November 9th
Only a few hours after his wand had fired a curse at her, Hermione had strode into the interrogation room at the Ministry and thrown herself into his arms without hesitation. It was preposterous. She should have been afraid. And he should have refused. Yet he had stroked her back and spoken soothing words to her. Because he couldn't help himself. Because he had thought she was dead - and here she was, breathing, speaking, loving him. Because he had thought their child was dead - and it was not. He could feel it kicking him where their bodies met.
So, who could blame him for allowing himself the luxury to embrace her and pretend for a moment that this nightmare was over?
But the next day, when Potter had told him she was free to visit him also on Saturday and Sunday, Lucius had refused. Hopefully, Potter had made up some sort of excuse to Hermione, claiming perhaps that some Ministry official had put their foot down. He hadn't explained why, but he couldn't see her. This attack had changed everything.
He had spent the last three three nights in a cell while his wand was analysed. He'd been questioned a few more times by different people, obviously as frustrated as he was with his lack of explanation for what had happened. As unpalatable as the idea was, he even offered Potter to look at his memory of the event – on condition he was allowed to go with them.
Consequently, Lucius, Potter and Mrs Watts had delved into the pensieve. And while he knew they would be studying his movements as much as anything else, Lucius avoided looking at himself or at Hermione. He didn't need the pensieve to relive the memory. Instead, he looked at everybody else - he studied each face as intently as he could but saw no one he recognized, and no one who showed signs of manipulating his wand.
When they emerged from the pensieve, nobody had said a word. Lucius had returned to his cell, and Potter and Mrs Watts had presumably gone to their office to report. He had wished Hermione had been there then, but didn't ask for her. He couldn't.
On Monday evening, Potter unlocked the door to his cell and told him he was free to go. The young Auror looked downcast, almost leaning against the door frame.
"Are you sure you want to set me loose upon society?" Lucius asked sarcastically.
Potter simply stepped into the cell and held out Lucius's wand for him to take. Lucius hesitantly accepted it. Elm and dragon heartstring... It felt just the same under his fingertips as it usually did, but it didn't instill the feeling of safety and power it usually did. It had betrayed him.
Harry Potter took a seat on a wall-mounted bunk across from him, and from the way the boy tousled his already messy hair, Lucius got the distinct impression that he was about to receive unpleasant news.
"What have you found out?" he asked suspiciously.
"They found traces of magic", Potter said slowly. "Something was affecting your wand, but the analysts couldn't tell exactly what."
"Could they tell which curse it performed?" Lucius asked, feeling the smooth wood as he slowly spun his wand between his fingertips.
Potter nodded and took a deep breath. "If directed at anyone else, it would have been the equivalent of a simple stunning hex. But because of Hermione's condition –"
"What?" Lucius asked sharply, nearly pointing his wand at Potter out of old habit.
"If directed at a pregnant woman", Potter said calmly but reluctantly, "that particular spell would likely cause a miscarriage."
For a moment, everything went blank. Like white noise that somehow filled Lucius entire field of vision. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and shook it off. Looking up, he found Potter standing beside him, looking worried.
Lucius glared at him, daring him to ask how he was doing or some equivalent nonsense. Potter took the hint and backed up two steps to sit back down on the bench. Hermione had been right. This was personal, and it wasn't just about revenge. It was about them.
"Who knew about the baby?" Potter asked, obviously following the same line of thinking.
"Me and Hermione, our healer - and Patrick Griffith."
"Then I'd say Griffith is our main suspect at the moment", Potter concluded.
"You'll put him under surveillance." Lucius didn't care if his words sounded more like an order than a supposition.
"Probably."
Incredulous, Lucius looked up at the young man whom Hermione liked to call a friend. This time, he did point his wand at the boy. "Probably? Are you out of your mind? He's been targeting Hermione for weeks!"
Potter cringed. "Look, I'm with you on this one!" He swallowed. "But a lot of people still think you did this on purpose."
"They won't listen to the boy-who-lived?" Lucius asked with thinly veiled anger.
