Chapter Twenty-Three
He could tell she did not mean for him to swear an Unbreakable Vow to never lie to her, nothing quite so dramatic or lofty—ignoring that there was no third party whom they could have cast it—nor was she about to insist they go to the effort and time of brewing some Veritaserum. In her tone, in those irritatingly large, deceptively innocent, red-brown eyes, he read that it was simpler, yet somehow to her more significant, than that.
She simply wanted his word. His unveiled, steadily-voiced promise. Needed it. And were he in her place? No, he could not say he would want otherwise.
"Miss Granger," he began, but then with a mildly exasperated breath rushing out of him, he shook his head and started again. Clamping his hands—which, in this moment, measured against her slight frame seemed overly large and utterly incapable of gentleness—over her shoulders in a deliberately delicate grasp, he held her gaze as he said, "Hermione Granger . . . I promise you, I knew absolutely nothing of this room or what my ancestors might've done here."
Hermione hated that she could feel her lower lip tremble as she stared up at him. It seemed complete madness that she could be here in this desperate situation with Lucius Malfoy—of all people—her port in the storm.
She was nearly positive she'd never heard him speak her first name before. Miss Granger or . . . . Wait. How odd. Now that she thought on it, even with everything she'd heard fly out of this man's mouth during their many brief yet unpleasant encounters during her school years, she'd never once heard him speak the word Mudblood. Draco had said it enough times, though she imagined he was just as likely to have picked that up from his pure-blood friends, since she didn't recall ever hearing Narcissa Malfoy say it, either.
She . . . didn't hate the sound of his voice speaking her first name. There was something in his eyes, she didn't know what it was precisely, but felt sure it meant he was being honest.
"Really?"
"In all sincerity, before what happened last night, I had believed vampires were a myth of the wizarding world as surely as they were of the Muggle world, only more plausible in ours."
Lowering her head, she thought for a moment. Despite his willingness to approach the table, to stay in this room, she could tell how uncomfortable he was. Her own anxieties had subsided a little with his promise. Strange, but she wondered if this was some effect of having taken his blood—this closeness that was being fostered between them.
Of course, it could simply also be that they were alone together under incredibly bizarre circumstances and she'd already literally clung to him to wander his throat with her mouth twice in less than twenty-four hours.
She made a show of looking about the room, unable meet his gaze again just now. "Will you help me find out what happened down here? What was done to these people and who they were?"
Lucius withdrew his hands from her shoulders and pressed his palms to his forehead as he exhaled sharply. "I will help you find out what happened down here. With any luck, what was done to them might be recorded in these scrolls. However, I doubt we're likely to learn their identities. So, I will help you with what can be learned here, yes. But you must remember there are things more important at the present time."
Nodding, she started picking up the dusty scrolls.
"What are you doing?" He seemed aghast at the amount of ashy soot she was sprinkling about so liberally with even the smallest of movements.
"Taking these back upstairs with us, of course."
"Miss Granger," he said in a weary tone, "we already have a full plate before us, don't you think? We are the only two people in the world who know this room exists. It will still be here after we're sure you are . . . ." His voice trailed off and his gaze became unfocused.
