Chapter Three
Sighing as he shook his head, Lucius thought it felt oddly appropriate to hold up his hands in a sign of surrender. The witch was so upset, her chestnut irises nearly looked as though they'd been set ablaze.
"Miss Granger, I told you the bulk of my knowledge on the Rosier heir this morning." He shifted gears, nodding as he noticed a glimmer of misgiving in her expression. "But Narcissa and Lisette were quite close. If you like, we can see if you can find something more in her study."
Hermione squared her jaw in thought. She didn't know quite what she'd expected to happen, didn't know quite what she'd expected him to say, when she stormed in here. But, he seemed willing to help her find whatever information there might be.
Holding his grey-eyed gaze for a few heartbeats as she collected herself, she nodded and backpedaled, allowing him room to step out and join her.
Lucius offered a curt nod. He didn't know if she did not remember the route to the room she'd found him in last night, didn't realize it was Narcissa's study, or did not wish to go through the house unaccompanied. Then, perhaps she simply had better manners than he expected of one raised by Muggles, and was waiting for him to guide her there as a matter of courtesy.
A notion that had clearly not registered on the young woman in the slightest when she'd barged, so very noisily, into his house only moments earlier.
He held in a sigh, trying not to think over her temper tantrum. What she must think of pure-bloods to have been so outraged this morning at the mere notion of having Wizarding parentage.
Though, he considered as he stepped out before her and started leading the way across the ground floor of Malfoy Manor, given her history with pure-bloods, he wasn't certain he could blame her. He was acutely aware of her trailing behind him in silence. He didn't want to glance back at her, it was an unusual feeling, but he wanted to give her the privacy to allow whatever emotions she might be feeling at this moment to flicker across her face without an audience.
They ascended the grand staircase just as quietly, until she—rather unexpectedly—broke the quiet between them.
"This morning, you seemed in much better shape than you were last night," she said, her eyes on the small of his back as they reached the landing.
"Yes, well, after sobering up, I realized the only way to get past my pain was to accept it."
"Huh." The sound escaped her lips seemingly all on its own.
Lucius paused, mid-step. She was a bit startled by his sudden halt, but managed to stop, herself, before stumbling into him.
He looked over his shoulder, catching her eye as he echoed the noise. "Huh?"
Hermione's brows shot up as she held his gaze. "Oh, I just meant that's a surprisingly pragmatic approach to such a delicate emotional issue. It would be completely understandable, were you to climb right back in the bottle and stay there a few more days."
"Yes, well, I do suppose 'huh' was a rather more succinct way to say all that."
Her jaw dropped. "Are you poking fun at me, Mr. Malfoy?"
Snickering, he shook his head as he turned his attention forward and started leading the way, once more. "With your temper, Miss Granger? I would not dream of it."
She narrowed her eyes as she watched him walking ahead of her, but clamped her lips together. There were a few choice things she could say to him about what he should watch out for with her temper, but she'd not give him the satisfaction.
That, and she had quite enough trouble holding in a laugh when he—without missing a step—reached blindly into one of the passing doorways. Lucius dragged a surprised, and visibly displeased, Draco out by the collar of his robes.
"Hello, Granger," the younger wizard said, his tone huffy as his father dragged him along.
Smirking, she shot her gaze from Lucius to Draco, and back. "Hello, Malfoy."
Hermione thought she should, perhaps, have not been surprised to find herself led to the room she'd found Lucius sprawled in last night. She'd realized at the time that it had likely been Narcissa's, but she'd not been terribly focused on the thought, given the state of things at the time.
Lucius stood just inside the doorway, relinquishing his hold on his son's collar before gesturing around the room. "The War has left us with few secrets. Look around, if you wish, I only ask your respectfulness in not making mess."
She paused in the doorway. "You're not going to leave me in here alone, are you?" Of course, he'd clearly hauled Draco with them to assist her in her search, but Lucius' tone suggested he intended to leave them to it. Something about being in this room without his supervision felt wrong.
"Alone? No, Draco is perfectly capable of—"
"No, I mean you," she clarified. "You can't leave me in here and just walk away and be . . . not here."
From the corner of her eye, she noticed Draco wince as Lucius turned his head. Catching her gaze, one brow arched high, he said, "Can I not?"
Refusing to be cowed into breaking eye contact or stammering, she stared back at him. The witch spread her hands and shook her head, her voice reasonable. "I know it can't be easy for you to be in this room, with her things, and I'm sorry that I'm imposing. But, it would feel wrong to be in here without you to at least oversee what I'm doing."
Lucius' brow settled by increments.
"I know it's a lot to ask of you, but you dropped a proverbial bomb on my head this morning." As she went on, she noticed his broad shoulders droop ever so slightly. "You won't have to do a thing, just stand there, or sit somewhere, and answer the occasional question about this or that item or . . . some notation on a scroll, maybe. Perhaps tell us if something jogs your memory, or you think there's some place, specific, we should look? Please?"
