The Kindest Curse
by Quillusion
Chapter 5
Hermione was in to work early the next morning. It was Saturday, but the offices of UnRavel were still as busy as they might have been on a Monday; many of the firm's clients had full work weeks themselves, and UnRavel's CEO had quickly realized that Saturday hours would bring in a great deal of business. Consequently, Hermione had Sunday and Wednesday off- at least, this month. The cursebreakers took it in turns to do Saturday hours.
She sat at her desk shortly after eight in the morning, sipping a fresh cup of tea and contemplating the day's schedule. She had a brief catch-up meeting in ten minutes, after which she would finish filing the last of the paperwork from last week's cases, and then she had her first consultation of the morning at ten o'clock. After lunch she left the office to head to Knightsbridge to investigate a safe someone had cursed shut; then it was back at the office by three for another meeting on developing a one-hour break-while-u-wait simple cursebreaking service that would be run by the entry level cursebreakers. After that it was finish up the paperwork, then head home. Should be straightforward.
Except she couldn't concentrate on her paperwork. She doodled most of the way through the first meeting, covering her scratchpad with faceted images of diamonds and pentagons, and then had to cast a clarifying spell on herself to get through her paperwork. Two cups of tea did nothing but send her to the ladies' twice in the next hour. She barely finished before her first client arrived.
She was grateful enough to have the paperwork behind her that she found it a little easier to focus completely on the consultation; she was aided by the fact that the object of her study, a letter brought in by a befuddled witch from Luton, was rather interestingly charmed shut. The woman's husband had somehow spelled the letter so that it believed it contained a birthday surprise for his wife, and would not allow itself to be opened before her birthday (still three weeks away) or in front of her. The witch had tried everything she could think of to break the curse, without luck. As she had found it in his robe pocket with a pair of thong underwear which was not hers, she was naturally quite suspicious.
It took Hermione three minutes to get around the problem. She tricked the letter by isolating it in a small bubble of space, and then moving the time inside the bubble forward until the woman's birthday was past. The letter then opened quite easily.
"I thought it wasn't safe to move time forward," said the worried looking woman across from Hermione at the low table upon which the curse-breakers usually did their work.
"Normally, yes, that's true," said Hermione as she calmly cast a spell to unfold the sheet of parchment inside the opened envelope, tactfully turning it so that only her client could see what it contained. "But in this case, time is only moving forward inside this one-foot-wide bubble- not in the world around us. As there are no people, places, or events inside the bubble, we aren't changing anything, and as we ourselves are not inside the bubble, it's safe enough. There is, of course, the calculated risk that something might happen inside this little patch of space above the worktable in the next three weeks that would damage the letter- a fire, for example- but it's a slim risk, and we have charms set on the table to protect property in the event of a temporal collision."
Turning toward the opened letter, Hermione's client read its contents, and went immediately pale with rage. From the exclamations and invective which the angry witch couldn't contain after reading it, Hermione gathered that the woman's husband had been trying to conceal the contents of her father's will from her in order to secure half of her inheritance for himself, which event would have been finalized after the passage of her next birthday. Her younger brother would have inherited the whole and given half to the woman's husband; the two had apparently hatched a scheme between themselves. Given the look on the witch's face, she could almost pity them for their stupidity.
Hermione had her fee in hand and was alone in the room before a minute was up, the woman's thanks ringing down the hallway in her wake as she left for her solicitor's office. The cursebreaker smiled with satisfaction and reversed the temporal shift, restoring the letter to its usual state, and then Flooed it down to the doorman, who would hand it to the client who had forgotten to take it with her.
That had taken less than ten minutes; she still had fifty before her next appointment. She spent five of them writing up the case and filing it, and then sat down in the window seat to think.
The past 24 hours had given her more to think about than the past ten years had done. She wasn't sure what to make of most of it, but there were several things she felt quite secure in believing without any need for further thought. The first was that there was something afoot, and that there was a good chance Voldemort was involved. The second was that this was a challenge worthy of her skills, possibly even surpassing them. More research was in order, and on a large scale.
The third was that Malfoy no longer fit the pigeonhole into which she'd mentally poked him after the war without a second thought. Which wasn't to say he'd ever really fit in there to begin with.
She sighed and corrected herself. Not Malfoy. Lucius. She'd given him her word, and he had been wise to ask her for it; she might still be subconsciously trying to update her original ideas of him if he had not insisted that she throw them all out. She had been honest when she'd told him it would be difficult, however. She had had to make an effort throughout the evening not to interpret his every word with more skepticism than was reasonably necessary. But she was at least managing to detach the wizard whose company she had so enjoyed last night from her memory of a classmate's father, cold and harsh and intent on destroying her and her best friend.
