Hermione hadn't been able to determine why Lucius hated this so much, only that he did. Perhaps it had to do with this particular memory, perhaps just he didn't like the thought of her being inside his memories. Still, he had refused to retract his promise, and they had stepped into the pensieve together.
When the mists cleared, Hermione found herself standing in front of a large ornate door, with Lucius standing a couple of feet behind her. She seemed to be in some sort of mansion, well stocked with fine furniture, but rather gloomy. It had the distinct feel of having been abandoned for some time. It was something in the air, a dampness, in spite of the candles that had been lit along the walls.
As she looked around her, she realized they were in a long gallery with enormous portraits on the wall on her right, and windows on her left. It was dusk outside, and he heard rather than saw the splatter of rain against the panes. In front of her, illuminated by the flicking candlelight stood another man. Another Lucius Malfoy. Younger, but quite as tall and quite as tense. This younger version of Lucius was facing the door with his back toward them. Hermione curiously stepped forward to look at his face.
He looked a lot like Draco did now. But more like a brother than a twin. There were also striking differences. She thought Draco must have inherited more of Narcissa's pointy face, while Lucius had a more squared jaw and another intensity to his eyes. And while they were both generally well dressed, there was a subtle difference. It was as if Draco tried more, but Lucius succeeded better.
The young Lucius was glaring at the door, rolling his wand between his fingertips. There was a stillness around them that worried her, and she suddenly realised that the portraits along the walls were all watching the young man solemnly. Hermione was beginning to wonder if he was waiting for some sort of signal, but after another few moments, the young Lucius took a deep breath. He straightened his back, and then resolutely pushed open the door and strode into the room with a confidence that had seemed to be lacking just minutes ago.
Hermione followed him, sensing the older Lucius trailing along close behind.
They entered what must be a drawing room. Just like the gallery outside, it was lit with candles, and might once have been rather comfortable, even cheerful. But now it seemed rather lifeless and murky. Still, each piece of furniture was probably worth a month's worth of wages. It reminded her of Malfoy Manor, but while she hadn't exactly enjoyed her stay there, this place felt even less like a home that was actually lived in.
The room wasn't empty, however. There were three men inside, two of which looked a lot like Crabbe and Goyle. In fact, it might have been their fathers. They seemed to be guarding a third man, who was sitting dejectedly in an armchair. While the two guards held their wands in their hands, there was no sign of the third man being armed.
The third man looked up at Lucius as he entered. He looked like he was a few years older than Lucius, and while they did look a little similar, this man had sandy hair and brown eyes. He struck Hermione as the sort of person who, under normal circumstances, would appear good humoured and friendly. The kind one would make a friend of.
Hermione glanced at the older Lucius, who had followed them into the room, but was still standing a little behind her. His face was ashen and he was staring at the sandy haired man with visible anger.
"So this is where you have been hiding, Aquila?" the younger Lucius said. "So close to home. I wonder you have not invited me for tea." His voice was dripping with sarcasm.
The sandy haired man, Aquila apparently, got up on his feet. "Lucius. What a pleasure." He licked his lips and peered nervously at his visitor. The two men at either side of him did a good job of looking menacing, and Hermione got the feeling they hadn't exactly treated Aquila gently. But while Aquila seemed weary of them, and glanced at them now and then, he seemed much more bothered by Lucius's presence. Still, he tried to appear unaffected. "To what do I owe the honour?"
"I come on behalf of the Dark Lord", Lucius sneered. "He is disappointed in you."
"Me?" the man was visibly trembling. "I haven't done anything, I –"
"You have displeased him greatly", young Lucius interrupted in a stern voice.
"But Lucius, you know me, surely you'd be willing plead my case –"
Hermione felt bad for the man, who was starting to look terrified, but the young Lucius continued coldly: "You have doomed yourself by your actions", and added in a tone of utter disgust: "Muggles too!" He closed his fists, adjusting the grip on his wand. Hermione could tell he was struggling to control some very powerful emotion, and after another moment he seemed to have regained his compure. In a cooler tone, he added: "You cannot hide such things from the Dark Lord, Aquila. Magical blood has been spilt and soiled because of your actions. You will account for it."
Aquila backed away from Lucius, who did not move. He did not have to – there was nowhere for the prisoner to go. The two henchmen simply backed out of the way, leering in anticipation at what was to come.
The young Lucius raised his wand, and Hermione barely had time to register the word "Crucio!" before she felt another hand taking hold of her wrist, pulling her backwards and out of the memory. Even as the stately room and its occupants dissolved into the mist, she was followed by the echoes of Aquilas screams of agony.
As soon as they were back in the present, Hermione yanked her hand free and backed away from Lucius. He didn't move from his place beside the pensieve. Neither did he say anything. He didn't move until she entered her bedroom and sank down on the side of her bed. He followed her then, but at a distance. He stopped by the door, watching her as she pressed her hands against her eyes.
Hermione tried to breathe deeply, pushing away every shred of emotion. That was hard, because her emotions were all over the place.
She needed to get a grip. This has nothing to do with me, she reminded herself. She'd deal with it later. She had work to do. Resolutely, she shoved away the memories of her own screams echoing in the halls of Malfoy Manor, the terror in Aquilas eyes, the pure hatred in young Lucius's. Later, she thought. I'll deal with it later.
"Are you all right?" Lucius asked. Hermione looked up. He was watching her with an unreadable expression.
No. Nothing was all right about what she had seen, or how she felt about it. But that was not important right now. "Who was he?"
