Prisoners of Love - A Mystery - COMPLETE

________________________________________________

Updated 11-28-07

I love all your reviews. Each new entry is pure joy for me. Thank you. This story finishes with Chapter 41, so we are closing on the solution to the mystery and coming to the end.

dynonugget Snape’s ‘talents’ will be displayed in some small measure, yes. Intimacy for Snape? Not so much.

Citten I hope this next chapter will fulfill your wish for a family scene.


On your way to this chapter, free samples of body paint are available on the side table. Choose whichever colors appeal and enjoy, compliments of Severus Snape. I think that was very generous of him, don’t you? (Hey! He’s not included. Put him down.)


________________________________________________


Chapter Thirty-Nine

Plotting

“So, where are we?” Lucius asked two days later. He was burping Lucien over his shoulder, expertly protecting his dress shirt from baby spit up with a clean nappy. A joyfully received belch emanated from the tiny tow-head at which Lucius cradled the baby and handed him back to his mother who settled her son to nurse some more.

“Sometimes I think there’s a bit of pig in your family background, Lucius. Your son slurps like he’s feeding at a trough.”

“He’s a good eater. He’ll grow up strong and healthy. Who cares how he gets his food down?” Lucius retorted, sidetracked from his thoughts of shadow criminals by Hermione’s abrasive comment on his heritage.

“Hah!” Hermione riposted, “This from Mr. ‘Use the other fork, Hermione, don’t you know any better?’”

“Lucien’s only a tiny infant. You’re a full-grown woman. There’s a big difference. I’ve met your parents. Obviously their refinement didn’t rub off on you.” After delivering himself of that inciting slur, Lucius said peevishly, “Let’s get back to the pressing issues if you don’t mind. My pedigree and your table manners aren’t the subject right now.”

Hermione slanted her husband a look of mock offense, “Lucius, you -”

“Not now, tidbit,” Lucius commanded, “Besides, you started it with the pig reference.” He started to pace behind Hermione’s chair in the nursery where they both liked to spend time in the early evening for Lucien’s bathtime and snack before he went down for the night – or for the first part of it anyway. The baby was sleeping longer hours but still woke once in the night for refueling and refurbishing.

Hermione subsided. She had started it, but she adored riling up her domineering mate with little digs about his lineage. That always irked him and their soft taunts were their form of foreplay – always had been ever since Azkaban where the mischievous, zinging word combat had started. The forceful wizard always derided her about her plebeian origins in return and it usually wound up with a tussle on a nearby bed. Hermione loved that about her new home. Beds everywhere, most of them christened by now. But he was right, now was not the time. “Okay, what do you have, then?” she asked, jiggling baby Lucien to keep him awake.

“Well, we know one of the shadow villains has to be someone in the prison, who can move to and from the mainland because the supplies are delivered to Azkaban and then funneled off the rock again. That argues someone available on the prison grounds - not a prisoner, of course – who can receive the goods and sell them again. That leaves the guards and prison personnel, however most of the guards we knew weren’t capable of that kind of cleverness, never mind having the resources to successfully sell that amount of contraband on the black market.”

Hermione just nodded, intent on making Lucien eat as much as she could coax him into, so he would sleep longer. “I think the other one must be employed in the Ministry somehow, or they couldn’t have known what I was working on, and that I was the likely one to frame for the missing documents, since I knew what was in them. That leaves a lot of people but Harry’s working on narrowing the possibles there.”

Lucius said, “Yes, he’s managed to narrow the names to the people in your department, on the Magic Council, or Scrimgeour’s office. Rufus is working on it now, too.” At Hermione’s wide-eyed stare, Lucius explained, “Rufus doesn’t like anyone making him look a fool and he was used as someone’s tool to send me to Azkaban the second time. I think it was our same shadow villains who set me up, making it look as though I was adding spies to the Ministry instead of rousting them out. And the amazing part is I think they hoped I would put out a death contract in my circle against Scrimgeour because he’d double-crossed me. Who didn’t they want me to kill?” The blond wizard quirked his lips in amusement.