Her best friend. Harry. That thought brought her up short. Given what Lucius had told her last night, she wondered if she ought not to tell Harry Potter. Although, as she had accepted Lucius's commission last night, he was technically a client and the information he had shared was now confidential. She chewed on her lip a moment. She'd have to ask him if it would be all right, but she felt certain he would decline to inform Harry of any of this.
He did not, however, have the right to forbid her to ask Harry's opinion of him.
She scribbled a quick note and summoned an owl to deliver it. By the time she was done with her lunch, she had a reply. Harry and Deirdre had invited her for dinner at their home in Godric's Hollow.
"It's been four months since your last visit, Hermione," chided Deirdre as she took Hermione's cloak and hung it in the hall. "No one can rein Harry in like you can- you mustn't desert us like that for so long a second time."
"I wouldn't have done it a first time if work hadn't switched hours on us like that," Hermione said, hugging Deirdre and following her into the parlor, where five year old Jarius Potter was trying to convince Harry to let him try Harry's wand.
When the boy had been born, Hermione and Ron had both joked that Deirdre would have virtually no say in the name- and that Harry would not have much more. How they would be able to name him anything other than Sirius James was incomprehensible. To which Deirdre had replied, with a gleam in her eye, that they hadn't been able to decide which name to put first, so they had merged them.
"We liked Jarius better than Simes," she had commented dryly, and everyone had laughed and toasted the newborn baby.
"Just as well," Ron had remarked. "With a name like Simes, he'd never get a job as anything but a butler."
Jarius heard the voices in the hall, and as soon as Hermione was visible, he was up like a shot and running to fling his arms around her waist.
"Aunt Ione!" he cried. His childhood name for her had stuck around the family, and Hermione had gratefully accepted it in lieu of the dreaded 'Mione' that Ron had favored. Even the redhead had picked up on the change, and she had been spared the less preferred contraction for three years as a result.
"Jarius!" she said, and swung him up and around. "Oof! If you get any bigger, I'm going to have to start using a charm to swing you round!"
"If you let me use your wand, I'll charm myself!" boasted Jarius, and Hermione laughed.
"I just bet," she said. "I hope you inherited your mum's knack for charms. Your dad took a while to catch on to the basics, you know."
"Naah- not Dad!" cried Jarius disbelievingly, running back to his father. "Please, Dad? Just let me try it once?"
Harry laughed as he came to hug Hermione and kiss her cheek.
"No, Jarius. Be patient. Good to see you, Hermione. Deirdre's right- it's been too long."
They moved into the kitchen, where Harry was grilling steaks on a built- in grill. He'd rebuilt his parents' home in Godric's Hollow, with a few Muggle novelties built in; he even had a telephone. Hermione had also had an opportunity a year ago to savor the midwinter treat of a soak in their Jacuzzi tub. Deirdre had blushed when she'd remarked that it must get a lot of use in the cold season.
Hermione cut up vegetables to go into the salad while Deirdre helped Jarius put butter and garlic salt on slices of French bread. Harry set the table, and when dinner was ready they carried the food into the dining room and settled down to eat.
The talk was light, and Hermione relaxed a little in the familiar warmth of family gathered at the dinner table. She had never regretted being a career woman, but times like this made her resolve to spend more time with her friends and their families. Being an honorary Weasley and an honorary Potter was something best savored in person- and it was much easier than taking care of children of her own. Being Aunt Ione was something she could do with great gusto and minimal exhaustion. At the moment, the only requirement was to help Jarius cut his steak, which she did without prompting to give Deirdre and Harry a few minutes to eat in peace.
"I like how you cut my steak," the boy remarked. "You make it into tiny little diamonds." He popped one into his mouth by way of illustration.
Damn, she thought to herself in amusement. There's no getting it off my mind, is there?
She acquiesced to Jarius's request for an after-dinner 'magic trick', which had become something of a tradition when she visited.
"Which one do you want?" she asked as they moved from dining room to sitting room again. She settled into her favorite chair, a slightly overstuffed one wide enough to let her curl her feet up under her. The Potter household was not a formal one by any stretch of the imagination, and she often wondered if the mild chaos of the house in Godric's Hollow owed more to Harry's fondness for the Burrow, or his distaste for the tidiness of the house on Privet Drive.
