The Night Dances
Disclaimer: The plot is mine, but the characters are JKR's.
A/N:
Spoilers: There are about two minor things mentioned that you have to have read OotP to understand, but that's it, really.
Rating: R for language, dark stuff, and mild sexual references. Mostly for the language and dark stuff.
Pairings: It's LM/HG – in a way. I think it'd be a bit of a stretch classifying this as romance, and it's not a story of obsession either (though it may seem like that in the beginning). I'd say it's more a story of fascination. ^_^ There's also implied Lucius/Narcissa, Lucius/Bella, and Lucius/half the young people in England. He sure gets around.
I. Malfoy, Bloody Malfoy
"Some assignment, eh?"
Hermione broke out of her reveries and turned away from the ocean.
"Yeah," she answered, looking at the desolate island she and a group of other Aurors-in-training had just Apparated to, with their instructor, Mad-Eye Moody. Mad-Eye had agreed to train this year's most promising young Aurors as a favor to the new Minister, Minerva McGonagall, though he swore that if he got locked in his trunk again, he'd never get within twenty feet of any Hogwarts' personnel for the rest of his life.
Hermione and the others had been in training for a year. Everyone else was older than she was, because even though she'd just graduated, Moody had deemed her intelligent enough to keep up with an advanced group.
In their seventh year, Ron, Harry, and Hermione had fought fiercely in the war. Like everyone always thought, it was Harry who brought about Lord Voldemort's final downfall. That wasn't until Dumbledore had died, however, and Harry couldn't forgive himself for that. So McGonagall had become Minister, while Snape had become Headmaster. He rivaled Phineas Nigellus for the position of most unpopular headmaster. It was said that they got on quite well.
After the war, Harry had claimed that he'd had enough of fighting, so instead of becoming an Auror, he became a famous international Quidditch player. Ron chose to forgo the arduous training of an Auror as well (and besides, his grades weren't quite good enough), and he joined the Magical Law Enforcement department, where he quickly advanced to the office of Jr. Undersecretary of the head of the department.
Hermione was proud of her friends, but she vowed to herself that she would become just as successful as they, if not more. She was still the only one who had not prospered yet, the training being long and difficult.
Recently, Moody had told them that to become good Aurors, they had to understand the criminal psyche. Which brought them all to Azkaban.
The disastrous fiasco of Fudge's reign had taught many people a lesson. So now the dreaded wizard prison was put in charge of a few select Aurors who had a multitude of members from the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol at their command. A handful of heavily Imperius'd dementors stood at strategic locations on the edges of the island, and were occasionally brought in to administer kisses. However, their presence there was mainly to prevent anyone who broke out of the building from getting to the ocean - if it were even possible to leave the building. The guide who had led them on a crude tour of the place had proudly grunted that "the new Azkaban" was warded with every protective spell known to wizard-kind and was safer than even Hogwarts or Gringotts. Moody had snorted his disbelief at his words, but kept quiet.
Just then, Moody stumped out of the front doors. "Come in, everyone," he ordered, his blue eye rolling over and around frantically and looking decidedly creepy. Apparently the new improvements on the prison didn't reassure him of its safety.
His apprentices hurried over, eager to get away from the dementors. The island, though inhabited by less than half of what had been there before, was still cold and depressing.
"It's important for you all to know how the criminal mind works. I want you to pick at least three of these highly dangerous convicts," he gestured to a list, "and spend the next six months interviewing them. Know their motives! Know their fears! Know their strengths! I want you to be so familiar with the evildoer's mind that you can categorize any lawbreaking bastard you meet into one of fifty major categories! Remember that I'm expecting a comprehensive report at the end of these six months! "
"Hah," smirked a blond man behind Hermione. "Yeah right. Fifty categories?"
To Hermione's right, a Ravenclaw she'd known vaguely at school muttered, "Constant vigilance!"
"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" roared Moody a second after Emma had.
Hermione bit back a smile.
"Now, take a look at this list and select who you're interviewing today. Keep your wands at the ready when you enter the cells. These are top-security prisoners!"
Everyone bustled forward to examine the list. Hermione recognized several names while scanning down the list. Once she reached the M's, she saw Malfoy, Lucius. The prominent Death Eater had narrowly avoided getting kissed, and many suspected he had used whatever influence he had left (not to mention the vast amount of money he still possessed) to evade that sentence.