"I'm just a junior Auror", Potter answered. "People do listen to me, and to Mrs Watts, but there's also a lot of prejudice. Griffith has no previous record of any sort of dealings with dark magic. You, on the other hand..." Potter sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Apparently you once attacked one of my superiors and he holds a bit of a grudge."
Lucius stared at Potter. "Are you saying that people could accept me being pardoned for my crimes, but now that an innocent witch - a war hero at that - is under threat, it is suddenly time to exact revenge?"
"I'm saying people think you are the one she needs to be protected from."
"But you don't?" Lucius bit out sarcastically.
"No", Potter snapped. "I don't. But I can't order the others to watch Griffith without proper evidence, especially if my bosses are against it."
His voice echoed in the small cell, and Lucius thought he saw something familiar in Potter's green eyes. Perhaps it was something Gryffindor about it, perhaps it was just a result of his long friendship with Hermione.
For a moment, everything was quiet as Lucius thought things through. The matter was in the head Auror's hands, he would have to accept that. And the head auror thought he was guilty. He could understand why. He couldn't accept, however, that Griffith went under the radar. But what could he do about it if not even Potter's word mattered. His status menat nothing, and neither did his momey. Unless... Suddenly, Lucius smirked to himself. Now that he though about it, there was a fairly easy solution to the problem.
Lucius straightened his back and stood up. "I see you can do nothing, Potter", Lucius said kindly as he stood up and pocketed his wand. "Don't worry about it."
Potter looked more alarmed than placated by Lucius's forgiving attitude. "Uh, okay..." he said as he too stood up from the bench.
Lucius gestured for him to proceed him out the door but stopped him after only a few steps by putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Do you know what, Mr Potter?" he said, watching with satisfaction as the young man looked up at him with clear suspicion in his eyes."I have a feeling your superiors will be much more persuadable tomorrow."
The torches in the corridor outside the open door reflected in Potter's glasses, and Lucius was rather reminded of another time they had spoken alone like this. At Hogwarts, where Lucius had been close to killing the boy. How times changed.
"Why?" Potter asked with narrowing eyes, glancing nervously toward the door.
"You will have important news to share with them", Lucius said.
"I don't think I -" Potter started, but Lucius interrupted him:
"You will be proud to tell them that an anonymous donor is simply desperate to assist in ridding the magic community from any remaining traces of dark magic, and will therefore donate a large sum to the Auror's department."
Potter was about to object, but Lucius held up a finger to silence him.
"And you will be able to tell them that a reliable witness - also anonymous - is almost certain he remembers seeing Patrick Griffith in the seedier parts of Knockturn Alley." Lucius paused to think, and added: "On multiple occasions."
Potter stared at him. "You're making that up!" he accused.
"Of course not!" Lucius denied with feigned innocence. "Your witness is almost certain."
"They're going to see right through this", Potter whined. "I can't go in there and lie -"
"You'd be surprised at how obtuse people get when there is money involved", Lucius said, brushing his clothes off. "Taking a look at Griffith won't be a problem with extra finances."
"I'm sure it won't, but -"
"And it ought to be looked into, don't you agree?" Lucius gathered all the sternness he possessed and poured it into the look he gave Potter. "Hermione thinks of herself quite as your sister, Potter. You don't want her to get hurt, do you?"
Potter looked like he wanted to argue, but taking a deep breath he finally nodded dejectedly. Still, he rubbed his forehead and muttered: "I hate you, you know."
"Don't be silly, Potter, I'm a lovely person", Lucius smirked, patting the boy on the shoulder again as they left his cell.
Apparently, Potter didn't hate him enough. Had he truly wanted Lucius to suffer, he would have forced him to leave the Ministry through the Atrium and thereby face the multitudes of journalists and angry citizens wishing to rip him to pieces. Instead, Potter allowed him to make use of the special Floo connection that the Auror's office had.
