The kiss burned through her like Fiendfyre. Hermione gasped against his lips, pulling away to see him gazing back. The fire blazed there too. "Lucius," she murmured, before tasting him again.
She wasn't sure who moved, who pushed. Just that they were falling back onto the bed. The springs groaned, but she hardly heard it over the rush of magic in her ears. Her knees bracketed his hips as her hands smoothed up his chest, pulling herself flush against his hard body. His own hand clasped tighter to her hair, the other skimming the low back of her dress. Just as his fingers found the zipper, and a low growl escaped his throat, a bang! from down below had them both freezing in their tracks.
Hermione pulled away, skin prickling as footsteps thudded up Grimmauld's creaking stairs. She tried to count—twelve steps, just one flight—before anther bang! sent her spine pulled to attention. She was hardly aware of Lucius's hands settling on her hips when the drum of a headboard thumping against a wall began.
Thud—THUD. Thud—THUD.
"Oh Merlin," Hermione whimpered, as the sound that could only by Ron and Lavender's coupling filled the silence. She glanced down at Lucius, who was watching her with that amused smirk of his. She wanted to kiss it off his face. She could kiss it off his face. Well, she could do more than that too.
Oh Merlin. I want to have sex with Lucius fucking Malfoy.
Her cheeks burned as she wet her lips, trying to ignore the weight of his hands still on her. Clearly he had no intention of moving them.
Thud—THUD. Thud—THUD.
"You weren't expecting guests?" Lucius quipped, fingers drumming over her hip bones.
Keenly aware of whose lap she was currently straddling, Hermione scrambled off him, landing awkwardly by his side. "Ron lives here. I just wasn't expecting his girlfriend to be invited to live here so soon." She was fairly sure that Lavender hadn't spent the night at Grimmauld before. The bedframe-destroying Olympics was certainly something she would have remembered. Idiots can't even bother with a silencing charm, she thought darkly, before glancing sideways at Lucius. Well, weren't about to do that.
Were we?
Her eyes drifted downwards, moving swiftly over the unmistakable swell in his trousers and over to his hand, laid casually on the mattress. The manifest tether coiled between them, hardly distinguishable due to their close proximity. Hermione hurriedly crawled backwards into the pillows, letting the braid stretch out between them. Eight strands now wove into the whole.
"Lucius!" she gasped, as his own gaze traveled the braid too.
The wizard lifted his hand, inspecting it for himself. He chuckled as his other hand reached out, fingers curving into the strange mist. Coils of the white substance curled around his hand, like whispers of smoke seeking purchase on his skin.
"And to think," he said mildly, dropping both hands back down, "We could have kissed at New Year's, and forgone all this fun. Unless, of course, you wished to continue?"
Thud—THUD. Thud—THUD.
Hermione winced as Ron and Lavender's activity answered for her. "I…perhaps not," she said quietly. Her eyes flickered to his mouth, still slightly swollen from their kiss.
Thud—THUD. Thud—THUD.
"Surely Weasley won't last too much longer," Lucius said, smirking as he rose to his feet. He offered her a hand.
Hermione giggled as she took it, glad that he was at least making light of the situation. Better than condemning her for backing away—she wasn't sure she could stop herself, if those hands, that mouth, had been more insistent on finishing what they'd started.
Lucius strode towards the bedroom door, but before he could reach for the handle, Hermione stopped him with a light touch on his arm. "Thank you for helping me," she said as he turned back to face her. She blinked up at him, smiling, too aware of short distance between them. In the club, in his arms, it was so easy. But here, in her bedroom and without the immediate heat of completing the bond, she felt the weight of the world between them. At home, in his house, the pull of Sirius was too strong on her conscious.
Even if that pull had been chiseled at tonight.
"You're very welcome," Lucius murmured, tipping his head.
"And for the night out as well. The whole day, really. It was…surprisingly lovely."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "We'll have to find a way to make the library more interesting."
She blushed at his flirtation, then caught a glimpse of a sequin flashing on her dress. "I can change, if you want the dress back."
"No." He reach out, straightening one of the straps she hadn't realized had slid off her shoulder. His fingers lingered, just a moment, before pulling away. "It's a gift. You may find occasion to wear it again."
Hermione swallowed, feeling self-conscious yet again under his studious gaze. "Good night, Lucius," she whispered.
