"Kreacher," Hermione croaked. Her tongue tasted like wool. The crack! of the elf's apparition was like a shotgun in her ear.
"Mistress called?"
She cracked one eye and found herself almost nose-to-nose with his waxy face. "Please bring me a Sober-Up Potion. And nothing else," she added, remembering the (thankfully fortunate) mix-up with the dream potion.
The elf's face was smug as he disappeared, then reappeared seconds later with the red vial. He was gone before she could even say thank you. She sighed and pushed herself up, swallowing the sweet liquid. Maybe he'd already been delivering Sober-Ups all morning to whoever else hadn't made it home after the party.
The party.
Hermione blanched as her eyes roved over the room. Sirius's bedroom. Her, in it. Wrapped in his Gryffindor bedding, still warm from her body's heat. No, no, no—how did she get in here? Did anyone see? Hermione wracked her brain, trying to recall her last memories of the night before they went fuzzy. She remembered George, kissing him under the blasted mistletoe. Taking his champagne. Sitting alone in the kitchen, telling those boys to get a room. Then…then…
Her fingers flew to her mouth. The Manor.
The green flames of the floo wavered in her mind, the dark flooring of the manor's parlor rushing up to meet her wobbling feet. Then the hallway. Him. A stray touch, some words she couldn't make out. More emerald flames. Merlin, what's the point of a pensive if Harry doesn't own one?
The Sober-Up was sticky in her throat. Hermione tried to swallow, but the lump wouldn't go down. She ran to the adjacent bathroom, tossing icy water from the tap onto her face and slurping it down. It didn't help.
Lucius took me home.
The fact was inconspicuous on its own. They were…friendly, after all. It was what came before the 'taking home', and what came after, that had her mind in a frenzy. What had she said, drunk off champagne and emotions? What had Lucius seen of the room he'd deposited her in? Had anyone seen him at Grimmauld? Did everyone know—did they suspect? Suspect that she…and he…
"Fuck," Hermione whimpered, pressing her hands to her clammy cheeks.
She was attracted to Lucius Malfoy.
That could be reasoned with. He was handsome…in a cold, aristocratic, hater-of-her-kind sort of way. But he didn't hate her. That, she was fairly certain of. The attraction must have stemmed from that—that specialness he had somehow placed her in. She liked the attention. He liked hers too. Two puzzle pieces jammed together, their colors just happening to match, even if the edges didn't. It didn't mean anything. And it certainly wouldn't be further explored.
Hermione rushed out of the bathroom, hands flying into her hair to tie it back before cracking open the bedroom door. She was alone. After shucking off her heels, Hermione tiptoed up to her own room, then made quick work casting a cleansing charm and dressing in a comfortable shirt-dress.
Back downstairs, she breathed out a sigh of relief to find only Ginny in the kitchen, staring glumly at a bowl of oatmeal. "Morning," Hermione said carefully, before setting out to make some toast.
"Morning," Ginny yawned.
"Kreacher has Sober-Up Potions, if you need him to fetch one."
"Oh I did. Took two, actually."
Hermione's brow furrowed as she wondered what the matter was. She grabbed a jar of blackberry preserves from the fridge, taking it and a plate of toast to the table. "Anything the matter?"
Ginny stabbed at her oatmeal, before sliding it away. "It's stupid."
Hermione smiled at her friend's petulance—and her relief that this didn't seem to have anything to do with Lucius. "Anything making you upset isn't stupid." Ginny raised an eyebrow, and Hermione laughed. "Okay, maybe some things. Can't judge if I don't know."
Ginny sighed. "I had this idea that Harry would come surprise me by showing up at the party. Which I know is stupid, because he has work, and he's all the way in bloody France, and I'm proud of him for working so hard, and he'll be home Tuesday, but…"
"But it'd be nice to have a special night with the man you love?"
"Exactly."
Hermione nodded as she began spreading jam onto her bread. Merlin, she would give anything to have Sirius show up last night. For it to have been Sirius to rescue her from the mistletoe. Sirius to kiss her at midnight…
Her stomach lurched with a sudden memory of her actual last night. Lucius beside her bed. Hermione wanting a midnight kiss. But had she spoken that aloud? Had he kissed her? Surely she would remember. Surely she hadn't said anything of the sort.
