The Magnificent Malfoy

[fantasium]

Title: The Magnificent Malfoy
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairings: Liam Connolly (OC, belongs to aiseiri_47), Siobhan Potter (nee Murphy, belongs to aiseiri_47), Harry Potter, Lucius Malfoy, Hermione Granger
Rating/Warnings: R/Sexual Situations, Possible Character Death
Word Count: 9,706
Author's Note: Was originally written for aiseiri_47, for the first annual SPEW Spooky Swap. The story includes multiple references to her favourite novel, The Great Gatsby.

______________________________________________

Part One - Liam

The Connollys had been a prominent and well-respected family of the Irish wizarding society for centuries. All the dark-haired men of the line had been polite but distant, and excellent at handling their gold. Over the decades a small but not insignificant fortune had grown, and while poverty and scandals had ruined other families, the wealth and reputation of the Connollys had remained undamaged. They continued to live as they always had, one son after another taking over the monetary affairs, all alike in character and appearance.

So, from the cloudless morning when Sharon McCabe Connolly gave life to a baby boy crowned with red curls, no one ever expected me to share the traits of the preceding Connollys. I know that I have been lucky. Greer Connolly could just as well have had me put out to the Augureys, especially after my mother was murdered by the man who had been her lover. But Greer kept me, and only ever showed the smallest signs of disappointment when I failed to show any real interest in finances and he survival of his blood. I had at least expected him to protest when I requested funding to go to England, but even that he had accepted with nothing but a prolonged sigh.

It was nice here. I had originally planned to share the place with someone I knew from the racing world, but he had changed his mind at the last minute. I did not mind at all. Sure, the house was situated in the countryside, quite a bit further away from the Salisbury racecourses than I had wished, but the land was beautiful and the neighbours scarce.

Four Granians occupied the stable, one of them my champion, two of them promising younglings and the fourth a favourite mare I could not bare to leave behind in Ireland. Never a great winner herself, Anna had given me four foals to be proud of, one of them the light stallion that was now stomping impatiently in his box, wanting to get out and spread his wings.

“Lóchrann, be still!”

My call seemed to calm him for the moment, so I returned to the pleasant duty of trying to make the garden look less like an overgrown jungle. On the other side of the wild flowerbed, Anna was walking loose like a pet dog, enjoying the rich grass of the lawn. She would pause now and then, carefully walk around the flowerbed borders to nudge my back with her muzzle or brush the tips of her wings against my face.

The days were mostly quiet here, and apart from occasionally missing the joyful banter of a local pub, I was content. I had the horses to keep me company, and the house had come with a wrinkled Finnish house-elf who made my bed and cooked my food while muttering Finnish wisdom to herself over the stove. It had not been a conscious choice, but I was glad to have ended up on the Western shore of the river Anon. Soon after moving in I had discovered just how much more fashionable the East side was, its estates attracting the very elite of the magical population of Southern England. My rented house was perhaps insignificant in comparison to most of them, but the grounds were large enough. I only had a view of one of my neighbour’s properties, but it made me wonder how the houses on the East shore could possibly be more extravagant. I had been told that it was a newly built, exact replica of some French mansion, with a tower on one side, and a marble swimming pool bordering to grounds many times more well-kept than the ones I was working on. The gossiping informant had also told me that the place belonged to a certain Mr Malfoy, a man whom I knew nothing about, apart from the fact that he must be very, very rich.

I looked up from the weeds and let my gaze travel over the invisible boundaries and onto his land. It was Friday, and various suppliers were already appearing in the drive of the Malfoy manor. I supposed that my neighbour must also be an appreciated host, with those weekly parties of his that attracted hordes of witches and wizards. I had never attended, but the festivities had still become a part of my weekends with music, laughter, and the clinking of champagne glasses travelling through the scented air on Friday or Saturday nights. I had sometimes toyed with the idea of making appearance, invitation or no invitation, but social gatherings were really not my thing. Besides, I already had plans for this evening.

Part Two - Dinner

The golden light of the late afternoon set sparks to Anna’s mane as we flew over the river. The elegant palaces of the East shore glittered from the same light, and I narrowed my eyes in an attempt to make out the one belonging to the Potter family, where I was expected to dinner. Harry Potter was a famous man, known for his accomplishments in the war, but also for a most outstanding Quidditch career. We had met a few years ago in the Granian trade when he had bought a lovely but heavily overpriced mare named Clarimonde. His wife, Siobhan, was actually my half sister, daughter of the man who had both seduced and killed my mother. I remembered that we had been close as children, but lost all contact after she had been forced to move away from Ireland. As I leaned forward slightly to make my horse speed up, I realised that I was flying over the Anon river to see two old friends whom I scarcely knew at all.

We landed in the drive, and a stable boy stood at the ready before I had even dismounted. I handed him the reins with some directions, not really willing to let her go with a complete stranger, but also aware that I would make a mess of myself if I tried to tend to her in formal robes.

Looking around, I had to admit that Potter had quite the place here. The view over the river was astounding, the stables newly painted, and the house itself in mint condition. The owner himself was now descending the stone staircase, and I found that Harry Potter had changed since we last met. I couldn’t imagine that he had ever been a man of impressive frame, but the abandoned Quidditch years had left him with a confident posture. Witch or wizard could not let their gaze sweep past his peculiar irises, but they seemed dull, less lively, than when last I looked upon them. Marriage must not agree with him, I thought.

“Connolly!” he greeted, right hand reaching out as if to capture a Snitch.

“Harry,” I nodded, meeting him in a handshake on a step half-way up the staircase.

