A law to herself

Narcissa was looking forward to meeting Hermione.

A lesser person might feel a slight sense of embarrassment at meeting a girl who had jilted their son, perhaps even resent the insult. Not Narcissa. As far as she was concerned, she was just grateful that the wedding hadn’t taken place.

Lucius thought that she’d opposed the marriage both because the girl was a Mudblood, which he found entirely reasonable, and because no one would ever be good enough for her little boy. This, he had less patience with, saying that he had to get married at some point.

Narcissa agreed with that. She just didn’t think that it should happen whilst he was still at Hogwarts. What she could never explain to her husband without hurting his feelings terribly was that marrying young was a mistake. Lucius would take that to mean that she wasn’t happy with her marriage, and that wasn’t true.

It couldn’t be said that she actually regretted becoming Mrs Malfoy, it’s just she would have liked to have waited a couple of years before doing so. She would have liked to have travelled, to have seen France and Italy, and bought shoes in exotic places, but after the honeymoon they’d never left the country. First, Lucius was too busy trying to overthrow the government, and latterly he hadn’t been allowed to leave the country.

He’d lost so much in the way of position and power that he was in desperate need of reassurance from his wife; he’d half expected her to leave him after the War. So it wouldn’t matter how often she explained that just because their marriage had worked out so well, it didn’t mean that Draco’s would, he would still think it was a criticism.

Lucius didn’t take criticism very well.

So she’d bitten her tongue, and hoped for the best, and Miss Granger hadn’t disappointed.

She was also the first Muggleborn to cross the threshold of Malfoy Manor, and the only one that Narcissa had spoken to for more than ten minutes or so. She did wonder what Hermione’s manners were like, but she’d coped with many a faux pas from guests before. Voldemort had always been a very rude man, even before he had become scaly and started shedding scales on the drawing room carpet.

Dinner was likely to be the tricky point, but once placed in her seat there should be very little chance for errors – surely everyone knew the rule about starting at the outside of the cutlery and working your way in.

Narcissa could hear the bass rumble of Severus’ voice as he came along the corridor: no doubt he was issuing instructions to the poor girl. It was almost enough to make you feel sorry for her.

And once you saw the hair, well, you thanked god that those genes wouldn’t be running in the Malfoy family, and wondered whether it might not be a kindness to mention the name of your own hairdresser to her. She’d have to ask Lucius quite how far they were prepared to go to forge an alliance with the girl, before introducing her to Madame Martine.

“There you are, Severus. How nice to see you again,” Narcissa said, rising to greet him. She placed two kisses in the general region of each cheek.

“Narcissa,” he acknowledged. “And may I introduce Hermione Granger?”

“Granger?” she asked quizzically.

“Yes, indeed,” Severus said. “Albus has some idea that it would be bad for discipline if Hermione were to use her married name, so Granger she remains for now.”

Well, that answered that question. Severus was perfectly serious about Hermione being his wife, and would expect her to be treated with courtesy. How very interesting.

“I think he had a point, Severus,” Hermione said. “I should think the other teachers would hesitate to take points off Mrs Snape in the classroom. Not to mention the way it would have made my house mates nervous.”

“And I, of course, live to make Gryffindors happy.”

“Not that I’ve noticed,” Hermione replied. “But then, you’re not the one who would have to put up with the constant whining.”

Severus didn’t smile a lot, but when he was amused, as he was now, the skin round his eyes would crinkle, as if he wanted to smile but couldn’t. His expression stiffened when a voice came from behind them – Lucius.

“Miss Granger must give credit, where credit is due: he has at last managed to make one Gryffindor deliriously happy, if rumour is to be believed.” He was standing in the doorway, deliberately striking a pose with one shoulder propped against the doorjamb.

“Rumour lies,” Severus said shortly.

“I was certainly very grateful not to have to marry Draco,” Hermione said, almost at the same time. “If that’s what you mean.”