Surely.
"What about you?" Ginny asked, as Hermione bit into her toast. Even the sweetness wasn't enough to distract her from the spiraling train of thoughts.
"Me?" she squeaked, before clearing her throat.
"Any special man sweep you off your feet?" Ginny asked teasingly.
"Hm, no. I mean other than my good friend The Empty Champagne Bottle." She glanced up. Ginny was staring. And grinning. "What?"
"Oh, nothing," Ginny hummed. She picked up her spoon, twirling it through her gloopy oatmeal. "Just with that glorious blush on your cheeks, I would have thought otherwise."
Her cheeks grew hot. "I—well I did kiss your brother. George," she added, at Ginny's wide eyes. "Ron's a better snogger, but don't tell him or it'll get to his head."
Ginny laughed. "No way. Having Lavender Brown back in his arms is enough boost for the git's ego to last a lifetime."
Hermione settled into eating her breakfast as Ginny rambled on about who had kissed who had midnight, thankful that she'd avoided at least one of her problems.
The other wouldn't be so easily solved.
She spent the morning debating whether or not to go to the Manor, as planned. Lucius was expecting her. And the research would be good, even if she couldn't talk to Harry until he came back on Monday. Good to clear her mind. And clear…other things up.
In the end, she found herself in the Malfoy Manor parlor fireplace just after lunch. As she strode down the hallway, she felt suddenly underdressed in her simple dress. Usually she was prim and proper in her Ministry clothes.
Except for last night.
Shaking the thought from her mind, Hermione eased open the library door. To her relief, it was empty. Though she doubted it would stay that way for long.
Her suspicions were confirmed an hour of reading later, when a tray for two appeared at her table. Pressing a book on magical signatures closed, Hermione fiddled with her hair, straightened her spine, and looked sideways as the doors swung open.
"Afternoon," Lucius said, dipping his head.
"Afternoon," she echoed back.
He stepped inside without looking at her, sliding out the opposite chair and going through the process of making their coffees. When he slid one before her, milked and sugared just the way she liked it, Hermione finally forced herself to meet his eyes. "I…Thank you for allowing me to come early." Not what she meant to say, but it seemed a safer topic to broach than Did I ask you to kiss me last night when I was drunk off my ass and in a dead man's bed? Did I kiss you?
"I figured you might enjoy the extra time," he said easily, studying her over his teacup. "I'll be away on Monday. I've been permitted to retrieve a cursed thesaurus collection in Oxford. Apparently a muggle professor has been hexed to continuously search the pages for clues about magic." A sneer curled at his lip.
Hermione blinked. "Your containment doesn't stay inside London's city limits?"
"According to the Auror…supervising, the DMLE is able to extend the containment charm as necessary."
"Clever bit of magic."
"Certainly. If only they let the containment map slip into the wrong hands, and I'd have an overnight somewhere far more interesting than a university town."
Hermione nodded, filing away this interesting piece of information. Lucius rarely talked of his work for the Ministry, and she hadn't tried to pry before. The loss of her Monday was a bit of a disappointment, but she supposed she could use the time speaking to Harry instead.
Hermione toyed with her saucer, watching how the sunlight reflected off the porcelain as she turned it. Lucius plucked a cookie from the tray. Oatmeal raisin. Her favorite. She ought to just say it. Get it over with, before the anxiety festered. She took a sharp breath and said, without looking up, "I apologize for last night. It was…indecorous of me."
"Indecorous?"
"Yes, I—I had too much to drink at the party. Otherwise I would not have…" She tensed, the hazy memories pooling in her mind.
"Revealed that it is not your Potions professor you wish back from the dead, but Sirius Black?"
Her eyes flew up to meet his. His expression was impassive. For a second, relief flooded through her that he hadn't brought up the kiss—or almost kiss. She still wasn't sure what had actually transpired. Then the reality sunk in—Lucius, carrying her to the second floor bedroom. Him asking whose room it was. "How did you know?" she whispered hoarsely.