"Do the tree,' Jarius said excitedly, jumping up and down on the couch until his mother deftly transferred him to the floor so she could sit down.
"All right," Hermione said, and he leapt up and ran to his toybox to choose a toy for her to transfigure.
"You're OK with this?" she asked, and Harry nodded.
"He loves this," he said with a fond look at her. "So do I, for that matter. It's always a pleasure to watch a master at work."
When Jarius presented her with a stuffed Golden Snitch, she directed him to put it in the middle of the rug, which he did. She then drew her wand, and noted how avidly his green eyes followed the slender switch of wood. Harry and Deirdre were going to have to watch their wands closely in the next few months; she'd have to make sure they knew how to lock their wands to prevent Jarius from using them. She hated reversing wand backfires on children, but she had to do it about once a month on average.
She set up a soft whispering chant, the words faint and foreign to Harry's ears. He'd never known how she did this, as it wasn't the sort of thing they had been taught at Hogwarts. He didn't think the spell was Latin based, either.
A faint blue mist drifted from the tip of her wand to wrap around the snitch, and gradually the stuffed toy lengthened, softened, and swirled up into the growing blue fog. As they watched, the fog shifted, lightened, and suddenly coalesced into a tree as tall as the ceiling, its branches arching gracefully out, tiny new green leaves fluttering in some unfelt breeze.
"Spring!" cried Jarius, and the leaves grew rapidly and deepened in hue. Faint pink spots appeared in their midst, and within minutes the tree was heavy with blossom. The scent of cherry blossoms drifted around them, and petals began drifting down to surround them in scent and softness.
"Summer!" the boy said, and the flowers showered down onto the rug with a flush of pink. The green of the leaves deepened, the foliage glossing and rustling as the crown of the tree emptied itself of bloom.
"Fall!" shrieked Jarius, getting up and making ready for his favorite part.
The leaves deepened in hue, then turned crimson, peach, gold, and fiery orange. They began to fall in drifts, and a breeze caught them up into a great pile. Jarius launched himself into them full force, leaping up as far as he could before sinking slowly to the floor in a cloud of leaves.
"Winter," said the boy with satisfaction, and laid on his back as fine snowflakes drifted down to cover leaves and child with a blanket of white. The branches of the tree, now bare, collected snow like icing. Jarius waited until he was almost completely buried, giggling in the warm stuff that was nothing like the snow he had played in this afternoon, and then said, "OK, Aunt Ione."
"Come here, Jarius," said Hermione quietly.
To Deirdre's and Harry's surprise, he did as she asked.
"Put your hand on mine," she said, and he folded his small fingers around her hand as it held her wand. She met Harry's eyes over his son's head, and she read understanding in them.
"Are you ready?" she asked, looking back down at Jarius.
His eyes were wide and shining.
"I will cast the spell. I want you to concentrate on how the wand feels as the spell emerges." She wrapped her other arm around the boy's body and held him firmly.
"Finite incantatem", she said.
The tree vanished in a whoosh, the snow and leaves and blossoms evaporating into nothing, and Jarius staggered under the force of it.
The green eyes were still wide, but this time it was with surprise.
"Powerful, isn't it?" Hermione said calmly.
"Yeah," he said in a small voice.
'That's why your mum and dad want you to wait on the wand thing," she said. "It's not something you should use lightly, or until you fully understand it. You'll get to learn, but trust your parents. They know what they're doing. Promise me?"
"Promise," he said, still a little cowed by what he'd felt.
"That was clever, letting Jarius hold the wand, Hermione," Harry said a few hours later as they sipped coffee in front of the fireplace. It was Deirdre's turn to put Jarius to bed, and she had chased her son up the stairs and into the tub ten minutes earlier. "I wouldn't have thought of that. He'll be a little more careful- for a while."
"Remind me to show you how to lock your wand, if I haven't shown you before," Hermione said. "At that age, caution wears off faster than sunblock."
"That would be great," said Harry, looking relieved. "I owe you."
She smiled. "Here's a chance for you to pay me back right away," she said. "I know it's out of the blue, but humor me for old times' sake. I would really appreciate hearing your opinion of Lucius Malfoy- given everything that's happened since we were at school."
Harry blinked. "I don't know what I expected you to ask, but that wasn't it," he said. "What makes you ask?"
