Last Exit to Eden

Title:  Last Exit to Eden
Pairing: Lucius/Hermione
Rating: R (eventually)
Summary:  Hermione returns to the muggle world, depressed and alone.  Then a chance encounter leads her on a mystery and life altering relationships form.
Disclaimer:  See previous chapter.  It all belongs to JKRowling.  I only clain the plot as my own.
Author’s Note:  This story will be a marathon, not a sprint.  Hang in there with me, I think you will find it worth the wait.

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Chapter 1:  Growing Pains

Hermione’s defection from the wizarding world had taken place almost two weeks ago.  Sometimes she lay on her childhood bed, staring at the ceiling and wishing the ceiling had windows so that she could see the sky.  Then she would remember the ceiling in the Great Hall, and feel homesick for Hogwarts.  No, she would tell herself.  This is home now.  You’ve made your choice, now these are the consequences.  Some days she could convince herself.  Other days, she wasn’t so lucky.

Her parents had been amazingly supportive of her move back home, which had surprised her.  It was only about a week into her unemployed and dependent state when she heard her parents discussing muggle universities and boys her age whom they knew to be available.  It was then that she began to take her walks.

Each day, Hermione would explore a new part of London, armed with her camera.  She would photograph street art, tourist traps, palatial splendors and council flats.  In many ways, it was as if she were a tourist in her native city.  Sometimes she would be gone all day,  others only a few hours. 

On her twelfth day, she found the house.

It happened quite by accident.  She had been exploring the notorious Whitechapel area, onetime home of Jack the Ripper.  Turning off onto a side street, she kept turning until she was quite lost,  and cursed herself for not paying more attention.  As she turned another corner, the house came into view.

It was a beautiful building, one that had sadly fallen into disrepair.  There were three stories in total, each with floor to ceiling windows.  There were three pitched roofs, two of which seemed to cover additions to the property surrounded by old oak trees.  It felt like a blend of the magical and the muggle world.  In short, it was beautiful.  She could imagine herself living there, light from chandeliers sparkling through the repaired windows and spending her days in her library doing research.  The thought was intoxicating, as she imagined herself lovingly restoring the building.  Was it a guest house from an old palace?  A summer getaway from the noise and pollution of the city?  She moved back ward, trying to get the entire building in her viewfinder.

That was when she tripped and fell over the unkempt headstone.

Rubbing her backside, she brushed off her trousers and looked at the offending slab of marble.  It lay crookedly in the ground, like a rotted tooth in a mouth.  She looked around, and saw clumps of what had to be other stones.  The grass stood a foot high in this part, so she couldn’t be sure.  Pulling away the weeds from the stone she had tripped over, she looked at the inscription: 


            Z. Parkinson
Aged seven years, three months
            1983
 
How strange, she thought.  Muggle cemeteries never used exact ages anymore.  Most now used  just the birth and death years.  The stone was simple, almost crude; not the thing one usually sees on a child’s grave.  There were no weeping angels, no flowers , nothing.  Just a plain stone with an inscription.  She stood and moved to the right to the next stone, wondering if she had come across a family plot.  She pulled back the weeds and read:

E.  McGonagall
Aged nine years
1954
 
She moved to the next one:
F.  Diggory
Aged eight years, four months
1973
 
Odd.  She moved to the next stone:
T. Black
Aged five years, two months.
1963
 
Her blood began to run cold.
The next one made her want to run out of the cemetery:

R.  Dumbledore
Aged six years, eleven months.
1952

What was going on here?  Why were these headstones of wizarding children here in an unkept muggle cemetery?  She looked wildly around, exploring the rest of the stones, photographing them.  Nearly every pureblood family that she could think of was represented, carved into crude grey marble and forgotten.  It was horrifying.  She had turned to leave when she noticed a gleam of white marble tucked under an old oak tree separate from the others.  She hurried over to the stone and looked at it closely.

This stone was obviously newer than the others.  It gleamed in the light of the dying sun, and the area around it was cleared of dead leaves and other debris.  She looked at the inscription:

Celestina Malfoy
Beloved sister
Aged seven years, two months
1960

Lying at the foot of the headstone was a fresh white rose.


 
Looking back at the old house, Hermione realized that the decrepit building may hold the key to the mystery.  Making a vow to return the next day, she hurried out of the cemetery and tried to find her way home.

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Hermione was awake and waiting at the public library when the bleary eyed librarian opened the doors. 

“Good morning miss.  How can I help you?”

Hermione pulled out a map, and the librarian peered over at it.  Hermione’s explanation got her attention.  She tapped her chin thoughtfully.
“Well, you can look at land records, but if it is as old as you say it may be owned by the National Trust.  That would make our life a great deal easier, as the trust keeps detailed records of all their holdings.  If it is owned privately, that might be a little tricky.  Let’s cross our fingers and find out if it is part of the Trust. “ She pulled out a huge bound book.
 
“This may look overwhelming, but all the holdings in Whitechapel will be located in a certain section.  You can find it in the indices.”  She looked at Hermione’s photo of the building.  “Hauntingly beautiful.”