He led the way back up to the porch, silent for the moment. A house-elf brought us glasses with cold Firewhisky, but jumped in fright and scurried off as I thanked it. Harry seemed not to notice, but took a sip from his glass.

“So, Liam. Remind me why you’ve come to England?”

“The races,” I explained and tipped the contents of my own glass into my mouth. “I have two young Granians I want made up as champions, and Lóchrann, my stallion, is wanted for stud at several breeders’.”

“I must remember to show you some of my new horses later.”

“Racing lines or show ones?” I asked, honestly interested when the subject was Granians.

“Eh… Both. Bit of both, yeah.”

I nodded. I supposed that a man of Mr Potter’s fortunes must spend his money on something. It was just a pity that his interest in such expensive horses wasn’t more genuine.

“Come on,” he said and placed an empty glass on the banister. “It’s boiling out here, and the ladies are probably wondering where we have gotten to.”

It was indeed cooler indoors, and a gentle breeze made its way through the rooms. We walked through a high hallway and ended up in a circular room with French windows leading out to a balcony. The place was sparingly decorated, and the biggest piece of furniture was a long couch upon which two women were leaned back. I recognised the red-haired one as Siobhan, even though she had changed vastly since our days together in Ireland. Her dress was pale green, and her face oddly expressionless. I glanced at her friend, a woman unknown to me, and met a steady brown stare.

“Have a seat, Connolly,” Harry said and gestured towards a chair. “Honey, you recognise Liam, don’t you?” he asked Siobhan.

She looked up, as if she had been distracted by her own thoughts, and silently inspected me. There was a frightening emptiness about her eyes. Automatically, I began to search them for the little girl I had once known, the adventurous creature who had led me into so much trouble. But as the minutes passed I had to accept that I could not find her; all that seemed to remain of my half sister was a shell, a person behind a mask of indifference, emotions so well-hidden that they seemed not to exist.

“Hi Siobhan,” I said, trying to smile.

She nodded.

Harry, clearly uncomfortable with his wife’s deviant behaviour, turned his attention to the other woman.

“Liam, this is Hermione Granger, a friend of ours. I bet you have heard of her.”

I wished that I had, but even though her name sounded vaguely familiar I knew for sure that I had never seen her face before. I would have remembered it.

“Don’t be silly, Harry,” she spoke in a clear voice. “I’m not famous like you, thank Merlin. But,” she added and leaned forward, hand outstretched, “it is a pleasure to meet you nonetheless, Mr Connolly.”

I took hold of her hand - a practical hand, I found - with both of my own, and placed a kiss upon it, instead of the dry handshake that was the custom of these days. Releasing it, I thought I saw a faint blush on her cheeks, but it was gone before I could say for sure.

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Granger,” I assured her.

“Don’t let her fool you,” Harry continued, seeming glad to have some kind of conversation going. “Hermione’s worked for the liberation of house-elves and other unprivileged beasts all of her life, and one of her most important bills was passed by the Wizengamot just last month. Every Brit with a house-elf has got something to say about it.”

“Gosh, Harry, I had no idea you actually know what I work with,” Hermione said over the top of her glass, but her eyes were twinkling. She was obviously pleased with her own achievements.

Harry urged her to tell us more about her job, but from the restless flickering of his eyes I gathered that he was more afraid of silence than actually interested in what she was saying. I only half-listened, not because her work wasn’t admirable or her voice not pleasant, but because I was distracted by Siobhan’s stillness. I could not stop wondering what had happened to her. Why was she trapped within herself like this?

A warm wind swept through the room, but I shivered. Something was off. There was something wrong with this house, this family. Some diffuse foreboding grabbed hold of me, and I swallowed. Nothing seemed more tempting at that moment than to run to the stables, find my horse and flee the place altogether, but of course I could not do that.

“Mr Connolly?” The voice of the brown-eyed woman pulled me out of my reveries.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that?”

“You don’t have a house-elf, do you?”

Caught unawares, I didn’t even consider not telling the truth. “Yes, as a matter of fact I do. This house I’m renting, it came with one. She refused to move when her old family died, apparently.”

“And are you being a good master?” she asked, one eyebrow raised.

“I like to think so. She’s certainly not over-worked.”

“No intentions of setting her free, then?”

Her questions were pressing, and such frankness in a woman was new to me, but I had to admit I liked it. She was a challenge. I thought for a moment before replying.

“Your work is fascinating, Miss Granger, but I must say that I don’t agree with all of it. House-elves should be treated well, certainly, but that also means not setting them free unless they want to themselves.”

“They don’t know that they want to be free. For countless generations they have been brainwashed to believe that working for wizards is the only thing they can do.”

“Perhaps we must allow a few generations before they can be free again, then?”

“It’s exactly that attitude that worries me, Mr Connolly. In a few generations of house-elves, I won’t be here anymore. Who knows if there will be someone to replace me? No. This must happen now.”

“But -”

“Oh, that’s the dinner bell!” Harry interrupted us and stood up.

He looked nervous, and I wondered if he had been worrying that our little argument would turn into a serious disagreement. Wordlessly assuring him that wasn’t the case I offered my arm to Miss Granger, but she declined with a slight shake of her head and walked over to Siobhan. It surprised me to see that they were actually conversing, even if all I heard from the red-headed woman was a low mumbling.

Harry led the way into a dining room. While very impressive, it was clearly just for smaller parties. I was directed to the seat next to Miss Granger, across the table from my half sister. Two house-elves entered with trays as soon as we were seated, and the woman beside me cleared her throat.

“Free!” Harry promised her at once and held up a hand.

“Both of them?”

“Free as Snidgets, and better paid than you when you joined the Ministry.”