Lucius stopped pacing and leaned against the baby’s bureau painted in multicolors which set off the rest of the nursery, done in strange-looking animals and people painted all over the ceiling – Hermione said they were from Muggle fairytales. He thought it strange that fairytales seemed not to have any fairies in them. Nasty, inquisitive little things anyway. All he saw on the ceiling were castles, a wolf with grandma clothes, three pigs, several ugly little men around a black-haired woman, an old crone looking down at the same pretty girl lying in what looked like a glass coffin (that was bizarre), three women – two ugly and one pretty – all fighting over a glass shoe, and numerous other animals and people. But no fairies. He would never understand Muggles.

Little Lucien’s doting father had lost his bid for Slytherin colors in the nursery to Hermione’s idea of the bright hues of yellow, blue, green and red. To his critical eye, the room had succumbed to her garish taste in colors as well as unnecessarily representing all the houses of Hogwarts, but he did admit the childcare literature touted bright colors for babies.

At the moment he wasn’t seeing the multicolored walls as he continued, “Those people had the necessary knowledge to know when you were off duty and likely to have no alibi and also to know what you were working on. I would further remove the names from your department because they could have given you other work than inventorying the supplies, which apparently turned out to be a big blunder.

“I think it started with your idea for an updated accounting system. Someone didn’t want that and had you reassigned to another responsibility. Unfortunately they didn’t specify which responsibility and you went from the frying pan into the fire. You went from annoying them with your new accounting system to possibly uncovering something even worse – their blatant thefts of supplies. That meant your supply inventories had to disappear and so did you. Voila Polyjuice Hermione and Azkaban.”

“And,” Hermione chimed in, lifting a sleepy Lucien up to his father again for more burping, “if I was bothering someone’s creative accounting, wouldn’t it have to be someone on the Magic Council? Who in Scrimgeour’s office would have enough access to the Ministry money to be annexing it without being detected?”

Lucius thought some about that point as he gently patted his baby’s back until he was rewarded with another prized belch. He waved Hermione out of the rocking chair and settled himself in it with his tiny son. “We need to talk, Lucien,” he crooned to his half asleep baby. “You realize you are a Malfoy and come from a long line of wizards with a glorious heritage.” Lucius heard an indelicate snigger behind him. “I want you to know that as your father, I will always protect you and provide for you. Whatever you need you shall have.” This time Lucius heard a decided ‘Not if I can help it,’ behind him which he ostentatiously ignored. He gazed down at his pink-cheeked, gray-eyed son and a soft, vulnerable smile slowly lit his features causing Hermione to catch her breath at the open emotion on her husband’s face. “Most important of all, my son, I will love you unconditionally, forever. It is my promise to you. Malfoy to Malfoy. Well,” he nodded to the nearly asleep babe, “I think that’s all I wanted to say. Bedtime,” He got up and walked over to the changing table and set his son down, unsnapping his little pajamas before standing back so Hermione could do one last nappy change before little Lucien went to bed.

Hermione was nearly awestruck at her husband’s casual exposure of his innermost feelings and even more amazed that he had done it in front of her. Her admiring astonishment thudded back to earth, though, when her loving husband once again balked at nappy duty. She glanced sardonically at her slippery mate. He still hadn’t managed to change a single nappy and she clucked in mock disapprobation, but took over, soon having their child tidied up with a clean nappy and back in his pajamas.

Lucius stepped forward again and possessively slid his infant son out of his wife’s arms, kissed his child’s soft, little pink baby cheek and placed him into his crib, covering him with a fluffy blue blanket.

“There. He’ll sleep now,” Lucius announced to his bemused wife, then called for an elf to watch over the sleeping babe before gathering her up and shepherding her out of the nursery. He walked with her down the hallway a bit before apparating them to their bedroom to dress for dinner. “Have I mentioned what a beautiful baby he is?” Lucius began disrobing on his way to the shower. “And I really think he’s quite intelligent. Did you see the way he studied the letters of the alphabet I drew on the wall with my wand when you sat him down to nurse?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but said readily enough, a smile in her voice, “I do believe you have mentioned that once or twice, but I’m glad you like him.” Then she grinned mischievously, “We can’t give him back so it’s as well you approve.” She foresaw that she was going to have to watch her lordly husband’s excesses where his child was concerned. Hadn’t she seen firsthand his ill-conceived largesse with Draco? But she felt curbing her extravagant mate was fairly easily done. She had just seen the love shining out of Lucius’ face for his child and felt confident he would learn how to channel that love with her help. Her husband had managed to surprise her yet again, displaying the hidden well of emotion he usually kept buried so efficiently from the notice of others.