Hermione laughed. "I've been cleaning mental house," she said, which was true enough. "I never sorted through everything that happened after the war ended, and it occurs to me I don't know what to think of the man, or the things he did. Is he a good guy? A bad guy? Both? Was he for real? What's he up to now? That sort of thing."
Harry studied her for a long moment. "I find it hard to believe you never thought about him after the raid," he said carefully.
Shrugging, she took another sip of her coffee. "There wasn't time," she said. "And then, when there was time, it was too confusing, and it didn't really matter any longer."
"Apparently it does," he countered, and she acknowledged his observation with a sigh.
"I know. It's complicated. But even with the things I saw and did at the end of the war, even though I know we pretty much owe him our success, it's difficult for me to decide if I think he meant it all. You never told me what you thought, and I know you were far more involved in the last phase of things than I was." She paused. "Can you tell me anything about it?"
Harry leaned back in the chair for a moment, his expression far away, but Hermione saw nothing of pain or regret in his eyes. He'd moved on from the war years, as she had; she hoped that her questions would not unearth any unhealed wounds.
"It was unexpected, I'll grant you that," Harry said slowly. "Everything happened so fast. First there was the raid- and I still don't quite think you've told me everything about it, Hermione." He sent her an appraising look, and she sighed again.
"No, probably not. Maybe someday. Once I've gotten this all figured out."
He nodded, having expected no other answer. Hermione could be stubborn and closed-mouthed, usually when it least suited her friends. Given that she had said the same of him in the past, he thought it a fair observation.
"I'm sure you remember the briefing you gave the Order the night of the raid," he said, more for confirmation than anything else. It had occurred to him more than once that she might have blotted out the horrifying events of that night from her memory, either intentionally or otherwise, but she nodded calmly.
"I do," she said. "It was as brief as the name implied, and you're correct that I didn't tell you everything, but I left out none of the salient points. Lucius Malfoy and I worked together to exile Voldemort. I couldn't have done it alone, and neither could he. He's acknowledged as much."
Harry shot her a look. "I hadn't heard that," he said. "Have you spoken to him since?"
"Yes," she said. "Once." Which was also true. That 'once' had lasted six hours, but it was still just 'once'. "Go on, Harry."
"Anyway, after you left, we were just trying to decide where to go looking for him when a letter arrived, addressed to Albus. It was from Malfoy."
Lucius, Hermione mentally amended.
"I would never have guessed he had written it, if not for the handwriting and the signature- and those both suggested he wrote it in a hurry. Albus vouched for its authenticity. It was short, considering what it said, and believe it or not, there was no condescension in it. He must not have had time for his usual verbal swordplay, because it was all just written out plain, like a Gryffindor would do." He shook his head and went to the bookcase in the corner of the room, from which he withdrew a slim volume bound in navy blue cloth.
"Here's the diary in which Remus kept notes at Order meetings that year," he said. He set a Quick Quotes Quill to transcribing the letter as Albus read it out. Hang on a sec-" he flipped through pages until he found what he wanted- "here's what it said. I remember the gist of it, but it's worth rereading, I think, especially the last bit. I don't know if you ever heard the contents of the letter, and you might find it helpful, given your question." He sat down again and began to read the letter aloud.
"Dear Headmaster:
"I do not doubt that you are aware of the events of last night, either through the report of the surviving Aurors or from Miss Granger herself. I must state plainly that my circumstances have altered drastically, as I have had a falling out with Voldemort over several internal but vital matters, the details of which would likely bore you. Suffice it to say that the choices remaining to me are all equally unpalatable. On the one hand, I could simply vanish and let you deal with Voldemort yourselves- but I can guarantee your judgment would not be swift, and in the meantime the consequences for my family, my friends, and all those I hold dear would be terrible, for reasons you cannot imagine and which I lack the time to explain.
"On the other, I could choose to betray those same friends, my family and colleagues, everyone with whom I have worked for the last ten years for a cause in which I truly believed- even if you did not. I may be a villain in your eyes, but I am not a hypocrite or a coward. And yet I cannot bring myself to be a traitor in full- so I will settle for righting the one wrong I believe most crucial for the good of both your cause and mine. As surprising as it seems, our paths lie together- at least for this little while.
"If you can trust the word of an erstwhile enemy, then trust me now. At noon today I will Floo a package to the Slytherin common room. In it you will find information on Voldemort's whereabouts, his hiding places, and his weaknesses. You will also find a partial list of Death Eaters whose loyalty to him is greater than my own, and whose help he will most likely find ready in his hour of need. I expect you shall find them useful.