The Trust search was a bust.  No property even in the vincinity of the building or with a passing resemblance to it was in the pages.  Hermione wasn’t discouraged; she needed to get to the house in daylight to explore it.

Getting in to the building was ridiculously easy.  The padlock appeared to have been broken years ago, and the door swung open easily.  Shouldering her backpack, she walked in.

The floors were thick with dust, and the air felt stale in her lungs.  She made a tour of the bottom floor, finding an old kitchen, with dishes still in the cupboards and pans in the lower cabinets.  She passed into what must have been the dining room, because an old table and benches were still there.  Why hadn’t this place been vandalized?  It had clearly been unoccupied for years.  Yet, there was furniture and glass, old chandeliers that looked like antiques and in the corner of the sitting room an old piano.  She checked closets and cupboards looking for any sort of mail, paperwork or clue to go on.  She found nothing.

A search of the second floor turned up two dormitory like rooms with bunk beds and foot lockers at the ends.  Was this some sort of orphanage?  She looked in the foot locker and pulled out a girl’s dress, obviously worn and frayed at the hem.  A further inspection found a doll made of cloth tucked neatly into the made bed on a top  bunk.  She looked at it sadly, before putting it back and photographing it.  She walked out onto the balcony and looked at the tombstones.  What was it like to live here as a child with a cemetery right outside your door?  Did the children go to funerals, or did they watch the goings on from where she stood?  She turned and walked back inside.

On the third story, she hit pay dirt.  In a desk in what appeared to be a private apartment, she found what she was looking for.  Ledgers, old bills marked paid with a spidery hand, a box of photographs and what appeared to be a series of diaries.  Even with Hermione’s neat packing, her backpack was bursting at the seams and she could barely carry it.  What she wouldn’t give to be able to shrink the boxes, or at least put a featherweight charm on them.  The bare wand pocket of her trousers reminded her of her exile.  She found a locked safe that she surely would have alohamora’d open if she could, but which was locked to her now.  Heaving her bag over her shoulder, she made her way back to her house sweating and exhausted.

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She had just gotten home and had started dinner as the note on the counter indicated she should when she heard a pecking at the window.  Opening it cautiously, she jumped back as a speckled owl flew into the kitchen, flapping its wings and eventually landing on the sink ledge.  It held out its leg and Hermione  removed the parchment, feeding the bird several biscuits as she read:
 
Dear Hermione,
            Greetings, stranger!  George and I just want you to know that life at the Burrow has been absolutely miserable without you.  We have no one to keep us in line except Mum, and she has been preoccupied with weddings lately so we stay away.
The reason we are writing is that we have a rather interesting proposition for you.  It has nothing to do with marriage or children, although both of us are ready and willing to help out if you are feeling the urge to make babies. This proposition has to do with business, which is no laughing matter.  We close the shop about seven, so we would be able to be at your house at seven thirty, provided you have a safe place to apparate to.
Send your reply back with Monty (the owl).
Regards,
Fred and George

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They had just finished dinner when two loud pops could be heard in the living room.  Mrs. Granger nearly dropped the glasses she was carrying, but calmed at the sight of Fred and George scooping her daughter up into a bone crushing hug.

As they sat at the kitchen table, Hermione noticed her parents lingering at the doorway. 

“First of all, the magical community has been devastated by your loss.  There have been no less than five articles about the unfairness of that stupid law, and you will be happy to know that Umbridge got the boot a couple of days ago.”

“You’re not serious.”

“You’d better believe it.  Kingsley had her sacked when Lucius Malfoy of all people wrote an editorial about the two of you in the Prophet.”

“What?”

“Yeah, Creepy Lucy had said that the wizarding world may never recover from the loss of one of its “brightest stars”.  He also said that Umbridge has been waging a war against you for years because she is jealous of your talent.  Then he called for the firing of Umbridge because she exhibited unprofessional conduct and the overturn of the Marriage Law.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Rumor has it that Draco got matched up with a Patil twin, and Papa Malfoy came unhinged.  Draco left the country and married some Spanish royalty.”

“I can’t imagine a single person who would meet Malfoy’s standards, father or son. “

“Me either.  We’ve had some dealings with Malfoy after the war; mostly because he wants to gentrify the less savory parts of Knockturn Alley.  Malfoy, Inc. is looking for corporate sponsors to encourage community involvement.  He was actually pretty decent about it.”
“Interesting.”

“Well, let’s get down to business.  We looked at the stupid marriage law closely, and had our barrister look at it as well.  We found some interesting loopholes.”  The twins leaned over the table, conspiratorially.

“Fred, get to it.”

“Keep your hair on, Granger.  I’m getting there.  As I was saying, when our barrister looked at the law, he made an interesting discovery.  The law says you have to surrender your wand, but it doesn’t say you have to surrender your magic.”

Hermione looked at him, stunned.

“So, in theory, you can still make nearly any potions, still do research.  You can still work as a witch, just a wandless witch.  Uh oh, George.  She is crying again.  Um, there, there. ”He patted her head as she cried.  Why had she never seen the loophole?

“Don’t feel bad, Granger.  We only just thought of it.  How was the job search going otherwise?”  She shook her head.  “Oh.”

