Beyond the Veil -- COMPLETE

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Updated 7-21-08


Many thanks for all your delightful and perspicacious reviews. I'm honored. Now to answer a few of your questions...


Tambrathegreat – They say turnabout is fair play and Lucius has spanked Hermione. Perhaps she will grow into that punishment proclivity she felt when she walloped him in the old, musty boardinghouse.

jw – Hermione is unfurling her lascivious nature more and more with Lucius’ tutelage. I think her shrinking violet days are over (did she actually have any?) Lucius had a hard day, first the blowout with Hermione in front of the Veil, then unplotting his acreage all day, except for when he took receipt of his wine and champagne for the bordello. He really did have a busy day and that’s why he fell asleep in the bath.

blue artemis – I’ve got to advance the plot here and there, so the lemons may not be in every chapter LOL. Yes, Lucius was understanding about the scar, I think because he had suffered through his own.

sisterae – Lucius and Hermione are coming closer together in their view of sex. And it’s about time. Hermione won’t be holding back any more, heh, heh.

Utopia – No, don’t give your genetics ideas for the HP world to your lecturer. If you do anything, submit the article to a journal yourself under your name. It can certainly be for fun, but you can compare it to real examples. If you’re going in the direction of academics, it never hurts to have a publication under your belt. Hermione was merely teasing Lucius about not looking at the slit in her drawers. “Dearling’ is an old-fashioned term and Lucius likes using it.

Reply to Your Query: French maid characters are free for any and all to use. I constantly read scenes that I know I’ve put down in my unfinished manuscript, but it will look like I’ve commandeered another’s work. It is obvious that authors will cross over each other’s ideas inadvertently so I try not to worry. I’ll impatiently wait for Snape to have his turn at a French maid in your story. Yummy! And Lucius might have been introduced to the French maid concept by Snape himself! Who knows? (Alpine skiing doesn’t necessarily equal excellent French ability for Hermione.)

angelprince – You’re correct that Lucius is somewhat allergic to the concept of consideration. It’s why that New Leaf Policy is so challenging for him.

Heidi191976 – Thank you Heidi – as usual, more coming up.

Malfoysplaymate - Thank you – I glad the lemonade was to your liking. I try to please all tastebuds equally.

Gryffindor_Slytherin – Hermione slipped in the few French words she knew and the rest backslid to English. I don’t think Lucius cared much by that time LOL.

sheherazade – Your “takes notes” made me laugh! It’s kinda like Einstein taking notes from childrens’ nursery rhymes. I do love writing the smut, though.

MerQueen - I’m thrilled you gave me a review and pleased you braved my language. If I wrote another language as well as you I’d be very, very happy.

Jesse – [Takes modest bow at the applause] Thank you!

Morganabythesea – Never leaving my readers hanging with a half-done story is a cardinal rule with me. Now – I hope you like the story [grin].

Citten – Now that Hermione has the hang of good, adventurous sex, I imagine she’ll wander in that direction again.

Visitkarte – Oh my, you AND your husband enjoyed this story (well, he read parts…) I appreciate the positive feedback. I’ll probably have to blow up your words and paste them to my computer. Thank you! [waves happily]

Clare1984 – I’m very glad you liked that lemon. Hermione has found a good match for herself (notice I didn’t say he was good, just a good match.) He’s too complex for just one adjective as your list shows. But, yeah, lickable.

Rini – Madam Celestine has no ability to make elastic either. She’s a product of her 1817 time and hasn’t seen it before. Poor, poor Lucius, trapped into spanking several attractive women. I know my heart just bleeds for him. And I agree that this bout of sex beats missionary, palms down.

Muffy – Lucius actually has a romantic side when it suits him, usually in seducing someone. But he cares about Hermione enough to ease her fears about her scar.

Snapes_Goddess – Lucius thought Hermione didn’t get the ‘doggy style’ idea, but that wasn’t what she was referring to. She was concerned about him seeing her scar. ‘Pork Sword?’ (snicker) Hermione may yet surprise Lucius in the bedroom now that she’s shed a bit of her inhibitions.

AngelMary - I appreciate your positive reaction to my pre-writing my story. And I’m so glad you’re enjoying the story as you read through the chapters. Thanks! Your questions are all very good ones and I can’t answer them right now. You are definitely caught up!