Feeling lighthearted from her mate’s newest offering of his feelings, she turned her attention back to their more serious topic as she followed Lucius into the bathroom, understanding intuitively that his recent display was not for discussion.

“Have you narrowed the field any more, Lucius? I’m not happy that there are people out there trying to kill us. It puts me off my food and that makes Lucien cranky.” She slipped off her clothes and slid into the shower with her husband, “Well?”

“Can’t you either wait or at least let me have the soap first?” Lucius abruptly stopped complaining at having his soap snatched when his wife generously used the lather on him, but warned, “We can’t start anything now, Hermione, we have a guest to dinner tonight.” Lucius regretfully disengaged his wife’s roaming fingers from his person.

“What? Who?” Hermione reluctantly started soaping herself before Lucius could get the soap back. “Did you tell the elves? They didn’t tell me we had a guest.” Now she wanted to get ready quickly so she could make sure all the preparations were done before their guest showed up.

“I…uh, didn’t mention the guest because I didn’t want to listen to you complain.” Lucius gave his tidbit a gimlet stare, using the soap he’d finally managed to wrest away from his suds thief, “You’ll just have to get over it. I was saving you from your own apprehension. You see? You’ve been happy for two days instead of dreading this dinner.” Lucius shampooed, then rinsed out his hair and finished, stepping out of the shower and briskly going for a towel, trailing a suspicious wife in his wake.

Hermione stopped Lucius in his tracks by the simple expedient of grabbing his dangling handle. “Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, WHO is our guest?”

“Ow, Hermione.” He disengaged her fingers once again from his masculine goods. “Snape,” he said when he was free of her possible retaliation.

“SNAPE?” she glared at her husband who was attempting rather unsuccessfully to maintain an appearance of benevolent innocence, “You told him about us and the green paint, didn’t you? Ooooh, I can see it in your face. Men are so much worse gossips than women,” she said in disgust. “How can I face him? Did you tell him everything?” She saw his eyes slide away and she cried, “You did! I’m not coming down to dinner.”

“Yes, you are and you’re going to be gracious to him as you always are,” Lucius ordered, giving up his virtuous act and staring her down using his ‘lord and master’ voice, which had exactly no effect on his irate wife. Lucius artfully switched gears and wheedled, “Try to remember that he made the paint. Doesn’t that make him just as exposed to ridicule? I’m sure he must have tested it out numerous times before he got the ingredients just right. Maybe he had some really wild reactions before he perfected it and he couldn’t get his pecker down for a week.” Lucius’ eyes slid away again, telling Hermione that Lucius had learned that also from his fellow blabbermouth.

“Anyway,” he said, “you’re coming to dinner because we have things about our danger to discuss with him. Wear your brown velvet with the topazes. That always looks nice with your coloring.” Lucius escaped from the bathroom into the bedroom closet and emerged dressed formally for dinner.

He left Hermione dripping on the bathroom floor, fuming at her mate’s loose lips. She’d told Ginny, too, but that was different. Quite, quite different. Hermione grabbed a towel, dried herself, arranged her hair in its normal unmanageable ringlets and stalked out of the bathroom and into their closet, slamming the door.

Lucius merely raised a superior, blasé eyebrow and forbore making any further comment. He wandered into the sitting room, affixing his favorite Slytherin snake cufflinks to his French cuffs and sat down to wait. It was a shame that Hermione’s promising soap lather had to be wasted, but perhaps he could interest her in something later. He knew she didn’t keep up grudges or her snits for long, it just wasn’t her nature, thank the goddess. He held enough grudges for them both. When he discovered who was endangering his family, they were destined for compost in the Forbidden Forest. After some fun and games.

