Hogwarts: The Legacy

(c)2005 by Josh Cohen. May not be reprinted, except for personal use. The Potterverse was created by JK Rowling, and remains her property. I\'m just borrowing it for a little while.

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NINETEEN: CAROLINE MALFOY\'S DAY OUT, PART ONE - MORNING

Warning: contains dithering, a mention of masturbation, and a discussion of Hermione\'s underthings.

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Jason had been right; Professor Granger had not wanted him to visit Caroline at Malfoy Manor. When she and Caroline had Flooed over toward the end of the first month of holidays, she had explained – as Jason had guessed – that it would not do to have a student at a teacher’s home. Of course, she had no objection to the two of them spending the day together, exploring the magical community of Aberdeen. Although Caroline’s grandfather had taught her how to deal with muggles, Professor Granger felt it best that they stick to the magical section of the city, just in case; after all, Caroline had spent virtually no time actually in the muggle world.

Two days before Caroline had arrived, a neatly-penned letter had arrived for Jason via owl.

Mr Goldman:

Greetings. I do hope that your summer holidays are pleasant thus far.

While I do respect your family – especially your father and grandfather – I do not know you very well. Therefore, I will say this simply: do not be improper with my daughter. Caroline has been instructed to tell her mother should this happen; her mother will tell me, and I will be most displeased.

Finally, I would ask that you try to avoid breaking Caroline’s heart, should the relationship not work out. I am less sanguine about this dalliance than my wife, who thinks it’s “sweet”. However, I do not wish to intrude on my daughter’s happiness. Be careful with her.

With regards,

Draco Malfoy

Jason could tell by the depth the quill had sunk into the parchment on the words “most displeased” that it would be best not to disappoint Mr Malfoy.

Caroline had puzzled over what to wear for several hours. She had a punctual internal clock that woke her at half-six every morning, but this Friday morning, she had chosen to remain in bed, staring at the closed mirrored doors of the large walk-in closet in her bedroom at the Manor. Last night, after dinner and a dancing lesson – her father, surprisingly, was an excellent ballroom dancer, a skill she had not expected him to have – she had come up to the bedroom suite and flipped carefully through the dresses, skirts, and trousers in her closet, looking for something that would be appropriate to wear on her date with Jason.

Nothing had stuck out at her, and as she sat in the study of her suite, sipping tea, a half-eaten plate of toast at her side – Dobby really was an intuitive house-elf; he knew exactly what she liked and exactly when – watching through the window as the sun rose, she wished she could Floo Alison to ask her what she thought would be best. But Alison’s family was decidedly nonmagical – although they accepted her, she’d said, they preferred to keep magic out of the house whenever possible – and they had no Floo connection. The manor had a... a telephone, she remembered it was called... but she had no idea how to use it. Only her mother seemed comfortable with the device. It was too late to send an owl; the clock on the desk showed seven, and they were expected at the Goldman house at half-eight. And Caroline still needed a bath.

It was with the sun in her eyes, refracted into tiny prismatic drops by the enchanted glass panes of the huge study window, that her mother found her.

“Everything all right?”

Caroline turned, blinking her eyes until they resolved into the smaller form of her mother, who was wearing soft-soled brown shoes, faded blue jeans, and a dark-green collared t-shirt with the Hogwarts crest over her the left breast. Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, wild curls already escaping, and her caramel-brown eyes were looking at her daughter in the same way she looked at a complicated potion.

Caroline had resolved to avoid prevaricating with her mother. “I don’t understand why my clothes are such a bother. Why should it matter what I wear today?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said, waving Caroline toward the double-doors to the bedroom. Caroline followed her. “Your father might say that you need to keep up the Malfoy tradition of perfect appearance, but I don’t think he’s serious. He knows I won’t give up jeans, let alone wear expensive clothes all the time.”

Caroline had noticed that about her mother in the almost-four-weeks she’d spent at home – Hermione Granger Malfoy preferred old clothes that had been through the laundry at least five times, dressing up only when company was over or when she and Caroline’s father were going out. But Caroline knew her own standards of dress were more like her father’s – she rarely, if ever, showed her leg above the knee, and all her blouses and dresses were either button-up or conservatively-cut. Even her mother owned a few midriff shirts, but Caroline refused to wear them.

Hermione slid back the doors of the closet and cast lumos on the magical light fixture; it lit the entire closet with a diffuse white glow. “I suppose we could start with the basics, although if you really are that worried, we might want to call Ginny.” Ginny Weasley was still Hermione’s best friend, and the younger witch definitely had excellent taste in clothes. And as the first-position chaser for the London Bridges, she certainly had the money with which to buy them.