Scary Bear Hair - I hope I don’t go over the line and make my characters too sugary. I don’t see Lucius or Hermione that way, but occasionally I have to fight making Lucius too nice. He isn’t. Hermione is no sweetie, either. But I think they suit each other for inner strength.

LadyVoldemort87 – Even Voldemort liked it best when he could mess up Lucius with scars over and over again, twisted villain that he was. Oh yeah, Lucius and Hermione stepped FAR away from vanilla sex. I think it may be Rocky Road flavor here and there, but they’ll progress. Hooray, if Jason Isaacs is in the Half-Blood Prince movie where Lucius was not in the sixth book. I saw a recent pic of Lucius in Azkaban, yes. So pitiful, as though he can’t understand how he got there.

Pic of Lucius in Azkaban:
http://img292.imageshack.us/my.php?image=luciocx8.jpg

meankitty69 – Lucius couldn’t believe his luck with Hermione FINALLY showing some interest in more adventurous sex. He wasted no time taking advantage of her interest. His motto: Strike while the bottom is bare.

Lady Miya – Oooh, good question: where are the sex paintings in Lucius’ time? Maybe in his private playroom? Does he have a private playroom? This is purely conjecture. As for the family tree, I can’t answer that. Sorry. Glad you liked the spanking. Here’s a web site discussing apostrophes in words. It’s quite informative. I’ve bookmarked it myself.

http://grammar.uoregon.edu/case/possnouns.html

Wistful-Stargazer – Thank you so much for giving me a review. When I’m reading an interesting story, it’s hard to stop to write a review so I’m pleased you did it. And thank you for the compliment inherent in your wish to read on. Ah, you got to Lucius ‘helping himself’. I remember that chapter well. Yeahhhh.


And now, more...

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Chapter Thirty-One


The Ball



In the event, Lucius did accept the invitation to the Spencer ball over Hermione’s strenuous objections. A dancing master was hired to teach both of them the steps to the latest ballroom dances and Hermione was obliged to learn what she felt were euphemistically called country dances, which were intricate, rigidly orchestrated moves between individuals, mostly in long lines. Nothing ‘country’ about them as far as she could see – they were more like brittle square dances. Little Mrs. Malfoy was not amused to find that she was slower than her husband to pick up the weaving and turning moves of the dances.

Lucius sailed through the dancing mostly because he had had to learn to dance as a youngster and was acquitting himself well on the ballroom floor of many a Pureblood mansion before he even had to shave. Some of those Pureblood dances weren’t that different from the ones they were practicing so he had an advantage over his competitive sprite.

Feeling outclassed, Hermione’s fighting spirit emerged and she applied herself to the twining and twisting, finally feeling competent enough to survive the stultifying evening that was fast approaching. She had to make a special trip to Madam Celestine’s for a suitable gown, which was designed on the instructions of her husband. Lucius wasn’t letting any detail slip his grasp when it came to dealing with his snooty crowd.


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The evening of the ball, her old grievance against the dressmaker surfaced as she stepped into her pantalettes and Hermione took her complaint to her husband, “Lucius, these women’s pantalettes are clumpy and ugly. I wanted some nice sexy lingerie, but I can’t transfigure the elastic right. Madame Celestine is making me several of these disgusting things AND she was scandalized when I wanted them at least to be in colors. White is the only color for a ‘good’ woman. Can you believe that? I had to tell her you preferred me in colors for her to calm down. It’s not fair that your wishes for my underwear should take precedence, changing me from a trollop back to virtuous just because my husband likes colors. Can you make elastic work? Pleeeease?”

“This age isn’t unalloyed joy for you, is it? I can see the balance of power is amazingly skewed toward men, even here in the wizarding community.” Lucius knitted his brows as he deliberated the intricacies of transfiguring elastic. “Give me your Tahitian knickers and I’ll see what I can do. For now, we need to get ready for the Spencers’ ball. The dress I want you to wear is in the dressing room.”

Dressing for the ball, Hermione found herself attired not only in the fire engine red silk dress Lucius had dictated, but she was wearing an indecent amount of diamonds on her wrist, in her ears, around her neck and in the tiara in her hair. The sleeveless gown itself made a semi-modest swoop over her bustline, allowing just a hint of cleavage, wrapping in loving drapes over her bosom, then falling straight to the floor. It enhanced her coloring and made her appear taller, but she was irritated nonetheless.