Hermione came into the sitting room wearing her brown velvet gown and topazes – she had decided that she may as well wear one of her favorite outfits to face down her total humiliation with her old professor. Her naïve youth was blowing up the embarrassing evening into more than its importance was worth to the two older wizards and she vaguely understood she was overreacting, so she tried for a calm demeanor as she went to her husband who stood up at her entrance. Calm, she said to herself. After one last solid pinch on his butt.

“Hermione,” Lucius warned, rubbing his sore posterior, “Enough.” He apparated them to the library for pre-dinner drinks as they usually did in the evenings.

While they waited for their guest, Hermione opened another topic of conversation guaranteed to annoy her underhanded husband, “I need more household money.”

“Whatever for? You have a generous amount now.”

“It’s come to my attention that neither the elves nor Otto has been provided with pension funds for retirement.” Hermione jibed, “Did you expect them to work until they dropped dead of old age?”

At least for the elves that was exactly what he would have thought, if he had thought about it at all and he hadn’t. Who the hell had retired elves? He glared at his wife. This must be a Muggle idea. “Hermione, I know you have an unnatural affinity for trying to save the elves, but you know they don’t want your help. Otto – well, I suppose something can be done for him. He may not be able to control the thestrals and other equines after he hits a hundred and twenty or so. Let me know what you consider an equitable amount. He’s only forty-one so he has a long way to go.”

Hermione stared at her impervious mate. “I will set up a pension for him so when he hits eighty he can retire if he wants. Really Lucius, how would you like to have to work in your sunset years?”

“Sunset years? You think a wizard is old at eighty?” Lucius grinned, a wicked glint in his eyes. “I’m still going to be screwing you when I’m a hundred and sixty. Sunset years, my arse.” Hermione didn’t seem too worried about his estimation of their lengthy sex life, but he decided to capitulate on the pension thing for Otto. Who knew if Otto was even going to want to stay with them that long? “Set up the pension for Otto. It’s a good idea anyway. You could say we’re alive because of him, so I agree. We’ll discuss the elves some other year. Or not.”

Hermione had only brought up the elves’ pensions to get back at her husband for telling Snape about their green paint reactions. She hadn’t expected to get anything for the elves and Lucius was right. They wouldn’t thank her. But she felt good about Otto being looked after for years of service. He deserved the generous pension she was going to arrange for saving all their lives and he would always have a home with them. She was going to sneak in a pension for Aggie, too, payable immediately.

Ten minutes later Snape was shown into the room by an elf and greeted the Malfoys evenly, not a flicker of knowledge marring his brow. Two firewhiskeys and a lemonade later, they repaired to the dining room and began on the first course, a clear broth. “I understand you have something you want me to do, Lucius,” Snape opened the table conversation in his velvety voice, the candlelight bouncing off his inscrutable, onyx black eyes.

“Yes. I want a meeting of all of us who are investigating these mysterious attempts on my family and me. I’d like to hold it at Hogwarts where I feel safer and because some of us don’t really like to come to my estate.”

“Our estate,” Hermione declared, still miffed. He was referring to Harry who still hated Lucius’ guts.

“Our estate, I stand corrected. Although we both know I was trying to get you here for months, Hermione, before you were finally willing to come, and then it was only because of the baby.”

Snape stepped in before one of their little erotically charged sniping sessions could take root, not that he didn’t immensely enjoy being an audience to Lucius getting as good as he gave, but tonight wasn’t about that. “That can easily be arranged,” he nodded regally, “When would you like it?” The elves cleared the soup bowls and brought out a fish course.

“Tomorrow night if possible,” replied Lucius. “We need to wrap this mess up before those arses succeed in breaking into the estate. If they keep stepping up their attempts, soon others might be in danger besides us. They might harm Otto or the elves.”

“Very well,” I’ll arrange for us to meet after dinner, say eight PM at the front gates of Hogwarts. You can apparate there and I’ll have Filch let you in.” Snape applied himself to the fish, savoring the delicate flavor.

With the arrangements out of the way, discussion meandered onto a few financial enterprises the two wizards were backing, then segued to Hogwarts business, an absorbing topic to all at the dinner table. The main course of pheasant and some side dishes was served and eaten, then cleared and dessert was presented at the table, a beautiful molded pudding colored bright green and smelling of mint.