“I think we can manage,” Caroline said, standing behind and to the left of her mother. She marveled at how, even though she was three full inches taller than her mother, the wild-haired older witch still had the lion’s share of confidence.

“Well...” Hermione looked at the assembled clothes. “Would you prefer a dress, or a skirt, or trousers?”

Caroline thought about it. “I suppose a dress. I would like to make a good impression on Jason’s parents.”

Hermione chuckled. “I don’t think you’ve much to worry about. David’s favorite things, after Quidditch and Potions, are probably amusing t-shirts. He’s promised to send me a good one for my birthday.”

“He says his mother is American.”

“I know.” Hermione and David had been exchanging owls since the winter holidays. “I don’t think you have much to worry about on that front either.”

“Still,” Caroline said, “I would rather wear a dress.”

“All right.” Hermione tugged a few out with her wand and set them in the back of the closet. “It’s summertime, so you probably don’t want to wear anything too heavy, nor anything with long sleeves. Even light ones.”

“I don’t have many lightweight dresses.” Caroline looked critically at the five that were left to her. “Most of my clothes are heavier because of the Hogwarts winters.”

“At least you’re allowed to wear trousers,” Hermione grumbled as she separated out the summer-weight dresses and used a multi-target leviosa spell to hold them out of the closet. “When I was at Hogwarts, it wasn’t until seventh year that Professor Dumbledore relaxed the...” Hermione trailed off when she saw in the mirror that the skin around Caroline’s eyes had tightened. “Oh, Caroline, I’m sorry, I know you loved him so much. I loved him too, like my own grandfather.”

She swallowed hard and nodded. “I’m all right, mother.”

The sound of that word coming from Caroline’s mouth never ceased to send warmth through Hermione’s chest.

“Good,” Hermione said. “Now, of these five, do you have a preference?”

“Not the red one,” she said immediately. “Unless I wear bright lipstick, it makes me look like a ghost.”

“And I’m sure you don’t want to wear too much lipstick.”

“Mother!”

Hermione laughed quietly. “I was young once as well, and although I was fairly sheltered, I knew what my friends were up to.”

“Still!”

She shrugged. “So, not the red one. And nothing too dark, because that’ll hold the heat if the sun comes out.” Another two joined the red one in the closet, leaving only a white dress and a butter-yellow one. “What do you think?”

Caroline put her head on one side, fiddling with the tie of the silk bathrobe she was wearing; when she’d come home for the summer, she’d found a full closet and bureau of clothes, all in her size. Some of them she’d never wear, but the robe was extremely comfortable, so comfortable that on the two stifling-hot nights they’d had, she’d opened the windows wide and slept nude under the dark-blue silk. It had been a remarkable experience.

“I think the yellow.”

“I like it. Do you have shoes to go with it? Stockings? Pants and brassiere?”

Caroline did a double-take. “Mother, I think I can handle my own... you know...”

Hermione wasn’t moved. “How often do you wear light-colored clothing without a robe over it?” Her daughter shook her head gently. “That’s what I thought. Let me show you something.” She pointed her wand at the knit shirt she was wearing and transfigured it white, then slid her wand into the collar and transfigured her brassiere black. “See what I mean?”

Caroline blushed when she realized.

“And that’s under this shirt; your dress is far lighter.”

“So what do I do?”

“Go take a shower. Or a bath, if you prefer,” Hermione said. “I’ll see what I can find. You look like you could use a break.”

“Thank you, mother. I appreciate it.” Impulsively, Caroline put her arms around her mother and hugged her, and Hermione took a moment to collect herself from the surprise before she hugged her back. But Caroline separated before Hermione was really ready to let her go.

Hermione transfigured her clothes back to their original colors – she was wearing one of her pale-pink underwear sets, one that Draco had bought her, one that he was inordinately fond of; he seemed to have a thing for seeing her in wisps of silk, satin, lace, and cotton, and nothing else.

Not that she was going to provide anything scandalous to her child. She searched through Caroline’s bureau and found plain white cotton pants, a white cotton brassiere with a magically-reinforced underwire that was guaranteed – by the manufacturer, no less – not to be uncomfortable while still providing adequate support, and a pair of flesh-toned stockings. She transfigured the pants and brassiere to match the color of the dress, and cast a matching spell on the stockings so that they would suss out the tone of Caroline’s skin and match it precisely. She also dug up a pair of white flats and one of Caroline’s black leather belts, transfiguring them to the same colors as the dress and then changing the belt to a small purse with a narrow strap.