"As I have said, I will not betray all of my friends. I am not alone in my change in circumstances, but few of those who bear me company are aware of the fact; it would be dishonorable to expose them to a degree of censure beyond that which they may rightly deserve. If we must answer for our actions, we will do so- but we will not do it in the same court as the villain whom we each seek to destroy.
"No doubt you are wondering about my motives. As I have said, there is no time to explain, but believe me when I say they are honorable, and that I stand to lose as much as you, if not more, unless Voldemort is stopped. If you have any qualms about trusting my information, I hope you will ask Hermione Granger if my offer is to be trusted. At the moment, she alone has the right- and the qualifications- to stand as my judge.
"Sincerely, Lucius Malfoy."
Harry looked up at Hermione. "Now that I think about it, it makes sense that you didn't understand why Albus Flooed you as soon as you'd got home that night. This letter- his last paragraph- is why, but you couldn't have known that at the time. Albus asked you point blank if we could trust Lucius Malfoy's offer of help to find Voldemort and destroy him. Albus said you turned ash white, grabbed the couch for support, and whispered, 'Yes.' " Harry paused a moment; his friend was just as pale now as she must have been then.
"And now you come to me, asking me if you think Lucius Malfoy can be trusted? If you doubted his sincerity this much at the time, I'm glad you didn't say. You kept up a much-needed illusion of confidence."
Hermione laughed. "Oh, I knew perfectly well that he was serious about wanting Voldemort dead," she said. "After all, Voldemort had just destroyed his own house trying to kill Lucius." She shuddered. "I know Voldemort hated you, Harry, but he hated Lucius, too, in those moments. It was horrifying to see the look in his eyes. Lucius Malfoy was handed his mortality that night, and if we had not run into one another, we would both be dead. No, I know he was sincere about wanting Voldemort stopped. But I don't know why, which means I don't know what his plans were once Voldemort was gone. For all I know, he wants to be the new Dark Lord."
"I see your point," Harry said thoughtfully. "But let me finish telling you about the letter and what we did with it.
"Once Albus had your confirmation, he sent Professor Snape to the Slytherin common room to wait for the package, which arrived right on time.
"It was rather larger than we had expected; instead of an envelope or a notebook, it was a large crate of notes, letters, and meeting minutes. You know the one- you helped us sort through it in the days after the raid. I won't go over the stuff in the crate, since you were there. Just loads of letters, names, dates, places, and so on. And you already know how we used the information to track down Voldemort and... and end the war."
Harry never talked about the last battle, any more than she talked about the raid. It had been short, violent, and had left Harry unconscious for the better part of two weeks. He'd spent another two weeks in St. Mungo's afterward, recovering. Only Albus had seen what had happened at the end, and he would not speak of it either. Hermione was just as happy not knowing what had happened; brave Gryffindor though she was, she knew perfectly well that curiosity could do far worse things to a cat than kill it.
"What about after the war?" Hermione asked. From upstairs, she could hear the faint sound of Deirdre's voice as she read Jarius his bedtime story.
"He cooperated," Harry said simply. "He turned himself in about a month after the battle, and several other Death Eaters came in with him. They were questioned, debriefed, kept in Azkaban until everything was gotten out of them that could be gotten out of them. They came completely clean as near as anyone could tell, but they had little to say on the matter of their change of heart, other than the fact that Voldemort had become a threat to their families."
"Do you think he meant it? Changing sides, I mean?"
Harry considered that for a moment. "Yeah," he said at last. "Yeah, I do. I don't think that means he believes in the same things that the members of the Order do, but whatever it is that he believes in, it's something that Voldemort threatened. I know he's ambitious, but if he'd had other plans that went against ours, we'd have seen something of them by now, I think."
Hermione thought about the Hope Diamond, glittering in its carefully preserved state, possibly cradling the remnants of a demon in its heart, and she felt a chill sweep across her skin.
"I don't know," she said truthfully.
"Look, Hermione, is there something wrong?" Harry asked worriedly.
"No, Harry. Everything's fine. I'm just working on a case at the moment that has made me wonder if Lucius Malfoy is what we've always assumed him to be."
Harry snorted. "Are any of us?" he countered.
"True," she agreed.
"For what it's worth," Harry said, "I know Albus believes he has undergone a bit of a change of heart. And Severus seems to think so as well- although he's also acknowledged that, given his circumstances, he can hardly deny that a man can change his mind. Albus and Severus have admitted Lucius into some small degree of confidence, and he has resumed his prior position on the board of governors of the school. From what I understand, he's never offered a word of complaint on his treatment since the war, the continued presence of Muggle-born students at the school, or Albus's policies, with one exception." He chuckled.