“Lucius, all these diamonds make me look like a chandelier. I look positively gaudy. I can’t believe you want me to look like I’ve broken into the Crown jewels and am wearing them all at once.” Hermione was trying to hitch up her elbow-length white gloves over her diamond bracelet until Lucius told her the bracelet went over her gloves.

Somehow it pleased Lucius that Hermione wasn’t overawed by all the ostentation and was still naïve about the details of great wealth. “Your display denotes our status, but trust me, you will be more modestly jeweled than many of the matrons at this event. You haven’t seen gaudy and tasteless until you’ve attended a Pureblood ball. I’ll bet that hasn’t changed in two hundred years.”

Lucius himself was beautifully turned out in all black with pristine white only in his shirt and neckcloth, which included conservative edgings of expensive lace decorating his chest and lapping over his wrists. The jacket was fine black cashmere with velvet lapels and his waistcoat was black velvet, too. His pantaloons matched the jacket, being the same finely woven black cashmere. Against his pale coloring the black and white were mesmerizing foils. As a final touch he had placed a fire engine red rosebud in his buttonhole to match his wife’s dress.

Lucius was an expert at sartorial design and hues and Hermione reluctantly acknowledged she was profiting from his dress sense. Clothing had never been of much importance to her or her crowd in school and in the Ministry workroom she had chosen to match her clothing to the dust of her research artifacts. She rather liked the red shoes, clicking the heels together and chanting, ‘There’s no place like home’ several times until her husband got exasperated and told her to quit marking the sides of her slippers, that she was home and to please quit chanting those stupid words and run the lint brush down the back of his jacket once more.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but quit playing and inspected Lucius’ jacket for any stray lint that had appeared within the last ten minutes. "I don't know why you can't just run a spell keeping the lint off," she complained.

"It flattens the nap of the material. Am I asking too much of you?" Lucius looked over his shoulder at the pouting witch with a jaundiced eye.

Hermione refused to answer and just kept brushing. He was a dedicated clotheshorse, but she had to admit he looked good enough to eat. Hermione blushed a becoming pink at that errant thought and Lucius, seeing the gentle rose of her complexion decided that red for her had been a very good choice, bringing out her porcelain coloring to perfection. Now if she would just quit sulking about going to the ball, the evening would be perfect.

Lucius double-checked the velvet hair ribbon tying back his hair, shot his cuffs and artfully arranged the lace at his wrists, then turned to his wife, “Are you ready?”

“Whenever you are, milord,” Hermione saucily replied earning a brief, intimate smile from her husband as they were both reminded of their new affinity in bed.

“Very well, put on your cape and come hold my hand and I’ll apparate us.” Lucius slung his own fur-edged cape over his shoulders, set his top hat at a rakish angle on his head and held out one large, elegantly gloved hand; Hermione stepped to his side, holding on steadily. Their apparation took no time and they arrived at the front steps of a huge mansion in a large park, only a bit of which Hermione could see in the gloom of the early evening. The moon hadn’t yet risen and it was cool with a slight wind.

Hermione moved closer to her mate to shelter from the breeze and Lucius wrapped his arm around her shoulders to keep her warmer. They joined a line of couples just entering the front doors and soon came to a halt halfway up the main staircase waiting for their turns in the receiving line. A uniformed house elf collected their capes and Lucius’ hat and whisked the articles of clothing away.

Hermione looked around at the other attendees and saw that her spouse had been correct. She was by no means the most heavily adorned by jewels in this group. To Hermione’s wondering eye it looked as though one woman had pinned nearly every brooch she owned to the front of her dress, the jewels themselves neither matching each other nor the dress.

Another matron adorned in sapphires was wearing a low-cut gown Hermione thought might be described as avocado and yellow stripes, but she hadn’t wanted to be caught staring at the bizarre color combination. Were some of these Purebloods colorblind? She thought Madam Celestine must have danced a jig to get rid of that horrendous bolt of fabric. Hermione figured it probably glowed in the dark - it was bright enough. Hermione continued to amuse herself with the array of overdone wealth and nauseating gowns while waiting for her turn to be presented to their hosts for the evening.

