Happenstance

Saturday morning found Hermione in her pyjamas wrapping Christmas presents. She could have done it easily with magic but she was mentally weary and wanted repetitive activity to give herself a chance to recoup. Talking about her ordeal had drained her more than she liked though she did feel a little better for it. Besides, adding her personal touch to the gifts made her smile. It was frippery and ephemeral but little joys made life worthwhile.

So did big mugs of hot chocolate with candy canes to stir them. The minty sweet drink was a favourite from her childhood she had inflicted on Draco. He sat at the kitchen table sipping and eyeing the sheaves of paper. He had condescended to write the labels, unsurprised by the neat list she had handed him or the discovery she had bought these supplies in January during the sales.

“We’ll be seeing all the Grangers at my parent’s house so we’ll take the gifts with us.” Hermione was conscious of every personal plural in that sentence. There did not seem another way to say it without bogging down with ‘you and I’. Besides, they were going together. She continued with her point before miring herself in linguistic subtext. “Otherwise I would never have got the parcels posted in time.”

“Owls are reasonably discrete in the early morning.” Draco dipped his quill and scribed his way through the Penriths trying to guess the familial relationships. It was old habit as a pureblood; the How Much a Cousin Game.

“Not in Birmingham.” She had had this conversation with Ron. Wizards liked doing it the easy way but Hermione was entirely sure there would be quite a lot of interest in an owl trying to deliver a package to a Tyneside apartment. Her Uncle Ned was unlikely to react as badly as Vernon Dursley but he’d certainly not be thrilled.

As she applied labels, Draco noted Hermione had colour-coded the presents. He had been fairly close with his guesses of who related to who how though he had been out with Edward and Joshua and Anne. He would get the story of that at the Granger’s party he wagered. Perhaps she could draw him a chart.

“You are a merchant banker, possibly.” Hermione curled bright red ribbon then pulled the coils idly through her fingers as she considered a likely lie. She could not tell her family Draco was an unemployed wizard. “No, an estate manager. That’s true enough and you have the air of the aristocracy.” She slid a gift aside to contemplate the next.

Nana Penrith always asked for the same thing; a posh hat from town. The town in this case was Milan and an ostentation of peacocks had donated their plumage for the chapeau. Hermione shrouded the hatbox with silver paper, obscuring the milliner’s name. Her grandmother would love the hat but she did not know Prada from Pravda far less an Italian bespoke designer.

“Is that a polite way of saying you think I’m pompous?” Draco inquired as he wondered why anyone would bother naming their son Jack. A small terrier perhaps or a child’s first pony, now they could be a Jack but a firstborn? The name did not even look presentable in his elegant script. Might as well dub the unfortunate Unimaginative Smith and be done with it.

“You have to have a job. In my family not working is tantamount to sin.” Hermione’s parents had introduced Ron as a footballer, confident none of the family followed sport. There had been an awkward moment when her uncle Philip had asked what Ron wanted to do after his career was over. ‘Market brooms’ had been half way to Ron’s lips but he’d strangled it to Marketing. She did not want a repeat of that not with her whole family there.

“I’ll be landed gentry. Plenty of them loafing about. No need to...” He stopped as Bertie almost skidded into the room and announced Madam Malfoy. Draco stood to greet his mother, worried. He had not expected her for another few days and Narcissa always sent an owl. She walked into the room quickly, ladies did not run, and paused before taking the chair Draco held out for her.

“Miss Granger.” Narcissa said, coolly polite despite a flushed face. She was fashionably dressed but there was a hint of haste in her attire as though she had been merely going through the motions.

“Mrs Malfoy.” Hermione replied promptly, giving the other witch the conventional greeting for which she was waiting. Social niceties observed meant the willowy blonde could subside onto the chair and explain why she was there without risk of snubbing her son’s guest.

“Your father is missing. It is terribly serious. I left last night to go to the theatre and when I returned to the hotel he was gone. I have looked everywhere.” Narcissa turned subtly to her son, showing her back to Hermione. She had made a good effort to seem accepting of her lessers but her mannerisms gave her away. The cutglass finishing school accent did not help. “I was on the point of owling you when I received this.”

Narcissa pulled out an envelope from her handbag and gave it to Draco. He read the letter slowly, not because it was complex but to ensure he did not miss little details. The author had used a quill to print the demand of money with menaces. A lot of money. He noted the ‘or else’. It was quite as awful as expected. The missive had been sealed with his father’s personal signet to add credence to the extortion. Draco looked at his mother, who was very consciously maintaining a stiff upper lip.

“We might be able to raise the Galleons.” Though unless his father had secret accounts he had not revealed to either his wife or his heir it would be a squeeze. As well as taking time they had not been given. The ransom would beggar their family.

“Your father would hate that.” Narcissa shook her head hopelessly, still shocked. “We must go to the Aurors.” She spoke as though having teeth pulled. “There is no other recourse but to appeal to the Ministry.” Her supercilious demeanour wavered. She was close to tears, her hands trembling. “For the scant efforts they will make on our behalf.”