Hermione had never been one for obfuscation or for political manoeuvring, though she was capable of stitching up someone if necessary. However, the Malfoys were in a class of their own when it came to double dealing and that she would need all the help she could get. She was clearly going to have to buy Severus almost the entire contents of Honeydukes to make up for this.

She only hoped it was worthwhile, though she had her doubts as to how useful the Malfoy\'s would or could be: they had hardly been committed to equal rights for Muggleborns in the past, and he was too much to hope that they had turned over a new leaf having seen the error of their ways. They were very clearly after something, she would just have to work out what that something was and then work out whether she was prepared to pay that price.

Hermione hoped that she looked unimpressed, and not overawed or shamefaced. She wasn’t presenting herself as some sort of supplicant for his favours, but a pact on the basis of mutual interest, which meant that she didn’t have to be nice to Lucius, and he certainly didn’t have to be nice to her.

She’d succeeded in disconcerting him; there was no immediate witty retort, just a quiet and thorough examination of her, as if he’d never seen her before. He probably hadn’t paid a great deal of attention to her in the past, dismissing her as Potter’s sidekick, and never really forming an opinion on what she was like. He hadn’t needed to but now, since they were about to get into bed together, or at least were considering the prospect, he was being more careful in his assessment of her. (And that was a truly nasty metaphor in this context, and one she wasn’t going to think of ever again if she could help it.)

“That was almost rude,” Lucius replied eventually, though he didn’t seem particularly offended. He was too busy being amused at Severus’ reaction to mentioning the rumours about his active sex life. “And that’s really no way to behave when you come seeking favours. How very unsubtle. Severus, however do you cope?”

Well that put her firmly in her place, didn’t it?

His voice was lighter than Severus’ and would sound pleasant if you didn’t hear the undercurrent of contempt. Severus may be equally sarcastic, but at least he paid you the courtesy of engaging with you when he snarled at you; Lucius was clearly above it all.

“Mostly I find it rather pleasant,” Severus replied. “Predictability has its own charms. And of course the full-frontal assault is rather refreshing after a lifetime of having to watch my back.”

Lucius and Severus exchanged identical thin-lipped smiles.

She should be feeling crushed and awkward, in the face of so much condescension but she’d never really seen the point of being subtle when getting straight to the point could save a lot of difficulty. And if you compared the success of subtlety versus bluntness she had to say she was ahead of the game: they’d won the War, she was not married to Draco, and she wasn’t the one under house arrest.

So there.

Narcissa found the exchanges interesting. Lucius was too quick to fall back into old habits and start sparring with Severus, passing over Miss Granger as being too young and inexperienced to be a nuisance. She would have to mention that to him later. In the meantime, there was tea and cake to be served.

It would probably be for the best if everyone had their mouths kept full for the next hour or so. She was determined that this weekend would go well. She liked Pansy and had been looking forward to welcoming her into the family – eventually.

Hermione was a forthright and formidably intelligent witch, who would obviously go far, provided she could be persuaded to stop being forthright. She would make a valuable ally in the cut and thrust of wizarding society, but an uncomfortable daughter-in-law. She would no doubt have progressive views on the raising of children, and Narcissa would have been compelled to go along with them until she’d seen sense and bowed to the voice of experience.

There was only a certain amount of grizzling and nappies that someone could take before they snapped and realised that grandparents should really see more of their little darlings, whilst mummy went off and rediscovered the joys of shopping, reading or gin, according to taste.

Narcissa had been looking forward to that, reassured in the knowledge that there were always house elves on hand to take over if things became a little fragrant.

Narcissa hadn’t wanted to welcome a Muggle into her home, but Grandchildren would have been some compensation for the marriage. Now that the immediate threat had been removed, it was important that Lucius concentrated on the important task of getting the law overturned so she could have the daughter-in-law she preferred.

“Tea, darling?” she asked Lucius.