"Good night." He turned back around, clasped the handle, and let himself out. As the door shut behind him, she saw that the braid went straight through the wooden door, just like the Hogwarts ghosts used to travel through the castle walls.
Hermione stumbled backwards until she hit the bed. Sinking down on the mattress, Hermione stared wide-eyed at the manifest tether. It remained a minute longer, before the braid began to fade back into the air, the potion finally wearing off.
The image, though, remained fixed in her mind.
Just like the Hogwarts ghosts…
Hermione spent her next two research sessions in a blur of books and notes, hardly paying Lucius any mind. Well, beyond polite conversation. He seemed to recognize the gleam of an idea in her eye, and left her be to fly through the bookshelves and scribble away without more than a ten-minute break for coffee.
In the quiet of night, now usually broken up by Ron and Lavender's activities, was when she finally let her mind drift back to the wizard she'd kissed. And straddled. And pushed backwards onto her bed, because after much reflection on the event, she had concluded it had been her shoving the formerly dark wizard onto her obnoxiously springy mattress. Thank Merlin for Ron and Lavender's interruption, or it would have been her making the racket.
The image of Ron and Lavender stumbling in to find Lucius in her bed was rather thrilling, she had to admit. At least in the privacy of her own head. The reality likely would have severed her friendships completely.
On the third research day after her revelation, Hermione gathered her notes and waited for Lucius to arrive for coffee. She waited for him to sit and make up their cups, then folded her hands on the table. "I've got it," she said, grinning.
Lucius arched an eyebrow. "Oh?" he said over his teacup.
"You told me that to go through with the Retinacula ritual, I had to experiment on something other than a mouse. Something with a magical, human-like soul."
He set his teacup down and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. "Shall I call in my most eager house elf? I can assure you, they are eager to please."
Hermione scowled at him. "No, there's no need. I have something better," she said primly, with a glance down at her journal filled of notes. "A ghost."
His lips parted, and she was sure she'd actually caught him off-guard for once. "A ghost?" he echoed back.
Hermione forced back the urge to smirk. "A ghost is the imprint of a departed soul left upon the earth," she explained in the same words her potions master once had. "You told me you wanted me to experiment with a soul, not a living soul. Seeing as I already tested the living aspect of passing through the Veil, the soul aspect is the logical next step. Minus the risk for possible death, seeing as he or she will already be…well, dead."
Lucius leaned back into his chair, his eyes unfocused as he seemed to mull it over. Finally, his gaze returned, intense and bright. "I see a few problems with this hypothesis, though I'm sure you're well prepared to answer them," he said, with a gesture towards her journal.
This time, she really did smirk. "Obviously. First, the incorporeality factor was the most glaring issue—"
"Most," he scoffed.
"But I found a way around that," she continued firmly. "I found a spell that turns the ghost's immaterial into the physical. Only for a short time, of course. It was used for…punishing witches and wizards who became ghosts, even after their death."
"And the other glaring issues?"
"Transportation. Unless we happened to find a ghost in the Ministry, we need to procure the ghost prior to setting up for the ritual. We also needed to ensure that the ghost can be removed from its place of haunting. I traced back the myths of genies to discover the spell which captures the genie in the first place, and my research led me to believe the same spell will work with a ghost as well due to the similarities in their magical structures."
"Just a spell?"
"Well, we need a genie's lamp as well. I was hoping my antique-connoisseur friend might help me with that bit."
Lucius smirked., and she wondered if he had taken note of her use of the word 'friend.' "I suppose I can dig around for this lamp of yours," he said smoothly, stroking his thumb over his jaw. "But there is one more thing."
"What?"
"What of your little issue of consent? Were you hoping Nearly Headless Nick would willingly help you play mad scientist at the Ministry?"
Hermione drew her hands back into her lap, toying with her fingers. "Well he'd already be dead, wouldn't he? If death is not an applicable side effect…"
"You think it worth it to try."
She nodded, drawing a shaky breath. "Am I wrong to do this?" she whispered, feeling her eyes well up with tears. During her two days researching, she'd been so focused on the work, she had hardly the time to contemplate what it might mean, ethically. Morally. What price was high enough to pay, if it wasn't her body bearing the price tag? A ghost was still a person, in the basest of meaning. They could still be harmed at her hand.
Lucius stood abruptly from his chair and crossed over to her side of the table. He knelt down, clasping her smaller hands in one of his. The other reached up, swiping a tear from her cheek. "There is always a cost to unknown magic," he told her, his voice quiet but stern. "I admire you for recognizing that burden."
