers power in another area until she can overwhelm them. I read the Daily Prophet, Harry, I’ve seen that she’s writing for them on the side of everything else she’s doing.”
Harry shrugged mutinously, refusing to say anything.
“She’s a fire-breathing monster and she’s going to eat the Wizarding World alive.”
“Not our problem.” Harry sat back slowly and smiled weakly up at a harried Nancy who had come to fill up his coffee. He put a couple sugars into the hot drink and took a slow sip. “We did our part and saved their asses once. If they want to hand over all control to her, that’s fine with me. She’ll be a fantastic Dictator and they’ll all be better for it.”
“Harry, we created her.”
“Bull. She’s always been bossy and overbearing and too smart for her own good. That’s why the two of us are still alive.”
“She also respected authority and obeyed the rules like every single one was a direct order from Merlin. Then we came along and she was lying to Professors, sneaking out at all hours, helping us break into the Ministry. She was a good girl, Harry.”
“Hey, the adults in our lives fucked themselves when it comes to respecting their authority. We didn’t do that.” He frowned, snapping, “What’s with you anyway? You’re not exactly the voice of reason. This isn’t like you.”
“You’re right! It’s not! And do you think I like this? Being Mr. Deep-Thoughts? I’ve been waiting for you to do or say something about it. Ginny has been on my back for months about it and I’m tired of ignoring it. I’m an Auror now. I made an oath to uphold the law and maybe you think I just became an Auror so I could fight Dark Wizards but I also wanted to protect us. My people. My freedom. That’s important to me.”
Harry was silent.
“Harry,” Ron said gently, “She’s not happy.”
Harry looked up sharply.
“She just told us that she doesn’t visit her family. She only sees us once a week and then she skips out half the time. She doesn’t have any other friends. She hasn’t had a relationship since she and I broke up. And I know she’s just trying to help everyone but she can’t fix the whole world and trying to is killing her.”
Harry let out a long breath and slumped. “Shit.”
The agency was oddly empty and Hermione glanced at the notes at the front desk but couldn’t find any hint of who had called her to take Malfoy’s unexpected appointment.
She wondered again, mutinously, just why it had to be her to take Malfoy’s assignment.
“Mr. Malfoy, right this way please.” Hermione stalked past the well-dressed Malfoy heir without looking up from her files.
“That’s Lord Malfoy to you, commoner,” Malfoy started snobbishly and then finally seemed to see her. “Granger?” The stuffy pompousness deflated a bit.
She stood at the doorway to her office, unimpressed, “You are not Lord Malfoy, so don’t give me any of that.”
He grinned and it was a bit mischievous, making him seem even less rigid and starchy, “True, but no one ever realizes that and, if they do, they don’t have the balls to say anything.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow but refrained from commenting as she led him into her office and took a seat behind the desk. Malfoy waltzed into the room in a manner that reminded her of his father and propped his silver-headed cane by the door. He was, in her opinion, a bit overdressed for a trip to the real estate agency. His pale hair was slicked back; he was wearing black kid gloves and an impressively bulky, fur-lined, silver-buckled and onyx-beaded monstrosity of a robe.
He made a show of looking about disdainfully and gave his cloak a little flip as he strode forward dramatically, “What a quaint little office.” He said in rich, drawling tones. “I suppose it may hold my magnificence . . . for now.”
She couldn’t help it. She snorted a little, amused, and tried to hide it by turning her face away with a delicate cough.
He dropped the haughty-act, plopping into the seat across from her. “Sooo, real estate agent.”
“What sort of dwelling are you looking for today, Mr. Malfoy?” Hermione ignored the prompt, opening a folder.
“I honestly thought you’d be more of a librarian. A teacher, maybe. Something to do with books.”
“We have quite a selection currently available. Everything from pent-house apartments in the city to castles on several hundred acres of land.”
“I mean, I’m glad to see you serving your Pureblood community but I’m certain there is a way you could do it that involves books.”
Hermione dug another folder out from her files drawer.
Cursed houses it is.
“By the way, shouldn’t you have served me tea by now?” Draco continued, crossing one knee over the other.
Actually, yes, she should have.
Feeling slightly aggravated, Hermione started to rise when Ginger, the office House Elf, appeared with a crack, carrying a full tea set.
“Now Ginger,” Hermione started calmly. “You didn’t have to. I could have. . . .”