On a whim, Hermione signed her name next to his to indicate she was interrogating him that day.
"Lucius Malfoy?" Emma, her closest friend in training, peered at her curiously. "Hermione, are you sure you want to -? He's such a biased git – he might give you some trouble." She left Hermione's parentage unmentioned.
"I think I can handle him, thanks." Hermione smiled.
"Okay . . . I'm taking this guy, then." Emma signed off on someone named Chester.
Hermione consulted her map of the prison. They had been distributed among the group earlier. Malfoy was in cell 289 . . .
After a few minutes, she finally found him. It had been an extremely unnerving walk, even though a guard had accompanied her. Black-clothed prisoners had stared eerily at her, and some had jeered or made grotesque faces through their windows or bars.
The burly guard pointed his wand at Malfoy's door, and it opened. Hermione followed him into the room.
"Malfoy!"
Lucius, who had been sitting on his bed, looked up in surprise.
"Miss Granger here is going to cross examine you for an assignment that's part of her Auror training. She's got her wand, and I'll be just outside the door, so don't try anything. Cooperate with Miss Granger and everyone'll be happy. Got that?"
Lucius looked at him coolly. "Perfectly."
"Good." The guard turned to Hermione. "If you're in trouble, fire red sparks out of your wand. This cell is spelled to prevent him from doing any magic, but you'll be able to. There's a detector charm on all cells to alert us when red sparks are being fired." Then he uttered a spell and pointed his wand to the middle of the room, where a table and two chairs appeared.
"Thank you," said Hermione.
"No problem." The guard went outside and closed the door.
A minute of silence passed in which the two inside observed each other cautiously. Life in a bleak, nearly windowless cell did nothing to improve Lucius's appearance, Hermione noted, but he didn't look as bad as she would have expected.
Malfoy was clean, not the pristine, enviable way he used to be, but the terrible, sterilized sort of clean found in hospitals. Unlike Sirius when he had just escaped, Malfoy's hair was well groomed – Hermione suspected he bribed the guards for toiletries. He wore the ubiquitous black prisoner's robes as if they were latest fashion from Paris. Inexplicably, Hermione felt glad, in a detached way, that he did not have to suffer the monstrosity of neon orange suits like Muggle convicts did.
Whatever Azkaban had done to Lucius Malfoy, first and foremost he had not lost his dignity.
He watched her with an expressionless face. "To what do I owe the honor of your visit, Miss Granger?"
He sat down casually.
"You heard the guard," she replied uncomfortably. Though she knew she was in charge, she couldn't help feeling defenseless against his unrelenting gaze.
Lucius laughed. "Sit, dear girl."
A voice in her head screamed at her not to lose control, to keep her cool. Wishing that voice would shut up, she stiffly sat across from him.
"I was wondering why you selected me. Surely you had a choice." His smirk was so irritating.
"I just wanted to see how well you liked Azkaban, you pretentious bastard," Hermione snarled, her hatred suddenly bubbling up to the surface. "How does it compare to your Wiltshire mansion, sir?"
He raised an eyebrow. "No need to be rude, Miss Granger."
His contemptuous bearing was still present. Frankly, Hermione was surprised he hadn't called her a Mudblood yet.
When he said nothing further, she pulled a roll of parchment and a Quick-Quotes Quill out of her bag. The quill was, unlike Rita Skeeter's, a deep red color. Balancing the point on the parchment, Hermione bit her lip in embarrassment at having already shown weakness to Malfoy, and said in a voice of forced calm, "May I start questioning you, Mr. Malfoy?"
"By all means," he responded, smirking even more widely.
The scarlet quill scribbled Lucius Malfoy, 44, Prisoner of cell 289:Interview 1 as the heading.
"So you were captured and incarcerated twice." This was a statement, not a question, and as such, Malfoy merely nodded haughtily.
"Describe both instances."
"The first time as well? Oh, but of course . . . you were unconscious by the time that happened." Lucius paused a second to let his words sting.