Hermione leaned into his hand as it cupped her cheek. "I don't—I don't," she hiccupped. "I don't want to be like the witches and wizards I've read about. The ones who do terrible things for terrible reasons."
Frowning, Lucius straightened up before pulling out the chair beside her. Wordlessly, he tugged her forwards, and Hermione let herself sink into his lap. There was no heat, no flush and pull of desire like that previous night. Only his arms, warm and safe, and the soft words of comfort her murmured into her hair. "It is brave," he whispered, smoothing a hand over her hair. "It is brave to seek light in a darkness no others even dare venture into."
Hermione nodded into his shoulder, now wet from her tears. "You'll help me?"
"I will, my dear girl. I promise."
They parted that evening with Lucius agreeing to search for a genie lamp during his Ministry assignments, and Hermione returning home to an empty house. Usually, she would have loved the quiet, but between the frenzy of the past days, and the snow piling high outside the windows, she just felt trapped. Suffocating in her own head. Hermione eyed the stash of liquor Harry and Ron kept atop the fridge, before deciding it probably wasn't best to develop a drinking habit quite yet. If she could survive a war without giving in to the lull of fire whiskey, she could survive this too.
After disrobing from her Ministry clothes and changing into sweats, Hermione fingered the sequined dress now hanging in her closet. Though it wasn't her own style, at least not something she'd pick out for herself, Hermione was sure Ginny would love it.
The thought of Ginny felt like a stone sinking through her. Harry, she still had, at least when he was home. Ron felt like a lost cause she was more than happy to give up on for the time being. But Ginny—Ginny was her dearest female friend, her only one other than Luna.
Surely, Ginny could forgive her?
Determined to see that line of thinking through, Hermione pulled out a quill and parchment from her briefcase.
Gin,
It troubles me how we left things before you returned to school. I know I've hurt you with my connection to Mr. Malfoy. I just hope that you will give me the chance to explain things. Part of it is related to my work in the Ministry, which you know I can't discuss. But everything I can, I want to tell you. If you'll let me, of course. Please let me know if we can chat, and I'll find a way to go up to the school.
Love,
Hermione
Sighing, Hermione tucked the letter into her briefcase so she could send it with a Ministry owl. She was well aware that Ginny wouldn't be satisfied without all the answers, but it was the best Hermione could do. This close to Sirius's resurrection, she didn't dare risk compromising the details of her quest.
Hermione flopped back onto her bed, fingers tracing over the duvet where she and Lucius had been that night. She wondered if it had been wrong to send him away, even if he was a perfect gentlemen.
She wondered if she was wrong for still wanting it.
January dwindled into a blanket of snow, which quickly slickened to ice under February's wrathful cold. Lucius chased one lead on a genie lamp to the next, all while Hermione did as much research as possible into the ghost experiment. Soon, though, they were both itching for it to be done with. Or perhaps she was the one itching. They weren't ignoring the kiss, per say. Just…skirting around it. A stray touch on her back as he passed behind her through the shelves. A flirtatious comment from herself, when she caught him wearing the same button-up as the night they went dancing. It was fun, and surprisingly easy, and the warmth of their relationship kept her blazing all through the dead of winter.
She would miss him when it was over.
The Saturday before Valentine's Day, Hermione was surprised to see an owl perched outside the sitting room window, where she was reading. Yanking her wool cardigan tighter around her chest, Hermione quickly let the bird in long enough to detangle a scroll. It nipped playfully at her sweater's button, before darting back into the midday cold.
Sinking down into the couch, Hermione unfurled the scroll.
Hermione,
Thanks for your letter. We're having a Valentine's party in Gryffindor Tower. I told Harry to invite you, but the loveable git probably forgot. Don't worry, Miss Former Prefect. McGonagall already said it was okay to invite you, since you could have stayed an extra year anyway. Or maybe she just misses you too. Floo to the Headmistress's office. It'll be open for you all.
Love,
Gin
A small smile spread across her face as she read her friend's sign-off. Love. That had to be a good sign, wasn't it? Plus the invitation—Hermione had no doubt that Harry truly had forgotten, seeing how busy he was with work. Ginny wouldn't have bothered with an invitation if she didn't want to discuss the contents of Hermione's letter.
Merlin, I hope.