His fingers drummed against the tabletop. "It was quite obvious, my dear. A large bedroom with an en suite, but clearly not Potter's, as I hear he's engaged to a Weasley. And not your own bedroom—no products in the bathroom, nor women's clothes in the closet. Only a few t-shirts and a leather jacket reeking of muggle tobacco. Don't tell me that's what you wear in your days off from work?" he drawled, raising one eyebrow as his gaze slid over her.
Hermione twisted her fingers in her lap. "I did not intend for you to find out."
Lucius leaned forward on his elbows, his gaze unyielding as he watched her. Hermione forced herself to not look away. "Did you think that just because I have lost my wand, and my family, that I have misplaced my wits as well? That I wouldn't find out?"
"No, I…I did not think it mattered to you whom I wanted to bring back."
"And you think Sirius Black will be happy to learn I aided you during the months leading to his miraculously resurrection? That he wouldn't be suspicious of my intentions or try to kill me on the spot?"
Her lips parted. "You think I can do it?" she whispered.
"Your reputation has not failed you so far," he answered, just as quietly. He settled back into his chair.
She settled into hers, put somewhat at ease by the revelation that he still believed in her. "You'll still help me?"
A smirk crossed his face. "I suppose the inconvenience of bringing Black back to life can be dealt with."
"Why?" When he arched an eyebrow, she added, "Why help me?"
"You don't remember our first conversation over, what was it…"
"Spaghetti," she provided.
"Cilantro spaghetti, if memory serves." Lucius took a polite sip of coffee, smirking over the rim. "You thought I sought redemption."
"I said that, not because I believed it to be true."
"And you wish for that truth, Hermione?" He lowered his cup, his gaze steadying on her. He stood up, pushing aside his chair as he began to pace through the library's tables. "You have spent months in the home of a Death Eater. Discussing magic in his study, allowing him to carry you home minutes to midnight on New Year's Eve. Every other witch or wizard in this country would find your choices either devastatingly naïve, or incredibly desperate." She flushed furiously at his words, but kept her eyes trained on him as he stilled. "The truth is that it does not matter to you what I want, or who I am. As long as you get your Sirius Black back from the dead."
"Who you were."
"You think I changed so much since the war?"
Hermione rose from her chair, her legs surprisingly steady. His eyes remained glued to her as she walked slowly around the tables, until she was standing just to his side. His head tilted down. Hers tipped up. "You let a muggle-born into your home," she started quietly, eyes locked on his. "Your private quarters. You aided her, and befriended her, and carried her home when you could have left her drunk in your floo. Some might call that devastatingly naïve, or incredibly desperate."
He smirked. A strand of hair escaped his ear, and she knew he caught her eyes moving to it. "What do you imply, Hermione?"
"You, for whatever reason, need my help." She was sure, now, that his desire to help stemmed from some deep cesspool of loneliness. She didn't believe he wanted redemption. She believed he wanted to move on. To feel something other than anger and sorrow. And she could accept that. "And I need yours."
"The simplest problems have the simplest solutions, don't they?" he said softly. For a moment, his eyes dropped to her mouth before returning to her own. The movement sent her heart racing. "I should allow you back to your research." He bowed his head and turned away. He made it to the door before he stopped to look back "Wednesday, then?"
She nodded. "Wednesday."
As the doors drifted closed behind him, Hermione leaned back against a shelf. The conversation had went nowhere she expected, but somehow better than she hoped. Lucius knew about Sirius, and miraculously, he was okay with it.
She had a feeling he was okay with those minutes to midnight too.
Hermione spent the rest of Friday and the weekend placing every and all thoughts concerning kissing Lucius Malfoy into a box inside her head. And then she slammed the lid shut and screwed it on tight with a power drill. Any inkling of an attraction between them would be stopped, right here and now. She had one purpose: to bring back Sirius. There was no telling of what would happen when he returned—if he cared for her at all, if he cared for her the way she so desperately wanted him to. But if there was a chance that he did, she had to be ready. And Lucius Malfoy would only be a distraction.