Severus and Lucius disengaged their horns, and separated to sofas on opposite sides of the fireplace. Lucius was looking imperturbable – a sure sign of being perturbed – whilst Severus looked as if he were enjoying a private joke. He probably was: Severus’ sense of humour was notoriously warped.

Hermione took a seat next to Severus. Narcissa passed her a cup of tea for Severus, and then one for herself.

“Would you like a biscuit, Miss Granger?” Narcissa said.

“Thank you,” Hermione said demurely, and helped herself to a custard cream which she perched on the edge of her saucer.

Narcissa thought it was in very poor taste not to use a plate, with doily, as provided, but at least they were spared the indignity of dunking. One of Lucius’ minions had been invited to tea once, and spent the afternoon dunking her best biscuits into the dark brew the House Elves had produced when he had rejected the Earl Grey as being too poncy. He’d never darkened her doors again, mercifully, and he and Lucius conducted their business in a shady pub somewhere in Muggle London, which suited everybody well.

Conversation flagged. Narcissa had a fund of small talk that she could produce in these situations, but Hermione was unlikely to appreciate being regaled with stories about people she’d never met. Severus was unlikely to be more receptive and would treat them all to a discussion of the character failings of the person being discussed. This was only amusing for the first fifteen minutes – after that even a master of invective like Severus tended to repeat himself – and only the first time you heard it.

Narcissa couldn’t think of a single topic that would be suitable. She could hardly talk about Draco’s performance at school in front of Hermione who was most likely doing better, as that would irritate Lucius. She couldn’t ask Severus how he was enjoying teaching, because that would irritate him. She had no idea what you talked to Muggleborns about at all – fellytision, perhaps. She made a mental note to take Hermione on one side and find out what would be acceptable to chat about. In this brave new world Muggleborns were going to become more and more influential, and it was always best to be prepared.

Draco’s arrival, somewhat flushed and in the company of Pansy, was a welcome relief. It was unlikely that he’d remember to be on his best behaviour for long, but even if he did fall out with Hermione there were unlikely to be any serious repercussions. From what she could gather the pair had been at each others throats for years.

He checked, surprised to see Hermione, and then continued to plant a careful kiss on his mother’s cheek. She smiled up at him fondly. He was such a good boy, and so like his father in looks. He was bound to be a credit to the family once he had got over his tendency to jump in to any situation with wand drawn and hexes flying. Lucius certainly hoped so, though Draco didn’t seem that much different from the over-excitable teenager she remembered Lucius being when he was younger. It had taken him many years to become the smooth-tongued Slytherin he was today, something he conveniently tended to forget.

Draco dutifully settled Pansy on the sofa next to his father, and fetched her a cup of tea. Pansy, always a polite girl, smiled briefly at Lucius and Narcissa and then sipped at her tea demurely.

An awkward silence descended on the room.

Lucius and Severus were glowering at each other across the divide, rendered mute by their desire to reach some sort of accommodation. Draco was keeping quiet for fear of putting his foot in it, and Pansy and Narcissa couldn\'t think of a single thing to say that would not precipitate disaster.

For once, in her long career as a hostess, she\'d been outfaced.

Lucius was out of reach, so she couldn\'t kick him to remind him of his duty as host -- and pass the responsibility on very neatly -- so they were doomed to sit there in silence until the dinner bell, whereupon they would all troop into dinner, where only the sound of scraped plates would disturb the ghastly quiet.

She was staring social disaster in the face, and the insane urge to say something stupid and tactless was building, and in any moment she was going to ask whether there was any truth to the rumour that Muggles had tails, just for the sheer relief of saying anything at all when Hermione spoke.

\"Did you have a nice Christmas, Pansy?\"

It was a stupid question -- it was dull, and bland – and it was just what was required.

\"We did, thank you. I expect you were glad to go home and see your parents,\" Pansy replied.

And that was a slightly pointed question in return: not rude but pushing for information. Narcissa felt a rush of affection for the girl; she really would make a good Malfoy wife.