The elder Malfoy inhaled deep, drawing himself up to his full height as he looked down at her. She was utterly unfazed by him. Odd, he seemed to remember she once held a flicker of fear in his presence. No longer, apparently. He wanted to prove something by turning on his heel and striding away from this room right this minute.
But something wouldn't let him. Whether it was something in her expression, or a gleam in her eyes, or the mere curiosity about what had her storming back here, so insistent upon answers, he could not be certain.
Whatever the case, he nodded. Stepping fully into the room, he avoided her gaze, and Draco's, as he crossed to a plush armchair that faced the exquisitely carved Cherrywood desk, and took a seat.
"So be it," he said with another wave of his hand.
A hint of confusion edging her voice, she backpedaled a step as she exchanged a glance with his son. "I didn't expect that to work."
"Neither did I," Draco said with a shake of his head as he rounded the desk to start opening drawers, "but instead of wasting time in wonderment at your powers of persuasion, perhaps we should start looking, yes?"
"Right, of course." Hermione made a bee-line for the very same trunk in which Lucius and Draco had found the albums last night. She wouldn't have thought it especially eye-catching—even with its gorgeous craftsmanship—except she spied a splash of crimson on the lock.
Settling on her knees in front of the grand wooden box, she pointed at the color running along, and inadvertently defining, the grooves in the metalwork. "Is that blood?"
Lucius sighed, letting his head fall back against the chair in a lazy gesture. Staring blankly up at the ceiling, he said, "It was sealed with old magic, Miss Granger. I implore you, if you insist on discussion, speak while you search."
"Oh!" She nodded, opening the trunk and pulling out what contents were left after the albums. "Yes, sorry."
For a while, there was nothing but the sounds of pages turning, drawers opening and closing, and the parchment crackle of long unopened scrolls being unfurled.
Though he nearly uttered a second sigh perhaps twenty minutes into this endeavor—the witch having shifted to sit cross-legged on the floor before the trunk as she looked through what might be an old journal—Lucius instead kept the exasperated sound to himself. He watched her as she read page after page, seeming to lose herself in Narcissa's words.
What the bloody hell had come over him that he was acquiescing to the little tyrant's demands like this?
The very question running through his head prompted him to bring up what he'd intended to ask her as a means to distract himself. Father always said too much thinking was dangerous.
"Miss Granger?"
"Hmm?" She didn't look up from the words before her. She was backtracking the dates in what was clearly Narcissa's diary—or one of them—trying to find the approximate time just before Jean-Anne Rosier would've disappeared. He'd said it was after her parents died, toward the end of the First Wizarding War.
Toward the end would likely put the date at somewhere between August and October, 1981, since the War ended with the murder of Harry's parents . . . . She'd have just turned two, even if she and Jean-Anne proved to be two different people.
Lucius stroked his lower lip with the tip of his finger in thought as he watched her expression in profile. A wayward lock of her wild golden-brown hair fell into her face, and he found himself stifling a chuckle at the way she simply blew it out of her eyes with a loud, irritated puff of air. She certainly was a determined thing, wasn't she?
"This morning," he started, his tone tinged with the faintest hint of caution, "you were blindly insistent that there was no way you could be Jean-Anne Rosier. Yet, now, you've stormed into my home, demanding we turn over any information we might have about her."
"Yes, that is the chain of events I recall." Her words were impatient, perhaps a little sour at the reminder. She didn't notice Draco look up from his side of the search, his gaze flicking from her to his father, and back, as though he might dash from the room any second, now, if he thought for a moment they wouldn't notice. There was some sudden zing of tension in the air that made him wonder if he should even be here.
"So, I must inquire . . . what changed?"
Swallowing hard, the witch arched a brow, seemingly at the writing before her. "I'd rather not say."
Lucius' own brows drew upward as he said, "Miss Granger?"
When he did not continue, she frowned. Resting her finger against the page she was on, she turned her head to look at him.
As she met his gaze, that little, tight-lipped Malfoy grin curved his lips. "Indulge me."
Once more that day, Draco winced. This time, it was at the way Hermione squared her shoulders as she shifted on the floor to face his father more fully.
"Mr. Malfoy," she began in a cool tone, "twice today, you've asked me to indulge you, and once you implored me. I wonder just how long it will be before you run out of polite ways to ask that I give in to what you want."
"Well, keep being so difficult and we may soon find out."
She chewed at the inside of her bottom lip as they stared at one another. There was not the slightest change in his expression. She didn't know if one of them was trying to win something, but she refused to concede.
Yet, her mouth had other ideas, apparently, and words were spilling out of it sooner than she could stop them. "Something very odd happened at Mrs. Malfoy's funeral, yesterday. I felt like something was out there, watching me from among the graves, and again today. I couldn't figure out why, so I tried to find the source only to realize what I was feeling wasn't something trying to get my attention, but a nagging impression of having been there before, though I know I haven't been. I kept going and I . . . ."