“Right, now that the crying is done, here is the job offer.  We need a person to brew a lot of our stable bases .  Right now we are doing it ourselves and it is far too time consuming; commercially prepared bases are no good because we can’t predict quality.  We need someone with the ability and the time to do it right.”

“How would I get them to you?”

“We can schedule a set day for pick up.  If you have the energy, we can work on developing your brand of handmade potions, like pain, fever reducing or even more complex ones.”  He watched her eyes fill with tears again.  “Granger, please don’t cry, I swear.”

“I have no where to do this.  My parents don’t have a garage, and there is no room in our home to set up.”  Her mind was whirling.  She could make this happen; she was sure of it.  Her mind flashed to a derelict old home in front of a cemetery.

“All right, give us a week to figure something out.  Do you have enough money in the meantime?”  She nodded.  She had been diligently  saving a portion of her check for years, and had a small nest egg built.  With the galleon to pound conversion rate, it was even more favorable.  She could actually do this.  She had studied potions and wizarding business in university.  True, it would be on the grey side of legal, but the Marriage Law was of questionable legality as well.

“Okay, we’ll be back next week at the same time.  By then, you can see if you have something worked out, and we can get started.”  She nodded, and the twins stood, ready to go.   She walked them to her living room, where her parents were pretending not to eavesdrop.  With a grin to her and a wave to her parents, they apparated.

For the first time in two weeks, she felt something like hope.

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The next day, Hermione  headed back to the library, two names in hand.  The librarian smiled when she saw her, and waved a book in the air.
“I think I may have found something that may help you.  I was hoping you had come back.  I found a map of 1830’s London, and the Whitechapel area looks remarkably different.  We could cross check some of the differences.”

Hermione held up a piece of paper. “I can do one better.  I have a name.”
 
Jezebel Walcott was an eighty six year old woman who had, despite over a half century of alcoholism managed to maintain her hold on sanity.  Of course, it was entirely possible that she had managed to live merely to spite the nursing assistants whom she yelled at and belittled at every opportunity.  She had been reviled at the nursing home she had lived at for nearly two decades when she had been forced out of her own home.

Ms. Walcott had very few visitors, and she spoke with energy about how much she hated the nursing home, her caregivers, the food and pretty much anything she could think of.  When Hermione managed to get a word in, she was summarily ignored.  Finally, Ms. Walcott ran out of complaints.

“Ms. Walcott, I have come to ask you about the orphanage you ran in Whitechapel for almost fifty years.  It was called…”

“The Walcott Institute for the Care of Special Children.  I’m old, not senile.”

“Yes, I was hoping to talk to you about the children you had in your care there.  I found the house the other day and was struck by how beautiful it is.”  Ms. Walcott looked at her, her eyes piercing.

“You mean to say, it is still standing?”  Hermione nodded.  “It’s fallen into disrepair, but it is still standing.”  The woman gave her what may have passed for a smile.

“I lived in that home my most of my adult life.  Well, until the government came in and shut me down, hauling me off to this hellhole.”

“Tell me about it.  How did you get started?”

“Well, I first lay eyes on the house when I was a teenage girl.  My parents had married me off to an older man when I was around fifteen, and we had been invited there for a dinner party.  I was married for about four years when Alistair just keeled over at the dinner table and died.  By age twenty, I was a widow.  I married a couple of more times, but the men were older and I think such vigorous exercise had worn out their poor tickers.  It was my third husband, Marcus, who left me the house that would eventually become the institute.”

“Did you ever have children of your own?”  Hermione already knew the answer.

“I had two, but both died young.  I was lucky to have taken out life insurance on them both; their medical and funeral bills would have bankrupted me.”

Everyone this woman had contact with dies, Hermione thought.  This didn’t bode well for the rest of the story.  Pasting on a polite smile, she continued to listen.

“So, anyway.  I had been living at the house trying to make ends meet, when I met a woman by the name of Alice Thumbel.  She had started an orphanage a few years before for troubled children and was doing very well.  There were few licensing requirements back in those days to start an orphanage, and after the second World War, there were quite a few orphans out there that needed to be cared for.  I was in financial trouble, and nearly ready to lose the house.  Then Alice sent me some referrals, and my luck changed.  Soon, I had more business than I could take in.”
“How many children did you have at any one time?”
“The most I ever had was fifteen, but the number went up and down a fair bit.  Never less than ten though, right up until nearly the end.  When they closed me down, I had only two.  Business was slowing down with the new foster care rules, but the two children paid me enough to keep the house going.  After they sent me here, both children ended up in mental hospitals, which is a terrible thing to do to a child.  They had problems, but I had kept them with me for years.”

“Tell me about the problems the children had.”

“Well, mostly it was behavior things.  When they were dropped off, the parents were dressed to the nines, real well off you know?  But the children were in clothes that usually didn’t fit quite right.  They usually had a lot of bruises, but were terrified to leave their parents.  Back then, they didn’t have child abuse laws on the books, see.  Not that I would have said anything; if they knowed they was unfit for children, then giving them up was the right thing to do.  Not for me to judge them.”

“So they had problems?”  Hermione prompted.

“Terrible problems.  When they first got here, they was all quiet and polite.  Then after they was here a bit, they got meaner and started lying.  I couldn’t abide the lying.”

