A massive thank you to everyone who is reading and reviewing the story so far, it really means the world to me. This story is also on A03, if anyone wants to read it there.
Thank you so much to my editor, JessariOfErebor, for making the story shine!
Hermione raced down the little path to Hagrid's House, feeling like a little girl again.
She had barely come within eyeshot of the shack when she heard a tremendous barking erupt ahead of her. Fang.
The shack's door opened and a mountain stepped out of it, a massive dog barking madly at his heels. Hermione's heart clenched in her chest.
"What's all this racket, Fang? You silly dog, hush that-" And then Hagrid saw her, and dropped the pan he was holding. Hermione caught it with a flick of her fingers and floated it up to him.
She gave him a wave. "Hello, Hagrid!"
"Hermione!" Hagrid exclaimed. His hair was shot with grey and he was wearing a new apron (with, oddly enough, a branch poking out of it), but he was still Hagrid. She raced to him and threw her arms around him, squeezing him as hard as she could in her exuberance.
Somewhere far, far above her, she heard a suspicious sniffle, followed by a cough. "Well, now. Easy does it, Professor Granger. My ribs aren't what they used to be."
"Rubbish, and you don't need to call me Professor, Hagrid. Just Hermione!"
Hagrid led her into the shack and shooed her into a chair twice her size to be slobbered on by Fang, while he started puttering away at the stove.
"They're fresh, made them only a few days ago, just like old times!"
A smell began to waft through the shack, and Hermione recognised it immediately as the smell of his rock cakes. A very unkind impulse to tell him that she really wasn't hungry sprang up in her, and she kept it at bay by looking around as she waited.
The shack was just the same. The stove, tea kettle, the armchairs and the bed were all crammed into one room. For a person of her size, it was actually very cozy, but for Hagrid it must have been very small. Hermione wondered, not for the first time, why he didn't ask Minerva to have something better built for him. As for the furnishings, everything was either patched up or hand made, or both. One change struck her straight away though: the addition of a bookshelf above the fireplace.
She couldn't help it; she stood up and had a nose around. She could never resist a bookshelf.
The shelf was like a little window into Hagrid's great heart. There was a box of dried flowers and a few old keepsakes. There were books there, which struck Hermione as a little odd. Charms and Spells, the old classic. Theoretical Transfiguration for the Young Witch or Wizard was there too. Most gratifyingly, the shelf also held what appeared to be every single book Hermione had ever written. In pride of place, there was a moving picture of the four of them at the Quidditch World Cup together; her and Ron stood smiling on one side, having put their bitterness aside for one night of peace. On the other side was Harry and Hagrid, both very drunk and caught in the middle of a fit of laughter. They rocked back and forwards in the moving picture, clutching their sides as they wheezed. It had been a wonderful night.
"How've you been, Hagrid?" She asked as he sank down into a chair with a groan, putting down a plate of hot cakes on the rickety little table. There was no putting it off, so she sat down, took a cake and chewed very, very gently. That was the key.
"Oh, well, you know. Same old, same old." Hagrid's eyes twinkled. "There's just one thing I wanted to show you." And he waved a massive hand at the branch belted to his waist.
Only, Hermione saw now that she was looking closely, it wasn't just any old branch. It had a handle, of sorts, right there at the top, and it tapered to a point at the end-
It was a wand! "Hagrid! You can't just have this out in the open, you'll be in so much trouble!"
Hagrid chuckled. "I wouldn't be too sure about that! Did a remedial course with McGonagall herself, just last year. Not cleared to do any big spells with it yet, and sometimes I miss that old umbrella, but I get by."
Hermione felt her heart in her mouth as she looked at the wand, which he could finally show her for the first time. It looked a little wild, maybe, but the wood was clean and a wholesome nut-brown.
Really delighted for him, she said, "It's absolutely beautiful, Hagrid. Well done!"
He blushed bright red, and immediately excused himself to go back to the kitchen for more hot cakes. Hermione had barely made it through half the first one, and her jaw already hurt.
It was a sensitive topic, but she had to ask. "How are you feeling, Hagrid? About… not teaching Care of Magical Creatures?"
Hagrid harrumphed as he returned with more cakes. "Well, was never really my calling, was it? I only did it as a favour to Dumbledore. I still give Professor Grubbly-Plank a hand every now and then, when she needs something with a bit of spirit moved. But that ain't too often. She doesn't go in for our sort of creatures, between you and me." He gave her a disbelieving shake of the head, as if shocked that a teacher might not choose Blast-Ended Screwts or Hippogriffs for practical demonstration. "But she's friendly, and she's got a good way with students, I'll give her that. But enough about me. What about you, eh? Charms Professor, and not even thirty?" His immense chest swelled with pride, and she could see the glint of tears around his eyes again. "Always knew ye'd go far, Hermione."
Hermione smiled and blushed at the praise. "Thank you, Hagrid. These last few years have been hard work. I'm really excited. I think I can do a lot of good here."
"There's no doubt about that! Made for great things, you are. Why, it wasn't so long ago I was taking you across that Lake. You were barely taller'n my knee!" Hagrid's eyes misted over warningly, and Hermione conjured him up a handkerchief. "And now look at ye, Head of House and everything!" He blew his nose, and Hermione jumped at the sudden blast of noise.
It took him a while to calm down after that. Eventually, Hagrid managed to ask, "What's it like, being Head of House? Having everyone look up to ye?"