Snape raised an eyebrow and said nothing, but he couldn’t keep the tiniest quirk of his lips from giving him away.

Hermione turned beet red and glared at Lucius, “Say your prayers, you spawn of a troll.”

Lucius’ icy eyes crinkled up and he laughed out loud, an unusual occurrence for the blond wizard, but he obediently put his hands together to pray, “Please Hecate, goddess of all witches, let me live long enough to try out Snape’s brown colored paint which I understand is even better than the green, although poor Severus will then probably never be able to have brownies at our table again.”

Hermione didn’t know where to look, but finally the whole fiasco got her funnybone and she started laughing too.

Snape basely ventured, “So your experience with my green paint was that traumatic, was it? And you want to return it for a refund?”

Two voices responded vigorously, “NO!” The green pudding was happily consumed and everyone returned to the library.

“I want to discuss some kind of trap for these shadow people. We’ve managed to narrow the field quite a bit and I’m hoping we’ll come up with a way to get these people into the open.” Lucius sat with Hermione on his favorite sofa idly running a finger up and down her arm beside him as he addressed Snape across from them in his favorite chair. “What do you think, Severus?”

Snape thought Lucius was well and truly bonded to his wife for the rest of his life and he smiled quietly, “I think it’s a very good idea if we can come up with something to flush them out.” He stared at the two who were trying to keep from grinning. “What? What did I say?”

Hermione snickered, “The criminals have been stealing toilet paper. We just thought your choice of verbs was amusing.”

“I see,” Severus said with a slight nod. The conversation was degenerating to bathroom humor. Time to go. “Well, I’ll send out the owls from Hogwarts so no one can waylay them if anyone is watching your estate. For now, thank you for the excellent dinner. Dessert was especially memorable.” He bowed to Hermione. Then he was gone.

Lucius disappeared too, with the excuse that he wanted to double-check the estate wards before retiring. He didn’t offer Hermione the added information that the only reason the wards were still holding was because he was using potent dark magic against the enemy. She would probably understand but she wouldn’t like it.

Lucius was more comfortable avoiding his wife’s futile attempts at reforming him from all his more shadowy tendencies and enterprises. That wasn’t going to happen, he was Slytherin through and through and hadn’t been named a premier Death Eater because he’d excelled at penmanship, but their life together could be happy if she wasn’t cognizant of some of his more murky dealings. It was true he was toning down - for her - but he would never be the shiny white knight of those fairy tales she read to Lucien. Yes, he thought, candid with himself if not with her, he was quite comfortable with that arrangement and he’d never been more content.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next evening saw assembled a disparate group of people at Hogwarts – Lucius and Hermione, Snape, Harry and Ginny Potter, and Rufus Scrimgeour. Ron and Lavender had offered to come, but Hermione didn’t want any more babies at risk in what was a continuing, serious attempt at murder.

Hermione looked quizzically at her husband, silently asking about Scrimgeour’s presence, but he just nodded and led them over to a grouping of easy chairs by the fire where Snape had made an arrangement of furniture conducive to discussion.

Harry opened the meeting, “I’ve traced the supplies out to the parties who buy them off the black market. It’s definitely coming from Azkaban and I think it has to be either the Warden or his son. No other employee there or guard could have such access and be sure the thefts continued to happen with no discovery or reprisal. This has been going on for a long time.”

“I agree,” Lucius concurred, “The first time I was sent to Azkaban, there were no supplies provided to the inmates then either, and that was a few years ago.” Lucius didn’t see the disgusted curl of Harry’s lip at the mention of Lucius’ experiences in prison. Everyone already knew that Harry thought Lucius ought to be a lifer there. Ginny leaned against Harry in a silent reminder to curb his antagonism. This was for Hermione and her baby; Lucius was a side issue.

“None of you has met the Warden, but I have and so has Hermione,” the blond wizard continued, “I think we can safely assume if it is one of those two, it’s the son.”

Rufus Scrimgeour spoke, “Harry asked me to look into the framing of Hermione and I’ve checked the personnel in my own office and I don’t see how it could be any of them. They have extremely limited access to the money accounts as it’s not their function. The accounting department is a better bet for that. But the accounting department personnel wouldn’t have had access to the inside information on Hermione’s workload shift or the particular assignment she had been given. To my mind it has to be someone on the Magic Council itself.”