Her smile turned into a frown as she read back over the letter. It'll be open for you all…She supposed that meant others from Hermione's year would be attending as well. Lavender and Ron, no doubt, would make an obnoxious appearance at yet another Gryffindor party.
If only I could bring a date of my own. The idea had her smirking as she rolled up the scroll. Gryffindor Tower would never see such chaos than if she brought a certain Slytherin through the Fat Lady's portrait.
Dressed in a subtle pink jumper and jeans, Hermione stepped out of the Headmistress's fireplace to find her old professor behind the desk, tending to a bonsai tree. "Hello, Headmistress," Hermione said warmly, as she brushed soot from her sleeves.
"Just Minerva will do," the older woman said brusquely. When she set her wand down, Hermione saw a fond twinkle in her eyes. "It's good to see you, Hermione."
"Even if it's for a common room party?" she teased, approaching the desk. Whereas Dumbledore had kept all manner of metal artifacts and ancient tomes cluttering the surface, the new Headmistress had every book, parchment, and quill in its proper place. Only the little tree stood out as odd. Hermione wondered if it had been a Christmas gift from Professor Sprout—likely one Minerva failed miserably to refuse, yet felt indebted to keep alive.
"I do trust you to keep an eye out on the younger ones. I do not wish to hear of any more drunken fifth years stumbling up to the infirmary."
Hermione chuckled at the woman's obvious frustration. "I'll do my best."
Minerva nodded happily, before regarding Hermione over her spectacles. "How is life after Hogwarts?"
She heard the unspoken question—how was life after the war? Hermione shifted her weight as she tried to scrounge up an appeasing answer. "It's been…challenging," she said finally, her eyes focused on the bonsai tree. "At school, there was chaos around every corner. But I knew my place in it, you know? Now…well, let's just say the Ministry isn't exactly what I thought it'd be."
Minerva rose from her high-backed seat, stepping around the desk until she was an arm's length from Hermione. The woman's hand came down on her shoulder. "Just because you are not a student, Hermione, doesn't mean you do not have a place here."
Hermione tried to smile. "It's a little late to re-do seventh year."
"True. But there are other possibilities as well. We've continued to re-assess the curriculum, especially in the subjects you and your friends revealed to be sorely lacking in their education. Defense is one myself and the Board could see you fitting quite nicely into."
She blinked in surprise. "Defense? Prof—Minerva, I'm nineteen. I'm not even an auror."
"No, but you are a full member of the Order, in addition to one of the best students Hogwarts has ever had the privilege of teaching. The new curriculum, if passed, will have openings for assistant professorships. The role would be something akin to that army you and your boys once put together," she said with a knowing smirk.
"I—I don't know what to say."
Minerva chuckled. "Say nothing for now, then. The curriculum isn't set to be passed until the end of the term. I'll owl for you then." The woman patted her once more on the arm. "Now off with you, before Potter spikes the punch bowl with something cheap. The password is Sugar Heart."
Hermione bid her farewell, then began making her way through the castle. The Headmistress's words gnawed at her as her tennis shoes echoed off the stone slabs. Minerva wanted someone to help teach Defense Against the Dark Arts—she wanted Hermione to teach it.
But what would happen if Minerva found out what dark arts Hermione was already practicing?
Once inside the common room, Hermione was surprised to see how packed the place could get. Not only were all of Gryffindor's fifth through seventh years in attendance, but at least a handful Hermione knew had already graduated, and another dozen she recognized from other Houses. More than a few eyes turned towards her, some offering smiles, but more offering whispers. Even over the blasting Weird Sisters, she caught pieces of what they were saying.
"She's supposed to be a war hero," one younger boy muttered, elbowing his Hufflepuff friend in the ribs. "Doesn't look too heroic to me."
"Heard Weasley dumped her for Lavender," another girl giggled behind her hands.
"Heard Granger and Potter started shagging while Ginny's still at school."
Hermione wrapped her arms around her waist and pushed past the crowd, desperately wishing for a silencing spell. She tried to make out Ginny, Harry, or even Ron through the crowd, but she couldn't spot them in the mass of pink and red party clothes. She settled on the snack table instead, where she poured herself a goblet of suspiciously sweet-smelling punch. Heart-shaped fog rolled off the surface when the ladle moved through it, causing Hermione to chuckle.