Lucius ought to have gone home to the Tower. He knew he should. He longed to. He wanted Hermione in his arms. But he couldn't. Not yet. While he'd had ample time to think during his incarceration, he still felt as if he needed time. He wasn't ready to face her. Her open trust. Her love.
He had attacked her. Even if his wand was controlled by someone else, it came back down to that one thing: Lucius had held the wand. He was responsible. He had been the tool, and he hadn't been able to stop it. He had been so focused on protecting her, on keeping her close to him - but now he was no longer safe.
What had she said at the zoo? The tiger – it's you.
So Lucius didn't go straight home. He saw the surprise on Potter's face when he uttered the address "Malfoy Manor" and the green flames transported him to his ancestral home. He didn't really know what he was expecting to find there. It wasn't exactly a place full of happy memories. But during the past few months, he had started to see it as a symbol. Of change, and hope. If he could transform the Manor into a place of healing, he might be able to transform into someone worthy of a second chance.
He stepped out of the fireplace and began to slowly walk through the unlit rooms, as if they could give him the answers he sought. When he stepped into the old drawing room, the drawing room - now remodelled so as not to be recognizable any more - he found that he wasn't alone.
"Are you happy now, Lucius?" a crisp voice asked from among the shadows.
Lucius turned around, searching the shadows for the white blonde hair he knew he should be able to distinguish.
"What are you doing here?" he asked Narcissa when his eyes finally found her. He could only just make out her figure on a settee that was usually covered with fabric to protect it from the dust.
"Harry Potter told Draco you'd be released tonight, and Draco told me." She paused. "It would be just like you to come here."
"Would it?" Lucius asked.
"Why didn't you go home to your fiance?" the silhouette asked. He couldn't quite make out her eyes in the darkness, but while he could easily have lit one of the lamps, he didn't like the idea of her being able to read his face. He felt vulnerable. Lost. Frightened.
"How did you feel, Lucius?" she asked in a cold, smooth voice that sent chills down his back. "When you directed your wand at her, knowing she'd be hit without as much as a warning?"
Lucius didn't answer. Couldn't. How he felt? He felt as if –
"What if you had hurt the baby?" Narcissa continued.
Lucius froze. She knew. It wasn't just Griffith then.
"Draco told me." There was a pause, full of accusations. "It will end badly, Lucius, and you know it."
Yes, he knew it.
Narcissa stood up, and began to make her way past him. He didn't move, and when she was just next to him, she stopped. "I never thought you were one to throw yourself blindly into anything. I suggest you think very carefully about what you do next."
She continued on her way to the fireplace, and soon, the dark room and the white ghosts of covered furniture were lit up in green, and she was gone. Green. Green like the Avada Curse. Green like death.
She was right. In one way, it didn't even matter who was behind the attacks. Whether it was Narcissa herself, or Griffith, or someone else entirely. Because he should have been able to stop it. What could he do to protect Hermione if he was the perpetrator? Only one thing. Leave.
She would be safe if he broke it all off. If he handed Hermione back to her friends and lived out the rest of his days in misery.
Then again, perhaps things had already gone too far? Perhaps things had been set into motion that could no longer be stopped? Perhaps all he could do was to stand by and watch everything burn.
And here I go again with the Author's Notes...
I have added a word of caution to the a/n in the Prologue, saying that this story will (as you have probably sensed by now) take a rather dark path for Lucius and Hermione. Perhaps that's not what you were hoping for when you started reading, but for me, the only way to write a sensible story was by exploring their weaknesses and strengths by putting them through some challenges. And the way I see it, their love is so strong to start with that it will take quite severe challenges to put even the smallest dent in their relationship.
I won't spoil things, but I repeat the quote I put into the prologue, which is from Julian of Norwitch, saying "It will be all right in the end. And if it's not all right, it is not the end." I like to think that applies to life in general, and I will strive to make it applicable to this story as well.
So: thank you for reading this far. I'd be sorry to see you go, but respect whatever choice you make. Having said thus much, I will also add that my motivation for writing is very low at the moment. I need encouragement from those of you who choose to read on.