Chapter Twenty-Two
Thinking a moment, he nodded. "We'll somehow work on you relearning to control your magic. I don't suppose going to Olivander's is an option." Mr, Ollivander wasn't in good health, and Lucius doubted it would do the old man's heart any favors to see a Malfoy and someone of whom he—he Ollivander, not he Lucius Malfoy, because he didn't have any such feeling—was still quite fond, whose magic had changed in a way likely to launch Ministry-attention-grabbing red flags.
There was a twinge of unpleasantness at imagining Miss Granger getting dragged away as though she were suddenly no different than any other magical creature. He pushed it aside and started toward the table, eager to be out of this room, yet understanding she was not likely to go until they had a clearer picture.
"We'll have to learn how to craft a new one."
"Because of course it's that simple." Her voice escaped under her breath while she followed him, but in the quiet of the room, he heard her.
"Hence my saying we'll learn."
She ignored his deliberate—and repeated—use of the word 'we.' When they reached the table, however, the sight of those archaic tools, so hard to identity from afar, but now easily recognizable for their terrible purpose, reminded her of what had led to this seemingly non-sequitur turn the conversation had taken. Tools with jagged, unforgiving teeth and sharp, terrifying points.
Tools with dark stains and broken bits, though she could guess where those bits would be found.
Abruptly she returned her focus to her first horrid discovery. "You never answered me. About them."
Lucius glanced over his shoulder, back at the lost souls chained to other wall for the briefest of heartbeats. "I don't know how you'd think I could've known."
Her teeth flashed in agitation, the points of her canines extending of their own volition. "Because if your past actions, if your family's past actions, have ever taught me anything, it's that a Malfoy isn't to be trusted easily!" Agitation, and perhaps even anger at herself for the sharp, unhappy awareness that after the incredibly strained and unusual day they'd shared, she had been starting to trust him.
His brow furrowed, but she couldn't tell if he was annoyed or hurt. "I helped you, I didn't have to. I'm still helping you."
"That's my point!" She bit hard into her lower lip—fangs and all—barely wincing, barely feeling it as she accidentally broke the skin. "I've never known your family to do anything that didn't somehow serve themselves. Even when you watch out for one another, it's because the only thing a Malfoy cares for is another Malfoy!"
Lucius' dignified features pinched. "Tread cautiously, Miss Granger."
"You'd believe different in my place?" She didn't care for his tone—she was the one with the right to be angry. "You just so happened to bring home a vampire to help figure out how her new existence works and it turns out there was, by sheer coincidence, a vampire murder dungeon three floors beneath your feet?"
"Yes!" he exploded, his hand clenched, white-knuckled around his wand. "What do you need to hear, Miss Granger?" The question came out tired, ragged and quiet in the wake of that irate burst.
She sniffled, hating her sudden tears. Hated how one escaped her lashes. She wanted to go to Harry, but he was a new father, she couldn't endanger him, Ginny, or little James. Ron, well, that'd be drama. Years ago she might've turned to him.
She couldn't bring this to anyone she considered a friend.
Staring up at Lucius Malfoy, a crimson tear staining her cheek and blood welling on her lip, clad in borrowed, too-long nightclothes, she imagined she made quite the pathetic picture for the terrifying creature she supposedly was now. "I need you to swear to me you didn't know, because a hope that I can trust you is all I have."