"That exception, oddly enough, peripherally involves you- which makes me wonder that I never told you. I had this from Minerva shortly after it happened.
"Severus had applied for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position a few years ago- again- and Albus had turned him down, again. And Lucius stood up in the middle of that board meeting and asked Albus why he had turned Severus down.
"Albus's reasons were the usual- Potions teachers are hard to find, the war is over, Severus deserves a rest, so forth and so on- you know the routine."
Hermione nodded. She'd always thought Severus Snape would have made a good DADA professor, and she had told Albus so on several occasions. She was disappointed in Albus for not believing in his Potions teacher; he had done so much to deserve the Headmaster's trust, and he was not asking much in return. Just to be let out of the dungeons, so to speak.
"At any rate, Lucius said that Severus Snape had more than proved his trustworthiness and his capabilities, and that furthermore, the current Defense curriculum did not adequately prepare students for the realities which might someday await them. And when Albus asked if he had evidence that Hogwarts students were sent out into the world unprepared, Lucius had the guts to list out the names of all the Aurors killed on the night of that horrible raid.
"He then pointed out that Hermione Granger had the sorts of skills that were required, and that if she felt Severus was the best choice, then he would back her opinion. And then he sat down."
Hermione stared at Harry, agog. "He said that?"
"Yep," said Harry with a smile. "Everyone else was surprised, too. Snape still didn't get the job- but you won brownie points with him after that."
She blinked. "Damn."
Laughing, Harry closed the blue book and put it back on the bookshelf. "Anyway, I hope that helps answer your question. I don't know that I trust him enough to buy a used broomstick from him, but I do trust him not to have any dealings with Voldemort's scattered remnants."
Oh, Harry, you have no idea, Hermione thought with an inward smile, but she nodded. "Ironic, isn't it?" she said, and he chuckled.
"A bit," he agreed. "But no more than the fact that he's been perfectly fair to Muggleborns since the end of the war, with no coercion or condescension. Albus says he hasn't used the term 'mudblood' since returning to the public eye- and given how often he used to use it, we know he isn't shy about that sort of thing. He still has no patience for incompetence or laziness, and he makes no bones about the fact, but he's not as harsh as he once was. Minerva tells me he's awarded several of the Board of Governors scholarships to Muggleborns on his own initiative, and with excellent reasons backing up his choices. I never thought I'd hear myself say it, but he seems to be something of an asset to the school."
"In a minute you'll be suggesting he's really a marvelous guy, he's just misunderstood," Hermione remarked dryly.
"Oh," said Harry lightly, "not really. I don't think he's ever been understood, period. Figuring him out would take more exposure to him than I think I could handle."
"Hmm," said Hermione thoughtfully. "I'll get back to you on that one."
Harry shot her a sharp glance. "Meaning?"
"I can't specify," said Hermione, using the phrase she customarily employed to let her friends know it was work related. He immediately looked concerned.
"Hang on a minute, Hermione," he cautioned. "I gave you all this advice with the thought that this was all theoretical. If you've got anything to do with Lucius Malfoy at work, you might want to talk to Albus. Or Severus. They could give you more real-world advice. He's not a man to tangle with lightly."
"So I've observed," said Hermione evenly, and Harry held back whatever he'd been about to add. She would know better than he.
"Ouch- look at the time!" The clock over the mantel read eleven o'clock- Jarius had been allowed up far past his usual bedtime. "I'd better go," she said, rising from the couch with a yawn. "Dinner was marvelous, Harry." She gave him a hug before turning toward the stairs. "I'll just go say goodbye to Dee, and I'll be on my way."
"No need to come up," said Deirdre, appearing in the doorway. "Jarius finally fell asleep." She gave Hermione a hug herself, then followed her to the front door. She patted her back as she settled the wool cloak around her friend's shoulders.
"Don't wait so long before visiting again," she said, and Hermione knew the words were invitation as much as admonishment.
"I won't," she said with a smile. "And maybe we can all take a sledding trip when the holidays are over and things aren't so busy."
"That sounds great," Harry said, opening the front door for her. A few flakes of snow drifted in to swirl around their feet. "I haven't been sledding in years. In the meantime, take care of yourself, Aunt Ione." He gave her one last hug. "And let me know if you need any other advice on that subject. I'll keep my ears open just in case."
