The first time was at the Chattering Teapot in Warlock's Way. Circa 2001.
She couldn't remember the exact day the Golden Age of her life came to a close, but she could remember the sound.
It was the friendly chiming of a shop door bell.
The tea shop was known for being the sort of place you could get a good deal of work done. Something about charmed seat-cushions, apparently. She had been compiling a report to the Committee of Experimental Charms between luxurious sips of hot chocolate. She wasn't really concerned. Her justifications were sound. Her reputation, as always, would precede her. She would have it handed in before the end of the day, and she doubted anyone in the Ministry would give the report a second glance.
Hearing the little jingle, she looked up.
It was, in hindsight, one of the most foolish things she had ever done. For into the room stepped Lucius Malfoy.
For a moment she was so shocked that she could hardly believe her eyes. Lucius Malfoy, here? But even with that clipped, modern hair and the shadow of stubble across his face, it was undeniably him. The man who had chosen to serve Voldemort, had sheltered Voldemort, because he couldn't stand to live in a world where people like her existed. People with magical gifts, but no magical heritage.
Or, as his kind usually referred to them, Mudbloods.
She remembered the last time she had seen him. Not his face, exactly, but his shoes.
She had been lying on her back, all the fire and strength wrung out of her by the Cruciatus Curse. Bellatrix had gone away to question… someone. Griphook. She couldn't even feel sorry for him. All she could feel was relief. Relief for herself. Because there wasn't any pain, except for the burning in her arm, and that barely even counted. Relief because Bellatrix was gone, and maybe that meant someone would help her.
She didn't entertain for a moment the possibility that any of the Malfoys would risk their necks to save her. She was desperate, not unhinged. But perhaps they could give her a healing draught. A kind word. Something to cover up where she had wet herself. Anything. Anything at all.
She heard footsteps coming towards her, and even now her brain was whirring. The tread was too heavy to be Draco, too dull to be Narcissa's. Lucius, then.
Her tears of pain and shame dried up in an instant. Perhaps she should have been more afraid of him, but she couldn't spare the slightest bit of terror for anyone she didn't think would torture her, and as much as he was a loathsome man and her enemy, she couldn't imagine that Lucius Malfoy would Crucio her.
She saw his shoes come into view. She could no more have turned her head to look up at him than she could have pushed a boulder up a mountain, but she wanted to.
A long moment passed. She could hear Narcissa whispering frantically to Draco, the words too fast for her to make out. Lucius said nothing. Did nothing. What was he thinking, looking down at her? Wasn't he at least going to say something? Some nasty insult, some hateful remark about her parents. But he never did say anything. She might as well have been a log at his feet, for all the attention he paid her.
She licked her lips and tried to speak, if only to ask him to help her sit up, but nothing came out.
Just as she thought she could muster up the energy to turn her head to look up at him, he walked away.
And then Bellatrix came back, and whatever Griphook had told her had made her very, very angry.
She didn't think of Lucius Malfoy again for a long time.
Suddenly she wanted to be sick. He hadn't even noticed her. He was too busy sitting down with his friend - a mousy, spectacled little man whom Hermione recognised but could not quite put a name to.
Despite her rising panic, she found herself curious as to what a known criminal and rank snob like him would be doing here. People like Lucius Malfoy didn't spend time in cafes run by common wizards without good reason.
But it was the strangest thing. She could hear snatches of what the nondescript, official looking man was saying; some ordinary, if a little awed, greeting and a polite enquiry after his health. But when Malfoy opened his mouth to reply, all she could hear was the desperate, frantic sound of her own screams as his sister-in-law tortured her.
The little man laughed nervously at whatever Malfoy had said, and took out a little notebook from his breast-pocket.
"- such a long way." She heard him mumbling over the thumping of her heart. "... The press will be there, of course…"
Malfoy smiled- smiled! Like a normal person! And said something back, and out came the sound of her heels drumming against flagstones, her head grinding as she arched her back against the savage, dreadful agony, her fingernails splintering as Bellatrix laughed, and laughed-
Her mug started to rattle warningly on it's saucer, her anxiety taking on a will of its own. Hermione sucked in a whistling breath between clenched teeth. Control. Control was everything. This was just a flashback, and far from her first. Her eyes stang with sweat and her stomach cramped viciously, but fear was nothing she couldn't overcome. She had been completely unprepared for this, and it had taken her by surprise, but all she had to do was breathe, breathe through it and remember where she was. She was safe. She was-
"Oh, Merlin! Is that Hermione Granger?"
At the sound of her name, Malfoy's golden head snapped in her direction, and saw her, and for a long moment they simply looked at each other. Her, frozen in her seat and staring, and him, somehow looking every bit as appalled to see her.