“NO!” Shrieked the Elf with a furious glare at Hermione, “Bad Lady is sitting down and letting Ginger do her duty or Bad Lady is getting mop water on her head again!”
Hermione sat back slowly, manicured nails biting into the armrests of her chair as Ginger smiled sweetly at Draco and served him tea and biscuits. Malfoy picked up a biscuit, expression carefully controlled but eyes triumphant.
Ginger disappeared with a pop and Hermione glared at the spot the Elf had occupied. “You win this round, Elf.” She hissed to herself, making Draco snort around his mouthful of cookie.
“So . . . real-estate agent.”
Hermione’s head whipped back to him, “I don’t have all day, Mr. Malfoy.” She ground out.
“Of course you do.” He returned jovially, “And call me Lord Malfoy.”
“Hmm, I don’t need something as large as the manor.” Draco mused idly, tapping a finger to his lips as they stood in front of what had to be the tenth small castle that Draco had seemingly chosen at random, and dismissed just as casually, “But I don’t want anything as small as a cottage.”
He paced a little, ignoring a slightly frazzled Hermione whose entire morning was shot and things weren’t looking so great for her afternoon either. At least he seemed to have finally gotten serious and stopped making her show him house after house just for the hell of it.
“I want a bachelor pad, but something with attitude.”
“Erm, I have several houses that were previously owned by Dark Lords.” Hermione offered, holding up four folders from the armload she was juggling.
Draco spun around, looking shocked and excited, “Really?”
“Absolutely.” She tried to make her smile friendly.
“And you didn’t think to mention this before I wasted my entire morning?” He eyed her disapprovingly with just a hint of suspicion, “Just what are you up to?”
She tried not to freeze guiltily. So three of the four houses previously owned by Dark Lords were horribly cursed. So were four of the ten she’d already shown him (she’d sort of had to work herself up to it).
The suspicion on Draco’s face suddenly melted into surprise and then something smug and Hermione had a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach, but Malfoy only dusted imaginary lint from his shoulder and gestured to her grandly.
“Show them to me.”
The first house obviously didn’t impress Draco.
The location was prime, a little wooded knoll overlooking a Wizarding town. The house itself was an eight-bedroom, four-bathroom dwelling painted a pale, pretty blue with white shuttered windows. There was a lovely flower garden out front.
“This is the house of a Dark Lord?” Draco asked with quiet disbelief, not even able to sneer through his horror.
Hermione glanced through her notes, frowning. “The Dark Lord Pyjamas The Terror.”
Draco mouthed the name silently, staring at the little house.
“I think this was his vacation home.” Hermione offered lamely, scratching her head. It was also the only house of the four not horribly cursed, “A Dark Lord has to go somewhere to relax every once in awhile, I guess.”
“Are you certain he was an actual Dark Lord?” He questioned doubtfully and Hermione was insulted that someone would imply that she had made a mistake.
Hermione skimmed her notes, “Yes, he was degreed and everything. I think he was briefly mentioned in ‘Dark Lords of the 21st Century’ but otherwise, you won’t find any books about him. If he had grand designs or evil schemes, he either never mentioned them or never acted on them.”
“Huh.” Malfoy murmured in disinterest, “What’s next?”
Hermione dug through her portkey ring.
“This one is nice!” Draco crowed as they appeared before a white metal fence. Hermione put her portkeys away and started digging through her other key ring to find the magical key for the huge padlock keeping the gate closed.
They were on a narrow road sparsely populated by a few large houses, each with a handful of acres of land. The house before them was incredibly ‘modern chic’ especially for the Wizarding world. The front was white and rounded and extended up five stories with windows slightly protruding. The sides squared off and stacked into two sections with the largest section at the bottom. The sides were painted an almost brick brown. The front ‘lawn’ was a mixture of beautiful landscaping and modern wizarding art with a gazebo, several Avant-garde statues and a fountain.
“It’s so different from anything I’ve ever seen!” Draco rambled on, “I think my father would hate it. Mother would disapprove on principle but secretly love it.”
Hermione was impressed herself and wondered why she’d never seen or shown this house before. The curse on it must have been really bad if there wasn’t more interest in this place. She checked her file and saw that it had only recently been vacated and that the house next door had sold only a month ago.
“What kind of Dark Lord lived here?” Draco asked eagerly.
