Happenstance

“What the bloody Hell is wrong with you?” Hermione demanded. She was not sure what language the fiery woman had used but she could guess what the word meant. “We got along fine at my children’s Name Day.”

“I panicked, Granger.” Millicent answered, making it sound like it was Hermione’s fault and leaning heavily against a wall as her knees trembled as though she had shrews in her trews. “I thought the Ministry sent you. You work there.”

“In a Research Department.” She corrected acidly, dismissing the Hexes and casting a Healing Charm to mend her nose. “May I ask why you thought the Ministry would send someone to inquire about your nightlife?” Hermione inquired with deliberate courtesy. The paired witches glanced at each other, speaking rapidly in a language that was probably Italian, she guessed now she heard more of it. This could be the cousin Draco had mentioned.

“My father, he is very angry.” The thus-far-unintroduced witch remarked petulantly. “I have tried many times to say to him this is what I want and he does not lose the family name if I do not marry. I have a brother, you see.” She waved a hand, her accent becoming more pronounced as her ire grew. “But he will not hear me. He is not a man who is often crossed.”

“Which explains why you’re in a Muggle bar in Sweden but not the rest of it.” Hermione Charmed the blood and Curacao off her blouse. She was going to have to give this outfit a bit of a rest from magic or it would start transmogrifying spontaneously due to spell residue. Either that or find diversions less taxing on her wardrobe.

“He’s using old paterfamilias legislation from the Italian Ministry to have Rigarda watched. He had a Wizengamot crony of his declare her a legal minor for the purposes of marriage or some rot.” Millicent shrugged. She had never been one for making friends with books. “Means he can veto who she sees privately, which disallows me good and proper.”

“I see.” Hermione did see. Many of the regional administrations had not reformed their legal systems in millennia. It had become something of a trivia game in her Department, as they had tripped over the obscure laws more than once in trying to import research materials. She knew of a statute on the Serbian books that required fraternal twins born on Saturdays to wear their clothing inside out. It was a hangover from a vampire epidemic apparently.

“Why are you here?” Millicent demanded with that arrogant tone so prevalent amongst pure-bloods. Every one was convinced they had the right to interrogate the hoi polloi.

“Christmas shopping.” She replied blandly. Hermione was not entirely certain why she wanted to keep her mission secret. Old habit perhaps but she was extremely reluctant to explain what had brought her to Stockholm. “How about a compromise? We all go quietly on our way and keep mum?”

That got ready agreement from the persecuted pair, who took themselves off down the arcade at speed. Hermione went back to the club, collected her coat and headed out the back to see if she could pick up the trace once more.

She had no luck at all with the blood focus, not a blip. Pacing back and forth down the narrow laneway Hermione tried to deduce a likely route. Left lead into a mesh of side streets, right lead to a commercial avenue thronging with traffic even at that hour and temperature. The Anoraks could have jumped a fence too. Accept it, she thought to herself, you are no private detective.

But damn it all, she did not want to go home empty-handed. There had to be something. Talking to the staff of the nightclub was a possibility. Hermione tried that and got very little. The bar staff started work at seven. She did get confirmation the club had been open during the day meaning the Anoraks could have ducked through so the effort was not entirely wasted but the witch was frustrated when she had to concede defeat. She returned to England in a dour mood.

Malfoy, D. and Malfoy, N. were abed when she returned. Hermione slept in her own room for convenience rather than any spat with her host. It was too late for anything but sleep, which she did only lightly and brokenly. The morning found her scratchy, jumping at small noises. She nursed and put herself back to bed to court sleep without flashing red dreams. It would be a good idea to book another counselling session, the witch decided.

Neither her host nor his mother was much in evidence on the Sabbath. Hermione sent some emails and made some phone calls then got paperwork done sitting up in bed in her pyjamas. It was a day for soup and quietude.

She headed off to work early Monday morning with an idea gelling in her mind. Convening the Surveillance Research Team, Hermione put the idea to them. It was mulled over like festive punch before everyone scattered to chase up facts. Not a quickly done thing; innovation. However Hermione was satisfied with the start. She kept her nose to the grindstone until the end of the week, seeing more of her children than Draco, who tersely informed her of Yule preparations but little else. They did not mention his father.

Narcissa acted the Lady of the Manor and was often at the Ministry. Life settled into a disjointed but regular routine until the Gentlewomans’ Circle afternoon tea the Saturday before solstice. Hermione had not forgotten the favour asked of her. She had hoped Madam Malfoy would defer her social engagements but not even a missing husband would make Narcissa break an appointment. Thus to the Cotswolds they went.