Her brow furrowed as her voice trailed off. Though she was still holding Lucius' gaze, there was a faraway look in her eyes as she finally forced herself to continue. "I found myself in front of the Rosier family crypt with the sinking impression that I'd been there—standing right there—at the foot of those steps, and there was this feeling in my gut telling me I was wrong. Telling me that I had been there before, but I don't remember. I tried to write it off, somehow, but nothing makes sense."
She didn't seem to notice the way her voice dropped. Nor the sudden sheen in her eyes.
His own eyes narrowing in an appraising look, Lucius stood from the chair. Crossing the study to where she sat—aware of her attention on him the entire time—he lowered to the floor, settling on his knees before her. From the lost expression on her face, he gathered this might just be the most confusing thing she'd ever encountered in her life.
Not that he could say he'd feel any differently in her place.
"So, then, Miss Granger, that begs the question." He shrugged, trying for a compassionate tone, and not at all certain if he achieved it—sympathy hardly being a strong suit among the Malfoy line. "Did you come here seeking validation that you are Hermione Granger . . . or confirmation that you very well could be Jean-Anne Rosier?"
She sniffled, holding his gaze as she shook her head. "I'm not even sure. I just thought if I could find something, anything, to tell me one way or another . . . . It's so confusing. Yesterday I was Hermione Granger—only Hermione Granger. But even then, I had that feeling in my gut, that I knew that place. When I sat there, talking to Draco, there was this nagging sensation that I had to turn and look at something. And again, today, yet today, today it gave weight to the possibility you posed this morning."
"And you're wondering how that can be possible, at all, if you are only Hermione Granger."
Her entire frame seemed to slump, the petite witch folding in on herself as a tear broke free to roll down her cheek. "Of course I am! Nothing makes sense to me right now, and I don't know what to do when things don't make sense!"
Draco fell into the chair behind the desk as he watched the interaction. He'd known the young woman for his entire adolescence straight into adulthood, and she'd spoken in many tones over that time. He'd listened to her across many different situations, and, yet . . . he was certain had never heard her sound as dismal and forlorn as she had just now.
What the bloody hell were either of them doing, trying to counsel her in this? Neither of them could possibly understand what this sudden shattering of her identity must feel like for her.
Just then, his father did something that caught him so off-guard, the younger Malfoy thought he might well fall out of the chair. Lucius crooked his finger and reached out, brushing the tear from her cheek.
Hermione, herself, appeared startled by the gesture, as well. She had no idea how to respond to the small show of kindness, however, merely staring up at him as she sniffled, once more.
After another silent moment of holding her gaze, Lucius thought, perhaps, she might not want an audience if she found some sort of confirmation, one way or the other, in Narcissa's old journals. She might want—might need—the freedom to react however her heart dictated without the concern of prying eyes.
Leaning past her, he reached into the trunk, extracting two more books. Again aware of her watching his movements, he straightened up, setting them atop the journal already in her hands.
At last tearing her gaze from him, though only for a moment, she dropped her attention to the books she now held.
When she looked up at him, once more, he said, "All of her journals. Take them, I'm certain I can trust you to respect the sacredness of a book."
Hermione could not help a half-grin curving her mouth, brightening her heartbroken expression ever so slightly.
"Should you find something useful in your search, feel free to return here, and I will help you if I can. If that proves a fruitless effort, return the journals, and we shall find some other route."
She could feel her brow furrow as she stared back at him, as though the expression formed all on its own. "You mean that? I can borrow these?"
Lucius nodded. "They may bring you solace. I know I've a reputation for being a somewhat difficult man." He paused, a small, gracious smile playing on his lips when Hermione and Draco, both, snorted a laugh at that. "But I have come to understand how important finding peace can be. Now, I'm certain you have better things to do with your time than stay here in this dark room with the two of us."
Hermione felt something she'd not expected to ever experience because of anyone with the name Malfoy—hope. Sniffling one final time, she nodded as she gathered the books into her arms. "Thank you very much, Mr. Malfoy."
"You're—" His words were cut off as she sprang forward, her gesture clearly spontaneous as she kissed his cheek.
"Thank you," she said again as she climbed to her feet and pivoted on her heel. "I'll take special care of them and return them soon, I promise!"
As he watched her hurry from the room and listened to her footfalls disappear down the corridor toward the staircase, he managed to get the words out, though she was far beyond earshot. "You're welcome, Miss Granger."
Draco sat back in the chair—slumped was more like it, actually—as he looked from his father to the door, and back. He had to be seeing things, yet, he spoke his observation before he could stop himself. "Father, are you blushing?"
Lucius turned a withering look on his son that had the young man cringing in a blink. "Of course, not. Don't be ridiculous."
Despite his words, however, Lucius Malfoy could not deny his sudden, inexplicable inability to ignore the warmth in his cheek. As though that quick brush of her lips against his skin lingered, somehow, in her absence.