Lucius in his own inimitable way was hobnobbing with their fellow guests, exchanging bits of financial and sporting gossip with the other men and being ogled by the women near him. He was immersed in his familiar playground, allowing the others to see he was pleased by a few of the wittier remarks and delivering the right amount of bon mots in trade.

Lucius was adept at the social round and knew to a nicety how to behave, but kept a hand at Hermione’s back at all times to indicate to some of the young – and older – bucks around them that she was his property and not for dalliance; he wasn’t entirely sure they all lived by the same set of social rules he did and he wasn’t interested in finding out the hard way with wands at ten paces that he had accidentally signaled any laissez-faire attitude toward his wife.

Hermione hated to admit it to herself, but she was preening a bit at having such a magnetically handsome wizard so solicitous of her. She scolded herself for being shallow, but oh, it felt good to have Lucius standing beside her. She silently giggled thinking it would feel even better to have him on top of her. Later, she promised herself. His comforting lime and Lucius smell surrounded her and created a cocoon of safety among these toplofty Purebloods.

It was finally their turn to greet their hosts at the top of the stairs which Lucius performed with an innate grace, presenting his wife as though she hadn’t been dragged to Fortescue’s by Gertrude Spencer and her cronies just a week or so before. Hermione hadn’t met Mr. Spencer formally before and introductions were made all round, Gertrude blushing at Lucius’ intimate smile.

Hermione was mostly interested in the fussy gown her hostess was wearing. She had read about the color in history books, but had never actually seen puce before. It looked like Gertrude had dunked her gown in liver juice, the muddy purple color enhancing her tendency to sallow skin and making her face nearly yellow in the candlelight. The rubies she wore were shades too light and too orange for the ensemble and Hermione almost felt sorry for the woman except the obnoxious witch was gloating at Lucius’ attentions as though he were a step away from hiking up her ugly skirts right there in the receiving line. Luckily Hermione’s dress clashed fearfully with her hostess’ and they soon were sent on their way to the ballroom. Lucius whispered to Hermione that the colors together had been making him nauseous and he wanted them to move on. Hermione thought it was really because Gertrude had been petting Lucius' arm, dipping lower with each swipe.

As they reached the top of the stairs leading down onto the crowded main ballroom floor, Lucius paused while the butler announced their names to the crowd on the dance floor in a stentorian voice. Saint Merlin’s robes, Hermione thought, she’d seen it before, but it never failed to surprise her. She had been laughing with him two minutes ago and now a completely different man stood beside her. This Lucius was every inch the cold aristocrat, his superior air, haughty expression and distant demeanor bespeaking centuries of power – he expected society to bow before him. And they did.

How did he do that? The guests’ eyes lowered, a space opened up at the bottom of the stairs, and conversation came to a hushed halt. Hermione waited for someone to challenge his autocratic stance, let him know he was the newcomer without the social credentials to carry off his behavior. Then it clicked into place for Hermione and she held back a gasp – he did have the credentials.

Lucius was a Malfoy from the top of his pale, burnished locks to his well-heeled boots, his icy gray eyes and lofty, Pureblood lineage speaking as loudly as his imperious deportment to this snooty stratum of wizarding society. She had never been part of the Pureblood coterie; she hadn’t understood the inbred pecking order of the breed. But Lucius knew. Lucius knew and was challenging the others for his place at the top.

Hermione had known him before and knew him even better now. This wizard would never accept second place in his social circle. He was a leader not a follower; his subjugation under Voldemort must have been excruciating for his ego. The Dark Lord had provided the supercilious blond wizard a means to his political ends, but while Hermione was well aware that Lucius in his youth had been led basically into servitude with Voldemort before he’d known what he was getting into, that didn’t excuse him as an adult. He had traded his freedom for his idealized Pureblood ambitions. Her husband had told her he had never had any true autonomy – or power. It looked like he was going to rectify that loss tonight.

Hermione noticed with trepidation that the dancing had not yet begun – the small orchestra partially hidden by a couple of potted shrubs up in the gallery above the floor were still tuning their instruments. She could see the society mavens in clumps, probably all catching up on gossip with each other, as if they hadn’t been talking together all day. When the Malfoys were announced they too all broke off their conversations to discreetly size up the new arrivals from lowered lashes.