After working into the early evening on Monday, Hermione returned home to Grimmauld Place to a humming Ginny in the kitchen, checking on potatoes in the oven. Hermione watched her for a moment, smiling at her friend's obvious change in mood. Harry was home.
"Hey, Gin," she said, unwinding the thick scarf from her neck.
Ginny shut the oven and turned, the pleats of her sky blue skirt twirling around her legs. "Hi. Okay day?"
Hermione shrugged. "Not as good as yours, I imagine," she teased, grinning at Ginny's blush. "He's upstairs?"
"The roof, I think. For a smoke." She shook her head—Ginny hadn't been able to stop the habit either.
"Ron's with him?"
"Nah, he's...at work, I think."
Hermione wagered that was code for at Lavender's. No matter. Her ex's absence was a relief no matter the reason. "Thanks, Ginny," she said, ducking back out.
"Oi! Both of you better come back to eat these!"
Hermione chuckled as she pounded up the stairs, tossing the scarf back over her shoulder as she went. By the time she reached the fifth floor, her lungs ached, and a stitch had formed in her side. She took care of both with a muttered spell, her eyes settling on the open window at the end of the dark hall.
Careful not to snag her skirt, Hermione climbed out onto the roof. Grimmauld Place, for all its musty, drafty faults, had an excellent view of central London. Lights flickered against a patchwork of city streets, all set against a backdrop of the cool blue sky, its edges tinged with streaks of gold. Harry's hair stuck up, silhouetted by the encroaching night. Cigarette smoke trailed above him, before fading into the icy January air.
Hermione stepped across the rooftop, her heels clicking on the pebbled stone. He turned to look at her, a tight smile on his mouth until she approached. Thankfully, he stamped out the cigarette on the half-wall, then ground it beneath his trainer. "Welcome home," she said softly, watching the embers disappear under his shoe.
"Home sweet home," Harry breathed out. His fingers twitched against the railing. Probably itching for another smoke. At least he had the decency not to do it in front of her or Ginny, though she found herself missing the scent. It reminder her of Sirius.
"Everything okay?" she asked, studying his face with a frown.
"Yeah, just work really. France has been…" Harry sighed, tugging his fingers through his hair. "The disappearances have slowed, but every time we track down a lead, it turns up a dead end."
"Do you think someone's doing it to them?"
"Could be. But the people—they have no connections, other than being witches and wizards. Least not that we can figure out."
Hermione patted his hand. "You'll figure it out, Harry. I know it."
He nodded, and she pulled her hand back into her coat pocket. "You alright?" he asked suddenly, glancing around like he just realized she was up on the roof. "Don't tell me you're here for a smoke too."
She gave him her best scowl. "I'm not, thank you very much. But I would like your help." She hesitated, staring down as a muggle family crossed the street below. "Do you remember our conversation about your death?"
"Course."
"Do you have any idea why the place appeared as King's Cross?" Harry's expression turned skeptical. "Humor me."
Harry stared out into the city. "I didn't question it at the time, but I suppose…suppose it made a lot of sense, really."
"How so?"
"I was dead, yeah? And Dumbledore, he said I had a choice. Take the train or come home. But it was my choice, you know? This new freedom I hadn't had at all in the war. Since before the end of fourth year, really." Harry blew out a breath, watching it swirl into the cold. "King's Cross was the first place I felt that same great freedom."
Hermione pursed her lips, hiding her excitement. That had to be it—the form the Edge took was of a place in your real life, the one where you first felt that immense freedom Harry had at eleven. But what was that for Sirius?
"You sure you're alright?" Harry asked.
Hermione sighed and put her head on Harry's shoulder. "I'm glad you're here, Harry," she said softly. "That you came back."
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and they both turned their gazes to the impending night. "Me too."
After dinner, and Harry and Ginny had gone up to their room, Hermione set about her search of the house. She wasn't quite sure what she was looking for, exactly. A clue as to what Sirius's place of great freedom was. Surely it was either a place at Hogwarts, or from his life after his school. But where exactly?
