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She falters when she lands, the portkey having been unsuspected and jarring, and takes a knee.
"Expelliarmus."
Hermione feels her wand sail from out of her back pocket at the softly spoken spell. Before she can process what is happening, she hears the dull thud as the vinewood hits the palm of a wizard.
She looks up, finding herself in a low lit and sparsely decorated room. It appears to be a study of sorts. Currently it is outfitted with little more than a desk, at which she is eye-height, though there is certainly room for more furnishings. On the corner of the lone desk, just out of reach, is an inkwell, feather quill lying beside it, and a stack of parchments with notably crisp edges. Behind the desk, stands a wizard in black nondescript robes with blond, very-descript, very familiar, hair.
"Lucius…"
He smiles at her, and her blood runs cold.
"Miss Granger."
Slowly, Hermione rises to her feet. She is cautious in movement, but her mind is racing, taking in the surroundings more fully. The phone in her hand, a subtle peek down to check, is showing absolutely none of the little life giving 'bars' that indicates a signal. There is a door to her left, but she would have to clear the corner of the desk to reach it, the awkward angle of which would slow her down. There are no real windows to speak of, just a block of nearly opaque glass very close to the ceiling, a haze of distorted sunlight highlighting dust motes swirling in the air.
Indicated by the position of the 'window', they might be underground, but she can't know for sure. This might also account for the poor signal on her mobile.
A bookcase stands behind the desk, only half full of large, heavy tomes, old enough that their edges are frayed, and they sport no titles on the spines. Draco's father is standing just in front of the shelves of books, only the desk and another chair between them.
He's alive. Lucius Malfoy is alive.
She's reeling, heart pounding, and brain confused. He's alive, and he's been tracking her, tracking all of them, for weeks.
"Oh, do sit down, girl. I can hear you thinking from here." He snaps it out like a command, but there is the slightest hint of something else beneath. Exasperation? No… Amusement. He's amused by her panic. That's enough to make her more angry than afraid.
"I do believe I'll stand, thank you very much."
"You're more than welcome," he quips back, grinning, and she bristles at his continually bemused behavior.
She's about to say something further, but holds her tongue when he simply pulls back on the chair that is tucked under the desk, and, with all the kingly grace of his ancient and noble house, takes a seat.
Sitting straight and tall, Lucius folds his hands on top of the desk and gives her a look, one perfect eyebrow lifting in question. "The chair will neither bite nor hex, I assure you."
With a huff and a lot less grace, Hermione flops herself down into the chair across from the man, eyeing him in suspicion all the while.
"Thank you for meeting me," he begins, but Hermione already has a proverbial bone to pick.
"Meeting you?! You abducted me! I never would have accepted... Where am I?!"
"You are in London, much, I'm sure, to your surprise. Beneath a muggle structure, this was once a meeting place for our dear departed Tom Riddle, many years ago. Before he had a following and a mortality complex and that... face of his." Lucius wrinkles his own visage in apparent distaste at what Lord Voldemort had become.
She snorts, unable to stop herself. Her habit of tearing down evil with mockery is apparently a commonality between them. She's annoyed to see that he grins just a little wider. "And why, exactly," she asks haughtily, "have you brought me to your little boys' club den?"
"Ah, ah, no reason to be sexist, my Dear. Bellatrix, after all, was the most treasured amongst us. Riddle had no qualms in utilizing the fairer sex to his ends."
"Club house, then," she amends with a frustrated roll of her eye. "What do you want from me?"
"Now that, Miss Granger, is the question that needed to be asked from the start." She opens her mouth to retort, already settled into the rhythm of their back and forth, when he holds up his hand for silence. There is enough politeness in the gesture that she waits for him to continue. "What I require is your assistance. I need you to help me save my son."
To say she is taken aback would be accurate, but not nearly a strong enough phrase. She had been so sure, for weeks, that whoever sent these letters was an evil Death Eater. Faced with the man before her, Riddle's mark on his arm, she was still nothing but certain since she landed almost literally at his feet, that her life was in danger. His entire demeanor has changed, however, at the mention of Draco, and Lucius Malfoy is eyeing her in anticipation.