Hermione flicked a glance and Severus before replying, so she’d sensed that the question wasn’t entirely innocent. \"I do miss my parents, of course; Severus was busy at Hogwarts and could only get away for Boxing Day, but my parents were pleased to see him.\"

Narcissa doubted that they were pleased to find their daughter married to her teacher, so his invitation must have been closer to a demand that he present himself for inspection. That much was clear – what was surprising was that he had done so.

\"I\'m sure you enjoyed that, Severus,\" Lucius said. \"Christmas is a time for family, after all.\"

Narcissa would have to make sure she sat closer to Lucius after dinner, because that deserved a hearty kick: you did not mention family in front of Severus.

\"Do you think so?\" Hermione asked. \"My paternal grandmother is a complete nightmare, and I\'m afraid we were very pleased when she decided to go on a world cruise this year. I rather think it depends on the family; sometimes you are better off without them.\"

Severus didn\'t look pleased at the intervention on his behalf, after all he was perfectly capable of looking after himself, but it was interesting that he didn\'t look offended either. Severus was a notoriously prickly individual, who was perfectly capable of taking offence at the slightest opportunity, and very happy to inform people when they had done so; if he was prepared to accept Hermione standing up for him in that way, then he was fonder of her then they had realised.

Lucius was also intrigued by a Hermione\'s contribution, and spent the next few minutes in observing her, allowing the conversation to move along without him. This was just as well, as the constant sniping was beginning to get on her nerves.

She was immensely grateful when the House Elf arrived to announce the arrival of her other guests to take up the strain of the conversation, and shortly afterwards dinner was served. She was getting too old for this, and her nerves couldn\'t take much more discussion of the weather. She hadn’t realised quite how much the conversation at her usual dinner parties had revolved around complaining about the inferiorities of Muggles – it was frightfully hard to think of anything else to talk about.

Hermione had been aware that there had been undercurrents in that little conversation, but she could only guess what they were, but Severus hadn\'t been glaring at her, so it seemed likely that she hadn\'t made too many mistakes. She hadn\'t expected to like Lucius Malfoy, and her expectation stood every chance of being realised. He had no redeeming features that she could see, other than the fact his wife and son liked him, and they were very clearly deranged.

Narcissa kept staring at her as if she was going to commit some awful social solecism at any moment, as if she\'d never used a knife and fork before and would be eating from a dish on the floor. No doubt she would have been if they’d had their way. She’d certainly never been confronted with a choice of four implements with which to eat her fish, but it was easy enough to wait until someone else had started their meal and follow their lead.

She managed to negotiate the fish course without difficulty: she had had this horrible vision of using too much force to separate the flesh from the bones and of sending the entire corpse skittering across the table to come to rest in the lap of Lucius Malfoy, but disaster had been avoided. She’d been able to devote almost all her attention to the tricky task of de-boning as conversation had been desultory: some sort of truce appeared to have been reached, though she couldn\'t say quite why or when this had happened. She was merely grateful for the chance to draw breath, and recoup her forces for the new assault which would begin again as soon as the desert course was finished. At least she was able to enjoy the chocolate soufflé in peace, and it was a truly marvellous chocolate soufflé.

It was so good, she almost regretted turning Draco down.

Almost.

She had two after dinner mints; she needed them.

She had done her best in the face of the most appalling provocation not to Hex anybody, and deserved the order of Merlin herself just for refraining from throttling the little shit she had sat next to dinner. It seemed that he hadn\'t realised that she was a Muggleborn, doubtless because Muggleborn\'s did not go to Malfoy Manor, and therefore had spent the whole cheese course holding forth on precisely why they shouldn\'t be allowed to remain in the Wizarding World. Surely, no one would have blamed her if she\'d have stabbed him in the back of the hand with a fork.

She had half expected for ladies to retire, leaving the gentlemen to their port, but apparently Narcissa was unwilling to turn her back on her husband for that long, the so they all returned to the Drawing-room for coffee. Hermione was grateful when Narcissa suggested that she might like to see the library -- at least she wouldn\'t have to try and make polite conversation for the next hour or so until it was bedtime.