"It'd be careful with that, Hermione. The punch is quite potent," a voice floated towards her. Hermione turned to see Luna, a goblet of her own in hand with the bright pink liquid already half-gone. The Ravenclaw's lips were painted a cherry red which matched her mini-dress. Hermione wondered if the witch would be meeting Charlie later, since he was working as a guest lecturer at the school.
Hermione grinned at her friend, carefully pulling her into a one-armed hug. "Minerva warned me Harry might spike it."
"I haven't seen Harry yet, actually. I think he's upstairs snogging Ginny. The spiking was all me."
"Luna!"
The blonde batted her innocent eyes. "I may have taken up Magic Moonshine brewing during my last year."
"You did not!" When Luna only took a sip of her drink in response, Hermione burst out laughing. Leave it to a Ravenclaw to figure it out. She was pretty sure the Weasley twins had managed it for a while during the Umbridge year, before Snape caught whiff of their illegal brewing and shut the operation down.
"You look happier," Luna hummed.
Hermione fidgeted with her goblet. "In some ways," she agreed, feeling flush under Luna's ever-knowing gaze.
"It's Lucius, isn't it? He's making you happy?" When Hermione's brows creased, Luna added, "Ginny told me about your fight. I don't mean to intrude."
"Oh, no it's alright, I guess. As long as it stays between just us," she muttered, eyeing the students who had been whispering about her earlier. "Lucius is…well, he's certainly unexpected."
"But not what you thought you were looking for," Luna offered.
Hermione blew out an exasperated chuckle. "How do you always manage to know exactly what's going on in my head?"
Luna grinned over her goblet's rim.
"Hermione!"
She turned to see Harry hand-in-hand with Ginny as they hurried down the spiral stairs. Hermione glanced back to see that Luna had already drifted away, off talking to a much-taller Dennis Creevey. Shaking her head in amusement, Hermione pressed her way through the crowd towards her friends.
"Hi," Hermione said, feeling nervous as she looked from Harry to Ginny. "It's good to see you. Both of you."
Ginny glanced at Harry.
"Girl chat?" he asked.
"Girl chat," Ginny agreed.
Pretending to sigh heavily, Harry kissed her cheek and slipped out of her grasp. Hermione quickly drained her goblet, hoping for a bit of liquid courage, before setting it down on the nearby windowsill.
"Want to go upstairs?" Ginny asked.
"Sure." She was more than happy to get away from the common room's prying eyes and ears. Once inside the dormitory, a wave of nostalgia washed over Hermione as she took in the crimson hangings and plush beds. Ginny took a seat by her pillow, and after hesitating, Hermione settled onto the foot of the bed, facing her. She pulled her wand from her back pocket, setting it beside her.
"Gin—"
"Hermi—"
They both clamped their mouths shut, smiling crookedly. "Er, you go first," Hermione offered.
Ginny pushed her hair back over her ears. Her engagement ring caught the light as her hand moved, sparkling in the candle glow. "First, I want to say that I was a right git for the way I behaved that day." When Hermione started to speak, Ginny stopped her with a hand. "No, I was. I lost my temper, and I shouldn't have stormed out. Or waited until you sent that letter to write to you."
Hermione traced a crease in the bedspread. "I hurt you, though." she said weakly.
"Did it hurt to find out my best mate was befriending a Malfoy? And the eviler Malfoy, at that? Yeah. It did. But I realize—well, Harry helped me to realize—that my anger was more about myself, than you. I was an idiot, back then with the bloody diary, and…and I don't get to dictate how you live your life just because Malfoy's part of my fucked-up past." Ginny pushed up onto her knees, her eyes shining with tears. "I don't want to lose you over this," she whispered. "Not ever."
Hermione felt her own eyes stinging as well. She reached out, clasping one of Ginny's hands. "I don't want that either."
Ginny squeezed her fingers, before retracting the hand to wipe at her cheeks. "I just need…I need to know why him. And I know you're doing some kind of project, but that…that can't possibly explain it. Ron saw him carrying you to your room on New Year's, for Merlin's sake. That's not just research associates."
"I…" she faltered, brushing at the stray tear rolling down her jaw. "After the war, I felt so lonely, Gin. And I know, I know you and Harry tried to keep me included. But between his auror work, and your school, and Ron's…well, Ron's inability to pay attention to anyone but himself…" she said hotly, earning a giggle from Ginny. "I was alone. And then this project started, and it was like Lucius saw me. He really saw me, and he cared. Maybe it's all a sham, or maybe I'm delusional, but when I'm with him, I feel like myself. Or at least, who I thought I could be."