With a small snort, she scooped up her first spoonful of soup. On the other side of the table, the Potters copied her. It was a lovely dish, but I couldn’t focus on the meal and my thoughts were soon wandering again. Harry and Siobhan were supposed to be enjoying their best years now, financially secure but still young. There ought to be children making noise and taking up space in this house, but it was quiet and empty. They were married; shouldn’t they be crazy about one another, be two halves of something whole? I had never considered marriage for myself, and I despised the old tradition of forced marriage or marriage just for the sake of it, but both Siobhan and Harry had been free to choose for their own partner, and I had never even imagined that they wouldn’t be happy. I was still perplexed as the servants reappeared and cleared our plates for the next dish: deer with a sauce of red wine. It was excellent, and we were just finishing up when yet another elf entered. It bowed to Harry.

“Floo call for you, Sir,” it squeaked.

“You can call me Harry,” our host said kindly to the creature, probably because Miss Granger’s eyes were on him, I guessed. He turned to us and excused himself: “I’m sorry, but I really must take this, it’ll be my contact at Gringotts.”

“You can never be too mindful of your gold,” I nodded, quoting one of Greer’s favourite lines.

“Funny,” Miss Granger said when Harry had left the room, “you didn’t strike me as the kind of man who cares too much about riches.”

“And you were right. I left the family business in Ireland to come here and enjoy life with my horses.”

“Horses?”

“Racehorses. Granians,” I explained. “They’re not as popular in Ireland and there are almost no competitions.”

“I thought all the races started from Salisbury Plain?” she asked, and surprised me by being so well-informed. “Why would you live all the way out here?”

“It just happened. And it’s a nice neighbourhood. Not a lot of people.”

“Especially not on the other side of the river,” she smiled.

“Especially not there,” I agreed, grinning in response. “And my closest neighbour is mostly inconspicuous, although he hosts some lively parties most weekends.”

“Yes, I think I’ve been to a couple of them,” Miss Granger said.

“You have?” I had not put her down as a woman who frequented all-night parties.

“Yes, assuming the place we’re talking about is the Malfoy Manor.”

The two of us jumped slightly then, startled by the noise of Siobhan’s fork falling onto her china plate.

“Excuse me,” she mumbled, gathered her skirts and was gone from the room before I had a chance to ask what had upset her. I looked at Miss Granger with the question on the tip of my tongue. She sighed.

“I don’t blame her.”

“What? Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no. She’s just…” Miss Granger hesitated for a moment. “Well, they say that Harry has got some woman in London.”

“Who says so?” I had to ask, not usually interested in gossip but unable to believe that about Potter without some proof.

“Everyone. He’s not being all too discrete about it.”

“So Siobhan knows?” I wondered, still not sure why I cared.

“She knows. Everyone knows.”

“Is that why she’s all…?”

The woman next to me shook her head. “No. She’s been like that for as long as I’ve known her. She warms up a bit when it’s just the two of us, but mostly she keeps to herself. That’s probably what drove Harry away in the first place. He used to be crazy about her.”

“Odd…” I mumbled, and she nodded.

“Sorry about that!”

It was Harry who returned, and we both looked up at him. I thought he seemed a bit calmer, or at least he did until he spotted his wife’s empty chair.

“Now, where did Siobhan disappear to?”

“The bathroom,” Miss Granger lied smoothly. “I don’t think she was feeling well.”

“Oh,” said Potter, real concern passing over his features before he sat back down. “Well, all the more treacle tart for us then!”

“Treacle tart, Harry?” she chuckled. “This dress is stretched to its limit as it is, and I want to go and check on Siobhan.”

“Are you sure? It’s delicious.”

“I’m sure. But the two of you must have some,” she insisted and got up from her chair. “Thank you for a lovely dinner, Harry. And it was lovely to make your acquaintance, Mr Connolly. I hope we meet again.”

I caught her hand as she made to escape the room, and placed another kiss upon it. She kept quite still, as if half wanting to stay.

“I’ll make sure we do, Miss Granger.”

This time I was sure - there was definitely a blush on her face, turning the confident ministry witch into a fragile maiden; fair game for an Irish horse master.

I turned to Potter after she had left. “I really ought to be on my way. I have an early start at the course tomorrow morning.”

“Everyone’s turning down the treacle tart tonight! But you must let me show you my new horses, since we’re heading for the stables anyway.”

“Sure thing,” I nodded. “And tell your house-elves the deer was really good.”

The sun was just disappearing behind the woods as we walked down the stone steps. It was pleasantly cool now, and I couldn’t wait to be back in the saddle of my favourite horse, evening air whipping against my face.

“…so I’m having a new air vault put up over the western field in a week or so,” Harry’s voice reached me. “And as far as I know, I’m the only wizard in Britain who has had his garages turned into stables!”

He told me that he had a few young wizards working with his horses, all of them with an “Outstanding” Care of Magical Creatures NEWT. I didn’t ask how many horses he must have to keep more than two men so busy, but it was sure to be a fair few. One of his employees was already preparing Anna as we entered the brand new building, and I had to give it to the stable boys: she seemed to be very well looked after.

It was all a depressing sight for a horse trainer. Twenty horses, at least, that could have been potential champions under my hand, but were now only ridden sparingly when their owner felt like it. These noble creatures ought to roam the skies every day, not just once over the weekend. We came to a halt outside Clarimonde’s box; I recognised the horse although it had been a few years, and concluded that all her changes had been for the better. Her wingspan must be wider than any mare I had ever owned, and I needed not to measure her longest feathers to know she could have been a winner. But when Harry opened the door and slipped inside, I realised to my surprise that he was honestly fond of this Granian. He stroked her steel grey neck, pulled fingers through her silver mane. The mare rested her muzzle on his shoulder, and I was moved by her trust in this human.