"Do you know what happened to him precisely?" It might be a silly question for her to ask, the answer seeming to be an obvious 'yes', but how much does he know? What part did he play? Was he, as they have theorized, the one who trapped him?
"Better than I'd like to," he says, pained. "I am looking for your confirmation, of course, but can I assume he is trapped in an unplottable location, a window of sorts his only outlet."
"He is…" she says slowly.
"You are rumoured to be an intelligent witch, Miss Granger. Have you surmised how he has landed in this position?"
"Severus told us of the family protection rites and our research has all supported that. He had thought you, actually, to be responsible."
"Ah, Severus, my dear friend. He is well?"
It's bizarre, she thinks, this entire conversation. Are they to exchange pleasantries now? With a furrowed brow, she answers, "He is. We own an apothecary in Diagon."
"Together, yes? How delightfully ironic, don't you think?"
"I suppose…"
Lucius waves the conversation away like imaginary smoke in the air and returns to his point. "Apologies, I am wasting time with trivialities. My son is waiting for us."
"We've been trying to find a way inside, break through the wards and protections in Essex-"
"Essex? My dear girl, whatever are you looking for there? Oh," he answers himself, realizing. "I see. You will not find him in Essex. That room is long since abandoned."
"We won't… what?"
"The oubliette in Essex was damaged ages ago. In one of your little… muggle skirmishes."
Hermione bites down hard on her tongue rather than chase her ire on that comment.
"I did not, unfortunately," he continues, "create the spell to hide Draco away. It was my dear 'Cissa, I'm afraid. I could not be there for her then. I'd thought to protect them both, you see, by leading that beast, Greyback, away. I'd no idea she would do something so desperate."
"Narcissa… is that… She wasn't murdered at all," Hermione knows. It is a statement, lacking the lilt of a question. "She sacrificed herself."
The elder Malfoy nods, and suddenly his eyes are sad. "She did, my beautiful flower. I'd have gladly offered my blood in her place, but she didn't think to consult me." He chuckles sorrowfully. "She more than often did not, come to think of it. Her mind was her own."
"Mister Malfoy, wherever he is… Can you get Draco out?" Hermione's heart is hammering in her chest. After everything… the old masters and experts and professors, the curse breakers and ancient tomes, it all leads to Lucius Malfoy in a muggle basement. Could it be this simple? That the man will just have the answers and Draco can be safe and free?
"What you need to understand," he begins, more stern than before, as if he has collected himself from the delicate nature of his own sadness, "is that this type of protection, this Blood Magic, is unique amongst the old families. This is not a Malfoy rite, but a Black. To make it even more complex, it has been altered."
"Altered… by whom?"
He nods in answer and continues. "I believe I can attribute that to Bellatrix. Likely something she did when she was younger, perhaps while she and my lovely Narcissa lived in their parents' home. The witch you knew...you would never believe, but she was brilliant in her day. Before her time in Azkaban rotted away her mental state. it has taken me some time to learn exactly what must be done. Every family had their own specific methods for survival, you understand, and Dear Bella made for a particularly difficult puzzle."
She nods. "But you've found it then?" She asks, hopeful and excited for the first time in weeks. "You know how to reverse the spell."
"It is not a matter of reversal, Miss Granger. The old magicks are fair in all things. Matter for matter, life for life. His mother's sacrifice saved him from death, the circumstances of which only she had known. Mine will complete the circle so Draco may live."
"Wait…" She catches on quickly to his meaning. "You mean to be a blood sacrifice?" Hermione is dumbfounded, staring down the austere man before her. He has hidden away for over a year only to give up everything for Draco? Clearly, Lucius Malfoy is not exactly the man she thought. "Surely, there is another way."
"Of course there is," he says with all the pomposity as if she announced that dry reds pair well with beef. "Magic is an organic thing, abundant in choices. However, we do not have the years to explore them. Even if i knew the physical location of the Black oubliette, the magic that is sustaining him, bound and paid for by the affection my wife poured out for our son, is deteriorating, using itself up with each passing hour. There is no luxury of time in the archaic rites, Miss Granger. The earth wants life in exchange for life. I mean to give it."