"Ah, well . . . I was attempting to retrieve the prophecy from Potter when I was hit with Impedimenta –"
"Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy, could you specify whose hex it was?" Hermione's voice was dangerously sweet, and he knew it was revenge for his jibe about her being knocked out.
"Potter's." He kept his voice neutral, but Hermione saw from the look in his eyes that he would not forget this.
"I see. Continue."
"I flew into the dais where Black and Bellatrix were dueling. I ignored them and aimed my wand at Potter again, when the werewolf," his voice dripped disdain as he spoke about Lupin, "jumped in front of them and blocked my spell. It ricocheted back and I barely dodged it. Though I did not feel the full force of it, it weakened me further, and then that Muggle-loving imbecile restrained several others and me with an Anti-Disapparation Jinx. I was then questioned and brought here." Malfoy's tone had remained emotionless throughout his entire narrative.
Hermione wanted to get a reaction out of him. The more time she spent with him, the more she hated him for worming his way out of his deserved punishment, for being an elitist supremacist, for making Harry's life so hard, for everything.
"Tell me what you were feeling then."
He shrugged nonchalantly. "Angry, I suppose. Frustrated. How about . . . murderous? That ought to spice up your report." He leered at Hermione, nodding at the quill speeding over the parchment.
"How did you escape?"
"Several of my colleagues came, concealed under various spells. They were far more powerful than the wizards whom had replaced the dementors, so they were able to come to my cell with little difficulty. It took them an hour or so to break through the wards, and then they concealed me as well, and we Apparated to a wood where our lord was waiting."
Hermione knew this story already. The Ministry had been furious that someone as important as Malfoy had escaped so easily. Fudge had been under a lot of pressure.
"How lovely," she murmured.
"I was still livid with them for waiting a month before coming to break me out." Lucius grinned reminiscently. "I punished them later when we were dismissed by our lord."
"Why didn't you break out yourself? Surely the great Lucius Malfoy would have been capable of such a feat," Hermione sneered
He made an elegant gesture with his hand that seemed to say, "Oh well, you know . . .."
"When you haven't got your wand and you're locked in a cell that has enough protective spells on it to subdue a dragon, you don't have much of a choice, Miss Granger."
"Very well then." Hermione was fighting to keep herself composed, but she had underestimated Malfoy. Every gesture or word from him served to enflame her. He was quite the calculating bastard. And she hated that he was able to do this to her.
"So tell me about the second time you were caught," she said.
He cocked his head to the side. "Do you know, I don't feel like it." His voice was petulant, but his expression was devilish.
Clenching her teeth, Hermione steadfastly controlled her features and tone. "Fine. Are you aware of your family's current whereabouts?"
"I know my wife has fled and my son is dead, yes," he replied tranquilly.
"What was your reaction to Draco's death?" Hermione inquired, wondering if he would evince sorrow. He didn't.
"I thought it would have happened sooner or later. It always does," he smirked. "But if you are referring to the fact that he died so early in life, I can't say I'm much sorrier than you are. He was a rather disappointing child."
His bearing gave the impression that Lucius would have spat at perfection. Of course, Draco had been less than perfect.
"Do you know where Narcissa has gone?" she asked.
No doubt he was aware of her efforts to provoke him. He kept his sangfroid and drawled, "Probably France or some other European nation where she can comfortably remain hidden."
"How do you feel about that, Mr. Malfoy?" Hermione suspected that this was a vulnerable topic for Lucius, so her own anger was evaporating.
"What are you? Some god - damn psychologist?" His voice was not yet agitated (his tones were clipped and precise with suppressed anger, hence the slight pause between "god" and "damn"), but his gray eyes flashed. Hermione unconsciously leaned back as he inclined towards her.
"Answer the question. Please," she added automatically.
The menace disappeared from his eyes (but Hermione felt that he had only masked it), and he straightened.
"I suppose you are expecting me to say that I feel hurt. Betrayed. Furious. Despondent." Lucius closed his eyes briefly.
"But I am not. Why should I be anything but pleased if my wife is safely out of the country?" he challenged, gray eyes boring into hers again.
Startled by his unexpected reaction, Hermione's hand crept into her pocket and closed around her wand almost before she knew it. To continue in this line of questioning was dangerous, she realized, but she had an unexplainable urge to go on.
"Did you love her?" she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.