"Thanks, Harry," said Hermione, and Disapparated with a faint pop.
Hermione's chance to talk to Albus and Severus came almost the next night. Sunday was Albus's traditional Christmas party, and Hermione- along with everyone else with whom the Headmaster had ever exchanged pleasantries- was invited to Hogwarts for the evening. The students were not invited to this particular party, as it tended to involve imbibables and the jokes were often rather off-color; Albus himself had quite a penchant for 'dirty old man' jokes, many of which involved sound effects.
She knew that Lucius had been invited this year, as he was every year, and she had no reason to expect that he would come this year- as he had not come to any of Albus's parties in the past. Whether it was the crowds, the people who made up the crowds, or the Headmaster himself that kept the man away was hard to say. If she had thought to wonder the reason for this in years past, she would have decided that he felt the company beneath his dignity.
But she didn't think that was the case any longer. Had he really thought so little of them, Lucius would more than likely have put in an appearance at each and every social function to which he was invited, giving a spotless impression of a man full of contrition, doing his best to make amends and cement his standing in the ranks of 'good' society once again. He'd done it once before, after all, even if he hadn't made much effort to conceal his true opinions from people who were in no position to damage his well-groomed political image. He did not, however, appear to be doing it now.
No, from what little she had learned of him in the past few days, Hermione suspected that the change in his opinions over the past ten years might actually lie at the root of Lucius Malfoy's self-imposed exile from the society of those who had won the war with Voldemort. He did still circulate among his former acquaintances, she'd been able to establish that much, but his engagements were few and limited to small dinner parties given by old friends. He had little contact with most of the former Death Eaters who had been tried and either acquitted or given light sentences for relative noninvolvement in the central conflict; as for those of his former colleagues who had taken an active role, all but one were dead- and even Lucius Malfoy had not had any love for Peter Pettigrew. Of course, Lucius rarely, if ever, came to events frequented by members of the Order of the Phoenix. And she was beginning to think she might know why.
Pride had a role in his withdrawal, no doubt; it was humbling to have to acknowledge he had been on the losing side of the war until the last possible moment, and more humbling still for a proud man of high lineage to know that many people- on both sides of the issue- were very justifiably questioning both his honor and his motivations for changing sides. And there was one other consideration, one which she was reluctant to take into account but which was nonetheless an issue.
He might actually have meant it.
Remorse was an emotion utterly out of character for the Lucius Malfoy she'd known before, and the new version showed no sign of it- but if it existed, in any quantity, it might make mingling with those who could not really be described as anything other than his victims a distinctly uncomfortable prospect for everyone involved; he might feel it the better part of wisdom- and good taste- to save everyone the trouble. Especially himself.
She couldn't say she blamed him.
The Great Hall was full to brimming by the time she arrived, a half hour after the party started. She made her way over to the Headmaster just in time to miss the bulk of one of his toilet-humor favorites; she politely pretended not to have heard the punchline as she greeted him over the mingled guffaws and groans of his audience.
"Hermione! Delighted to see you, my dear- Merry Christmas!"
"Merry Christmas, Albus." She kissed him on the cheeks and grinned at his irrepressible twinkling. "Having a good year?"
"Oh, as always, Miss Granger, as always. Though no one has beaten any of your school records yet- in case you were worried."
She laughed. "I quit keeping track," she said, knowing he would always tease her about this, and doing her best to keep the smug look off her face. Wouldn't do to let him know his ribbing hit home, would it?
"May I talk to you for a moment, Albus? I need to ask you a question."
He leveled that all-knowing blue gaze on her. "Is this about Mr. Malfoy?"
"Yes," she said, half-relieved and half-resigned. All that remained was to find out exactly how much he knew. She doubted Lucius had told him everything he had told her.
The Headmaster gestured for her to precede him to his office, and she did so, patting the gargoyles fondly as she passed them by.
"I gather Mr. Malfoy approached you with a business proposition," Albus said as he gestured for her to take a seat in the purple armchair beside the fireplace.
"He did," Hermione confirmed. "May I ask whether he gave you the details of the case? Client confidentiality demands that I not reveal anything more to you than you already know."
"Ah," said the Headmaster. "No, he did not. I understand only that he is following a trail of cursed objects with the goal of eliminating them. Something about their representing a danger to his family."
"Yes," Hermione confirmed, biting her cheek to keep from smiling at the gross understatement. "Something along those lines. What I would like to know from you, Albus, is the same thing you once asked me: can I trust Lucius Malfoy? You have known him more recently than I."
