Pride & Prejudice & Leprechauns

Less than a week later, during the Weasleys’ weekly bruncheon, as the family and Hermione were sitting together in the kitchen, their attention was suddenly drawn to the window by the sound of a carriage, and they perceived a chaise and four driving up the lawn. The thestrals were post, and neither the carriage, nor the livery of the servant who preceded it, were familiar to them. As it was certain, however, somebody was coming. The conjectures continued, though with little satisfaction, till the door was thrown open and their visitor entered. It was Lord Lucius Malfoy II.

He entered the room with an air more than usually ungracious, made no other reply to Hermione’s salutation than a slight inclination of the head, and sat down without saying a word. Hermione had mentioned his name to Mrs. Weasley on his lordship’s entrance, though no request of introduction had been made.

Mrs. Weasley, all amazement, though flattered by having a guest of such high importance, received him with the utmost politeness. After sitting for a moment in silence, he said very stiffly to Hermione,

“I hope you are well, Miss Granger. That lady, I suppose, is the Weasley matriarch and your patroness in the wizarding world.”

Hermione replied very concisely that she had been and still was despite the recent falling out with her son.

“And those I suppose are her sons.”

“Yes, sir,” said Mrs. Weasley, delighted to speak to Lord Malfoy. “These are my sons, but one. My youngest of all is lately married.” Then, she begged his lordship to take some refreshment, but Lord Malfoy very resolutely, and not very politely, declined eating anything; and then, rising up, said to Hermione:

“Miss Granger, there seemed to be some a mockery of a garden on one side of this… house. I should be glad to take a turn in it, if you will favor me with your company.”

“Go, my dear,” cried Mrs. Weasley, unaware of the insult, “and show his lordship the rhododendron shrubbery. I think he will be pleased with bushes growing in the Burrow’s garden.”

Hermione obeyed, and they proceeded in silence along the gravel walk; she was determined to make no effort for conversation with a man who was now more than usually insolent and disagreeable.

“How could I ever think him like his son?” said she, as she looked in his face.

As soon as they entered the garden, Lord Malfoy began in the following manner:

“You can be at no loss, Miss Granger, to understand the reason of my journey hither. Your own heart, your own conscience, must tell you why I come.”

Hermione looked at him with unaffected astonishment.

“Miss Granger,” said his lordship, in an angry tone, “you ought to know that I am not to be trifled with. But however insincere you may choose to be, you shall not find me so. A report of a most alarming nature reached me. I was told that not only your closest friend was on the point of being most advantageously married, but that you, that Miss Hermione Granger, a Muggle-born, would, in all likelihood, be soon afterwards united to my son, my own son, Mr. Malfoy. Though I know it must be a scandalous falsehood, though I would not injure him so much as to suppose the truth of it possible, I instantly resolved on setting off for this place, that I might make my sentiments known to you.”

“If you believed it impossible to be true,” said Hermione, coloring with astonishment and disdain, “I wonder you took the trouble of coming so far. What could your lordship have proposed by it?”

“At once to insist upon having such a report universally contradicted.”

“Your coming to the Burrow, to see me and the Weasleys,” said Hermione coolly, “will be rather a confirmation of it; if, indeed, such a report is in existence.”

“If! Do you then pretend to be ignorant of it? Has it not been industriously circulated by yourselves? Do you not know that such a report is spread about?”

“I never heard that it was.”

“And can you likewise declare that there is no foundation for it?”

“I do not pretend to possess equal frankness with your lordship. You may ask questions which I shall not choose to answer.”

“This is not to be born. Miss Granger, I insist on being satisfied or I will hex you. Has he, has my son, made you an offer of marriage?”

“Your lordship declared it to be impossible.”

“It ought to be so; it must be so, while he retains the use of his reason. But your intelligence and allurements may, in a moment of infatuation, have made him forget his superior pedigree and family obligations. You may have drawn him in with your underhanded Muggle charms.”

“If I have, I shall be the last person to confess it.”

“Miss Granger, do you know who I am? I was once a close follower of the Dark Lord himself, not to mention one of his most powerful servants. You yourself have fought me in battle. This is my son, and I am entitled to know all his dearest concerns.”

“But you are not entitled to know mine.”

“Let me be rightly understood. This match, to which you have the presumption to aspire, can never take place. No, never. My son is a pureblood, and you are nothing but Mudblood filth. Now what do you have to say?”

“Only this, that if he thinks as you do, you can have no reason to suppose he will make an offer to me.”

“Obstinate, headstrong witch! You are to understand, Miss Granger, that I came here with the determined resolution of carrying my purpose; nor will I be dissuaded from it. I have not been used to submit to any person’s whims. I have not been in the habit of brooking disappointment.”

“That will make your lordship’s situation at present more pitiable, but it will have no effect on me.”

“I will not be interrupted. Hear me in silence. My son is descended, on the maternal side, from the noble and most ancient House of Black; and, on mine, from a respectable, honorable, and just as ancient wizarding family. The magical offspring on both sides is splendid. The upstart pretensions of a young witch from a Muggle family without connections or fortune is not to be endured! If you were sensible of your own place in our society, you would not wish to quit the sphere in which you have been brought up.”

“In marrying your son, I should not consider myself as quitting that sphere. He is a wizard; I am a witch; so far we are equal.”

“Merlin and Morgana! Are the shades of Wiltshire to be thus polluted?” Lord Malfoy seethed. “Now tell me once and for all, are you engaged to my son?”

Though Hermione would not, for the mere purpose of obliging Lord Malfoy, have answered the question, she could not but respond after a moment’s deliberation. “I am not,” Hermione resentfully answered.

She stood tall, steeling herself against his satisfied reaction. “You have insulted me in every possible method and can now have nothing further to say. Now, I beg you take your leave.”

Lord Malfoy swept out of the gate without looking at her, till they were at the door of his thestral bound carriage, when, turning hastily round, he added, “I take no leave of you, Miss Granger. You deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased.”

Hermione made no answer, and without attempting to persuade his lordship to return into the house, walked quietly into it herself. She heard the carriage drive away as she proceeded to the Floo to go home, ignoring the questioning looks from the Weasley family.