Then she sat down in the side chair by Caroline’s leaded-glass bedroom window, enjoying the slight breeze wafting in, and waited.

She was glad to have a daughter.

“You look lovely, Caroline,” Draco said as she and her mother came down the main staircase. “That color’s quite nice on you.”

“Thank you, father,” she said. “Mother helped me pick it out.”

Draco sniffed teasingly. “For someone who swore her fashion sense extended only to making sure she didn’t clash, you certainly have picked up a few things, haven’t you, love?”

Hermione grinned at him and took his hand. “Living with the Slytherin Prince has taught me more than a few things.” Caroline didn’t see Hermione’s right eyebrow quirk, but she did see the smile her father broke out into. “I’m going to Floo over with her, and David, Samantha, and I are going to have lunch. David said he’ll Floo back with Caroline this evening.”

“How late?” Draco had a look in his eye that Caroline couldn’t quite interpret.

“I’m not certain,” Caroline said. “Do I have a curfew?”

Draco and Hermione shared a glance, and then Hermione shrugged, still holding Draco’s hand. “If you’re going to be past eleven, let us know. We’d like you home by then, but I wouldn’t call it a curfew. You are on your holidays.”

Caroline nodded. “All right, then. I’m ready to go, mother.”

Hermione checked her watch; it read both twenty-five-past-eight and “almost time”.

“We can go now, then,” she said. “I’m sure Jason’s been up since seven anyway, doing the same thing you were doing.”

“Mother!” Caroline blushed slightly, and both Hermione and Draco grinned. “I doubt very much that Jason cares what he wears, so long as he’s comfortable.”

“My kind of young man,” Hermione said teasingly, and smiled broadly when Caroline flushed again. “All right, enough needling, let’s go.” She turned to Draco and tilted her face up; he captured her lips in a kiss that, despite herself, made Caroline wonder if they were breaking decorum by doing it in front of her.

She knew it for certain when her mother was released from the kiss and her face was flushed as if she was attempting to contain something. She saw her mouth something to her father, but couldn’t catch it.

“Father,” Caroline said.

“Have a good time,” Draco told her. They didn’t embrace – although he had kissed her cheeks or her forehead on occasion, her father was only demonstrative about his affection with his wife. He did, however, talk to her often and listen to her when she needed someone, and that went far in Caroline’s book. “Remember what I told you.”

“I will, Father.”

Draco nodded at her and her mother; they walked out of the large living room and into the foyer, where the main Floo connection was. Each of the Malfoy women pulled out a pinch of Floo powder, and Caroline went first, tossing it into the fire, which flared green.

“Aberdeen, Scotland: Goldman House!”

She stepped in and was whisked away.

Jason was upstairs getting ready – he’d had a late breakfast and then spent a few extra minutes in the shower, ensuring that he wouldn’t have too much stress in his pants by engaging in a hurried wank – and so his father was there to greet his girlfriend and her mother.

“Good morning, Hermione,” he said. He was wearing a pair of blue jeans as old and faded as Caroline’s, along with a Chudley Cannons League Championship t-shirt. His feet were bare. “And you must be Caroline?”

She coughed once, discreetly, and held out her hand, but Hermione held up her wand and cast a quick cleaning spell over them. Then she nodded, and Caroline shook Mr Goldman’s hand. “I am. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Thank you. Good to meet you as well.” His accent was more British than Jason’s, which only made sense; even though Jason’s father had spent a good portion of his school years in America, he’d spent his formative ones in Britain – Ottery-St-Catchpole, to be exact – and some things never faded. “Jason’s just upstairs. I’m sure he’ll be down shortly.”

Sure enough, Caroline heard footfalls coming down the stairs and into the living room. She’d been half-right about Jason’s attire – while he was wearing a pullover t-shirt with a collar, much like her mother’s except that it was beige and had a St Andrews Golf Links logo over the left breast, he’d also donned a pair of khaki cargo trousers and a familiar pair of dark-brown faux-hiking boots that he’d worn often at Hogwarts. His plain brown hair was shorter than she remembered; it looked freshly-cut.

“Hello,” she said simply, half-smiling as she watched him stop at the small landing, three steps up from the living room carpet, apparently in shock.

Hermione noticed this and inclined her head toward the door to the kitchen and dining room; she could see Samantha Goldman bustling around back there through the open doorway. The two adults made their escape, leaving the teenagers alone for a moment.

