I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters, they all belong to J.K. Rowling. However I like manipulating her characters and taking them and putting them into different situations just for fun.
R and R please and thank you.
WHERE IT ALL BEGAN:
She wasn't at all sure where it had started, just where it all finished.
It didn't start in her first year when she'd barged through the brick wall of Platform 93/4 and his son had smirked at her as she pushed her Muggle parents in front of her.
It hadn't started in second year when he had ridiculed her blood status and that of the Weasley's in Flourish and Blott's.
But it was almost ironic, wasn't it?
Blood had brought them together, blood had stained his hands, and his blood was staining hers right now.
Blood had ended it all.
The saying that blood was thicker than water was bullshit, she'd decided a long time ago- the proof was now in her arms, cooling blood had trickled like water down his hands to congeal underneath his fingertips, and hers.
That night at the Ministry in fifth year, perhaps that was when it had started.
One of the Death Eaters had been after her, the brains of the Trio and the brains behind Dumbledore's Army to exterminate the cancer on their pure blooded society, the original object of their mission, the prophecy, smashed and forgotten next to The Veil. A curse had been fired at her, a shot of purple light enveloping her chest in a haze knocking her to the ground, her body battered against the solid tiled wall of the Department of Mysteries. It had hurt when she came to her senses, but hurt wasn't her first thought- instead it was recognition of magic being performed on her body. Silent magic, interrupted by "sweet Merlin, a Mudblood... blood," the man had laughed sarcastically for a while, "what a lie...Draco...Narcissa".
Then the voice left, and she felt some pain in her chest. A flash of blonde hair and a silver snake head disappearing back into battle, signalling the appearance of Neville Longbottom, my 'knight' he'd been dubbed by a first year Gryffindor. If only she knew that the white knight in shining Death Eater mask had been and gone before Neville had appeared.
That blonde hair was resting in her lap, the same hands that had helped her all those years ago, thirteen to be exact, stained with red blood.
Yes maybe that had been the beginning; that event had planted the seed.
The same plant had begun to sprout a year after the war, at her graduation from Hogwarts.
She'd watched him closely, as Draco read out his Head Boy speech to the crowd of fellow teachers, students and their families. The eyes had stayed the same, even though his hair was short, dark brown and his chin chubby, his broad shoulders thinned and weak, his pale skin tanned- the guise of powerful glamour charms, no one else seemed to recognise Lucius Malfoy, apart from Draco and me. Although Draco had told me that his father was coming to the official graduation and then he would leave.
His eyes flickered when he caught my stare, I didn't blush for once, I just looked at him.
He looked tolerantly back at me, no hatred, no smirk, just tolerance.
That was when the seed sprouted.
The first bud of spring opened itself four years after her Hogwarts graduation; at her St Mungo's Healer Graduation, being congratulated by the Board of Trustees, the Senior Healers and Patrons of St Mungo's, of which he was one.
He had been there, in his real guise, long blonde hair like Legolas from Lord of the Rings, black cane, regal but not imposing any longer.
"Congratulations Miss Granger," his voice had been mellifluous and without bite, like it had been for most of his wizarding life. I remembered wondering if Draco's acceptance of Muggleborn's was affecting his father's judgement.
Now I could laugh at the thought.
Another bud flourished on this tiny fragile plant when he was rushed to St Mungo's during the middle of the night, not long after graduation, with the slow effects of lethal poison beginning to fuck with his senses. Draco had brought him in worried sick, and no one else would take the case. To be fair, there were only three other Healers on duty, but not one of them wanted anything to do with ex Death Eater. Of course, me being a Gryffindor and not a cowardly Hufflepuff or unscrupulous Ravenclaw had stepped into the ward, taken one look and shouted "accio Bezoar" and shoved the summoned Bezoar into the patient's mouth, forcing the goo it made on contact with saliva down his throat.
Hermione Jean Granger had saved a Death Eater's life that cold autumn night. The Ministry tried to hush it up and Rita Skeeter tried to make it into some sordid affair. The Daily Prophet had splashed headlines such as "Golden Girl tries to Save Widowed Death Eater- does she want more?" and "Draco Malfoy fuming at new stepmum- what does Astoria think of it?" and a bunch of pathetic crap. Witch Weekly tried to make us into some sort of Jane Austen love story.
But these headlines, coupled with Lucius being under my care for a week strengthened the sapling, gave it enough light for more buds to flower.
Lucius had sat in a chair in my office with perfect posture; expect nothing less from a Malfoy, and I waved my wand in the air reading over his vital signs and pumping his immunity with poison antidotes, but then he'd cleared his throat, raised his eyebrow and watched me.
"Yes Mr Malfoy" my tone was pleasant, not scathing like the old Hermione Granger would have been.
"I would like to..." he paused, probably checking whether it was safe, "ask you something."