“Draco dear, perhaps you’d care to show Mrs Snape the library. I’m sure she’d like to see it.”

“Yes, mother,” Draco agreed with very bad grace, casting a longing look at Pansy, who had been trapped in a corner by an old woman who had the look of family about her. Hermione wondered if she’d ever be able to master that note of command that seemed to come naturally to all mothers and wives. He could just imagine Severus’ reaction if she ever moved from cajoling and bribing to nagging – she’d have to check her morning tea for poison.

She dutifully followed Draco down a long corridor, which had well-worn wood panels to waist height and blue damask wallpaper above, lit by softly glowing lamps that she assumed were magical. She hardly supposed that the Malfoys had allowed the house to be wired for electricity.

There was a large oak door at the end of the corridor, with large iron hinges and studs. It reminded her of a Muggle horror film, the sort of door you would expect Count Dracula to be lurking behind it, or at the very least to open with an ominous squeal. It was disappointingly quiet - Narcissa had probably bullied it into silence – but there was nothing disappointing about the bookshelves lining the room.

Hermione was largely unmoved by power and wealth, but seeing the Malfoy Library made her rethink that attitude. Running the Wizarding World might be dull and tedious, but if it allowed you to accumulate a collection of books like this, it would be worth it.

“It’s always the same,” Draco said bitterly, interrupting her communion with the books. “Being shoved out of the room like a child whenever there is anything important going on. Doesn’t it bother you?”

“I expect Severus will tell me anything I need to know,” Hermione said absent-mindedly; there were several books that she was itching to get her hands on.

“Severus, eh?”

“Do you call him Professor Snape outside of Hogwarts?”

“No, of course not! I don’t call him Severus either,” he added more quietly.

Hermione dragged her attention away from the books – there was a Krevington and she’d wanted to read that for ages – and back to Draco. “Well what do you call him?”

“Sir.”

Hermione realised that Draco was faintly resentful of her and her new relationship, such as it was, with his Professor Snape. She’d always thought that Draco was a little creep, sucking up to Snape for better marks, but he seemed to genuinely like him. Perhaps, from the other side of the classroom, she’d looked like the creep; she’d certainly tried hard enough to get good marks. It was odd to suddenly see yourself through someone else’s eyes.

“People would think it was a bit odd if I was calling him sir,” she said. “Even if I’m fairly certain he’d prefer it. I still call him Professor in class, or in front of the other students. Can you imagine what they’d say if I started calling him darling or sweetheart?”

Draco grinned. “I think they’d die of shock.”

“And so would he. And after Madam Pomfrey managed to resuscitate him, I’d get detention for the rest of my life, probably with Filch, and it would take weeks of apologising before he’d ever forgive me. I’m not sure there are enough cockroach clusters in the world to get me back into his good books after that.”

“Are you in his good books at all, Granger?”

It was a good question, and one to which she wasn’t sure she had an answer. “Perhaps,” she shrugged. “All I know is that I’m very grateful he agreed to marry me. No offence.”

“None taken. I, too, am very grateful that he agreed to marry you. No offence.”

“None taken,” Hermione replied cheerfully. “Though, for your sake, it’s a good job I hadn’t seen the Library before your oh-so-flattering proposal.”

“Erm, you are joking right?”

Hermione wondered briefly at the mystical process that had turned Lucius – who must have been this young and gullible once – into the person he was today. In ten or twenty years Draco could well end up looking like his father, but that was all. He lacked that ruthless streak that was so evident in Lucius, and even in Severus, though she preferred not to dwell on that too much.

Were Death Eaters chosen for their lack of conscience, or was it something that sneaked up on them as they were gradually lured into doing worse and worse things until one day you’d done so much harm to so many people that you were inured to it? Did they truly not see where that road would lead them?