"You have feelings for him?"
Hermione pressed her lips together, tasting salt. She ached for Sirius. She had since this mess with the Veil first started. Maybe even earlier than that, in the grey days following her return to Grimmauld Place. But Lucius had crept in too. Lucius was the light under the door she was working so hard to unlock. He was pointing the way into the darkness just out of reach. "I know it sounds mad, but I am attracted to him," Hermione said slowly. "I don't know about feelings, but there's…there's a pull."
Ginny snorted softly. "Mad? No. I mean, any witch with eyes and a thing for sexy men can see what Malfoy looks like. It's just…there's more than pretty, blonde hair to him, you know?"
"I know. Trust me, it wasn't easy even admitting I felt something towards him. But I promise, Ginny. He's changed. And I know you can't believe me. You shouldn't. Just…well, just trust me, okay? I can handle myself."
Ginny nodded. "I know you can. But I want you to promise me, Hermione, that you'll tell me if things go sour. I don't care what time of day it is—I'll force McGonagall to open her bloody floo, if I have to. Just tell me if you need help, and I'm there. With him, or your project, or anything else. I'm not losing you to him, if he tries to pull shit."
"Okay. I promise," she said, before giggling at the image in her head of a red-faced Ginny storming up to Malfoy Manor, wand in one hand, sword of Gryffindor in the other. "I thought Harry was the one with the knight in shining armor complex."
"Please," Ginny huffed, swinging her legs off the bed. "That man has been saved by princesses far more often than he's ever done the saving."
Back in the common room, the party was, impossibly, in even fuller swing. Hermione had just managed to make it halfway to Luna when a mane of ash-blonde curls swung towards her. "Hermione!" Lavender cooed, blocking her path. "I thought I recognized that dehydrated hair of yours."
Hermione stifled a snort at the girl's attempt at an insult. "Lavender," she greeted coolly. "It's good to see you, instead of hear you."
Confusion crossed Lavender's face, before the realization finally sunk in. Hurt flashed in her eyes, and Hermione almost felt bad enough to apologize when the girl sneered, "At least Ron enjoys fucking me. Said it was like lying with a fish before."
Hermione's cheeks flushed hot. No, Ron didn't say that. Did he? Oh Merlin, why do I even care? But she did—a piece of her did, anyways. "You know who invited me today, don't you?" Hermione said icily. "Ron said he was just dying to see me without his clingy girlfriend hanging about." She pretended to look over the crowd. "Oh look, there's Ronald. Perhaps I should go say hello." Hermione began to stride forward, smirking, when Lavender caught her wrist.
"Oh no you don't, you twit," Lavender snapped. Hermione tried to yank herself free, but before she could stop her, the girl was dragging her through the crowd.
"Let go!" Hermione snarled. She reached for her wand, then froze when she found it gone. Fuck, Ginny's bed—
Lavender hauled Hermione through the common room, but it was so loud, so crowded, she couldn't make our a friendly face. Somehow, Lavender managed to yank her straight through, flinging open the portrait and shoving Hermione out.
Hermione stumbled, catching herself with her palms scraping the corridor's rough floor. "What's wrong with you!" she cried, wincing as she got back on her feet. One of her knees stung, and she glanced down to find her jeans torn, her skin bloody.
When she looked back up, Lavender had her wand pointed straight at her. "I know what you're doing," Lavender seethed. "I've seen you! Incarcerous!" she cried, followed by a sticking charm to Hermione's feet.
Ropes flew out from the tip of Lavender's wand, hurtling towards Hermione's wrists and snapping them together behind her back. Yelping, Hermione tried to twist free, but the rough ropes only pulled tighter, and her shoes refused to budge. Hermione looked desperately at the Fat Lady's portrait, hoping to call for help, but the woman was snoozing in her frame, a bottle of wine from another painting clutched between her plump fingers. "Ron didn't invite me, okay! Merlin, Lavender, are you really that naïve?"
"Don't call me naïve," Lavender hissed. In three strides, the tip of her wand dug into Hermione's sweater. "I've seen you with that Death Eater. I heard Ron say how you're fucking him. Maybe scum like him enjoy fucking fish."
Hermione gaped at her. "You're the one who told my supervisor?"
Lavender smirked. "Did little miss Golden Girl lose out on her job already? I don't know what they saw in you, giving you that job without you even lifting a finger."