"My cousin. He was a few years older than I. We were very close growing up and joined Voldemort together at the encouragement of our fathers." Lucius spoke without emotion, and it annoyed her that he didn't seem bothered by what they had witnessed. Sure, it was his memory, he'd known what to expect. But still. If he was so indifferent about it, why had he been so reluctant to show her?
"Why was he punished?" she asked.
"He had a record of unacceptable relations with muggles."
"That's it?" Hermione asked incredulously. Unacceptable relations with muggles. "What does that even mean?"
"Voldemort wasn't happy with him", Lucius answered, as if that was reason enough.
This was harder than she had thought. Get a grip, Hermione. It's research.
"Why did he send you?"
Lucius didn't even blink. "I volunteered."
Hermione shuddered and looked away, again putting her head into her hands. "Why?" she asked in a pitiful voice.
"It doesn't matter."
"Of course it does!" she said incredulously. Reminding herself to breathe and to tread carefully, as he had asked her, she looked up pleadingly at him: "You agreed to show me the significant memories pertaining to your first use of the Cruciatus-curse. How am I to make any sense of it if I can't understand the reasons behind your choice?"
Lucius turned so that he was leaning his back against the door post. He didn't look at her when he spoke next: "Perhaps you must accept that I tortured my old friend willingly because I wanted to."
"That's not explanation enough", she exclaimed.
"Maybe not to you".
"What happened to him?"
Lucius paused. "I killed him."
She didn't know what to say to that. She had just witnessed the last moments of another man's life, and Lucius had been the one to end it. Lucius glanced at her then, and apparently she looked just about as shocked as she felt, because his tone was one of warning: "Don't feel sorry for him, Hermione. You have no idea what he was capable of."
She stared back at Lucius. The man she had come to rely on, even share her life with these last few weeks. She knew he had changed since then. Perhaps not completely, but enough to show kindness to a mudblood. Enough to show consideration and tenderness and admit to being wrong in the past. But still he refused to admit to feeling even a shred of remorse. She couldn't make sense of it. "It is not him I feel sorry for", she said.
"I made my choices, I deserve no pity." He turned his face from her again.
"Do you regret it?" she asked. "Killing people."
"Not Aquila."
"But some?" she pressed. She needed to get a reaction from him. This was no longer about research. It was about him and her need to understand him.
He still didn't look at her. "Some, like Aquila, I chose to kill", he said . "Those murders I refuse to regret to this day. They earned their punishment. Others, I felt obliged to kill for other reasons. Because I was ordered to, or because they knew too much. One, I killed in battle. Perhaps they did not deserve their fate. I might have chosen differently today, but what is the point in regretting what cannot be changed? It won't change what I did. I killed them in cold blood." Lucius spoke brusquely, but at least there was some emotion behind his words now. "There, does that make it better?" he added in an almost mocking tone.
She shook her head, her eyes glossy with tears. No regrets. No regrets to this day.
"How many have you –" She couldn't finish the sentence. Did it even matter?
"Tortured? Many. Killed? A handful." Lucius's voice was devoid of emotion, and in the same matter-of-fact voice, he continued: "This is where you tell me to leave, I believe."
Hermione just shook her head, feeling a lump in her throat.
"Oh, please," he scoffed. "I can see it in your eyes."
"If you see that in my eyes, then you can add poor judgement to the list of your other flaws," she said drily, wiping away a stray tear.
That made him finally react. He took a few steps toward her, already towering over her where she sat. "You may not have realised it yet", he said angrily. "But it's about time you think this through once and for all. Hermione, I am a murderer."
"Don't you think I know that?" she asked incredulously. "I know what you have done, Lucius. Don't you think it torments me? Don't you think I am absolutely disgusted with you, ashamed of what you have done, wishing there was a good explanation – knowing I'll probably never find one?!"
"Then why don't you order me away?" he gritted out.
Suddenly, all her anxiety and grief and the shock of what she had witnessed were compressed into anger. She jumped to her feet. "Because unlike you, I came out of the war with principles!" she yelled.
"And what are those?" he barked.
"That no matter what, you don't back away from those you love!" she shouted.
Lucius was confused. He didn't understand what she wanted. Why did she suddenly refuse to admit what she had always said: that she hated what he was and that they shouldn't be together? He could see her disgust and heartbreak when she was faced with what he had done to Aquila, and he couldn't stand that he was the one to do that to her. He could see that she had begun to hope he was a different man, but Lucius knew it was pointless. She had to understand that. He would never be free of himself.
But instead of admitting that, instead of leaving him with a derisive "I told you so", instead of doing the logical thing, she declared her loyalty to him. He couldn't understand it, and he hated the feeling of uncertainty that enfolded him.
Hermione, however, was still seething with anger. She stepped closer in a threatening way which almost made him back away, and pointed her finger accusingly at him while she furiously snarled: "Don't you dare assume to know or tell me how to handle this!"
"What do you want me to do then?" he bit back.
"I want you to bloody admit that you have changed!" she said in a tone of frustration.
"And if I can't?" he growled.
Her furious expression slowly morphed into one of compassion. The hand that had been pointing at him accusingly, reached up to touch his cheek. Automatically, he leaned into her touch. She looked at him soberly for a moment. "You will see it."
And that was when he felt it. The crack.
They spoke very little for the rest of the day. Perhaps he should just have gone home, but he didn't want to, so he opted to sleep on the couch. He didn't actually sleep, though. A flood of emotions and thoughts that he could not make sense of were waging war within him. They wouldn't leave him alone.
At about four a.m. he sat up to stare into the darkness.