The screaming and the drumming had stopped, at least, and it was all just silence. All except for the whispering and tittering of her admirers, who were filling the shop at an alarming rate. Still, she could barely pay them any attention. Malfoy's horror was oddly soothing.
One of the bolder ones stepped forward, blissfully ignorant of what she had interrupted.
"Um, Ms Granger?" The girl wore a Hufflepuff scarf, and was probably young enough to be a First Year. She thrust a SPEW badge in Hermione's direction with trembling hands. "Will you please, um, sign this? I read all your essays and-"
Hermione forced herself to focus on the girl and dredged up a smile from somewhere. "Certainly. Sit down, won't you? There's plenty of room." The resounding squeals of delight helped her breath come a little easier, and soon, she was being politely interrogated by a group of young students, each of whom aspired to grow up to be 'just like her.'
By the time she was able to wrench her eyes back in the direction of his table again, he was gone. The man he had been talking to stood in the open door, calling for him with a woebegone expression.
She let him go.
As many young women are wont to do when faced with something terrifying and confusing, Hermione ran straight to her mother. But since her actual mother knew nothing of Lucius Malfoy and very little about the events of the past ten years, she soon found herself in the Burrow. Never mind that she and Ron had stopped seeing each other months ago. Molly Weasley was, for all intents and purposes, the only mother she had.
Hermione had no sooner confided in her than Molly began whirling around the cluttered kitchen in a red-fury, violently slamming plate after plate of fried eggs and bacon on the table, all the while cooing sympathy and endearments to the frazzled young witch.
"I thought you knew all about it, Hermione." Arthur said, patting her shoulder. "He's been all over the papers for months. 'A reformed man', they say." Arthur made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. It sounded alien coming from a man who had always been so kind to her, but Lucius and Arthur had hated each other since before she had known she was a witch.
"I knew he wasn't in Azkaban, but I didn't think…" I didn't think he was just out there, walking around. I didn't think he would be welcome in Wizarding London after everything he had done.
"He ratted out all his friends, remember? Put a lot of Death Eaters and their Ministry mates in Azkaban. We used to joke about it. 'The Golden Snitch', we called him." Ron prompted gently.
She did remember that, come to think of it. But it seemed a long time ago. She hadn't really given it a lot of thought, being so wrapped up in her work, but she had always assumed that the Malfoy patriarch would have retreated from the public eye altogether, like his former wife had.
"It's not right." She heard herself sniffling. "It's not right that someone who did those things can just pretend that nothing happened. He looked-" He looked happy. He had been smiling right before he had realised she was there. His smile was still at the forefront of her mind. It made her so angry she felt her fingers itching for her wand.
"Hermione, dear." Molly said. "No one wants him in Azkaban more than we do. If we had it our way…" Her face hardened, and Hermione knew that she was thinking about Fred, and suddenly Hermione regretted ever bringing this to her. Molly held it together well, but she had her own grief to deal with.
She brushed her tears away and tried to smile. "It's all right, really. I was just a little surprised."
Ron looked at her with his kind, dear smile, and for a moment she wanted to hug him more than anything. But it was too soon for that sort of intimacy between them, and she knew it.
He squeezed her hand, though, and that gave her strength. "The Burrow's always here, Hermione. If you need us."
The second time was three weeks later, at St Mungos
The reception room was filled with dozens of witches and wizards, all awaiting the announcement regarding the hospital's future. There were too many of them to fit, and as they filed in the Welcome Witch gave them a scowl that sent the less courageous among them cowering into a corner. Hermione could see why she was so upset. The presence of dozens of strangers was clearly agitating some of the more distressed patients, who were all being shunted off to a curtained area to one side of the room by frazzled-looking, querulous Healers.
Hermione, Luna and Harry (protected from the fervour of his fans by a Polyjuice potion) clustered around Neville as if to shield him from danger. Though no one here wished them harm, they were all worried for their friend. There was nothing in the world more important to Neville than St Mungos, and St Mungos had been struggling for a long time.
All around them, Hermione could hear people whispering to one another, trying to guess why the announcement had been called. She had ideas of her own. Could they be relocating to a different facility; one cheaper to maintain and not in such need of repair?
Or worse, were they finally going to admit that enough was enough and start turning away patients? Even to her untrained eye, she could see that the Healers were spread far too thin for all the work that needed doing. And every day she heard of another young veteran being relinquished to their care, scarred beyond the ability of their parents to ignore the situation. Where would they go, if Mungos couldn't take them?
And what about Neville's parents? The Healers had all but told Neville that they would never recover. Would he have to become their carer from now on?
Hermione prayed that that didn't happen, but if it did, he wouldn't be shouldering the responsibility by himself. She and Harry had managed to get a brief moment alone before making the journey here. If Mungos couldn't take care of Neville's parents anymore, they would help him in whatever way they could.