“What kinds of things did they lie about ?”

“Lots of things.  Breaking their toys or other children’s toys.  Getting into fights, setting fires.  One child turned another child’s hair green, but neither of them would tell how she did it.  Another one put all their toys up on the rafters, and damned if I know how they got up there.  They swore they didn’t do it, but I knew better.   When I would punish them, they would keep on doing things.  It was like whatever I did didn’t scare ‘em.  And I’m here to tell you, if you can’t keep control in my business you have problems.”

“Were the children healthy?”

“ I always kept them fit as a fiddle, but being kids, they got sick pretty often.  Some of the children were sick right away, and nothing Doc Hess would give them would help.  Every year I’d lose a few, but nothing huge.  I always figured I’d lose a few to illness, so I’d take in extra during the winter knowing the flus and colds would be coming.  I always called it “keeping some spares.”

A high pitched cackling voice filled Hermione’s mind; a memory from Harry’s pensieve:  Kill the spare.  She felt nauseous.

“Did the parents ever come back to see their children, or ever take them home?”

“Nope.  If I lost one, I’d send a letter to the family, and they would pay for a funeral.  Now I want you to know that those children were sickly and would have died here or anywhere else.  I had lots of kids that grew up and got married.  Of course, they would need to take pills all their lives to keep away their violent tendencies.  Still, who knows what they would have done if they stayed in the homes they was living in before they came to me?”

“Did they ever talk about their lives before they came to live with you?”

“Oh sure, they’d tell stories, but you never could believe them.  They’d tell the other children they lived in castles, with elves as maids and pet dragons.  According to these kids, their parents rode broomsticks and could walk though fire.  I’d tell them that magic stories are the devils work and they should stop making things up.  I don’t know why they’d do it.  To feel important, I suppose.”

“Why did they shut down your institute?”

“Tax reasons.  They said I didn’t pay my taxes, but I filled out my forms every year.  Then they said I was too old to take care of children.  What did they know?  Crooks, the lot of them. Now, be a good girl and tell those ninnies at the nursing station it’s time for my snack.  If you don’t stay on them, they’ll let you starve here.”

Hermione blinked at the abrupt dismissal, but stood and thanked the woman for her time.  Her stomach flopped as she passed the nursing station and delivered the message about Ms. Walcott’s snack.  The assistants rolled their eyes, and told Hermione it wasn’t due for another hour.  After signing out, she barely made it to the public restroom before retching into the toilet.  She felt pale and sweaty, as though she had just ingested something really foul.  Standing on shaky legs, she walked out of the restroom to find a nursing assistant standing by the door and looking concerned.

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Ten minutes later, she was sitting at a table with a cloth over her eyes and drinking juice.  The assistant muttered something under her breath.  Hermione took the cloth off her face.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“I said that woman is pure evil.  Not because of how she’s so demanding, or because she hates everyone.  It’s because when you look at her, there’s nothing there.  No caring, no feelings but for herself. I can’t imagine her showing love for any of those children she cared for.  I think she looked at them as easy money.”  Hermione nodded, suddenly feeling tired.  Thanking the assistant, she left the building and walked aimlessly, zig zagging through side streets.  She found herself at the door of Westminster Abbey, and the docent waved her through after looking at her tear streaked face. 

Her heart ached for the children, dumped off by their parents for whatever reason and left in the care of a drunken lunatic.  She could just imagine a child trying to hold onto memories and being told that they were lies.  She could remember her own experience of uncontrolled magic as her power manifested.  Her parents had taken her to everyone from psychiatrists to priests to cure her of her illness.  When she opened her Hogwarts letter, it all began to make sense.  She couldn’t imagine living with an ignorant woman who never understood what was going on.  Tears began to stram down her face as  she cried for the children, and for herself.  She cried because she was afraid of what would happen to her without access to her magic.  Would she slowly go insane?  Would she be shut away in a place and told her memories were false?  What would happen to her?

 Her tissue was crumpled and tear soaked, and she wiped ineffectually at her eyes.  She felt someone sit down next to her and hand her a pristine white handkerchief.  Nodding her thanks, she wiped her tears and turned to hand back the piece of linen.  She found herself looking into the eyes of Lucius Malfoy, clad in muggle suit and tie.

“Oh!” she said, surprised at his appearance at such a muggle location.

“Good afternoon, Miss Granger.  I take it you have had a rather emotional day.”  His voice was calm, but it had none of the malice she once remembered.  He held out his gloved hand to her.

“Shall we go somewhere and you can ask the hundred questions that are no doubt running through your head right now?  I promise I have no ill intent, but this is not the place for our conversation.”  He stood and offered his arm.  She took it, not really thinking clearly.  The two walked out of the abbey and back into the noise and bustle of London.

Lucius chose  a small coffee shop, and took a table in the back.  After ordering a pot of tea and a selection of pastries from the waitress, he told her that he would let her know when she was needed.  The woman walked away, and Lucius faced her once more.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked.  He poured her tea, and she drank wincing at the hot liquid as it burned down her throat.