“She really is a lovely mare, Harry.”

“I know. I’ll never own another horse like her.”

Something was different about his voice, and I did a double-take after first spotting his expression of sadness and loneliness. Weary already of the company of the Potter house, all I wanted was to be on my way, but I couldn’t just ignore his desperation. But before I had a chance to even ask, he spoke in a tired tone.

“You have probably heard rumours about my being involved with a woman,” he sighed.

“Well, actually -”

“It’s true,” he cut off my sentence. “It’s true, and you must be wondering why I’m confessing to you of all people, Siobhan’s brother.”

“Look, Harry, I really don’t care.”

“You don’t? Everyone else does. I do too, but I can’t help myself.”

“Who is she then?” I asked, not knowing if it was an appropriate or expected question.

His nervous hands stilled on the horse’s withers. A wrinkle vanished from his forehead, and there was a hint of a smile in his eyes.

“She’s Katie. Katie Wood, the woman I ought to have married.”

I didn’t know why, but for some reason his words struck a brotherly chord inside me, awoke some forgotten protectiveness of my sister. But that sister, I knew, was gone, so there really was no reason for me to be bothered.

“Why don’t you?” I inquired, surprised at the suggestion of anger in my own voice. “Why don’t you get a divorce and marry this Katie?”

“I can’t. She’s married too, to Wood, that man with the Quality Quidditch Supplies shop in Diagon Alley.”

I really had no idea what to do with this information he so carelessly heaped upon me. Yes, I was wondering why he’d picked me to keep these secrets.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I really must be going.”

He nodded, and looked away. But just as I was about to leave the box and go to fetch my horse, his miserable words reached me once more.

“You don’t know what it’s like, do you?”

“What?”

“Every moment,” he began, pausing to fix his strange, green eyes on me, “every moment I’m not with Katie is like torture.”

“I guess you must find a way to be with her always then.”

“I can’t,” he shook his head. “I could never do that to Siobhan.”

“Siobhan? I can’t see how she could ever be worse than she is now.”

“I - What do you mean?”

But I had had enough for one evening. “I’m leaving now, Harry. Thanks for the dinner, and good night.”

“Good night, Connolly,” he murmured as I left him in the shadows with his horse.

Anna’s reins were ready for me, and after thanking the stable boy I led her quickly over the courtyard and through the gates, intending to warm her up along the road before taking off. My breathing eased as the tense atmosphere was replaced by the ease of the evening. Anna, probably high on sugar, was happily playing with her bit, creating some merry accompaniment to the sound of her hooves against the road. I stroked her wings, unnecessarily assuring her that she was the best Granian there ever was, all of Potter’s horses included. She was relaxed, enjoying the nightly outing, and her mood calmed me down. When she all of a sudden threw herself to the right, frightened by something on the side of the road, I wasn’t prepared at all.

“Easy, girl!” I called at her, trying my best not to fall off and embarrass myself.

A blue jet of light was fired through the darkness of dusk, and I recognised it even in my awkward position as a Calming Charm. The caster obviously knew what they were doing, because Anna was back on her four feet at once.

“Who’s there?” I asked.

“Forgive me. I did not mean to frighten your horse.”

A man stepped into my view in the light of his own Lumos. He was older than me, and was wearing black robes that made his blond hair stand out.

“That’s all right. No harm done.”

“I’ll continue my stroll then,” he nodded his head to one side. “Good night.”

“Night,” I replied, and he put his wand out with a soft “Nox!”

What an odd place to go for a walk, I thought as Anna resumed her trotting.

Part Three - A Party

A piece of parchment was rolled up in my hand as I made my way over the lawn. The evening was cool and clear, and I was wearing uncomfortable flannel robes that were supposed to be in fashion and very becoming. The invitation I was carrying had arrived most unexpectedly from the hand of a human servant. After breaking the green seal I had found a surprisingly formal message: the honour would be entirely Malfoy’s, it said, if I would attend his ‘little party’ that night. He had seen me several times (odd, I thought, as I had never spotted him), and had intended to call on me long before, but a peculiar combination of circumstances had prevented it - signed Lucius Malfoy, in a majestic hand.

I didn’t know why I had accepted, and it did not become any clearer to me as I made my way through flocks of witches and wizards I didn’t recognise. I asked for our host a few times, but all of my fellow guests simply stared at me, as if I were mad for thinking they would know anything about his whereabouts. Frustrated, I headed for the bar, feeling that a drink was just what I needed.

Single drinks were apparently not served at Malfoy’s gatherings, and as I accepted one after another I began to think that perhaps this man did know how to throw a party. There were enough coloured lights for the garden and house to pass for a Christmas tree, and a full orchestra to entertain the visitors. I was not the only person being well served by the bar, and endless old bottles of elfish wine and goblin mead were being drained. The air was alive with chatter and laughter, and casual suggestions and introductions forgotten all at once, and excited conversations between witches who never knew each other’s names.

As the evening grew darker it seemed to matter less and less that I had arrived not knowing a soul, and I heard myself joining in the laughter, honestly not knowing what was so hilarious but willing for once to follow the lead of others. In the wild conversations I found that I was one of very few guests actually invited, and that the others had just appeared, having heard about the party, and about Malfoy’s extraordinary hospitality, from some friend of a friend.

I may well have ended up roaring drunk and beyond my own rescue, if it hadn’t been that Hermione Granger had suddenly appeared at the head of the marble staircase, looking over the party area. Manners mostly forgotten, I called out to her as I pushed towards her through the crowds.

“Miss Granger!”