The Head of Mungos, Mrs Mayweather, finally made her entrance by apparating right onto a little platform. The grand effect was somewhat spoiled by the fact that she was still in the process of taking off a heavy potioneering apron and gloves; something she apparently found very challenging. Somewhere, a camera clicked and a flash lit up the room.
Hermione and Luna shared a determined glance. Behind her, Hermione heard Harry murmuring to Neville, "It'll be alright, mate."
But the news wasn't bad. Far from it. Mrs Mayweather favoured the anxious crowd with a jubilant smile. She talked for some time about all the changes they were going to make to the hospital. There was going to be a new wing. Improvements to the plumbing and hygiene. Existing doctors would be trained in more modern methods, and new nurses would be hired. She thanked everyone for being so patient and understanding in the troubling last few years, for continuing to entrust the facility with the health of their loved ones.
This was going to be, Mrs Mayweather assured the crowd and the hovering press, a new era for Mungos. A kinder, better era.
Neville was so happy he actually cheered, and he wasn't the only one. People started hugging each other and whispering excitedly amongst themselves. She saw a young father sag with relief before bursting into grateful tears.
But Hermione had her doubts. It all sounded very expensive. Sneaking a quick glance at Luna, she saw they shared the same misgivings. If funding was so easily come by, this all would have been done long ago. How could Mungos possibly hope to afford any of this?
No sooner had she thought the question than the answer came.
Mrs Mayweather beamed. "Please welcome our benefactor, the Honourable Lord Malfoy!"
Of course. She hadn't seen him for nearly four years, and now here he was; twice in the space of a month. Harry sent her a concerned glance, but she didn't notice.
If she hadn't been here for Neville, she might have just apparated away. But as it was, she had to settle for merely wishing the world would end.
The crowd rippled and parted. Lucius Malfoy stepped onto the little platform as if he had every right to be there. He looked… good. His clothes were elegant, but fashionable. He was clean shaven. He didn't have that haunted look he had worn at the Battle of Hogwarts, or during the aftermath. He greeted the Head of Mungos with a smile and a firm handshake, as if they were equals. Which just couldn't be true, since wasn't Mrs Mayweather a Muggleborn?
He turned to address the crowd and said… something. She heard the occasional word. 'compassion', 'community' and 'rehabilitation.' He sounded more like a politician than an aristocrat, but he had always been eloquent, hadn't he? It was part of what made him so good at hurting people.
Somewhere, she could feel the despair growing, but it felt so far away.
A few people clapped. More just looked confused. She heard someone, a younger witch, by the sound of it, ask who he was. But not everyone was so ignorant, or so blind to the hypocrisy of the situation. Mungos was filled with people who had been broken by Death Eaters. She could hear some angry mutters, see some people shake their heads. She heard one person mutter, none too quietly, that his being here was a disgrace, donation or no donation.
But no one actually challenged him.
Her blood boiled. She had to say something! Somebody had to. She took a step forward, and Harry laid a calming hand on her shoulder. She settled for scowling at him instead, but her glares had no heart in them. What had happened to her, that Harry had to be the sensible one? Surely that was her job.
Meanwhile, Malfoy left the stage, leaving her alone with her confusion and her resentment.
Within a month, news had filtered through the Ministry that Lucius Malfoy had been appointed to the St Mungos board of directors. Apparently after all the donations he had been making, the board hadn't felt it appropriate to refuse him. And as if that wasn't enough, they were going to name the new wing for him.
Hermione heard the news with an utter lack of surprise. Lucius Malfoy was, if nothing else, a survivor. He had abandoned his former master like a rat fleeing a sinking ship, and now he was trying to eke out a position for himself in this new world, by whatever means necessary. It was simply in Malfoy's nature to be a shamelessly opportunistic, callous bastard.
She shouldn't take it personally. She should not feel so offended on Neville's behalf, especially when he did nothing but talk about how things were going to get better for his parents. She should be feeling happy for him, and for everyone who was going to benefit from Malfoy's urge to climb the social ladder. But she just wasn't.
Somewhere at the back of her throat, a scream was building, desperate to break free.
Hey everyone, thanks for reading and I wish you a happy Valentine's/Galentine's Day!
I want to apologise for how long this took to upload. Family drama + tricky editing makes for slow work... But we got there in the end, and I really hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you so much to everyone who Favourited, Followed, and Reviewed the prologue! I am so beyond grateful! Please don't hesitate to leave criticisms/questions in your reviews, or PM me if you prefer!
The next chapter is called 'Third Time's The Charm!' and it will be uploaded ASAP. The first draft is almost finished, just needs some work at the beginning and then we can dive into the editing process!Lastly, I would like to credit my editor (my boyfriend, Zen) for helping me with all the grammatical/sentence structure problems of this chapter. It was a mess, y'all.