“Well,” Caroline said, “are you going to say anything?”

Jason swallowed hard and came down the rest of the steps, into the living room. “H...” He cleared his throat; his voice had been a quarter-octave higher than usual. “Hi. I’ve missed you.” He held out his hand and Caroline took it. But when he leaned in for a kiss, she shook her head. “What is it?”

“Not with my mother and your parents in the next room. It seems... improper.”

“Oh.” He drew her hand to his mouth and brushed a kiss over her knuckles; despite herself, she shivered. “Would you like to... um... sit down?”

“Certainly.”

Jason led her to the living room couch and sat down next to her. It was a small enough couch that their legs were touching, and their joined hands were resting on the seam between their thighs, half on Caroline’s dress and half on Jason’s trousers.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, her dark-gray eyes on his face.

He nodded. “I just haven’t seen you in so long. I miss you. I miss being around you. I even miss just chatting. None of my old friends here made it into Hogwarts, and none of them are as smart as Ravenclaws. It’s tough.”

Caroline nodded as well. “Most of the younger people I meet are at dinner functions my father hosts; many of them attend other schools, although a few Slytherins were over last Monday for tea and chess.”

“Interesting ones?”

She shook her head. “They were second years. All they wanted to talk about was Quidditch.”

“Sometimes, Caroline, all I want to talk about is Quidditch.”

“Well, yes,” she admitted, “but for you, I don’t mind.”

Jason smiled and flexed his fingers between hers, squeezing her hand softly.

A few minutes passed in contented silence before Caroline asked if they were waiting for something.

“Not particularly,” Jason said. “I just wanted to spend a few minutes with you. If that’s all right?”

There was a tone to his voice that he used when they were playing Exploding Snap, one that preceded a win, and she knew he wasn’t being serious. “It’s quite all right. When do you want to go?”

“Now would be good,” Jason’s father called out from the kitchen. “We can’t show the professor your naked baby portraits if you’re here, now can we?”

“Dad!” Jason moaned.

“Your father’s not being serious,” came a voice Caroline assumed was Mrs Goldman.

Jason got to his feet, still holding Caroline’s hand; she pulled herself up gracefully and they went into the kitchen.

While the living room had been fairly bland – carpeted, comfortable, but not noteworthy except for the muggle entertainment equipment in the corner of the room – the kitchen was more what she was used to. There were the usual wizarding accoutrements, as well as a long dining-table characteristic of wizarding households. There was also, surprisingly, a house elf.

“Miss Malfoy,” the elf said. “I is Keena. Is you be wanting anything to eat or drink?”

“No, thank you,” she said.

“Keena will go then,” she said with a glance at Mrs Goldman; Caroline had the distinct feeling that the elf and the lady of the house were not on the best of terms. “If Keena is needed simply call and Keena will come.” The elf disappeared with a small pop, and Mr Goldman shrugged.

“Caroline,” said the dark-haired buxom woman at the kitchen counter, “welcome.” She came forward and enveloped the young witch in a hug, and Caroline had no choice but to hug her back. Jason’s face flushed. He’d known his mother would do that. He’d asked her not to. It hadn’t helped.

Caroline, though, forced a smile. “I’m pleased to meet you,” she said softly; though she didn’t whisper or knot her hands like Dina did when she was surprised by something, Jason could tell she was straightening her posture imperceptibly. Of course, since Caroline had perfect posture anyway, it took someone knowing her very well to tell.

Hermione could tell too.

“We’re going to go,” Jason said. “Do you have a time we should be home for dinner?”

“Just call when you’re done. I’ll start it then.” Jason’s mother seemed relaxed about the whole thing, much more relaxed than Caroline’s father, who was very decisive about what time dinner was to occur – seven o’clock, no later, no earlier, unless they had an engagement.

Mr Goldman handed Jason a small object; he slipped it into his pocket. “Call us if you need anything.”

“I will, dad,” he said. “‘Bye.”

His father nodded, but Samantha hugged him quickly. Caroline also nodded to Hermione. “Mother,” she said.

“Have fun,” Hermione urged.

“I’ll try to make sure she does, Professor,” Jason said, and they departed through the back door.


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Notes: I base Caroline\'s worry over her clothes on my sister, who, since she and my mother are the same size, now has three closets to go through -- hers, my mother\'s, and the closet in my old room, where her overflow clothes are. My sister changes three or four times before going out. At least, on some occasions. I simply overlaid Caroline\'s personality with my sister\'s and voila!

There is sex coming. Be patient. It\'s good sex, too. At least, I think so.