She walked gracefully down the steps and met me at the bottom of them, allowing me to take a gentle hold of her hand.

“I thought you might be here,” she said, “with your living next door to Mr Malfoy and all.”

I nodded, and luckily she seemed to deem my current lack of conversational skills charming, as opposed to terribly annoying.

“Why don’t you come and join my party? We could do with a bit of livening up.”

Another nod, and still holding her hand I let her guide me. Her party, quite lively already I thought, consisted of some married couples, a few younger women and Miss Granger’s escort; a self-centred Quidditch professional introduced as McLaggen. We took our seats just as supper was served, and soon I had sobered up enough to pay attention to the ongoing conversation.

“Do all of you come to these parties often?” one young woman asked. “This is only my second time, and I think it’s for you too, isn’t it, Lucille?”

Her red-haired friend nodded excitedly. “I like it here. I mean, I don’t care much what I do, because I always have a good time in any case. But, you know, last time I was here I tore my dress on a chair, and he asked for my name and address. Less than a week later I got a package from Madam Malkin’s with a new evening gown in it.”

“Did you keep it?” Miss Granger asked, with a hint of disapproval to her voice.

“Sure I did,” the woman called Lucille answered. “I was going to wear it tonight, but it wasn’t quite the right size and I’ll have to have it altered first. But it’s blue with lavender beads and by the feel of it, very expensive.”

“There’s something not quite right about a man who does something like that,” said one of the married women sceptically. “It seems that he is very keen not to make trouble with anybody.”

“Who is?” I had to ask, not quite following.

“Malfoy,” a third young lady replied to me. “In fact, someone told me -”

She lowered her voice, and all of us had to lean in over the table to catch her words.

“Someone told me that he killed a man once.”

Normally I would have written that off as sheer nonsense, but now the same thrill passed over me as over the rest of the party. Who was this Malfoy man, really?

“I don’t think so much of that,” Lucille waved her hand at us. “It’s more that he associated with Death Eaters back during the war. I’ve even heard rumours that he was one.”

“Oh no,” protested the first young woman. “That can’t be, because he fought for the Ministry during the war; that’s where he got all of his gold from.”

One of the married men interrupted them: “You make sure to look at him carefully when he thinks no one is watching him. I bet he murdered someone; you can see it in his face.”

The grown man shivered, and so did the rest of the party. As if rehearsed, we all turned and looked around for Malfoy at the same moment. It was interesting, I thought, that in the midst of this wild revelry there was still one subject worth shivering and whispering about - the mysterious Mr Malfoy.

The male part of the conversation now turned to politics, and the female to fashion. Neither of the subjects interested me, so I was glad when Miss Granger whispered to me some fifteen minutes later:

“Let’s leave. This is much too boring for me.”

We got up, and she explained that we were going to find the host. I had never met him, she said, and it was making me uneasy. How she knew this I never learned, but McLaggen managed to forget about his ego long enough to nod at us in a cynical way, and we took off. We went through the house and the gardens in search of Mr Malfoy for some time, but in the end it was him who found us, in a way.

A wizard servant, identified as such by his uniform, bowed to us.

“Miss Granger?” he inquired. “I beg your pardon, but Mr Malfoy would like to speak to you alone.”

“With me?” she exclaimed in surprise.

“Yes, Madame.”

She let go of my arm slowly, raising her eyebrows at me in astonishment, and followed the servant toward the house.

A little lost, I wondered whether I should perhaps return to Miss Granger’s friends. But then I remembered the tedious bragging of McLaggen’s, and decided that it would be wiser just to mingle. The dance was in full swing now, and I stood looking at old men pushing young girls backwards in eternal graceless circles, and superior couples holding each other tortuously, fashionably. Suddenly, somewhere in the gap between being sober and drunk, I came to wonder who all of these people were, and why they had come here. No one seemed to be a close acquaintance of Malfoy’s, and no one seemed really to know themselves either. It was not just the beverages, but a sense of confusion and distance infected the air. For a moment I felt as though we were all pieces on some invisible chessboard, moving along according to a player’s plan without any will of our own. I almost scared myself with such philosophy, and decided that it was time for another goblet of mead.

The area around the bar was less crowded now, and after hanging around for about half an hour I nearly bumped into a man. I excused myself, and he looked at me and smiled.

“Your face is familiar,” he said politely. “Where could we have met before?”

It took me a moment to place the gentleman, but in the end it was his light hair who caused the knut to drop.

“Didn’t we meet over at the western shore, some weeks ago?” I asked.

“That’s it, my friend!” he nodded. “You’re the fellow with the winged horse. Spectacular creatures, aren’t they?”

We talked about Granians for a bit, him admitting he had never been a great horse person but that he was still fascinated by their performance. As we ran out of things to exchange opinions on, we both looked over the sea of party guests still in motion. I turned again to my new acquaintance after a little while.

“This is an unusual party for me. I haven’t even seen the host. I live over there,” I paused to wave my hand in the general direction of my house, “and this man Malfoy sent over his servant with an invitation.”

For a moment, the man looked at me as though I had been speaking Parseltongue.

“I’m Malfoy,” he said suddenly.

“What!” I exclaimed. “I beg your pardon, Mr Malfoy, I had no idea.”

“Oh, I thought you knew, my friend. I’m afraid I’m not the best of hosts.”

I was just about to disagree on this, when Miss Granger reappeared.

“I see that you found Mr Malfoy in the end, Mr Connolly.”

I nodded in response, still a bit embarrassed about not recognising the host. But Malfoy seemed not to be bothered, bu was looking at the two of us.

“Did I steal your lady of the evening, my friend?” he asked me. “If that was the case, please forgive me.”