Hermione paused her struggle with the lock to look through her notes. “Um, Dark Lord Franko McJoyKill. Owner of Igor Industries, Britain’s largest-well, I guess its only-purveyor of Dark Lording supplies. Renowned for driving his neighbors slowly insane until they kill themselves . . . waaaaaait a second. . . .” Draco, who had been rubbernecking through the fence, jumped slightly when she grabbed his shoulder. “Malfoy,” she said carefully, voice trembling just a little, “Be calm. I’ve made a mistake.”
He frowned down at her and then froze as something behind her caught his attention. All the color left his face.
“This isn’t McJoyKill’s house.” Hermione admitted breathily.
Draco gulped, still staring behind her, “This is the house next door?” he hazarded.
“Um, yeah.”
Slowly, giving in to the inevitable, she turned around, cringing slightly.
Franko McJoyKill was pressed so hard against the fence next door that for a moment Hermione thought he was trying to squeeze through. He had thick, black hair gelled up in stylish spikes and a cliché ‘villain’ goatee. He was grinning at them so hard his face looked about to crack.
“Neighbors?” he asked hopefully, eyes flicking between Hermione and Draco. His hands trembled with excitement where they squeezed the bars of the fence.
Draco tried, unsuccessfully, to tuck his much larger frame behind Hermione. Hermione rapidly tried to juggle the folders, grasping desperately for her ring of portkeys, not caring which she grabbed. She smiled weakly at Franko.
Franko smiled harder. “Perhaps you’d like to come in for tea.” He whispered, “I could get you a catalogue of my latest merchandise…” Still a soft, gentle voice, “Igor Industries, number one in providing for practitioners of the Dark Arts. We’re having a sale. . . ”
Draco perked up, “A sale?”
“No!” Hermione grabbed him and they portkeyed away.
They reappeared so violently that Draco stumbled and Hermione fell on her butt, grasping her folders tightly to her chest.
“Why did you do that?” Malfoy yelled, “We were going to talk business!”
“Why did I do that?” Hermione bemoaned to herself just as angrily, “If I let him have you, then my afternoon would have been freed up!”
Draco sputtered.
Grumbling, Hermione carefully got to her feet, managing to still spill papers everywhere.
“Is this the next Dark Lord’s house?” Draco asked shortly, while Hermione gathered everything.
“No.” Hermione grumbled, stuffing papers haphazardly back into their respective folders.
“Oh.” He sounded slightly disappointed and Hermione glanced up at the sprawling white stone structure with twisting spires that seemed to be carved right from the mountainside it sat on. It was beautiful.
“If you like it, who cares if it wasn’t owned by a Dark Lord.” She scanned her notes, “I’m sure it has some sort of history to it.”
And then she winced when she saw it was originally designed and built by a famous Muggle architect and then enchanted by his Muggleborn children.
“What kind of history?” Draco asked.
“I don’t know. History?” she shrugged. “All buildings have history.”
He frowned, “I want to see the other Dark Lord houses.”
“Ugh, fine.”
“Now THIS is a Dark Lord’s house!” Draco beamed, obviously impressed.
Hermione found herself agreeing with a gulp.
The black and twisted castle sat on a flat bed of barren rock suspended magically over a lake of bubbling lava.
“But . . . it’s a little much, don’t you think?” the blonde finally admitted reluctantly. “I mean, maybe if I had a full-on Dark Lord career this would be a great office-kinda cliché maybe-but . . . it’s not real homey.”
Oh thank Merlin, Hermione thought, inwardly slumping in relief as she eyed the narrow, rickety little wooden bridge that led to the awful black castle. She didn’t want to actually have to show the place but she knew if she showed her reluctance that Malfoy would jut HAVE to check the place out.
“Who lived here?” Malfoy asked.
Hermione checked. “The Dark Lord Aegrus,” she murmured finally, “Real nasty piece of work but, you’re right, not very original. Built an army, conquered a city, became a necromancer, tried to gain immortality, then choked on a chicken bone.”
“At least that’s the official story!” Malfoy shot her a pointed look, “There are some who say it was a peanut allergy. Aegrus is one I have heard of. I had an action figure of him when I was little.”
Right. Figures.
“This place is a lot older than the other ones we’ve looked at. Aegrus died about three hundred years ago. Pyjamas the Terror is still around somewhere and so is McJoyKill, obviously.”
“I had no idea before today that we had living Dark Lord’s in Britain.” Draco mused.