"I can't just let you…"
Is he mad? Hermione can't believe he could discuss this so casually, as if it won't destroy his son even as it saves him. "You have to know that Draco would never be the same if I just let you do this!"
"I'm afraid," he sneers, "my son will have to find his way to forgive me without the benefit of my formal apology. Do pass that along, won't you? I'm sure he has reason enough to resent me. This should not affect him a great deal more."
"It's as if you don't even want to try to stay alive," she comments, thinking she is making a snide observation, but landing very much on the truth.
"I truly do not wish to remain, no. My wife was taken from me, and I want nothing more than to join her. More practically, my life as I knew it, is over. All I have left is my legacy. My son. I will gladly trade my existence for his."
He considers her a moment, then, seeming to make a decision, asks, "Am I remiss in assuming you will be here to help Draco pick up the pieces? You seem to have given much to the task of rescuing him. And do not think it has escaped my notice how familiar you speak of him, his given name falling easily from your tongue. Is it presumptuous on my part to believe you have your own affection for him?"
"I..." She flushes a little. "No, you're not wrong. But," she argues, more forcefully, "I can't replace you. You're his family!"
"And yet you must, or he will have no one. You will not change my mind. I will join my 'Cissa across the veil, and Draco will be rescued from his purgatory." Lucius sighs then, studying her face and whatever he sees there. "You can't save everyone, Miss Granger. This streak of heroics, this is why you were sorted into Godric's house rather than Ravenclaw, as many of us thought you better suited," he adds with a knowing raise of his brow.
Hermione allows herself to smile and quips, "Been gossiping about me, have you?"
He chuckles at her, and it is striking how much he sounds like his son. Shifting his weight, he confides, "Severus and I found distraction where we could, during the war. I didn't know his true loyalties, but somehow I knew his passion for the cause was not as it seemed. He equally did not trust me with his secrets, yet knew my own priorities lay with my family. We found it... amusing... to discuss the players on both sides in frivolous terms. As if war was merely a game of croquet. It helped to soften the blow when we faced loss, if everything was treated so flippantly, you see."
"I find myself making light of tragedy to much the same ends," she admits, fully aware she is bonding with a man who tried to kill her years before. Maybe, she'd like to think, he wasn't really trying that hard? It's a naive hope, perhaps, but reconciling him any other way is nearly impossible.
"There is a ritual that must be performed," he says abruptly, returning to the point. "Unless you will sanction murder of another, my death will be the only option if Draco is to live."
Hermione chews her lip, considering her next question. "Why haven't you done it then? Why make him suffer all these months?"
He looks affronted. "I'll have you know I spent a year believing my child was dead, witch. My wife and only son, slaughtered for my mistakes. I have spent the past year in various states of inebriation and despair. It was only after Mister Potter began investigating the situation that I was able to suspect the truth. The Daily Prophet gave me enough to start to hope. I began sending the letters immediately, trying to gauge the situation."
"I suppose that was you who attempted to cross the wards at Grimmauld?"
Lucius nods. "Of course. Breaking through the Black wards was easy enough. I am recognized as family, after all. The Ministry wards are out of date and virtually the same as when I sat the Hogwarts board. It was the Potter family wards that I could not break."
"And at Penelope's home?"
"Oh, yes, you're little ruse," he muses at her. "Clever using the Nott wards, but of course Thoros chose to reconstruct his, ashamed as he was of his recent relatives. He used the Malfoy wards at the base."
Hermione nods, taking that in. All of that makes sense. She certainly has a clearer picture of what he's been doing all this time. "To my original question, though... If you were intent to sacrifice yourself, why the wait? Once you realized he was alive?"
"I needed direct access to Draco through whatever item was used as his entrance, usually a painting or mirror in these old rites. A spell must be performed at his point of entry as I cast my part. Which," he says pointedly, "leads us back to you."