“Don’t worry, Mr Malfoy, you didn’t steal me,” Miss Granger assured him.

“Actually,” I pointed out before I really knew what I was saying, “if depriving me of her lovely company is the same as stealing her, then I’m afraid you did.”

Malfoy laughed at that. “Well, my friend, here she is, all in one stunning piece. Enjoy the rest of your evening together.” He smiled pleasantly and drifted off. Hermione Granger, hands on her hips, turned to face me.

“I didn’t know that I was yours to steal?”

“Well, now you know.”

Laughing at my boldness she latched on to my arm again, and together we melted back into the ever-moving Saturday night.

Part Four - A Conversation

I woke up from the sunlight, knowing at once that it was early, and was about to drift back to sleep when the soft turning of a page disturbed me. Rolling over in the bright landscape of crumpled bedclothes, I saw her body, by now a familiar sight to me. She had her back leaned against the headboard, a white sheet wrapped around her naked body and a book perched on her lap. She didn’t know she was being watched; her hair unbound and wild, beautiful against all logic.

“Do you always bring a book when spending the night with a man?”

A small smile came to her face at once, but she finished reading the sentence before looking up.

“Of course I don’t. That would be terribly rude. I conjured it to have something to do while waiting for you to wake up.”

“Some women would have been content with watching me sleeping.”

“Well, I suppose that’s why some women never seem to learn anything.”

Hermione carefully placed a leather bookmark on the page before her, closed the book and reached for her wand on the bedside table. She let go of the sheet to grasp the wand, and more of her skin came into my view as she vanished the volume. Not bothering to pull the cover back into place, she stretched instead and grabbed hold of the top of the headboard with her hand. The movement reminded me of something from the previous night and a small jolt shot through my stomach. Was she aware of the reaction she caused, was it deliberate, or had she no idea of how desirable her body was?

“I promised someone I’d talk to you about something, on his behalf…”

“Mhm?”

She said something, I heard the name of my neighbour mentioned, but how was I to concentrate on that when she had reached up to pull a hand through her hair, shifting the sheet further and fully revealing both of her breasts? I knew the feel of her skin, and perhaps I was on my way to confirm this to myself, I don’t know, but when she mentioned my name I realised that I had moved closer.

“Liam? Did you even hear what I said?”

Maybe I hadn’t, but her scolding seemed very mild when accompanied by her chest movements as she kindly chuckled at me. Her hand found my hair, combed through what must have been a mess of curls, to finally grab hold of it and turn my face upwards to face her brown eyes.

“As I was saying, Lucius Malfoy most politely asked me to ask you for a favour.”

“Malfoy?”

Hermione nodded, gently massaging my head for a moment, as if pondering on how to put her words.

“Why hasn’t he asked me himself?”

“I don’t know… Perhaps he thought he had a better chance of a positive response if the question came from someone you know a bit better. He’s… I think he can be very cunning in that way.”

“So, what does he want?”

I was listening this time, but also let my left hand find her stomach, allowing my fingers to circle around her navel, to find that confirmation which said yes, I knew the feel of her skin.

“He wants to meet Siobhan. Here. And Harry mustn’t find out about it.”

My fingers halted their motion. “Why would he want that?” I asked and looked up at her anew.

She raised an eyebrow at me, as if asking me not to be daft. It wasn’t a difficult equation to solve even for a simple horseman, but I was puzzled about what reasons Malfoy could have.

“Why would he be interested in her? He must be more than twice her age?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. But it seemed as though he genuinely cares about her.”

I waited for something to appear inside me, something that would tell me it would be wrong to set up a meeting between my younger sister and a man I didn’t really know anything about. But nothing felt wrong. She was not my sister, but an empty person. In fact, the only time I had seen an honest reaction from her was the first time Lucius Malfoy was mentioned. Perhaps this could even be good for her?

“I suppose I could arrange something…”

“Talk to Malfoy. I think he’ll have the details all sorted out.”

I was unable to stop a small roll of my eyes as I let my hand journey again, this time finding a path up to her breast.

“Why must everything be so complicated with these people? Why can’t a wizard and a witch just be together without sneaking around and involving the rest of the world?”

Without replying at once, Hermione let her body slide down and stretch out next to mine. She placed my fingertips on her lips, and I rather felt than heard her answer.

“Well, I suppose that some people just aren’t that fortunate.”

Part Five - Tea

For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why I had agreed to this. I had my back turned at the pair of them now, looking over my garden through the window, almost making out the marks on the lawn where Malfoy had restlessly paced over an hour before her arrival. Turning back to face the room, I tried to think of another subject for striking up a conversation. However, conversation for the sake of conversation had never been my area of expertise, so I joined in the silence and sat back down at the tea-table.

Awkwardness was too weak a word for it. There was a tension in the air one could have sliced with a blunt blade, and my half sister kept her gaze steadily fixed on the cup she held in her lap. She was dressed in formal, green robes, and had not taken off her silk gloves after sitting down. Her hair was pulled back and arranged with emerald-headed hairpins in a fashion that made her look stiffer yet. Once more, I found it hard to understand how a person once so alive and sparkling could turn into the lifeless marionette that sat before me. I felt a reckless urge to shake her, to point my wand at her, to hit her over the head with a cushion - anything to make her react, to open her eyes again.

But as I glanced to the right, I realised it wasn’t my job to do. Malfoy, whom I had thought of as collected, charming, present - the perfect host - was now speechless. His look was as firmly plastered on Siobhan as hers was on the cup, and something indescribable had come over his features. It was clear that something unspoken lay between them, something they needed to overcome before anything else could happen. I felt entirely superfluous, but I couldn’t simply stand up and walk out. Stupid rules of society and manners! This was the very reason it was wisest to stay away from too much human interaction; there were always going to be complications.