Albus blinked. "I'm surprised you should ask," he said. "I thought you knew him better than I did ten years ago."
"I had... unique knowledge of him that was relevant at the time," Hermione said. "That knowledge has less of a bearing on matters now. I firmly believe that he did not want Voldemort to survive, and that he meant it when he offered to help us destroy him. What I need to know now is whether his change of allegiance reflects his beliefs, or whether he merely changed sides because he and Voldemort had a falling out about the best way to reach their common goal. Do you really think he's changed his mind about purebloods, Dark magic, and the quest for power?"
Albus studied her for a very long time, the blue twinkle in his eyes taking on a faraway cast as he thought.
"You have always had a knack for asking the tough questions," he said slowly. "And I think that, once again, you know the answer better than I. Others may have seen more of him in the last ten years, but something tells me that you still know Lucius Malfoy better than any of us- which of course is not to say that you know him well, Hermione. I can tell you that I don't think he is dangerous to Muggleborns any longer- he does seem to have repented of his former zeal on that score, for reasons which I have never discussed with him. But as for power...." The Headmaster absently ran the cuff of his robe through his fingers, toying with the pewter designs embroidered on the fabric as he considered for a long moment.
"Lucius Malfoy may be diminished as a social icon, but make no mistake, he is still a very powerful wizard, and still quite young. If he sets his mind to the task, he will no doubt grow more powerful still. It is the use of power, not the possession of it, that makes a wizard good or evil. And which of us can say we have always used our powers for good? I certainly cannot." His expression was gentle, and she sighed.
"I suppose I expected you to say that," she said resignedly. "I'm nearly to the point of asking Sybill Trelawney what she thinks."
"Of course," Albus pointed out mildly, "you could just ask Lucius."
"Yes," Hermione said with a wry smile. "I could, at that."
Nothing for it, then, she thought with an odd sense of finality. She was going to have to ask him point blank. She'd wanted to, that night in his study, but something had made her hold back until she knew what others thought. She wanted to be able to listen with an educated ear, and where Lucius Malfoy was concerned, she was about as educated as a doorstop. Well, at least now she had educated herself as much as she could.
That thought made her snort. Educated? she rebuked herself. You won't be educated until you've heard what he has to say for himself. She would never have believed that she could be so eager to accept secondary sources over primary sources, and so unwilling to admit the fact. It was just a mark of how nervous Lucius really did make her, all pretense and self-reassurance to the contrary.
"Thank you, Albus," she said, rising from her chair.
"You're quite welcome, Hermione," said her former teacher. "Not that I've told you anything you needed to hear- not really.
"You've come into your own over the years, my dear," he said kindly as they walked up the hall to rejoin the party. "When you last knew Lucius Malfoy, you were barely out of childhood. You're a grown witch now, and a formidable one in your own right; take some comfort in the fact that Lucius was the first to acknowledge that you were an adult. It really is ironic that he saw in that one moment during the raid what none of us had seen developing in years of careful teaching and nurturing." He chuckled.
"But Albus," she objected. "No one had ever seen me do anything like that before. I completely ignored every caution we'd ever been taught in class to do what I did- I just went for it."
"That's exactly what Lucius said," Albus told her with a chuckle. The twinkle was back in full force. "I discussed the matter with him after the war, when we were debriefing him. He was furious that we'd held back a witch with your potential and power. And when I pointed out that you were Muggleborn, he snapped, 'Stop wasting time on irrelevant details.' Rather surprising, I thought."
He was right. It was surprising.
"Perhaps you'd take a little advice from a friend who's seen a lot of people grow up," he said, and she nodded in encouragement.
"Trust your judgment, Hermione- and don't be afraid to take a little risk now and again. You're strong enough to deal with whatever the consequences might be." He smiled at her, and then left her side to cross the Great Hall toward Professor McGonagall.
Hermione stood there for a long moment, thinking about what he had said. Albus is right. All my life I've been prepared, taught, coached. Sooner or later I have to get to what I've been preparing for, or what's the point?
She set out for the refreshment table, determined to find some of her friends and have a good long chat for old time's sake. Shad just ladled herself a glass of punch when a shadow fell across her face. Turning instinctively to look for the cause, she felt her heart skip with surprise at the mane of artfully messy blonde hair and the grey eyes that studied her with cool insolence.
"Granger," said Draco Malfoy. "What a pleasure to see you here."