Dealing with such people made her uneasy. She could understand a certain determination to get things done, and was even prepared to risk her life for a cause, but when did that tip over into a willingness to hurt people?

She’d done things to protect Harry that had seemed the right thing to do at the time, but had come back to haunt her since, and she had her doubts whether dealing with the enemy could do the same.

Could she really trust the Malfoys? Well, that was a silly question - obviously she shouldn’t trust them. Could she rely on them to stick to their word and not stab her in the back – literally or metaphorically – before the job was done.

“Did you ever think what it would be like if Voldemort won?” she asked.

Draco nodded. “I thought that you’d all be sent back to where you came from and we’d close the borders.”

“I don’t think that was what he had in mind at all,” Hermione said. “He couldn’t take the risk, could he? What if someone blabbed about it? What if the secret of the Wizarding World got out?”

Draco ran a finger along the edge of the table, seemingly intent on the patina. “Obliviate?” he said, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Really? Just take all the Muggleborns, even the ickle firsties and just push them over the borders? No, I think he had something altogether more permanent in mind.”

“Dad would never… he’d never do that. Not kill people… not kill them in cold blood. Not kill children.”

Your dad, she wanted to say, had a bloody good go at doing just that during the Final Battle, but there was probably some weird rule of etiquette that said you shouldn’t say things like that about your host, even if they were true. She shrugged. “I don’t suppose he would have had a lot of choice when it came down to it. Voldemort didn’t strike me as the sort of person who stood for dissension in the ranks, and once you’d joined up, you joined up for life.”

Draco looked troubled, and she almost felt sorry for him. It must be a shock to realise that your father was capable of true evil, no matter how nice he was to you and your mum. “But he didn’t … he was cleared at his trial.”

“Largely because I’d made sure he spent the evening lying on his back spark out, which conveniently allowed him to claim he was only coming to save his wife and child from the terrible Voldemort. No one could say otherwise could they?”

“You hexed my Dad? You actually hexed my Dad.”

Hermione nodded.

“I don’t believe you. How did you manage that? He’s not a bloody amateur and you’re not that good.”

Hermione sat down abruptly, resting on the edge of the table. “It was convenient wasn’t it?” she said softly, almost to herself. “Too convenient by far.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re bas…blasted father set me up! He allowed… no, he wanted me to hex him That way he could wash his hands of the whole dirty business if Voldemort fell. The conniving, two-faced ...”

Hermione felt like the stuffing had been knocked out of her. She’d always been secretly proud of the fact that she’d managed to take out one of the most dangerous Death Eaters to follow Voldemort, and how well she’d done to sneak up behind him and hex him before he had a chance to draw his wand. But the truth was that he’d practically stood there and begged her to do it. She felt…peeved… and cheated. It was if she’d been given a mark in an exam that she wasn’t entitled to.

“Bugger,” she said. “Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger. And bugger again.”

“Really, Miss Granger, is it such a disappointment to you?” Lucius said from behind her.

Of course he would be in a position to overhear that, she thought bitterly. She turned to face him: he was standing in the doorway looking as superior as ever, and she was filled with the urge to hex him properly this time.

She stuffed that thought firmly to the back of her mind, just in case Lucius practiced the art of Legilimency too, and found she had nothing to say that wouldn’t make things worse.

So she said nothing.

It was a pity Severus wasn’t here to see it, she reflected sourly; he would have enjoyed it immensely.


Narcissa knew that Lucius had been playing his usual tricks from the moment that Hermione joined them for a last nightcap before bed. The other guests had been efficiently packed off home, to talk amongst themselves about the Mudblood guest the Malfoys had been entertaining and speculate about the reasons for doing so.

It wasn’t an open declaration of support for Hermione – as she supposed she ought to get used to thinking of her – but it put them in a position to be able to move on the issue if it became necessary.

It also allowed them to drop the girl like a stone if Lucius decided she wasn’t worth the aggravation.