I picked up my plate to finish the slice of cake. It was some Italian sweet my neighbour had insisted on bringing. My house-elf would be disappointed to see her sponge cake untouched, but I had to admit this wasn’t bad for foreign food. It certainly tasted better than it had looked to me at first. My spoon scraped against the china plate, and I saw how Siobhan winced slightly at the sharp sound. Stopping in mid-sigh, I wondered how I would be able to escape this prison of silence.

As it was, rescue came to me some five minutes later in the shape of a wrinkled little creature.

“I is begging your pardons, Mister Sir,” she said and curtseyed.

“What is the matter?” I wondered, desperately hoping my attention was needed somewhere else.

“A man waits for Mister Sir at his stable.”

“A man? He didn’t introduce himself?”

“No, Mister Sir. No names. But he is dressed for horse-work.”

I could have kissed the little elf and set her free at once, but instead I hastened to get up.

“Will you excuse me, Mr Malfoy? Siobhan? I really must see who this man is.”

“Of course you must, my friend,” Lucius Malfoy answered me.

Not expecting an answer from Siobhan, I needed no further encouragement to escape from their lives.

Part Six - A Change of Perspective

The door closed behind Liam. Silence was absolute. Neither of them dared at first to even shift their position, to say a word. Siobhan Potter sat with a straight back, and wondered what she felt.

Nothing.

Nothing, that was the only answer she could find. With a surprisingly steady hand, she lifted the cup and saucer out of her lap, and placed them on the table. His gaze was on her again; she could feel it. But a few more endless minutes passed before he spoke.

“Will you not even look at me?”

She did look then. Lifted her chin, her face, her eyes, until she was looking at him. He was the same, and still she felt nothing.

Lucius met her eyes, and held back a small gasp of shock. In a faraway past, they had had disagreements, they had argued. They had enjoyed each other, with a passion he had never experienced before or after. He thought he had known all aspects of her, but now she proved him wrong. He had no way of handling her empty stare, her lack of response.

“Siobhan…” he hesitated. “Your silence will be the death of me.”

It was relief she felt as something loosened a little inside her.

“My silence? Kill you?”

She would have taken the words back if she could. But she had spoken before she could remember the promise she had made to herself - to never let him know how much he had hurt. A curse flew through her mind, surprising her. Was she upset with herself?

“I didn’t have a choice. You know that.”

“You don’t need to defend yourself. I was not accusing you of anything, but merely pointing out the irony in your statement.”

She felt thrilled as she heard her own response. It had been almost automatic, as if it she had thought it up back then, when he first left, and rehearsed it daily ever since, waiting for this moment.

“You married Potter.”

“I did. He was by far the best wizard available.”

They were staring at each other again. But now, Lucius noted with satisfaction and slight uneasiness, she was returning. Perhaps it would have been better to stay quiet, but he was not in a state to master his words.

“And are you happy?”

“Happy as I ever expected to be in this life.” Again, a sharp reply, straight from some source forgotten.

“I will take that as a ‘no’.”

“Take it as whatever you want, Mr Malfoy.”

“Lucius,” he said, softly, almost mumbling.

“I know your name,” Siobhan frowned.

“It would please me greatly if you would care to use it.”

“And what makes you think that I would be willing to please you?”

She was back. She had cast away her mask at last, and her unleashed temper was now focused on nothing but him. Lucius was not afraid, but a small smirk tugged on the corners of his mouth. This was his Siobhan, and he knew how to respond. With a smooth motion he pulled out his wand and pointed it at the door.

“Locohomora.”

A sharp click!, as if from a lock much too large for the door, was heard. Sliding the wand back into the folds of his robes, he slowly turned to face her.

“You always used to be, Siobhan.”

“Well, times change.”

“Do they?”

It wasn’t far to cross the room. It wasn’t difficult to place his hands on her green robes. She didn’t move, but didn’t push him away either. He let his fingertips press ever so slightly against her, and breathed in her scent. What was that? A shiver?

“You still want me,” he stated.

Siobhan shook her head before speaking, casting emerald reflections on the walls.

“No. Don’t fool yourself and think that I’ve been longing for you, Mr Malfoy.”

She paused and he waited, refusing to believe she would reject him.

“I do not still want you. But I’m going to have you, again.”

Nothing remained to be said. Lucius’ touch softened, and his hand left Siobhan’s waist in favour of her neck. With her gloves still on, it was the only skin he could reach, and he showed that he knew how to make the most of it. He forced her chin upwards without too much objection from her part, and stroked his thumb across her lips before kissing her.

Siobhan closed her eyes, forcing hot tears to remain unshed. Her mind was growing numb again; not from lack of feeling, but because desire was taking over as Lucius’ kisses grew more demanding. Perhaps she had not been missing him in her thoughts - she was never to know that, she had become too accomplished at lying to herself. But her lips, her hands, her trembling thighs, were silently shouting out the agony they had lived through without his touch.

His hands searched higher yet, wanting to gently tug at red curls. She opened her eyes just as he sharply pulled back, gasping from pain. A hairpin had pierced his thumb and a trickle of blood ran from the cut, glistening red; redder than the velvet curtains, redder than her hair. Without speaking, she pulled off her gloves, dropped them to the floor and leaned closer to reach within his robes. Siobhan knew the folds and pockets, and where he kept his wand. The rowan wood was cool against her fingertips, but seemed to grow warm of recognition as she grasped it.

“Episkey.”