“Miss Granger, I spent many years in the service of a man who promised me the world, and then took it away when it suited his purpose.  In many ways you are no different.  You were introduced to this world and told you could excel, find your place in it.  Then, after making tremendous sacrifices, you were told you no longer had a place in the community you had sacrificed your ideals to protect.”  She nodded, unsure of where this was going.

“During the war, when Voldemort took over my home, I saw the lie for the first time.  I realized I would never be my own master, never be free to make my own choices.  Perhaps others had seen it before, but I was blinded by empty promises and ignored the reality in front of me.  When I looked at the thing that was once Tom Riddle, I saw the madness, and knew, or should I say truly understood, his aims.  At that moment, I knew I was going to defect.  My poor judgement and ill informed choices had cost my family a great deal.  When Bellatrix attacked Narcissa, I realized how much I had to lose.”

She listened, caught up in his voice.

“Voldemort crippled the Ministry by exploiting weaknesses, and in many ways it is still very vulnerable.  Kingsley Shacklebolt, though a good man and an excellent Auror, is not experienced enough politically to recognize attacks from multiple factions and see their true aims through the rhetoric.”

“Do you think you would be a better choice?”

“From a political standpoint, maybe.  However, I have no desire to be Minister of Magic.  As minister, you are often a slave to your lobbyists.  I believe I have already made my opinion clear in that regard:  I will never again serve another master.”  He sipped his tea, and waited for her to respond.

“You think Kingsley is a good man, despite that ridiculous law?  I’ve heard you have made statements opposing it.”

“ Kingsley is out of his league.  He’s trying to do the right thing, but like many Aurors, has difficulty with long term planning.  This has cost him a great deal in terms of popularity, and has led him to make some poor choices.”  He watched as she fiddled with a jam tart, waiting for her to formulate her thoughts.  Taking a deep breath, she asked the question that had been bothering her for the past two weeks.

“Without being able to siphon off my magic by using my wand, will I lose my mind?”  She waited for the snort of derision, the laugh of disbelief.  None came.  He reached out and touched her hand as if to reassure her.

“No.  The ministry has taken your wand, they have not taken your magic.  This is what I mean about lack of long term planning.  As a gifted and intelligent witch, you will be able to find ways to utilize your magic without your wand.  Others will be less fortunate, and may have more detrimental effects.”

“How many have left the wizarding world?”

“As of right now, only you.  There have been seven suicides and four attempted suicides since the law was passed.”

“My god.”

“Indeed.”

They both sipped tea, pondering the gravity of the situation
.
“Have you been in touch with the Weasley twins?” he asked, suddenly.

“Yes, why?”

“They came to see me last week.  Apparently, Miss Umbridge has been to their shop and to their homes demanding to know your whereabouts.”  Hermione’s teacup clanked on the saucer.

“What?  Why?”  They hadn’t mentioned that last night.

“I believe she holds you accountable for her dismissal and wishes to exact revenge.”

“Oh my god, my parents.  I have to get them out of there.  What am I going to tell them.”  She stood, her mind whirling; but a hand on her arm made her sit back down.

“Miss Umbridge was never privy to your home address; only the one to your flat that you lived in whilst in the magical community.  In any event, Remus Lupin and the Weasley twins have cast wards on your parents’ home.  However, I cannot stress enough the importance of finding your own residence soon.  We can make your home Unplottable, but we can’t do it with Muggles living there.”

“I can’t afford to move, I’m not even working yet.”  Her mind was racing.

“Miss Granger, I need you to focus.  Fred and George have offered you a job brewing for them.  I understand it pays rather handsomely, particularly with the exchange rate.”  She looked at him in surprise.

“They told me when they came to ask about Umbridge.  I encouraged them to talk to you about brewing some of the more difficult potions as a side business because I believe it will help to balance your magic.  Seven years of Severus Snape’s classes should reinforce that you do not need your wand to brew.  Fred and George can get your ingredients for you.  In time, you may be able to grow your own.”

“So, can I rent a flat or do I need a house?”

“We cannot make a muggle domicile unplottable unless it is single occupancy.  It violates a number of laws, therefore you will need a house.  I would also advise creating a new identity professionally.  You could keep your name privately, but in business you should create a new one to protect yourself. The twins can register it, and we can have the Ministry copy destroyed.”

“This is all too much.”  Her head was spinning, and she wanted to start crying again.  Damn Umbridge.  She rested her head in her hands,  When Lucius spoke, his voice was more gentle than it had ever been.

“Miss Granger, I know this is a lot to take in, particularly all at once.  We just need to keep you safe long enough to get this damned law overturned and Umbridge to Azkaban.  I promise you this is only temporary.”

His hand was warm on her arm, and she looked into eyes that were sincere.  Where were her friends?  Right now, the only people who were helping her were two members of the Weasley family she never really talked to, and a man who had made clear that he didn’t much care what happened to her during the war.  Now though, they had both changed.  Could she trust him?

“What’s in this for you?  I mean, we are not friends and you are going out of your way to help me.  What is it you want from me?”  He smiled at her blunt question.