She started in his bedroom, but there were no photos, journals, or letters to be found. Young Sirius had apparently not been sentimental, or his parents had destroyed his things after disowning him. Hermione went to the attic next, working her way down the floors until she was rooting through the basement, banishing cobwebs and staying well away from any object that looked like it was just itching to curse an unsuspecting muggleborn. Hermione even called for Kreacher, hoping he'd be of use, but apparently his duties did not extend to chit-chat about his dead master.
The problem was that everyone who had closely known Sirius pre-Azkaban was gone. Remus, James, Regulus. Even Narcissa. She considered contacting Andromeda or McGonagall, but both witches were sharp enough to be suspicious. Why would Hermione Granger be curious about Sirius Black, a dead man she'd hardly known?
Around midnight, she found herself in the library, too distraught to search any longer. Perhaps she would try and visit Hogwarts after work on Tuesday, just to poke around. For now, though, her mind was too worked-up to sleep. Hermione pulled Hogwarts, A History from its spot on the shelf, curled up into her favorite armchair, and opened it to where she'd last left off. The chapter was on first year traditions, and soon Hermione found herself smiling at the mention of the Hogwarts Express. She'd been so lucky to have met Harry and Ron that day, even if they were wary of her for quite some time. Hermione hadn't known real friendship until she fell into it with those two. She swallowed thickly at the memory of Ron and quickly flipped the page.
Her fingers brushed over an illustration of the first years' boats, drifting over the Black Lake with the castle towering in the distance. That had been quite frightful, in truth. Hermione had never been fond of swimming, and getting sent across the lake in the tiny boat, water lapping roughly at the wood—
The book tumbled from her hands. Hermione sat there, her gaze frozen on the open pages. Just below the illustration, in black ink so she hadn't even noticed at first, was a small scrawling. One word.
Home
Water lapping. Just like in her dream. She and Sirius had sat on some invisible edge, listening to the water. His legs dangling off into the expanse of pure white.
"The Black Lake docks," Hermione breathed out. She slumped back in the chair, staring off into a shelf of books. That has to be it. A transient place. A memory of great freedom. The corner of her mouth twitched. Slowly, a grin spread across her face until her cheeks ached. She had her specific destination.
Her workday on Wednesday was spent organizing old department records, the papers zipping about her as magic, thankfully, did all of the hard work. At almost half-past five, Hermione made her way up to the cafeteria, smiling when she thought of the development she could actually share with Lucius. She wasn't too sure how much he wanted to know, when it came to specifics about Sirius, but he'd always been interested in her breakthroughs in the past. He probably had a tale of his own, after Monday's expedition to Oxford.
As Hermione stepped out of the lift, her eyes locked onto the man in front of her. Ron started back, his mouth set in a hard line. "Hey," he said, as she idled in the lift.
"Were you waiting for me?" she asked coldly.
At least he had the decency to look sheepish. "You always take the same lift."
She sniffed and stepped out, brushing past him. Her heels clicked against the marble until she was standing at the center of the atrium. Can't meet up with Lucius until he's gone, now can I? She turned back to Ron, disappointed to find him still standing there. Two wizards bustled towards the now-empty lift. Ron moved closer, out of their way.
"Can I help you, Ron?" she asked stiffly.
He glanced over her shoulder, where the line of fireplaces stood. "Thought we could floo home together, is all." His cheeks reddened. Ron never was good at lying, even when he came up with a good one.
"I'll be right after you."
"Ladies first."
Hermione tried her best not to scowl. "Actually, you go on ahead. I—I'm waiting for a coworker." Her eyes drifted to the glass cafeteria doors. At least Lucius was far enough inside that Ron couldn't see his blonde head. "She's probably waiting for me downstairs," Hermione muttered. She ducked her head, striding back towards the lifts. "I should probably—"
A hand wrapped around her forearm. Hermione gasped, spinning around. "Don't you dare," she seethed, wrenching out of Ron's grasp. "What's wrong with you?"
His face was beet-red from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. "Me? I'm the one with the issues, am I?" His voice rose as he spoke, spit sputtering out.
Hermione caught a few stragglers staring, and she strode briskly towards one of the adjacent cloak rooms between two fireplaces. The lights flicked on as she slammed the door shut behind them. "What was that supposed to mean?"