"Mister Malfoy, please, just come back with me to Grimmauld. We can talk to Harry-"
"No. I have no doubt that Mister Potter will make attempts to help my son, but not at any and every cost. He will refuse to see what must be done. If I am lucky, he will merely delay the rite. If I, and Draco, happen to be terribly unlucky, he will arrest me as a rogue Death Eater. Draco will starve to death, Miss Granger, unless he asphyxiates before, alone and afraid, his lungs burning for air." He says this harshly, but it is obvious the point is to scare her into action, not because he is not disturbed by the image of his son gasping for air.
"These oubliettes," he goes on, "they are ancient rituals, never intended to last for long and always understood they come at a price. I can only imagine how desperate my poor 'Cissa must have been to enact such a rite."
Hermione watches the wizard as he speaks. He has no trouble slipping into his snobbish and entitled persona, but every time he thinks of Narcissa, his façade crumbles to dust. She believes him when he says he would rather die than continue on here. She just can't imagine what this will do to Draco, to know both of his parents lost their lives in exchange for his.
"Don't you at least want to see him?" she tries. "To say goodbye, if nothing else."
"How cruel do you think me?" he snaps, but quickly amends. "I suppose, in retrospect, you would think me quite cruel, actually. No, Miss Granger, I do not wish to force that upon my son. He will only suffer more guilt if he feels there was a way he could stop my course. That is why I need you. You are a logical girl, are you not? But for all your logic, your heart bleeds. You won't sacrifice him, not when you could let me sacrifice myself instead. You will justify that I deserve it, and perhaps I do. But Draco? Draco does not. His sins are only in doing his duty by me, by his family. Do not let him suffer my mistakes more than he has."
"You make a compelling argument." She grimaces, knowing in her heart she is bending, she is considering that she can allow this, if it is truly the only way to save Draco's life.
"Do not look so distraught. If not you, I would find someone else to assist me. You certainly would not deter my plans."
After a long pause, she asks, "How would this work then? Provided I were to agree."
Lucius shrugs, an oddly common gesture, and one that, again, reminds her very sharply of his son. "For your part, it will be easy. A simple spell cast upon the portrait, making it amenable to becoming a door rather than a window, as it were. For me, a bit more gruesome, but you will not be here to witness it."
Hermione searches the man's face. She is perplexed, completely befuddled, by the turn of events. For weeks, they thought they were under the lens of a murderer, being watched by a Death Eater out for revenge. She supposes they were not too far off, with the exception of the revenge.
"Why didn't you approach us more directly? Why all this... cloak and dagger?"
"Initially? I did not even believe that Draco had survived. Everything I had uncovered after the war made me believe my family was gone. When the rumours began to circulate, I dared not hope them to be true. My first letters were merely an attempt to broaden the reach of the story, to create enough sensationalism the Prophet would stay on the case."
"Wait… you were the leak to the Prophet? I was sure it was McLaggen…"
"Not initially," he both argues and confirms. "They do not run a particularly tight ship, as it were, within the Ministry. Kinglsey really should look into that… But, yes, after a fashion, I was also offering vague information to keep the focus on Draco, furthering spurning the Ministry leak to provide details as Potter progressed. However, I did not wish to approach Potter directly. I doubt he would have trusted me anymore than I trust him."
Hermione snorts at that, in clear agreement. Why in the world anyone would trust Lucius Malfoy at this point is beyond her.
Lucius gives her a look, seeming to judge her unspoken opinion, and then continues. "It wasn't until I discovered your living arrangements that I decided to chance this meeting. You are infamous for your cunning as much as your compassion, as well as recklessly pragmatic. Severus told me you once set his robes on fire."
She snickers before she can help it, then stops short. "Wait, how did he know that?"
He grins again, and it's disarming in its sincerity. "Miss Granger, Severus was a master spy. More than anyone can credit. He knew more than he could even let on to either side, lest he place himself at risk."
Her eyes widen slightly as something falls into place. "You suspected. You said you never knew his loyalties but..."
Nodding, he agrees, "I did."