Much as she hoped that Lucius would elect to take the easy option, the fact that he was bothering to play games with the girl suggested that they would be taking her under their wing for at least a while.

“Brandy, Severus?” Lucius offered.

“If it’s the good stuff, and not the muck you foist off on the Ministry officials.”

“You’ll notice I’m drinking from the same decanter,” Lucius replied, pouring a glass for himself and Severus.

“That had not escaped my notice,” Severus smirked, accepting the glass.

Draco looked at his mother hopefully: was he allowed a glass?

He was. He was an adult in Wizarding terms, and this was the perfect time for him to take his first stumbling steps on the road to politics: their opponents … allies… were challenging but not dangerous.

“And you Miss Granger, would you care for some brandy?”

The polite thing to do was to decline and settle for a cup of tea.

“Thank you, Mr Malfoy.”

Narcissa had a wicked, if well-hidden, sense of humour, and she would have enjoyed watching the girl knock back the brandy as if it were water. Lucius would have had a fit, but would have had to smile through it, and would have made him delightfully fractious and in need of soothing later.

And she did enjoy soothing Lucius so much.

Disappointingly, the girl had the sense to swirl the balloon glass in the accepted manner, before taking a delicate sip and expressing her approval. “Very nice,” she said. “Now, are you going to tell me what you’ve decided to do?”

“Obviously we need to remove the Minister, and replace him with someone more sympathetic to our aims,” Severus said.

“Unfortunately, said removal will have to be effected by entirely lawful means as Severus has rejected several quite possible strategies on the basis that they would land us all in Azkaban,” Lucius said, inspecting his fingernails. “One does so pine for the old days when you could buy Ministers by the pound.”

“So we’re looking for what you might call a compromise candidate,” Severus added. “Someone that both sides can unite behind in an upswelling of popular opinion.”

“This is more difficult than we had expected.” Lucius began counting off suggestions on his fingers. “Initially, we did think of Potter, but although Severus assures me that he is sufficiently stupid to make a suitable figurehead, and he would certainly be popular enough, he is incapable of following simple instructions.”

“Harry isn’t stupid,” Hermione replied, “but he is inclined to react first and think later. I can see that this would lead to problems.”

“Our second thought was that I myself could stand – your endorsement would override any trifling difficulties over my previous associations but Severus felt that such an endorsement would not be forthcoming.”

“He was right,” she said shortly.

“That does present something of a flaw in an otherwise unobjectionable plan,” Lucius said, nodding his head. “Which brings us to something of an impasse.”

“How about a woman?” Hermione asked. “After all, this law is directed against women, who better to take a stand against it?”

“I think you’re a little young to be considered for the position,” Lucius replied. “Though your ambition is to be commended.”

“I didn’t mean me,” she said impatiently. “Someone else, someone older.”

“It is a possibility, though women are so rarely tractable, and that was one of the qualities we were looking for in a Minister.” Lucius smiled affectionately at Narcissa, “though obviously a certain independence of spirit is valued in a wife.”

“Not that I’ve noticed,” Severus said sourly.

“How about Narcissa?” Hermione suggested.

Severus and Lucius turned as one to stare at Hermione for a long second, and then turned, almost as one, to Narcissa who shifted in her seat, a little uneasy at this attention. Many thought her a vain woman, but she’d always been content to be the moon to her husband’s sun. Lucius, she was touched to see, hadn’t dismissed the idea out of hand, but was waiting for her opinion on the matter.

Did she want to be Minister?

She might be able to order things better than the present incumbent, but there was nothing unique in that – a House Elf could do better. Did she want the aggravation of trying to get things done? Did she really want to work that hard? She’d heard the complaints of Fudge’s wife about the hours her husband worked, though unkind persons wondered whether that was more to get away from her than commitment to the job at hand, but even if that were only half the truth she wouldn’t see much of her family.

No, she didn’t want to be Minister. She liked the view from the sidelines, and helping things along here and there, but she didn’t have the burning reforming zeal of Hermione to see her through the long and lonely nights.