“We have several. You just don’t really hear about them unless they go aggro. They were more common in the 1960’s and 1970’s before Voldemort went around and slaughtered maybe ninety percent of them.” She ignored Malfoy flinching at the name, “Voldemort was calling himself a Dark Lord before that, but I think that’s when the University granted him his Dark Lord degree honoris causa.”
“Say what now? You need a degree to be a Dark Lord?” Malfoy looked stunned.
Hermione frowned, “Of course you do. Historically, you had to prove to a council of Warlocks that you had talent in, and had mastered, one or more areas of the Dark Arts. Today, you attend Academia Sinistro somewhere in the North Sea for two to six years, study whatever areas of the Dark Arts you’re talented in, then write a thesis about how you’re going to take over and/or destroy the world.”
Malfoy folded his arms, distinctly putout, “I’ve never heard of such a place as Academia Sinistro.”
“Well, it’s sort of a ‘don’t call us, we’ll call you’ type of place. And the class size is generally small as you not only have to have talent in the Dark Arts, but you have to survive the curriculum. They turn out about three to five Dark Lords a year.”
“There couldn’t possibly be that many Dark Lords! We’d be overrun!”
“Sinistro alumni don’t necessarily use their degree to start wars or take over the world or anything, despite their thesis. Some of them need the distinction or want the connections. I don’t think you can even get a job in parts of Bulgaria unless you’re a certified Dark Lord. And not all areas of the Dark Arts are useful for battle and world conquering.”
“What do you mean?”
“Take Parseltongue for example. It’s a Dark Art but it’s certainly not going to help you conquer the earth.”
“I’m sure it would if the Wizard were creative enough.” Malfoy snapped back belligerently.
Hermione ignored him, “And having so many Dark Lords mucking about actually helps prevent conflict, as many of the more hostile ones are too busy stopping each other’s plots to ever get around to taking over the world themselves.”
“Then how come I’ve never met any of these supposed Dark Lords besides . . . well, the Dark Lord.”
“You have actually. Dumbledore had his degree.”
“You’re making this up!”
“I am not.” Hermione snapped, getting cranky because of the heat from the lava. She wiped her forehead, and quickly cast a cooling charm, “He was a contemporary of Grindewald.”
“Someone would have mentioned it! Back-back . . . you know when. The Ministry tried for years to destroy his reputation.”
“No, they wouldn’t have mentioned it. They wanted to discredit him. To make Dumbledore look like a crazy, stupid old man. If they’d claimed he was a Dark Lord, it could have backfired, either garnered Dumbledore fear and respect or made them look like liars.”
“There is no way Dumbledore was a Dark Lord. If anything, he’d be a Light Lord.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, “There is absolutely nothing stopping him from having a Mastery of both Light and Dark Arts. Dark Lord is an earned title, it’s not an occupation, it has nothing to do with intention, it’s not an appellation for someone who runs around killing people and trying to take over the world. Light Lord isn’t even a designation. Those who might be called Light Lords are too self-righteously humble to even think about referring to themselves as such. They hardly ever even meet together, because if they did, they might decide to do something good for the Wizarding world. And that would be using their ‘grand powers’ to influence the world around them, which would then lead to an endless, philosophical argument amongst themselves about whether or not it’s right and just for them to use their magnificence to change the lives of us poor, insignificant peons, even if it is for the better. Some will think they have no right to interfere at all and others will think it’s their duty to do something and then everyone will end up doing nothing at all.”
“You sound as though you have experience on the matter.”
Hermione made a face, “They meet about once every ten years. And for good reason.”
“Why wouldn’t, um, You-Know-Who have gone to the Academia then?”
“Voldemort was a half-blood, Malfoy. His father was a Muggle. There was no way he would have been invited to Sinistro.”
“A half-blood?” Draco stood there with an inscrutable expression and then he slapped his fist down in his palm as though having an epiphany, “So THAT’S why he went so crazy!”
“Oh don’t even start!” He gave her an innocent look and she huffed, “We have one more Dark Lord’s house to see and I want to get out of here before those corpses that are slowly dragging themselves towards us arrive. So let’s go.”
Malfoy made a face, “No, it’s past lunch and I’m starving.”
“Then should we continue this meeting some other time?” She asked briskly. Please. Like never?
“No.” he sniffed again, startling her by tucking one of his arms around hers and knocking several folders to the ground in the process, “Business lunch.”
And they vanished.
The corpses stopped dragging themselves and one of them let out a disappointed moan. No one ever stayed to chat.
Part 2
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