Hermione lifted her gloved hand to her husband’s arm and copied his posture, chin slightly raised, looking down the steps boldly into the crowd of perfumed, multicolor-gowned women and fashionable gentlemen, the scene lit by hundreds of floating candles reflected endlessly in mirrored wall panels.

Lucius signaled with the tightening of his forearm that they were to descend and she followed sedately at his side, down each step in a magisterial swaying of her hips as if to say, ‘I am above you, but I am completely at home among you’ and she found she was actually getting a big kick out of the playacting. Was it playacting for Lucius, too? Or was his high-handed attitude truly inbred in him causing this abrupt change from laughing husband to domineering potentate?

They reached the bottom of the stairs and Lucius immediately steered them over to the Minister, Grogan Stump, who was holding exclusive court at one end of the ballroom. Lucius knew always to go to the top and establish his right to be among the leaders. He knew his wealth and Pureblood lineage would give him the initial ingress; his intelligence, wit, charm – and looks - must do the rest. Machinations and cloaked intentions were the rule in high society, especially among the Slytherins and Lucius excelled at his artful craft.

Lucius relaxed inside where no one could see; so far Hermione was doing a spectacular job of enacting the snooty Pureblood wife. Perhaps he should have mentioned the scenario to her before they arrived, but he had been enjoying their brangling and her wondering stares and it hadn’t occurred to him to apprise her of the sticky social web they were entering.

Being with her was blunting the sharp, calculating perspicacity he’d always been known for. She was replacing it with warmth and lightheartedness and… and… Lucius jerked his mind from his sudden mental turmoil to bow to the Minister and his wife, accepting a bow and curtsy in return. Hermione stood a step behind her husband and curtsied as well and it was clear to the blond wizard they were welcomed into this small gathering. So far, so good.

“Mr. Minister,” Lucius addressed the leader of their country’s wizarding community, nodding his head regally. “I don’t believe you have met my wife, Hermione,” he indicated his little sprite by bringing her forward with his hand at her back as he smiled at the other couple.

Grogan Stump acknowledged Hermione and turned to his own wife, “And this is my wife, Nettie.

Lucius held out his hand for Nettie’s and she let him brush a ghost of a kiss over her knuckles in the most formal manner. Hermione approved of Nettie’s gracious, but formal acceptance of Lucius’ salutation. No girlish simpering cheapened the gesture. Her husband got away with the rather flamboyant hand kissing making it seem a tribute to a lovely lady without any sycophantic overtones.

Nettie smiled at Hermione, “You don’t have a dance card. Let me get one for you.” Mrs. Stump motioned a house elf over with a tray of cards and selected one with a small pencil attached to give to Lucius’ wife.

Lucius intercepted the card knowing Hermione would have no idea what to do with it. He lifted her hand and threaded the card’s loop over her wrist, saying, “Allow me to write my name by the dances I wish to reserve for myself before the other wizards descend on us.”

Hermione quizzically watched while Lucius took the small pencil and added his name by both waltzes and the supper dance.

Watching Lucius choosing three dances, Nettie turned to her own husband, “Grogan, why don’t you want to sign for any of my dances?”

“Nettie, love, you know I have to circulate and function as my political self tonight. Perhaps Lucius will sign your dance card.”
When he saw his wife’s gathering frown, Grogan relented, “Give me your card. Do you want a country dance or a waltz?”

Nettie smiled and instantly chose, “A waltz. Thank you, Grogan.”

“Thank Lucius. He’s made me realize I am a husband as well as a Minister,” Grogan leaned over and kissed his wife on her cheek, reaching for her card and choosing one of the waltzes.

Hermione beamed at the couple as Lucius decided to pursue his quest, “If I may, I would like an appointment with you next week sometime. I’ll send an owl to the Ministry if that suits?”

“Of course,” Minister Stump was sidetracked by the promising look on his wife’s face and Lucius gathered up Hermione and slipped away. The moment they left the Minister’s presence, Hermione asked, “How close are you to Minister Stump?”

“He’s been welcoming to me, mostly because of my money…sorry, our money,” Lucius squeezed Hermione’s waist gently, “ and I’ve gotten the impression I’m supposed to despise Squibs for some reason. In the last couple of days, some of the other wizards I’ve met have indicated similar sentiments expecting me to agree. It’s been strange, but I’ve tried to track down why they have this misconception. I have a sketchy plan for trying to shore up the Squib community - apparently it will be in the teeth of my own animosity,” he murmured with an ironic slant to his mouth. “We can discuss it more at home.”