The tiny wound healed, and his blood faded until gone altogether. She looked up, and found him wearing an unfamiliar expression. Untroubled, he left the wand in her possession, and pulled out a silvery pin from her hair. It fell onto the table with a distinct sound, soon followed by another, and then another. Locks brushed against her face as he worked, tickling, taunting. For each emerald pin he removed, she felt herself unfastened, herself released, falling; not onto a table but against his frame, into lust and heat.

He moved back a few steps, pulling her with him, and landed in the armchair Liam had just occupied. Not really aware of her own actions, Siobhan straddled him there, and leaned in to be kissed again. He willingly obliged, and she gasped into his mouth as she felt his erection through the many layers of robes. His hands found the buttons on her back without guidance, there undoing the diligent work of her house-elf. Siobhan’s world spun, and she wondered how she had managed to live for so long without this.

She realised that her hand was still holding the wood, and impatient from endless years of waiting she focused on a spell that had not been on her mind since they last met. Wordlessly, with his own wand, she undressed him where he sat beneath her. He let go of the upper part of her robe, smirking.

“Well remembered.”

“Well taught,” she countered.

She let go of the wand and focused on the sensation of being undressed by the man who had haunted her dreams for years; the dreams that she was never able to grasp, the dreams that always escaped her just before she opened her eyes in the morning. But this was no dream, it was real, and Lucius Malfoy, not for a moment embarrassed in his nakedness, slowly removed garment after garment, taking immense pleasure in the task.

He saw subtle changes in her physique, and ached to explore them all, to once again know all of her. His hands roamed over the fair, freckled skin, and he was pleased to hear her breathing quicken. Lucius kissed her shoulders, her chest, slid a searching finger down between her thighs to find that she needed no extra attention there. She gasped at his touch, and tried to climb on top of him. But he held her back, fixed her with an iron stare.

“Say it,” he demanded.

“Say what?” she breathed in frustration.

“My name. It would please me greatly.”

“Lucius bloody Malfoy,” Siobhan muttered, pressing sharp fingernails into his upper arms. “Stop being an idiot and let me -”

And he let her. Let her, and lifted her. She sank down on him, around him, and clenched her teeth at the feel of his almost-forgotten size inside her. He noticed, and held steady hands on her hips to keep her from moving at first, while his tongue travelled from her mouth to her neck to her breast, and then back again. As she lost herself in kisses, he began to move her gently back and forth. His hands stroked her back, massaged all the distant corners of her body they could reach. When she started to move harder, deeper, on her own accord he did not stop her, but ran his fingers through her hair and tugged hard enough to let her know how good it felt to be inside her. She whimpered at that, and leaned in closer to feel more of his skin against her own. Lucius reached out and embraced her, surprising her with such an affectionate gesture. Siobhan leaned her chin against his shoulder, allowing herself to feel safe in his arms. He blew warm breath against her ear, pushing back a stray strand of hair before whispering to her.

“My love, how I have missed you.”

Then, as if afraid she’d think he had grown soft and mushy over their years of separation, he proved the contrary by spreading his fingers over her hips, forcing them into her flesh until it almost hurt. But Siobhan didn’t care. Pain, pleasure, safety; she had not experienced anything but numbness for so long, and now she was ready to accept everything he had to offer. He thrust up against her while still pressing her down, and she replied by biting the shoulder she had been leaning against. He repeated the motion once, twice, three times, more than she cared to count, and she there was nothing she could do to stop the involuntary cramps from rippling through her. He noticed that too, of course he did, and looked awfully pleased with himself.

Determined to wipe the smirk from his face she freed herself from his hands and gripped a fistful of blond hair for support. He had no way of defending himself against her merciless pace, and all too soon he was forced into a blissful release, much as she had been.

Siobhan slowed down, stopped still, before letting her head fall back onto his shoulder. She saw a bite mark there, and rested her gaze on it until her breathing became regular and clear again. He had not moved, not made any attempt to push her away or get up. After a few more minutes she sat up, Lucius still inside her, and let her starved eyes feast on his features. He looked up at her, irises inscrutable.

“It is time we reassume some level of decency, my love,” he finally spoke.

He was right, and she nodded. She made to move away, but he held her back for another fraction of time.

“Will you come to my manor, Siobhan?”

She knew what to answer before he asked, but pretended to ponder for a moment to let him think that she was not already longing to be back in his bed.

“Yes, I will.”

He released her, and they made a quick business of putting robes back on and cleaning up. Her hair arrangement was entirely ruined, but he collected every single hair pin and put them carefully in her cupped hand.

“I wonder what is keeping your brother for so long?” Lucius said when he was once again looking like a perfectly polished gentleman.

“He was called to the stable, so I suppose we should go there and look for him.”

“Why, yes. I must thank him for the most excellent tea I’ve ever tasted.”

Siobhan scowled, but accepted his arm after he unlocked the door.

The sunshine was bright outside, as was the multitude of colour in Liam’s garden as they walked quietly through it. Lucius looked stiff and distant, and the connection of their arms implied nothing but a well-bred wizard tending to a lady. But now Siobhan could guess what was on his mind, and the fleeting glint in his eye confirmed it to her.

She felt rejuvenated. A flood of feelings was rushing through her mind, and she knew not which was the dominant one: a solid peace, or the marvellous excitement. She walked on, next to him, pleased with being alive and at his side.

Leaving the garden path, they could not spot Liam or his alleged visitor at first, but soon they noticed some movement over at the stable building and walked closer. A Granian mare stood tied to the wall, stepping around in anxiety. And at her hooves, in a growing pool of blood -

“Liam!”

Siobhan’s scream echoed over the yard, but there was no reply.

______________________________________________