“Miss Granger, in the years that I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance, you have been a thorn in my side.  You have challenged my beliefs, and my authority.  I have watched you lead on a battlefield and in a community.  I would be lying if I didn’t admit that you were formidable foe, and would be a very valuable ally when you return to the magical community.  However, my motives are more selfish.  It was I who wrote the editorial holding you as a superior witch to Umbridge, and resulted in her being fired.  I believe that this is her primary reason for wanting revenge.”

Simple.  Direct.  No need to lie or sugarcoat the truth.

She stood.  Thank you, Mr. Malfoy.”

“You are quite welcome.”  He kissed her hand as they parted, and she walked away from him toward the tube.

That would be the last time Lucius Malfoy and Hermione Granger would communicate for the next three years.

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Last Exit to Eden:  Interlude ½
Author: lucretziathevagabond
Summary:  Hermione gets her house and Lucius stakes his claim from afar.
Author’s Note: Thank you all so much for your kind reviews; it has really helped me keep writing.  Please continue to let me know what you think.- LV

Original disclaimer applies.  I own nothing but the plot.  JKR et al. own the rest.  No copyright infringement intended.

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            Hermione looked around the inside of the house with satisfaction.  The house would soon be overflowing with light.  She walked into the kitchen and saw the high ceilings painted white, with a cherry worktop and stainless steel appliances.  Pendant lights gave the room a sparklng glow.  Grinning, she crossed the entryway to her first priority, the workspace/potions lab.  She could imagine spending hours brewing and creating new and valuable potions that could make a difference.  The walls would be white of course, with good lighting to detect the subtlest color shifts.  She would need two worktables, with lots of shelf space for storage, and a blackboard for calculations. 
The two men standing next to her looked far less impressed.  It was true, they  knew very little about muggle kitchens, but didn’t need a NEWT to see that she was looking at a very different reality than the one that was truly in front of her
.
            The rooms were covered and peeling paint and animal droppings.  Graffiti covered sections of walls, and arm chairs were disturbingly torn as though by a sharp implement.  The roof remained intact, but badly in need of restoration.  In fact, even though the building had the potential to be beautiful Fred and George privately thought that torching the place and starting over might be a better option.  Hermione had spent her savings to buy this derelict place, and although they were surprised that she would want to spend her energy restoring the old home, they kept silent..  Fred and George had spent their life patching things up, and living with things that had to be handled carefully, lest they fall apart.  New and modern was their motto; but they had a feeling that they would be learning home repair muggle style.

            The main point that they were proud of was that Hermione’s hovel was now  heavily warded.  Although they distrusted the man, Kingsley Shacklebolt had shown up to help add a layer of protection to the home in addition to theirs, McGonagalls and although it had been done at night without Hermione’s knowledge, Lucius Malfoy’s.   The twins were determined to find out “Creepy Lucy’s” attraction to the muggleborn, although they were pretty sure it was just morbid fascination.  Hermione’s voice could be heard and the click of her boots as she emerged from her potions area.


            “Well Mr. Filch, what do you think?”

            The greasy haired former caretaker at Hogwarts had been summarily dismissed by the Callows as one of their last acts.  Despite the Callow’s insanity, the dismissal had held up to Ministry examination and Argus Filch’s Squib status meant he couldn’t find work many other places.  He had been eager to take the job when George found him at the Hog’s Head, and he was addressing Hermione with much more respect than they thought him capable of.

            “The walls are sound, and nothing is going to fall in, but the windows are a first priority and we need to get running water restored.  Miss Granger, this is going to take years to fix up, but it will be very nice when it’s done.”  Filch looked pleased, probably because he was now sure of a steady income for a long time to come.

            “I have an electrician coming by next week and I have already priced the windows.  I was able to get this place for a pittance, so we’ll be okay for a while.  The librarian has also been very helpful in helping me find grants for historical restoration.  Hopefully some of them will come through.”  She sounded very sure of herself at the prospect, a sign of naivety.

            “Also, Miss Granger, if you were able to set up the fireplace for the floo, that would help me a great deal.”  She nodded, and made a note to herself to find out what that would entail.  George jumped in.

            “First, we need  to give you a name for your business license, and then we can link the floo and your business forms through the new name.  That way we can keep your house unplottable, but still have floo access.”

            “Marguerite Blakeney.”

            “I’m sorry, what?”  George asked, distracted by what he swore was a rat scurrying past him.  He hated rats, especially after Wormtail.
            “My new name.  Marguerite Blakeney.  It’s from a book called “The Scarlet Pimpernel.”    Walking over to a piano, she plunked a few keys.  The piano didn’t respond.  She frowned, then moved away to the walk- in fireplace.

            “Right, I guess that’s it then.  You are staying at your parent’s house for now?”  Fred asked, his voice brisk and efficient..  She nodded
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            “Yes, until I get running water and the windows fixed.  I’ll work on the potions lab first, so I can get going.  I’ m hoping to have it done by the end of the month.”

            “Excellent.  Then I vote we seal the deal with dinner.”  George rubbed his stomach and looked around.  Mr. Filch shook his head.

            “If it’s all right with you, I’ll just stay here a bit longer and take some measurements, Miss Granger.  I can meet you back here at 0700 sharp and we can get started.”

            “If you’re sure, Mr. Filch.  Thank you for agreeing to help.  I know this is a bit different from what you’re used to.”
 