"Yet you never gave him up? Even at your lowest, you kept his confidence. You know it would have lifted you in Riddle's eyes?"
His lips thin, and he pauses for the first time in their conversation. "I gave up a great many things as I tried to hold the tapestry of my life together. I sacrificed more than I should have, and I made very poor choices. But I never wanted to see my friend destroyed. You can't believe it, I'm certain, but I did my best for Draco as well. I couldn't stop his taking the mark; it wasn't up to me. All I could do was support him. The Vanishing Cabinet was broken. One does not simply fix magic like a child's toy. I assisted him from Borgin's, creating a path his Cabinet could find. The Dark Lord would likely have killed me for my trouble, but it was all I could think to do."
"You could have gone to Dumbledore," she suggests, not even angry, no accusation in her town. Curious would be more apt.
"Dumbledore had his own schemes. My son attempted to approach him. Has he ever confided that to you?" She shakes her head, unaware of that detail, and Lucius continues. "It was important, you see, that Albus die the way he had constructed, never mind that Draco, little more than a child, spent months terrified."
There is a disgruntled look on her face, and Hermione can't help a bit of sympathy. Has she not herself always thought their former Headmaster had raised Harry as a sacrifice? Placed countless students in danger, fighting a war they didn't even understand thanks to his vague and obscure lack of answers?
"I can see you falter," he says, observing her. "You will agree, will you not? For Draco?"
Hermione's eyes dart the room. Can she really do this? Condemn a man to death in exchange for another? Certainly, between the two, she would choose Draco if in her power to save only one…
"What do I tell Harry, then? Shacklebolt? How do I explain Draco's miraculous escape to the Ministry?"
Lucius considers her, an odd cock to his head. "I am dead, Miss Granger, in all the ways that matter. Why not let me be dead? Omit the truth of this, and let the wizarding world believe what it already does.
"I can't do that to Draco…"
"Then tell him. Tell him his father paid a debt to magic."
She starts to respond, but he holds up his hand again, continuing in a soothing tone. "But tell him after, my dear. Tell him once it is all done so he cannot imagine he could have saved me. I would not like to leave him guilt along with the rest of his tragic legacy."
She doesn't say anything for a long time, and Lucius leaves her to her thoughts. He is patient, surprisingly so, and she can imagine Lucius as a father, watching Draco as he began to grow and learn. Taking a step, sitting a broom, holding his first wand.
"When would," she chokes, oddly emotional over the potential death of this man she has always known as a villain. "When would I cast the spell?"
He smiles again, amusement gone, and, in its place, an expression very much like kindness, born of relief, that makes her heart hurt. "You will need to communicate with me. A way to let me know when your spell has been cast."
She thinks a moment, then reaches in her pocket. From the depths, she pulls a galleon, charmed by her much younger self to deliver messages. "I have this and there's another. Harry's, but I know where he keeps it. It's imbued with a Protean charm. It will allow us to send messages."
He reaches across the desk and accepts the coin from her. "Very clever indeed." Sliding the bit of gold into his own robes, he asks, "You will agree then? To do this? Assist me so that I might save my son?"
"I…" She pauses, swallowing and unable to hold his gaze. Squeezing her eyes closed, she takes a breath, images of Draco flashing across her face. His laugh and his leer, his face when she thinks he might weep, his every expression coils like a roll of film against the black of her closed eyes. Opening them slowly, her lips parting slightly on a sigh. "You're sure this will save him?" she asks, looking for final confirmation.
He nods at her. "I am not in the habit of sacrificing myself for nothing. This will free him, of that I am certain. I'm counting on you, Miss Granger, to save him in the end."
Hermione looks away one last time before steeling herself, grasping tight to her own resolve. "When will you be ready?"
He looks almost wistful when he says, "I've been ready a long time now. Let's not keep my 'Cissa waiting."
Thank you, once again, to all of you for letting me take a bit of your reading time each week. I'm truly grateful to you all. Some of you guessed the reveal you just read, some had other ideas. Regardless of where you thought I was going, I sincerely hope you enjoyed this chapter.