Lucius looked past Hermione’s shoulder to see several young wizards bearing down on them. “I think the rest of your dance partners are approaching. Don’t let anyone dance more than one dance with you. It would show a partiality I don’t think you want to encourage.”

“Lucius, I found out some information, too -” but Hermione was interrupted by the four wizards who surrounded her and tried to reach for her dance card dangling from her wrist.

“Gentlemen, please be careful, this is not a Quidditch field,” Lucius stepped between his wife and the four eager wizards.

“Oh, sorry, Mr. Malfoy. May we sign your wife’s dance card?” The young men grinned in varying degrees at Hermione as she peered around her husband’s chest.

“If she wishes,” Lucius looked down at her. “What would you like, my love?”

Hermione blinked up at her spouse, temporarily frozen with the unexpected endearment, but then she smiled at him and said, “I’ll be happy to allow them each one dance, my love,” she returned, spooking Lucius in turn.

Lucius stepped aside and the four young men lined up to place their names on her dance card. “Oh, I say,” said one, “Your husband has taken both waltzes and the supper dance. Unsporting, sir,” he addressed the blond wizard.

Lucius smiled coolly and merely shrugged slightly. He wasn’t giving up any of his dances to anyone.

The young wizards signed their names by several other dance sets and departed, but within a minute more men appeared. It took no time before her dance card was completely filled and she heard the orchestra strike up for the first dance.

“Lucius, I’m scared.” Hermione saw her first partner weaving through the crowd coming toward her.

“You’ll acquit yourself perfectly well, Hermione. Enjoy the dance. I’ll return for my dances. I need to sign a few dance cards myself. I’ll see you on the dance floor,” and with those parting words, Lucius disappeared into the crowd just as Hermione was claimed for the first dance.

Three dances later, Hermione was discovering she did like dancing, even the rigidly performed ones at the ball. Even more, it was fun being part of a happy, large group bent on pleasure, something she had missed for many years. She saw Lucius lead out a different woman for each dance and she surreptitiously watched him when she could as he performed the steps with his usual grace.

Several of the other dancing women enjoyed watching Lucius also and Hermione had almost as much fun watching them ogle him as she did watching him herself. She was in a high good humor when her husband came to claim the waltz he had signed up for.

“I believe you are my next partner, my love,” Lucius said as he wove his way through several bucks vying for his wife’s attention.

“Oh, there you are, sweetheart. I’m ready,” Hermione moved toward her bemused mate and let him lead her onto the dance floor.

Lucius wasn’t quite certain if his teasing pet names had ultimately backfired on him, but the warmth that washed over him each time his wife called him an intimate name was an indication he was getting himself into seriously alarming territory.

Lucius took his sprite into his arms and a frisson of desire swept through his body seeing her shining eyes and rosy cheeks. The waltz began and Lucius swung his wife into the dance. For both of them the other dancers disappeared as the two lovers swirled and dipped through the movements, the seductive brushing of their bodies delivering them to a separate plane.

Around the room they twirled, Lucius leading and occasionally making sure they didn’t bump into any other couple, but his concentration was focused on the slim red form of his wife. He was realizing that he wasn’t best pleased to see her popularity with the young wizards and thought about dropping a hint in her ear, then mentally retreated, thinking he might be viewed as the jealous sort.

“You look quite beautiful this evening, Hermione,” her husband said instead.

“Thank you,” she smiled warmly, “You always look beautiful.”

Lucius chuckled, “I believe the phrase is ‘you’re wearing rose-colored glasses’, but thank you anyway.” The dreamlike waltz came to an end and Lucius reluctantly handed her over to her next partner, going to seek the witch whose card he had signed.

Finally the supper dance was upon them and Lucius gathered his wife up for the pre-supper quadrille. He was fascinated by his little witch’s slim, red form as she moved through the dance, first with him, then with other partners as the steps directed, then back to him again. Lucius found himself annoyed at having to hand her off to another man in the dance set. He consciously erased an incipient frown from his forehead and genuinely smiled when the set was over. Jealousy was for wizards with less self-control after all. He commandeered Hermione, steering her off the dance floor and over through double doors at the end of the room, which had been thrown open.