He waved her off, and the trio left in search of a local pub.  Argus Filch walked around the rooms, silently cataloguing the work to be done. 

The now empty room she had dubbed the potions room was empty, with a small fireplace and cracked windows.  The floor appeared to be black marble, and Mr. Filch bent down to inspect the condition of it.  This would be a beautiful home in time,  and he found that he was starting to like the formerly meddlesome girl.  She had made it clear they would be working together, and had bullied the red haired menaces into helping her paint; one of Filch’s least favorite jobs.

The wind had picked up some, but he could hear the faint crack of apparition and the knock on the door echoed through the silent house.  He hurried over to the door, peeking through a cracked window, before opening the door to admit a cloaked figure.  Closing the door, her turned to face his visitor and watched as the evening sunset set off  white blonde hair as the hood was lowered.

“Good evening, Mr. Malfoy”

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Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway of the derelict home and looked around in disgust.  Cracked windows with missing panes let in the wind and insects.  Floors were cluttered with debris: leaves, syringes, clothes and broken furniture were lying on the floor.

“This is not fit for anyone to live in.” he said finally.  Mr. Filch nodded.

“The girl has no idea what kind of a mess is in front of her, Mr. Malfoy.  She has at least sense enough to start in one room, and then work her way through.  I told her that this is going to take years, not months.”

The cloaked man acknowledged the comment with a head tilt, and then slowly made his way through the lower level, then climbed the stairs to look around up there.  As he descended the stairs, he imagined the home as it would be in time-with paintings on the walls, and the glow of chandeliers lighting the way.  Stepping over a filthy sleeping bag, he made his way back to the former school caretaker, who was standing nervously by the door.
 
“I shall need monthly reports on the house’s progress, Mr. Filch.  You can make an appointment with my secretary for the fifteenth of each month.   If Miss Granger will require any…influence in regards to permits or other beaurocratic nonsense, owl me with the details, and it will be addressed.  However, she is not to know of my interest.  She is a proud woman, and I do not wish to offend her.”

“With respect, Mr. Malfoy, the main help she is going to need will be financial.  She has been talking about applying for grants, and she intends to do some of the work herself.  I wonder though if she truly understands the cost.”  The blonde man swept past him, and walked onto the front porch before turning to face Mr. Filch. 

“Miss Granger will have the funds to complete the house.  Good night, Mr. Filch.  I will expect to see you in my office one month from today on the fifteenth.”  He walked away, and moments later, a crack could be heard, signaling Malfoy’s departure.

Argus Filch closed and locked the door before making his way from the house onto the street.  It would take him a half hour to get to the Leaky by foot, but he walked them anyway, ignoring the taxicabs and the signs for the tube.  Mr. Malfoy’s interest in the girl, (and he was certain it was the girl and not the house) intrigued him.  What would the patriarch of the most influential pureblooded family in Wizarding Britain want with the brilliant, yet working class Muggleborn woman over twenty years his junior?  He had no idea, but Lucius Malfoy was nothing if not cunning, and he was sure he would find out in time.  The feel of the money in his pocket hurried his steps.  He would be able to buy something to eat tonight, and if he played his cards right would be able to for many nights to come.

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Malfoy Manor was quiet as the master of the house got undressed for bed.  He turned to look at his nude frame in the mirror and smiled.  He looked very much as he did in his twenties, the benefit of centuries of wizarding blood in his veins.  Muscles were still firm and defined, his skin largely unblemished except for the fading Dark Mark on his arm.  Mindless of his nudity, he walked through the French doors and onto the balcony outside.  His ancestral manor lay spread out before him, literally miles of green expanse and gardens, woods and ponds.  Taking a deep breath of the clean night air, he turned and went back inside.

Malfoy Manor needed a new mistress, and he had found one.  Hermione Granger was not pureblooded, but had proved to be courageous in battle, loyal to those she loved and forgiving to those who had wronged her.  She was also ruthless when she needed to be, protecting those she held close to her.  He remembered the story of her turning Umbridge over to the centaurs and a smirk twisted his lips.  In time, she would learn to soften the edges, learn to play the game of influence and power to perfection.  He would be her teacher, in so many things. 

Hermione needed time to build her confidence and her reputation in the magical community.  The fact that she would have to use a false name in her early business dealings was unfortunate, but nothing that couldn’t be dealt with and explained away in time.  When the moment was right, he would begin to reinsert himself in her life, wooing her and introducing her to a new life.  Nothing would stand in his way from establishing her as his wife and partner.  Together they would redefine wizarding society and take their place as power players in this new world.  Hermione would lead the way, and he would stand by her side as a proud husband and father.  Lucius Malfoy was more than happy to be the power behind the throne, and he was more than content to wait until the time was right.

Until that time, he would build Malfoy Inc. into an even greater influence, and get this damned Marriage Law overturned so Hermione could come back to wizarding society.  He would be able to watch her from afar, whilst enjoying the benefits that came with being a most eligible bachelor.