Ron paced the length of the small room, stalking past the empty hangers and single, blood-red cloak. "I saw you."
"Saw me what?" she said wearily, crossing her arms.
"New Year's Eve. With him."
Worry crept into her throat. "Yes, I kissed him. Not that it's any of your business. Maybe if you kept your brother from putting up his toys in our house—"
Ron whirled on her. "George?" he deadpanned. "You think this is about my brother?"
She shrugged. "Clearly you're jealous. Not that you have any reason to be, hanging off Lavender's lips all night."
"I don't give a fuck about George, 'Mione—"
"Don't call me that!"
"I'm talking about Malfoy!" His words stung her like a slap.
He saw. He saw us. Her stomach flipped violently as her brain worked out the best course of action. Denial? Gloating? Pleading? What would happen if anyone found out? Were visitors even allowed in the manor, even with his sentencing change?
Will my friends hate me, if they knew?
"Is it why we broke up?" Ron said, his voice deathly quiet. "Because you're fucking him?"
She looked sharply back up. "I have not touched—or been touched—by Lucius."
"Didn't look that way to me."
She rolled her eyes. Her toe jittered against the floor. "I was drunk. He took me home, because we're friends. Nothing more. Again, not that it's any of your bloody business!" She tried to march forward. He blocked her path. When her hand dipped into her pocket, Ron's hands flew up. A weak gesture of peace. She would hex him in a heartbeat, if he dared touch her again. Hermione lifted her chin. "Get out of my way."
"So what, you're not going to explain yourself?"
"To you? I don't think so."
"How long has it been going on, huh?"
"Months," she seethed. Ron gaped at her. "Months, and you were so far up your own arse you didn't even notice."
Ron strode forward. She held her ground, even as he stopped less than an arm's width before her. She hated how tall he was, how small he made her feel. Her neck ached, craning to keep hold of his gaze. "I loved you, Hermione," Ron murmured. The words sunk through her like a stone. "And you took that, and you ran into the arms of a fucking Death Eater. What would they think?" he continued, his voice an icy whisper. "Remus? Tonks? Your parents? To learn that their friend, their daughter, chose to become a killer's pet."
Tears sprang in her eyes. How can he say such things? That little boy from the train was gone. "I'm not his pet."
"Prove it." Ron held out a hand, palm up. "Come home with me, and we'll pretend nothing happened. I won't tell Harry and Gin."
She stared at his hand. Tears raced down her cheeks. It would be so easy, to slip her fingers through his. Pretend they were still the same people they once were. That they still shared that fragile love. It would be easy, but Hermione had given up on easy long ago. "Do what you want," Hermione said stiffly. "I'm not coming home with you." She strode past him and didn't look back.
Hermione hid around the corner of a fireplace, waiting to ensure Ron left for home before she ventured into the cafeteria. Lucius was waiting for her, tray empty, smile slipping when he saw her tears. Thankfully Lucius had the sense to remain quiet until they arrived at Malfoy Manor.
"What happened?" he demanded, as soon as she dusted off her robes.
She blinked furiously, averting her eyes. The tears didn't stop. "Nothing. How was your trip?" At his long silence, her lip quivered.
Gentle fingers found her chin, guiding her to look back at him. "Did someone hurt you?" he murmured, his hand sliding up to cup her wet cheek. His thumb brushed out, swiping away a tear.
She shook her head, just slightly. "Not really," she whispered. Hermione yanked her sleeve over her palm, starting to rub at her other cheek when a handkerchief suddenly appeared before her. Green silk, embroidered with an 'L.M.' in the corner. She almost smiled, before dabbing at the tears. His hand fell away, the warmth of his touch like a ghost on her skin.
"Really does not give me much hope as a qualifier, Hermione. Tell me who did this."
"You don't have a wand," she pointed out.
"I wouldn't need one."
Hermione met his eyes again. This time, she really did smile. The sight of him, smiling back, had her eyes welling up all over again. "Please, Lucius. Tell me about your trip, or I'm afraid I'll be in need of another handkerchief."