"Oh, so you're just jealous," Hermione spat, rolling her eyes.
"Jealous!" Lavender shrieked, jabbing her wand harder into Hermione's chest. "Of course I bloody am! First you get Ronny after school ends, then you get to live with him, then you get that job! And what do I get, Granger? A fucking joke apprenticeship, pretending to see signs in the tea leaves. And they don't even let us go near the Hall of Prophecy. Did you know that? The only way I'll ever advance in the department is sucking some old twat's cock. They don't make Gryffindor's Princess do that, now do they!"
Pity settled inside her. Hermione tried to wiggle free from her bindings, but Lavender stopped her with another jab of her wand. "Lavender, it's not like that. My job isn't any better. And I don't want Ron—"
"Shut up," Lavender snarled, her shrill voice dropping low. "I've seen how Ronny looks at you. He's always mentioning you, when we're together. But no one's going to want you now, are they? Not when they see what you've done with that Death Eater."
Hermione's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"
A Cheshire smirk spread across the girl's face. "I saw you fuck Malfoy."
"Saw…Lavender, I didn't—"
"Save it!" Lavender hissed. With her free hand, Lavender pointed at her own temple. "I have it here. See, I was worried Ronny would go back to you," she drawled, dragging her wand up until it dug into Hermione's throat. "I put one of those Weasley inventions in your room, that sweet little invention that's meant to record pranks on a roll of magic film. The toy already disintegrated, but don't worry. I have the memory right here."
George invented a bloody magic hidden camera, Hermione groaned to herself. "But we didn't fuck," Hermione insisted, her voice stiff as the wand pressed deeper into her throat. "We just kissed."
"That's alright," Lavender cooed, almost gently. "I occluded the end of the film to edit it. No one will know that lovely little kiss didn't stop where it did. And I saw that freaky rope you made," she whispered. "I heard you talking about some bond. Dark magic, right? What's McGonagall going to think of that?"
Hermione barely had time to register that Lavender, of all people, was a bloody Occlumens. "You're going to show her?"
"Just to start," Lavender murmured, sliding her wand up until it pushed under Hermione's chin, forcing her to look up into the girl's wild eyes. "Then I'll show your boss, then Ronny, then your dear Harry and Ginny. What will Ginny think, when she finds out you really were fucking the Death Eater?"
No, no—she couldn't deal with this. Not now. If everyone knew—if everyone thought they knew what was going on, then there was no way she'd be let anywhere near Malfoy Manor, or the Veil. Sirius would stay trapped, and she would be alone for good. "Please," Hermione whimpered, as the wand trailed along her jaw.
"What does he even see in you?" the girl muttered under her breath.
"Lavender, I don't want Ron. If you just let me go—"
A slap whipped across her cheek. Hermione's head flew to the left, her legs buckling. Only the sticking charm kept her upright. "Shut up, you cow! Or I'll silence that mouth too. Come on," she snapped, pointing the wand at Hermione's feet. "Finite Incantatem," Lavender muttered, before jabbing the wand back into Hermione's chest. "Now come. We're going straight to McGonagall, and I won't have any so-called cleverness getting in—" Her voice abruptly stopped. The rage in Lavender's face disappeared, replaced by an eerie calm. Her wand dropped slowly from her fingers, clattering on the ground.
Hermione dropped to her knees, crying out as the bloodied one smacked into the cold stone. Shuffling awkwardly forward, Hermione managed to wiggle the wand between her fingers, all the while watching Lavender's tranquil expression. Whatever it was, Hermione wouldn't risk it lasting for long. "Finite Incantatem," she murmured, pointing the wand at her bindings. The ropes sprang free, and Hermione scrambled to her feet. Just as she aimed the wand at Lavender, a Petrificus Totalus poised on her tongue, a low, haunting voice began to flow from the girl's slack lips.
"AND THERE WILL BE A GREY TUNNEL. ONE SIDE MADE. ONE SIDE BORN. ONE SIDE HOLDS THE KEY. ONE SIDE HOLDS THE LOCK. BETWEEN THEM LIES MAGIC'S END."
Hermione gasped as Lavender's body began to tremble. She tried to reach for her, when the voice called out again.