My mouth formed an 'o' shape in surprise, but I kept mixing the blue tonic.
"About blood."
My head snapped up, he almost smiled at my reaction.
"Don't get defensive. I'm not talking about blood status or going to attack you for being Muggleborn," interestingly there was no emphasis on Muggleborn, perhaps he had mellowed out. My Mum had always had this theory that old age either makes you bitter or mellow. Lucius had wandered down the mellow path I mused, waiting for him to phrase his question.
"Well, what does your blood actually look like?"
Huh? That was a surprise.
"What do you mean?"
"My whole life I was told and fed lies by my father that Muggle blood was dirty. Literally dirty, like mud brown not bright red."
I put the flask of tonic down on my desk, pulled back my sleep roughly, picked up my wand and cut into my arm. Drops of blood pooled and then trickled on the surface of my wrist, I collected them in another flask and did the same to Lucius. Then I placed both the flasks in front of him, and healed our cuts. His fingers graced the sides of both flasks, his steely gaze penetrating the rich red of our blood.
"There is no difference."
"There is no difference..." he echoed after me.
We never discussed the poisoning incident until the next time.
It was a House Elf and they apparated into my flat at three am with a convulsing "Master Malfoy" on their arm. The loud crack and squealing alerted me, after the War I've never slept great, and I jumped out of bed and ran into my living room to see Mr Malfoy dying on my rugs.
"What's your name?" I snapped at the elf, as I cast stabilising spells on his body and levitated him onto a conjured bed, where I could work with proficiency.
'Binky Miss. Master says to take him to Missus Hermione Granger before he collapsed." Binky started sobbing, but I ignored her.
Needless to say, he lived through the night.
"Thank you again," he croaked in the early hours of the morning.
"It's my job as a human being Mr Malfoy besides; someone is trying to kill you."
"I know," he replied as his eyelids closed. Soon a faint snore told me he'd gone to sleep. I don't know what surprised me more; the fact that he didn't care that someone was trying to poison him, or the fact that he let it happen. He probably even knew who it was as well. I wondered who lived in the Manor besides him and Draco. Of course there was Astoria and baby Scorpius too, but it seemed unlikely that they would kill Mr Malfoy, they were family after all. His face when he slept was almost carefree, certainly unlined and his hair was gleaming in the dawn. Shivering I charmed a blanket over my patient and went to the kitchen to make breakfast.
The olive branch was passed from my hand to his when he came to me freely, not poisoned or dying.
A knock at my front door late one evening, it was snowing and I'd been trying to read an article on my laptop about some new stem cell research, but I welcomed the distraction.
'Hello," I grinned opening the door wide. My smile dropped a bit when I saw Mr Malfoy on my steps.
"Good evening Miss Granger, I have something I wish to speak to you about if this isn't an inconvenient time?" his arched brow dared me to lie to him. Of course I couldn't lie, I'm not Slytherin enough and that's how he ended up drinking tea with me two days before Christmas, extending an olive branch.
"So, what's the problem. I assume this isn't a medical call?"
"No. Not quite."
The steam floated off my cup and inhaled it slightly, smelling the raspberry and vanilla scent of my tea.
"Someone is poisoning me in my own home," I was about to interrupt, indignant that he do something about it, but he placed his hand delicately in the air stopping my rant before it began to spew forth, "I don't need sympathy. That is not the issue. The issue is that I need to spend considerably less time in the Manor. Therefore I need new lodgings when things become somewhat perilous. But," he placed great emphasis on that but, twisting his finger in the air, his snake ring glinting in the light, "I would ask something of you Miss Granger."
'Yes," my reply was hesitant. Did he want me to solve the mystery or something?
"I would ask that you, with the money I give you, buy the house under your name and sign all deeds in your name."
'Okay.' Being poisoned has addled his brain; he's gone completely bonkers.
"But I would ask that you allow wards on the property for simply the both of us and no one else. I will not know when I will have need of other lodgings."
"Okay.' Where was the catch?
"And when I die, the house remains yours of course.'
"Where's the catch?"
"There isn't one. Oh, I pick the house of course."
"Of course."
There's no catch? I didn't believe it. But I didn't recognise that this in itself was the olive branch. An odd relationship settled itself between us. Harry and Ron would never have understood, I didn't even understand, but the war had changed many things about each of us. There were no expectations upon anyone to act as they had been.
"Why won't you do anything about whoever is trying to off you?" Mr Malfoy smirked at me. He'd been waiting for this question.
""The readiness is all" I believe Shakespeare put it. Quite simply, one cannot stave off death, it happens to us all. Even Nicolas Flamel. But murder has not been committed, mostly because of your efforts and so I am not dead, I will enjoy the little life I have without spending it punishing one who has not actually committed the deed yet. They have their reasons."
The fruit ripened on the tree that had sprouted from the seed all those years ago when Mr Malfoy insisted I call him Lucius.