Almost immediately, her conjecture was proved correct. He rose abruptly.
"Did I love her?" he echoed in a voice no louder than hers. "Yes. Yes, I loved her. I loved her hands, her lips, her voice, and her eyes. I loved how she put her golden hair on my chest and listened to my heart beat."
His voice rose uncontrollably. "I loved her in way that you, dirty, low Mudblood, can never understand!"
She too rose, and backed away in terror, her wand whipped out from its place and raised in front of her.
"I would have slit these wrists if it ensured her happiness! Look, and tremble!" Lucius savagely pulled up his sleeves to bare two horribly pale wrists, and a fiery light was in his face. A knife was pulled from his robes, and Hermione didn't know how he had a knife – he shouldn't have a knife! – oh, and he was slashing at his wrists, and bright, bright blood was flying everywhere –
Hermione screamed and sent red sparks from her wand tip.
The guard outside burst in, and instantaneously hit Lucius with a Stunning Spell.
"What happened, Miss Granger?" He was staring at the prone form on the ground, which was bleeding and still clutching a knife.
"He – he grew hysterical when I asked him something," Hermione stammered, pressing her hand against her palpitating heart. "He screamed, and then he pulled out that knife – he began cutting his wrists – I don't know – I –"
"Okay. Calm down, Miss." The guard muttered something and sent a silvery cloud from his wand, which sped out the door and down the corridor. He placed a hand reassuringly on her shoulder. "Do you want me to escort you out?"
"No . . . no," she breathed, attempting to collect herself. "I'm all right, thanks."
"Okay," he said again. "Are you sure you're unharmed?"
"Yes, I just want to leave," she said insistently. Not wanting to exchange further words with the tedious guard, she gathered her things, quickly left the guard and Malfoy, and walked to the front room. On the way, she saw some Patrol members hurrying down the hall in the opposite direction, evidently to tend to Lucius.
Moody was standing in the room, holding a book, but he was not even pretending to read it, as he kept shooting suspicious glances everywhere. The man in charge behind the desk looked quite annoyed.
"What are you doing here, Granger?" he growled.
"My – my subject had a knife. He lost control when I asked him a question and began cutting himself," Hermione explained despairingly again.
"You had Malfoy, eh?" Moody was inspecting the list. "No wonder. Damn prison! How'd a top security prisoner like that get hold of a knife?" He glared accusingly at the thin man behind the desk. "Go on home and get some rest. When you've pulled yourself together, look over your notes and maybe start your report. Hell of a thing to happen on the first day."
"Yes, sir" she agreed breathlessly. "Er – goodbye then, Mad-Eye."
He gave her a little wave as she left.
Once she had Apparated back to her flat in London, she collapsed on the sofa to get her thoughts in order, for they were flying about her mind like flies over carrion.
Finally, the thoughts exhausted themselves and settled down, and she went to brew herself a pot of tea.
Perhaps she should tell Mad-Eye that she'd made a bad choice and ask him if she could drop him to study someone else instead. Would that look like weakness? She could hear his displeased muttering in her head. "Only one session and she's backing out . . . damn young people these days . . . not good for anything . ..."
Then there was Lucius. Cunning bastard that he was, he'd probably deduce that she had gotten too frightened of him to carry on, and that she wasn't finished. This thought disturbed Hermione more than anything Mad-Eye would say. It had somehow become a personal war between her and Malfoy, and Hermione would not admit defeat. The vaunted Gryffindor courage was kicking into her system.
The kettle steaming on the counter whistled to draw her attention, so she poured the boiling water into a teapot painted with swallows that flew amidst willow branches.
As she drank the tea, Malfoy's demoniac expression when he cut himself flashed into her mind, and before her eyes swam a fresh, glistening red, like his blood. Hermione put her teacup down unsteadily.
She suddenly had a vehement desire for strong alcohol.
She wanted to get as drunk as it was humanly possible.
She hated Lucius Malfoy.
A/N: The title comes from a Sylvia Plath poem (she is a brilliant poet). The idea is that Hermione and Lucius are dancing around each other in the dark, verbal swords raised. And they're both feeling their way around in the dark tentatively – especially Hermione. And if you don't understand what I'm talking about, then yes, I know I suck at metaphors.
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