“I think that someone else might be a wiser choice,” she said gently. “A pureblood of course, but someone who supported Harry Potter, and not opposed him. I think Minerva McGonagall would do perfectly.”

“She might at that,” said Severus thoughtfully. “I’m sure Potter could be persuaded to back her. There isn’t a breath of scandal about her, and she’s as straight as a die..”

“… which may cause difficulties,” interrupted Lucius.

“…but not as much as having a cretin in charge,” Severus continued. “I don’t think there’s a Wizard or Witch under 50 who hasn’t been taught by her, and doesn’t hold her in the highest regard. They all trust her, because at some point or another, she will have wiped their noses or charmed their knees better.”

“Or given them detention,” murmured Lucius, with a faint smile. “And that could work to our advantage as well. Deep down, at some subconscious level, they’d be worried that if they didn’t vote for her that they’d be spending a couple of hours in the Trophy Room scrubbing the House Cups.”

“But would she do it?” Hermione asked.

“Just leave that to me,” Severus replied. “If we put it to her in the right way – appeal to her sense of duty and justice – then she’ll do it.”

“You really do know how to handle Gryffindors, don’t you, Severus?” Lucius said under his breath, for Severus’ ears only. Severus smirked: he couldn’t deny it.

“Six weeks after becoming Minister, she’ll have the law overturned,” Severus said, contemplating the prospect with nothing short of glee.

“And then we can get happily divorced,” Hermione said with satisfaction.

“Hermione!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, are we supposed to be pretending to be happily married?” Hermione said blandly. “Ooops.”

“And you expect me to help you to overthrow the Minister,” Lucius said. “We don’t stand a chance.”

Severus cast his eyes to the ceiling in a silent plea for strength.

“Oh come off it.” Hermione put her glass down, and waved her hand in dismissal. “My job is to make sure that Harry turns up to whatever we want him to do when we want him to do it. Mr Malfoy’s job is to deliver the Pureblood power bloc. None of that requires me to be tactful or decorative – mine is very firmly a backstage role.”

“And what does Severus do in all this?” Lucius asked, looking like the prize Persian lapping at the finest cream.

“Why, Severus is here to make sure that I don’t get double-crossed. After all, he’s had to deal with both Lord Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore, which gives him the edge when dealing with slippery customers.”

“I do hope you don’t include me in that category.”

“Mr Malfoy, whilst I would hardly apply such a vulgar term to you, it can’t be denied that you should be tucked up safely in Azkaban at the moment. The fact that you aren’t, and due to my intervention as well, suggests that you are a … political operator of the highest order. Even if you do agree to help overturn this law, there will come a point when you think that you don’t need me any more… “ Hermione shrugged eloquently. “Still,” she said brightly, “at least you don’t have to pretend that you like me. That must be a pleasant change for you.”

Narcissa thought that she’d gone too far, and could see an evening spent persuading Lucius that they needed the girl too much to allow her bad manners to get in the way, when, to her surprise, her husband began to laugh: not the polite smile he used in the company of others, but the rich laughter he usually reserved for his family.

“I think,” he said eventually, “that I am going to enjoy your foray into the world of politics a great deal. If nothing else, we should be able to eliminate a great deal of the opposition by the sheer shock of someone being honest for once. And the consternation you generate will be the perfect cover for any more convoluted strategies that I…”

Severus coughed pointedly.

“… and your husband should concoct.”

Narcissa didn’t say anything. She was busy running through the list of ladies that were still talking to her, and making a list of who she should invite round for tea.
Hermione had suddenly reminded her of her sister – that same determination and commitment to a cause above her own well being – and Lucius had always had a blind spot when it came to dealing with people like that. If you couldn’t work out where the levers were on people, then you couldn’t work out where to press to get what you wanted, and Lucius had no understanding of Devotion to Duty.

Somebody had to make sure that this little project didn’t go to hell in a handcart, and it looked like she’d just been selected for the role.