“What now?” she whispered.

“Now we eat supper,” he replied, leading her to a well-stocked buffet and helping her fill a plate of food, before making sure they were seated together at the Minister’s table. As the champagne circulated on trays held by numerous house elves, Hermione snagged one for herself and drained it quickly. She was desperately thirsty from dancing for the previous two hours.

“Shall I get some lemonade for you, my dear? The champagne may go to your head if you continue to drink it down so quickly,” Lucius disapproved when he saw the glass empty out in seconds.

Hermione liked the taste of the bubbly refreshment and ignored him, snagging another glass for herself. The second one she sipped at as she ate the selection of food on her plate. She noticed that Lucius didn’t drink anything except water and realized he was keeping sober for some reason. When the Minister and his wife sat down with their plates, the reason for Lucius’ sobriety became more apparent.

Lucius allowed everyone at the table to eat through most of their piled plates, timing his discourse for after repletion and before departure. “Minister, I’ve been hearing of odd remarks about my uncle and more recently my own attitudes toward Squibs. Even my wife has heard these rumors. I’m a bit concerned at the far-reaching extent of these stories. Where I’m from, no one sees any difference between Squibs and other magic folk. It’s obvious that among all magic folk, great disparities exist in natural magic ability, so I wonder what has suddenly happened to isolate Squibs from the rest of us?”

The Minister was somewhat taken aback at being asked such a delicate question when a few of the people at the table had relatives who were Squibs. He opened his mouth to reply, but his wife was before him, “Oh, I’m so glad to hear you don’t hold the views of your uncle. He was a good man in many ways, but he did have the one, shall we say, blind spot. Poor man, I believe it was because of a disappointment he suffered years ago. He was an older man and finally decided to marry. The object of his attentions, or perhaps I should say, his obsession, was a young Squib witch.”

"Now, Nettie, it does no good stirring up ancient history,” the Minister reproved, setting a restraining hand on his wife’s smaller one on the table.

Mrs. Stump paid her husband no mind, putting out her own hand and putting it over Lucius’, “Your uncle was terribly smitten with the young woman, but she turned him down for another Squib. I think that compounded his anguish.”

Minister Stump removed his hand from his wife’s so it didn’t appear as though they were all joining hands together. “Nettie, Lucius doesn’t want to hear ill of his uncle,” he tried again to rein in his wife’s too informative confidences.

The instant Grogan Stump’s hand disappeared from his wife’s, she put her own hand back in her lap, but never took her earnest eyes from her audience of Lucius and Hermione, addressing them both equally. “It quite broke his heart and he became a little angry.”

“Vindictive, you mean,” said another high-ranking official’s wife, Mrs. Armbruster, at their end of the table whose daughter was a Squib. "I’d go as far as unbalanced, but he had the wealth to pursue his vendetta. It’s well known among those of us who have relatives who are Squibs that he has tried to turn the magic world against them. Or, well, perhaps his rule of terror is at an end?” the older witch said, looking her question straight at Lucius.

“Madam Armbruster, if you are looking at me to continue a system I vehemently do NOT believe in, you may rest assured. The Squibs are in no danger from me. Why should you think so?”

“Because the threats have continued since you came.”

“What?” interjected Hermione for the first time. “Lucius would never threaten a Squib. Are you sure the threats came from him?”

Madam Armbruster scowled at the Malfoys, but shook her head at the question, not offering any more information.

Lucius turned the conversation to milder topics to everyone’s relief, merely iterating his stand, “I have no vendetta against any member of our community. I understand the World Quidditch matches are drawing to a close. Who do you think will be the final two teams?”

That set everyone off with their favorites, all of them pleased to leave an uncomfortable subject. Hermione wanted to pursue the slur to her husband’s reputation, but Lucius put a hand on her thigh and squeezed it in warning. She gave a small, petulant shrug but let the topic go.

“Thank you,” Lucius whispered in her ear. “I’ll tell you why later.”

tbc...

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I know, I know, no lemons this time. I hope you enjoyed the ball and the unintended entertainment of the wealthy witches with their execrable taste in clothing. Did any of you manage a dance with Lucius?

Reviews happily accepted. Lurkers are welcome to join in!

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