Crawling into bed, he felt the sheets slide over his skin and relaxed into his pillow.  In time, the Malfoy name would once again command the respect it deserved.  His head full of ideas of power,  Lucius fell asleep with a smile on his face.
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Two years later…


The minister’s wife smiled as she reapplied her lipstick, and turned to gaze at the man still sitting in the chair she had found him in.  The party had been lively, as she expected but she had been distracted, waiting for a moment to catch the Lord of the Manor alone.
At the annual gardening club meeting, she had overheard two women, very proper witches in fact, talk about Malfoy’s prowess.  Apparently, he had a member that was so large, the women had gagged attempting to pleasure him.  Selena had been intrigued, and had sought him out at the party.  Finding him alone with a glass of brandy she had taken the initiative, reaching for his trousers.  He appeared  surprised, but allowed the movement. 

It was as big as she had expected.  She had been unable to do as much as she had wanted to, because she was afraid he would tear her apart.  Instead, she had given him a fantastic blow job and was now headed out to find her husband.  She hoped he would be ready to leave; she wanted to go home and quench her desire.
 
Lucius Malfoy surveyed the remaining guests as they took their leave.  He had found the party to be somewhat successful.  The Ministry had been quite keen for him to intervene on the pending lawsuits based on the Marriage Law.  Nineteen desperate men and women had attempted to kill themselves after being forced into marriages with strangers.  Aurors had been working overtime trying to settle allegations of physical and emotional abuse. Healers at St. Mungo’s had filed papers with the International Confederation of Wizards arguing that the Marriage Law violated human rights.  To add insult to injury, the birth rate had not skyrocketed as the Ministry had hoped.  In short, the Marriage Law had been an utter and complete failure, and the wizarding public was crying out for senior Ministry officials to step down.
Minister Shacklebolt had asked him to assemble an unofficial party with members of the International Council of Wizards to informally test the waters as to their opinion of the law.  The ICW had been united-if the Law was to be challenged, it would be ruled as a human rights violation.  Shacklebolt had left the soiree frustrated in the company of his wife.  His rather talented wife, who was willing to go to any length to ensure her husband’s political success.

He snorted into his scotch.  Any length, indeed. 

Walking into his office, he sat down at his desk to review the parchment he had received earlier that evening:
 
Dear Mr. Malfoy,
The master bedroom is now complete on Cemetery Lane.  The only remaining rooms are two guest rooms and an upstairs bathroom.  Miss Granger intends to have it done by the end of the summer, which I feel is a realistic goal.

Financially, she seems to be doing well.  Whitechapel was invited to submit a bid for St Mungo’s to provide them with pain potions for all their facilities throughout Britain.  Miss Granger declined, as her business is still small-scale, but there certainly seems to be a need to expand.  In any event, she remains the only known brewer of Wolfsbane in the country and this has been very profitable for her.

In terms of her spirits, Miss Granger seems to be doing well.  She continues to be intimate with one or both of the twins, but appears to have no real attachment to them beyond the business and physical sense.  She meets with them once or twice a week; I usually see them arrive as I am leaving for the evening.  When I return the next morning, she seems a little tired but in good spirits.  The red haired menaces are nowhere to be found.

In closing, I would like to make you aware of the fact that she has remarked several times on the frequency at which you visit your sister’s grave.  You may not have noticed, but she has made a point of being outside Wednesday afternoons tending to her garden when you make your appearance.  I don’t think she would mind if you took the time to come and talk to her; other than the twins, she seems to have very few visitors.

Sincerely,
Argus Filch
 
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Lucius sneered at the idea of Hermione dirtying herself with the likes of the Weasley twins.  They were her business partners, however and he was pleased Filch was confident the relationship was purely physical on her part.  It would be easy enough to end that aspect of their acquaintance when he came into her life.  In truth, he rather liked the idea that it took two men to satisfy her needs; he knew he would be able to pleasure her beyond what the two idiots were capable of.

He was pleased to hear that she had been watching him; it was his custom to visit and tend to his sister’s grave on Wednesdays and he had been doing so long before she had gotten his attention.  Still, it made reintroducing himself that much easier.  Once the Marriage Law was finally overturned, her exile would be over and he would make his move.  The law was likely to be overthrown with the new session of the Wizengamot, which would start at the beginning of September.  That meant he had two more months until he would begin to pursue her; he had secretly acquired several books related to Muggle culture that he would use.

As he made his way down the hall to his bedchamber, he thought of his courtship of Narcissa.  She had been fairly easy to woo, and their marriage had been passionate and stable.  He missed his late wife, particularly when he lay in bed alone.  Soon though, Hermione would be there and he would be able to reclaim his position and start a new life with her.  Two more months.
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This is my first real attempt at writing anything smutty.  I wanted to stay away from the unrealistic idea that Hermione would remain the virgin ice queen until she could be with Lucius.  Plus, the twins would be a great conquest for her.  As far as Lucius’ rather ample endowment, I would find it hard to believe that a woman accustomed to vigorous sex with two men simultaneously would be easily satisfied by one middle aged man.  Thus, we make him endowed like a porn star and she would likely take interest.  Well, she will if I ever allow her to see it. This chapter seems a bit disjointed as I combined 1 chapter and 2 interludes that I had forgotten to post.

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Coming up next:  They meet again, and sparks fly.  Lucius apologizes in the cutest way possible.