"Miss Granger, we have known each other for many years, you must call me Lucius."
I smiled at him, "it's Hermione Lucius,' finally relenting to use his first name at which he almost smiled.
We never met anywhere apart from St Mungo's or our property, a small fortress on Irish cliffs. The wards were blood wards, so that only Lucius and I could enter, the mixing of our blood also allowed us to know if the other was in danger inside the house. Most of the time when I wasn't working or catching up with the Potter's, Weasley's or Longbottom's I lived here with Binky the house elf.
But the cruel harsh blows of winter struck a gale force our tree wasn't expecting as it bent under the strain, cracking and splitting its trunk.
It had hit tonight.
The wards had sirened loudly in her head, so loud that she'd jumped up from the table at the Leaky Cauldron frightening Ginny who'd spilled her drink.
'What's wrong 'Mione?" they'd hounded her, but she'd ignored them, instead running out onto the cobblestones and apparating to their place, where the ocean smashed against the cliffs, the wind blustered and the Narcissus flowers only grew by the front door, protected from the weather.
The gates were flung open, Binky's wails coming loud from large parlour, Lucius slumped on the floor bleeding everywhere, coughing and spluttering gore everywhere, but he smiled when he saw her. His lips curved in a real smile, no malice, no hatred or scorn, just a smile, a sad smile.
"Lucius, what happened?" she yelled flying through the door, rushing over to the couch he was slumped against.
"The readiness is all," he chuckled and spluttered, blood leaking onto her dress and coat.
"Fuck off with that bollocks Lucius," I muttered, ripping his shirt into strips for tourniquets, "and stop laughing."
I waved my wand healing the smaller cuts, as he chuckled softly. "You can't fix this Hermione. I'm dead dead dead, like they all wanted."
Swish, swish, swish, his cuts were fading, the blood had stopped flowing from his body.
"I am fixing this Lucius. Binky!"
"Yes Miss Hermione."
"Fetch me three of the blue tonics, a pink tonic in a blue bottle and the black potion please.'
She did and I forced Lucius' mouth open and poured potions down his throat, while he coughed and spluttered, some of them dribbling into his hair.
'You can't fix this."
"Why not? You've been attacked."
"They want me dead. They won't stop until I'm dead."
Surely not.
"Nothing will stop until I'm dead," his laughter was hollow and bitter.
"The poison, unusual and only to be bought from Borgin and Burkes is incredibly rare and made from unicorn's blood..." he kept talking and that was when I gave up. Nothing could work against unicorn's blood. It rendered the drinker with a half life, and made them eternally damned, although no one knew that for certain. Furthermore when it was combined with any poison it was lethal. No matter how weak the poison, the drinker would be granted death.
"How long?" I whispered.
"Perhaps two hours."
I couldn't help it. A tear dropped for the Death Eater who had watched my torture, who had killed and tortured too many innocents, my tear dropped for the loss of a life, the loss of a father, a grandfather, my tear fell for the man who had saved my life thirteen years ago during a Ministry raid.
"Tell me a story" he commanded, "anything," he begged, "anything to take away the pain."
Instead I summoned some pain potion that I had stored in my study here, and gave it to him; he gratefully slurped from the bottle.
I didn't have a story. I didn't know what to tell him. What to say to an ex Death Eater on his deathbed?
"Where do you want to be buried?"
"Here. I don't belong at the Manor. They made sure of that. Here by the Narcissus growing out the front."
I liked that idea.
'What about...?"
"Let's get this over with quick. Binky!" he clicked his fingers, still the self assured Lord of the Land, even in death.
Binky fetched thick creamy parchment, a black eagle quill and a bottle of black ink.
"I'm signing my burial rights away. I don't want anyone there, apart from you perhaps. All my money and everything will get passed on as per my will and they will not know of my grave. I still expect the best of course." He smirked before stamping his ring on the scroll- the Malfoy crest sealed the parchment and Binky went off to put it on an owl.
"Why don't you tell me a story?" I asked.
"I don't know what to tell."
"Me either."
"Tell me about her then."
"She was the most beautiful girl at Hogwarts when we were young. Arranged marriage of course, but I could still admire her beauty. She was stubborn and snooty, particularly good at Stinging Jinxes, I was spoilt and snobbish too. But I like her, I liked her a lot. We never loved, romantically, it was far more platonic. She hated what I did. I hated what I did, but by the time I wanted to get out of it, I couldn't. My newborn son and my wife were threatened, so I had to stick it out. We did stick it out and then my son got involved. Our worst nightmare. I'll never forgive myself for that. Ever."
"Why didn't you kill us at the Ministry? It was Bellatrix who wanted to play 'games', all you wanted was the prophecy."