"ONLY THREE GIFTS WILLINGLY GIVEN MAY STOP IT. ONE OF FUTURE. ONE OF FAMILY. ONE OF LIFE. ONLY WHEN THE GIVERS FORGE THEMSELVES IN FUTURE'S FLESH, AND THE THIRD GIFT IS GIVEN, MAY THE TUNNEL COLLAPSE. ONLY WHEN THE COLLAPSE IS IMMINENT, MAY THE GIFT BE GIVEN."
Lavender's body became perfectly still. Her eyes refocused on Hermione's as her empty hand rose up. "—my way!" she shrieked, cutting her hand through the air.
For just a second, a look of shock crossed the girl's face as her eyes dropped to her wand-less hand. "You bitch!"
"Petrificus Totalus!" Hermione hissed. She sent a silent cushioning charm, then watched as Lavender's body tipped soundlessly to the floor.
She gazed down at the girl's prone body, a shaking hand covering her mouth. "Oh God," she whimpered, dropping carefully to the girl's side. That was a prophecy. It had to be, but what—why…Stop! She had to deal with the issue at hand before a drunk student stumbled out of the portrait. But first…Hermione raised the wand to Lavender's forehead, touching the tip just above her sculpted eyebrow. Lavender's eyes danced wildly. "Bring forth the memory," Hermione whispered. "Do you hear me? I want the memory of me and Lucius. Blink twice if you understand."
Lavender blinked twice, fat tears sliding from her lashes.
Hermione set her jaw and closed her eyes, concentrating her magic into the unfamiliar wand. When she felt it contained within the slender piece of wood, she let out a breath and whispered, "Furantur Memoria." For a moment, Hermione worried it hadn't worked—she'd only read of the memory extraction spell, but had never used it in practice. But after a few seconds, the shimmering, silvery memory slid out from the girl's temple. It dangled from the tip of the wand, curling into the air. With no vessel for the memory, Hermione raised the wand to her own head. The memory seemed to sink inside her, icy cool as it slipped beneath her skull. She saw it, like a gritty film. She saw herself, kissing Lucius on the bed. But when the kiss deepened further than the actual memory, and Lucius pulled that zipper languidly down her back, Hermione shoved the memory to the back of her mind.
It wouldn't do to get distracted.
Hermione focused back on Lavender, who was still staring up with fear in her large eyes. "Shite," she muttered, rising to her feet. She was sure Lucius would tell her to Obliviate the girl, but that seemed like a line she couldn't cross.
But petrifying and stealing a memory isn't? her conscious sneered.
False, dangerous memory that will ruin everything, Hermione snapped back. She sighed, rubbing at the ache beginning to bloom behind her forehead. Hopefully, Lavender would just remember this as a fight about Ron and her jealousy over Hermione's job at the Ministry.
Hopefully. She sure was riding on a lot of hopefully-ies lately.
Hermione stepped up to the girl's side. "I'm sorry, Lavender," she said softly, hoping to ease the confusion in the girl's eye. She had learned from that false Professor Moody that any kind of memory magic left the subject in a mild state of confusion. In this, they were more susceptible to gentle suggestion. While not as strong as a spell, it might just do the trick. "We were arguing about Ron, and you were about to slap me," Hermione explained softly. "I cast the first spell I could think of to stop both of us from getting hurt. Once it wears off in a minute or two, you and Ron should go find the punch. I hear Luna did an excellent job of spiking it." Hermione muttered a weak Finite Incantatem, then crouched down to place the wand in the cradle of Lavender's frozen fingers.
Knowing she likely only had a minute, Hermione slipped back inside Gryffindor Tower. She weaved through the crowd, her headache seeming to beat to the rhythm of the raucous music. Halfway up the stairs, a hand caught her arm.
"The party's this way, silly!" Ginny called over the din.
Hermione bit back a sigh, turning to look down at the redhead. She quickly moved her injured hands behind her back, and her torn-up knee behind the other leg. "I know. I just left my wand upstairs."
"And…and after?" Ginny slurred. "You're gonna dance, right? Because there's no way I'm only dancing with clumsy Mr. Potter all night."
Hermione would have laughed, if she wasn't in such a state. Ginny calling her fiancé Mr. Potter while drunk must be a recent development. Just another thing she'd missed out on, since their fight. "I'll come find you," she told her, before pulling away.
Once alone in the quiet of the dormitory, Hermione picked up her wand and sank onto the mattress, head heavy in her scraped-up hands.
Lucius. Ginny. Lavender. And now this. What am I supposed to do with a prophecy?