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Stage One: Shock and Disbelief
Lucius Malfoy was dead.
At least, the old Lucius Malfoy was.
Fifty years in Azkaban for his crimes, shortened to fifteen with good behavior and the completion of an intensive, experimental rehabilitation program, courtesy of Deputy Minister Hermione Granger, meant the man stepping off the prison island resembled Lucius Malfoy on the outside alone.
As if to prove a point, the Deputy Minister herself was waiting in the drab prisoner transfer room at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, flanked on either side by Draco Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, and more Aurors than were strictly necessary under the circumstance. After equally formal greetings to his wife, son and Ms. Granger, Lucius found himself wondering why the Deputy Minister remained.
“Are we waiting on a photographer, perhaps?” He inquired, looking between them. Was this a pressworthy event? What other reason could Ms. Granger have for being here?
“No, Father. Ms. Granger is not here in any, er, official capacity.”
Lucius quirked an eyebrow at his wife, whose face gave nothing away. “Oh no?” He looked back and forth between his son and Ms. Granger, each of whom had begun turning an alarming shade of puce.
“Have you gotten married?” Lucius finally supplied, before someone had a stroke. Everyone shook their heads. His eyes narrowed. “Does Ms. Granger find herself in a delicate way?”
The witch in question choked out a squeaky “No!”
“Well, then what is everyone so worried about? I’ve reformed , remember? I’m hardly going to attack Ms. Granger as my first act as a free man.”
Draco finally found his voice. Taking Hermione’s hand in his, he turned to his father. “We’ve been seeing each other. For several years now.”
Lucius nodded. “How wonderful. Will you be joining us for dinner this evening, then?”
“You’re alright with this?” Hermione asked.
Lucius tried not to be offended by her incredulous tone. “Some things will never change, Ms. Granger. I’m afraid that for all my reform, I find the idea of my future daughter-in-law being the next Minister of Magic quite appealing. But if you are concerned about blood status, I no longer hold any prejudices about you, your parents, or any Muggle. In fact, I’ve become quite intrigued by several Muggle devices I’ve read about. I am anxious to get my hands on an Aston Martin DB5. I think I would look quite dashing on the streets of London in such a fine car, wouldn’t you?”
Lucius stepped back in horror as Hermione moved to embrace him. “My dear! I may be a reformed Death Eater, but I am still a British Lord. I only show affection to dogs and horses. And the peacocks.”
An indelicate laugh spilled through his wife’s pureblood veneer. “She’ll change your mind on that yet, Lucius.”
Stage Two: Denial/Anger
Lucius slipped into his study, pointedly ignoring the party in full swing at the manor. It was rude to leave Narcissa behind as hostess unaccompanied, but now that his son, his heir , was engaged, certain things could be put off no longer.
A bold knock, one that could only belong to Hermione, interrupted his musing. “Enter.”
He stood, leaving his book at the desk, and greeted her as she barreled forward. Though she lacked the poise and elegance of a pureblood, there was an air about her that simply could not be ignored.
“Mr. Malfoy—”
“Lucius, please,” he interrupted.
“Mr. Malfoy,” she repeated. He raised an eyebrow but refrained from commenting. “As you know, my parents… my parents don’t remember me. They think I’m just a member of their book club. They don’t know I’m a witch. I’d like Arthur and Molly Weasley to stand beside me for the invocation of the ancestors, in place of my parents.”
“The Weasleys?”
Hermione took a breath, clearly gearing up for a fight. “They’re the closest thing I have to a family—”
“Of course you would have the Weasleys stand beside you.” He noted her barely contained look of surprise. “Always the look of surprise. You should know Arthur and I have become quite friendly. We’ve bonded over our mutual interest in wangs.”
“Wangs?” Hermione asked, looking pained.
“Yes, the Wizard Appreciators of Automotive Novelties Group. W. A. A. N. G. We meet every third Thursday.”
“Merlin, that’s worse than S. P. E. W.”
“Spew?” Lucius asked, not understanding the reference.
“Oh, never mind. Thank you for understanding,” she said, squeezing his hand, opening her arms as if to hug him.
“Ms. Granger! Some propriety, please. We are not family, this is most inappropriate behavior!” He shuddered, extricating himself from her attempted embrace.
She squeezed his hand once more before turning toward the party. Once he heard the click of the door behind her, Lucius returned to his book, Malevolent Magicks of Body, Soul and Mind.
Stage Three: Bargaining
Lucius had sworn he’d never return to Azkaban, but his son’s Muggleborn bride-to-be might just be his undoing. He looked between his watch and the two confunded Muggles in the dungeon.
“Now or never, I suppose,” he muttered. Planting himself, he pointed his wand and intoned, “ sanguis purgare revocare vicissim mensanimus sanguis sordida …”
Ten minutes later he took his place beside Narcissa for the ceremony.
“Is it done?” Narcissa whispered.
Lucius gave the slightest incline of his head.
“She’s going to know it was you.”
“She will never find out it was me, Narcissa. I could go back to Azkaban over this.”
Narcissa scoffed. “You’ve become soft in your old age, Lucius.”
“Absolutely no part of me is soft,” Lucius snorted. “Now hush, the ceremony is about to begin.”