Snape added, “So - we know there are contraband supplies being moved off the prison grounds and we now have a strong idea it’s the Warden’s son. He acts as the Warden’s secretary and thus controls much of the paperwork. I believe I’m right in thinking he’s the one who actually kept Hermione from visiting Lucius while he was still in prison. That was to build up Lucius’ anger at Hermione’s supposed defection, dating those other Ministry officials.”

Hermione chimed in, “Can’t we use the one we’re pretty certain is a culprit to catch the other one or ones?”

Snape cocked his head to the side as he pondered something more, “You know, I think the dating angle is another link. Who had the idea to have Hermione date those men and then have it all covered in the Daily Prophet? The newspaper reports of Hermione going out on those dates were systematically fed to Lucius in his cell, likely by the Warden’s son, Le Fay Junior, in an attempt to make him so angry he’d have Hermione killed. Hermione, do you know who had the idea to have you date?”

Lucius said, “Hermione and I wondered the same thing, but we didn’t have an answer. Rufus, do you know where the idea came from?”

Rufus raised a sardonic eyebrow at Lucius, whom he realized had not told him everything about the connection between the plot to frame Malfoy and the plot to frame Hermione. “I see that your being framed for snooping into Ministry business is quite a bit of coincidence next to your wife being sent to Azkaban, too. Would you care to elaborate on that first?”

Lucius calmly gazed at the Minster of Magic and replied, “I don’t think they were related at first. I was got out of the way because I was delving into the old spies for the Dark Lord still buried in the Ministry departments. I must have tripped someone’s plans up or gotten too close to something that alarmed someone. Either that or I was a threat to someone for some other reason and they had the wherewithal to set me up and make me look guilty of spying myself.”

Harry knew that Lucius had been rooting out Death Eater moles, hearing about it from the blond wizard’s appeal hearing at the Magic Council that Hermione had masterminded. He mumbled in a whisper to his wife, “That bastard would root out his own grandmother if he could find an advantage for himself.”

Ginny whispered back, “I know you despise him, but you want it both ways - first he’s a Death Eater and you hate him, then he roots out leftover Death Eater moles and you hate him. You’re giving me a headache. After all the horrors we’ve been through, can’t I just have some peace? Hatred is so debilitating.”

Harry was shocked at his wife’s rebuke. He’d carried his repugnance for the entire Malfoy family since he was eleven and it was a given for him. Now his own wife was deserting him. Harry didn’t know what to think.

“I love you very much,” Ginny murmured, “but this unceasing antipathy you seem to wallow in is wearing me down. It’s not hurting Malfoy, it’s only hurting you and me and Hermione. Just think about it, okay?”

The others had been discussing how to trap the unknown figure who was likely a Magic Council member. Scrimgeour said, “I can call a meeting of the Magic Council and tell them I’m having the inventory of all Department supplies redone since the previous one was stolen. That will put the wind up our unknown who will need to tell the younger Le Fay as soon as possible. We can watch Le Fay and see who meets with him. We’d have to watch the owls and the floo network, however the floo won’t work to go from the mainland to the prison or vice versa so that is less of a threat.”

“Since a majority of the Magic Council had to vote to send me to Azkaban the second time, that doesn’t limit the field much. When I won my appeal, my solicitor said the vote was secret so I don’t know who voted for and against me that time,” said Lucius. “I do think it’s a good idea, though. When does the Magic Council meet next?”

“Next week,” said the Minister. “I’ll send owls from my private residence to you all just before I deliver the information to the Council. We can set up watch and then wait.”

In the event, the owls weren’t necessary.

tbc...


________________________________________________

I hope you liked the touch of home life and the calm before the storm. You can write your reviews with your paint if you like.


If you find yourself languishing between chapters, may I suggest my Lucius/OFC story, “Lucius and the Waif”? Smut, more smut, and kinky smut and a plot I think you’ll enjoy. (Even though it isn’t Hermione – you’ll like Lea, see if you don’t.) If you read, please review. You know I love those.

.
.