"I don't want to kill people. You were the same age as my son; imagine if that was my son. I don't kill unless it's an order or a kindness. Although if it had been necessary then you would have died, all of you, you were just lucky that my orders were not to harm Harry Potter. As for Bellatrix, she's always been a little bit crazy. Ever since she was born, it got worse after 'Dromeda actually, because she idolised Andy and then Andy left."
"Mmm."
'I would like you to have something when I am gone." I look down into his eyes; his hair is in my lap, the blood cooling on my dress. I pat his hair gently, tentatively. Even after all this time, he makes me slightly nervous.
"My Malfoy ring. My son has his own Malfoy ring there has always been two in our family, but it will protect you if you should ever need it. The name means little these days, but the family Patronus trapped inside is still powerful. It is the only way I can repay my life debts to you."
"Thank you." I can't refuse a dying man, even if it's Lucius Malfoy.
"I am sorry for my prejudice."
There is nothing to say, I smile and smooth his hair away from his face, his eyes are silvery in the light. There is nothing to say.
He shuts his eyes and I sing a song.
Eighty-Six Charlie, he came back
Said he'd been thinking it over
Said he's had a change of heart
He thinks he's made a grave mistake
But I, I'll never forget you
I'll never forget you
You make things so easy
I'll never forget you
"You reminded me of a white knight when you helped me during the Ministry."
He smiles slightly, his lips turning up slightly at the sides.
His skin is pale, it feels clammy under my touch, I realise that I'm not ready to say goodbye to this man whose blood has stained my hands, and his blood had dried on his hands, maroon. She's always hated maroon, but loves gold. His breath hitches, he must be in pain.
Panic rushes through her bloodstream, she can't do it, but she must be here, for no one deserves to die in pain alone. Be a brave Gryffindor, but she feels cowardly like a no one.
"Don't lose your goodness, Hermione." It's the last words he'll ever say, and they're just for her.
"Oh, Lucius. I'm sorry that life couldn't be good to you," her voice is earnest.
"Goodnight Lucius," she sighs, feeling the tears well up. It's another death, caused by another war.
Lucius Malfoy dead and missing blasts the Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly announces Draco as the sexiest tycoon in the world, and Hermione Granger writes in her diary "goodnight sweet, go find Narcissa, and in death make yourself proud, you did not fight like a coward, you stood strong in the face of death."
Astoria Malfoy stumbles into Hermione Granger during a St Mungo's board meeting. Astoria's eyes are shrouded with dark shadows, her face taut with lines and thin- emaciated almost. Life has not been kind to her, her hands shake and her eyes blanch at Hermione's presence, for she is what Lucius was. A fighter for her family, but a murderer nonetheless, Scorpius will get his inheritance untouched apart from a missing sum his grandfather removed from the family vault. The guilt in her eyes, so evident to the world is what confirms Hermione's theory.
As for Draco, he smiles, he looks well on the surface, but he comes earlier than usual for his checkup at St Mungo's and it is Hermione who is his Healer.
"Granger," he accompanies his greeting with a short nod.
"Draco," she murmurs absentmindedly, he looks like his father, if he shaved better and ate better.
"You're too thin, yet everything else is fine, so you're upset about something."
"How'd you- Never mind you're Hermione Granger, you know everything," he chuckles and she's reminded once more of Lucius, so she looks away and studies her blue mediwitch robes instead.
"You know my father died right." Who didn't know, nearly everyone had rejoiced. "Well, I just want to make my peace with him. I was harsh, really harsh after the war until he died. I wouldn't let him anywhere near Scorpius, I barely let him anywhere near myself. I just want to make my peace but he wasn't buried at home. No one knows where his body is and I'm worried that I'm going to get depressed or something."
Like a robot, her voice speaks, sadly "meet me outside work at seven. There's something I need to show you, I was his mediwitch for quite a few years until he died."
Draco agrees and shows himself out.
"Hello," Hermione says, holding her hand out to the tall blonde man, who has been waiting for her. He reaches for her hand and she apparates them away from St Mungo's to a small fortress on the Irish coast. The weather has been pleasant lately, the Narcissus blooms, and the swing seat creaks softly in the gentle breeze.
"It might sting at first, but I think the wards will recognise you."
They walk hand in hand through the black iron gates which open at their presence. The long driveway stands alone apart from the tombstone, the flourishing Narcissus and the swing seat, that Hermione sits in.
"This is my other home. Lucius died here, this is his grave," she stopped, looking at Draco's face carefully. "He asked to be buried here Draco away from the Manor."
"Tell me. Tell me how he died."
So she did. She just did not mention Astoria. They sat in the swing chair and she told him this same story. She cried as did he, to the sound of the ocean breaking against the cliffs and the gentle breeze ruffling the flower petals.
"Did you love him?" he asks and she cannot answer.
"I don't know. I won't ever know."
A new sapling is planted next to a tombstone, next to the Narcissus, all three protected by enchantments. It grows and flourishes over the years.