Lucius watched as Draco and Hermione entered the sacred circle, kneeling before each other. They had chosen Luna Lovegood to perform the blessings, and to her credit, she didn’t falter when the Grangers appeared for the invocation of the ancestors, as if they had always been there.
Both his son and daughter-in-law turned, identical looks of shock on their faces. Though he kept his face neutral, Lucius was congratulating himself on his perfect timing. Neither Draco nor Hermione could leave the circle during the ceremony, which meant he could avoid any public displays of appreciation from the overly enthusiastic witch.
An hour later, he recognized the only flaw in his plan when Hermione asked for a dance.
“You know, I always thought Draco got his smirk from you, but apparently it’s a Black trait,” Hermione said, glancing from Narcissa to Lucius as he led her onto the dance floor. Lucius looked back at his wife, who was, indeed, trying to hide a smirk behind a glass of champagne.
“You are quite the dancer, Ms. Granger.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Hermione, please.”
“Ms. Granger,” he repeated.
“How about Ms. Granger-Malfoy?”
“Absolutely not! Who ever heard of a hyphenated pureblood.”
She was quiet for a few turns before she spoke again. “Thank you.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“I know what a risk it was. I cannot thank you enough.”
“You can thank me by not hugging me when this dance is over,” Lucius grumbled.
“One hug?”
“No.”
“But your arms are already around me, we’re practically hugging now.”
“ We are dancing ,” he ground out, trying hard to stay patient. “My arms are supporting you.”
“A pat on the head?”
“I’m not a child,” Lucius pouted.
“Are you sure?”
Lucius wanted to retort, but the song ended. He released her waist and bowed deeply. Before he could return to his wife, Hermione kissed him on the cheek.
“Thank you for giving my parents back to me,” she whispered, tears shining in her eyes.
Lucius swallowed down his own tears. “You gave my family back to me. It seemed only fair.”
He returned to Narcissa, holding a hand up in an unsuccessful attempt to stave off her commentary.
“That was quite the dance, Mr. Malfoy. Should your son and I be jealous?” she teased.
“I’ll never hear the end of this, will I?”
Narcissa deposited a kiss on his other cheek. “Didn’t I say you were getting soft?”
“Soft?” Lucius growled. “I’ll show you soft,” and they left the party behind.
Stage Four: Acceptance
Mere days before his grandchildren were expected to make their entrance, Lucius found Hermione tucked away in her favorite corner of the library.
“Hiding from Narcissa?”
She looked up from her stack of books, chagrined at being caught out. “She’s changing the nurseries, again.”
“Ah. Hermione —-”
“Hermione? You never call me Hermione. Are you ill?”
She placed a hand on his forehead, which he batted away. “I have to discuss a serious matter with you.”
He watched her carefully mark her place in the book before setting it aside. She turned to fully face him, giving him her full attention.
“You know the estate is entailed to a pureblooded heir of the Malfoy line,” he began.
“Yes. I know Draco has been working to find a loophole, but honestly, the estate was never the reason Draco and I got married. I love your son, whether he has all the gold in England or not.”
“I may have solved the entail. At least, temporarily.”
“What? When? How? I thought it couldn’t be changed?”
“Please allow me to explain fully before you call for the Aurors.” If she was concerned by the statement, she didn’t show it. “Your parents' memories could not be restored with white magic. The healers at Saint Mungo’s were right to say they couldn’t restore them. It required… it required blood magic to restore.” He waited, watching her reactions carefully. “I had to accept them as family to perform the spell.”
“I don’t follow.”
“In accepting your parents as family, I made them equals in the eyes of my ancestors. They’re purebloods, now. Members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Well, Twenty-Nine.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means your children will be the Malfoy heirs in every sense of the word, and you, Brightest Witch of Her Age, have a few more years to find a way to break the entail.”
“You did all that for me?”
“I admit I did it for Draco at first, but yes. I did it for you, and my grandchildren.”
“Oh, Lucius. I could kiss you!”
Lucius stepped back. “I’d really prefer you do not. But under the circumstances, I will allow you to hug me for four to five seconds.”
“Forty-five seconds!” Hermione was on her feet faster than Lucius imagined someone nine months pregnant with twins could be.
“No, I said four TO five seconds!” He said, trying to avoid crushing his grandchildren.
“Too late!”
Lucius resigned himself to her embrace, reluctant to admit it was rather pleasant, until the moment her stomach shuddered violently against him. “What was that?” He asked.
“The twins are just saying hello,” she said without letting go.
“Oh, well, hello twins.” A lifetime or two passed before Lucius spoke again. “Surely it’s been forty-five seconds.”
“Nope, there’s still twelve to go-oh!” She pushed him away, eyes wide as she stared at a small wet spot on the ground. “Lucius, call for the midwife, I think your grandchildren are going to make an appearance today.”
Lucius helped her to a chaise, calling for a house elf. Minky was the first to arrive, apparating straight away and returning with a midwife, Draco and Narcissa.
“Uh, Hermione. Before I take my leave, do you think, perhaps, could we continue our… do you think we could continue another day?”
Hermione laughed. “Yes, Lucius, we’ll continue another day. After all, you still owe me twelve seconds.”