Hermione had to hold herself back from being completely honest with him. She did not want to upset him, but truthfully, being a Head of House was not all it was cracked up to be. The position came with a great deal of responsibilities, a crushing workload, and at least a mild headache daily. She tried to think of something fun to tell him, and her mind strayed to the late nights she had been having recently. She had worried that they would be a waste of precious time, but the Head Club had become an oasis of leisure and camaraderie in an otherwise brutal work week.
"Well, there's this formal sort of Club for the Heads of Houses." Hagrid looked interested, so she went on. "We talk about how the school is going and have drinks. Everyone wears all these amazing clothes. Neville took me there wearing my normal robes, and I think I broke some really old tradition, but since it was my first time they didn't mind."
At this, Hagrid's eyes lit up with an idea. "If it's clothes yer needing, I know just the place!"
Now, the last thing she wanted to do in the world was hurt Hagrid's feelings, but the idea of her colleagues seeing her wearing anything the groundskeeper would deem as fashionable was not appealing. She loved Hagrid dearly, but this was a man who wore a hairy suit for special occasions.
"Oh, thank you, Hagrid, but it's a very formal sort of club." Hermione floundered. "Not the sort of place where you can wear nice, comfortable clothes. Otherwise I'd just keep on wearing my robes."
Her diplomatic refusal went completely over the half-giant's head, and he only beamed at her.
"Well, Olympe's a high class lady, ain't she? She says it's the best dress-makers in England, and you know she'd never say that if it weren't true."
Hermione pursed her lips. She remembered Olympe Maxime only dimly, and mostly for her incredible height. But what she did remember was promising; she had been a dignified woman and Hermione couldn't recall being horrified by anything she had worn.
"And this shop, is it the sort of place where- where someone a little on the small side, like me, could find something to wear?"
"Oh, don't you worry about that. The tailors there are proper magic folk. If something don't fit, they'll make it fit."
Hagrid had not let her leave his hut until they had set a date for their shopping trip, and as it drew closer and closer, Hermione wished more and more that she hadn't mentioned the Head's Club at all. Deceit of any kind disgusted her, though, and the idea of not sharing things with Hagrid made her feel uncomfortable. Hagrid had earned her honesty, her trust, a thousand times over. If she was worried about something, she was perfectly right to confide in him.
Even so, it was with more than a little trepidation that Hermione apparated, taking Hagrid Sidelong with her into Diagon Alley. Hagrid strode down the twisting, cobbled streets, and she followed. It wasn't easy, since keeping up with him meant she nearly had to run.
She saw Madam Malkin's and her worry eased off, but Hagrid did not slow his pace and they went straight past it. And Monsieur Marchant's, which probably would have been her first choice.
Hermione held up hope right until they had gone past every respectable dress-maker and tailor in Diagon Alley. Even as they passed Knockturn Alley, she really tried to have faith that the place Hagrid was taking her to might be somewhere decent, if a little off the beaten track.
It became clearer and clearer as they went on, and the crowds thinned and the shops grew grimier and grimier, that this faith was entirely misplaced. They rarely saw anyone else, and the people they did see walked in furtive, quick steps, with eyes downcast.
Hagrid took her down a dead-end alley of dark-bricked stone, yelling cheerfully over his shoulder that they were almost there. Hermione covered her nose with one hand. The alley smelled the way that alleys all over the world smelled.
Hagrid came to a sudden stop, and she saw that he stood before a crack in the wall. It was mossy, overgrown with weeds, and exactly the right size for her and Hagrid to squeeze through, if they went in sideways one at a time and forgot that they needed to breathe.
The leaves rustled and a wind swept through, no, a wind swept out of the crack in the wall. Without thinking, Hermione breathed deep, then gagged. It was sweet, but in the way over-ripe fruit was sweet. It smelled like something that had once been wholesome and was just starting to go bad.
"Hagrid," Hermione said in a last ditch effort, "Have we gotten lost?"
"Oh, no. This is it." Hagrid looked over his shoulder at her. "Don't fret, come on through."
The wall pulsated. It seemed… friendly.
Hagrid went through the opening, sucking in his great chest and shuffling sideways. Against her better judgement, Hermione followed. She wouldn't let Hagrid go alone.
It was a very tight squeeze indeed, and the sponginess of the walls made the whole thing feel very unpleasant. Hermione was not an idiot, and she already felt like they should have come out the other side already. She counted the steps in her mind, and it became very clear that a wall that could only have been a foot or so thick shouldn't have taken them twenty steps to get through.
Just as she was about to call for Hagrid to turn back, they came out of the dark damp and into a bright, airy place. She could not see where the light was coming from. They might have been standing in a tent-city. The walls, the ceiling, the floor, everything was rippling too light to be canvas. It stretched as far into the distance as she could see. Hangings of ivory and rose pink, crimson and pale gold covered the walls. It was like a glimpse into another world. The air was syrupy, but it was far from unpleasant. Hermione took another deep breath and her head spun in warning. Her ears rang as if her head were a bell that had been struck.
She clapped her hand over her mouth. It made no difference.
A horrible suspicion stole over her. "Hagrid, where are we?"
His eyes twinkled. Like he knew a joke that she didn't. "Thought ye'd have figured it out by now, we're in the Fairy Realm."
She must have misheard. He could not be serious. Even Hagrid, who had raised a dragon in a flammable cottage, bought in a Hippogriff to show a class of third years, and had taken in a troll, could not be so reckless as to bring her here without so much as a warning.
Hermione thought back on it and realised that really, this was all her fault. Hagrid had never said the staff were witches and wizards. He had said they were proper magic folk.
Hagrid was still going on, completely oblivious to how cross with him she was. "Well, not really the Fairy Realm, it's more like a half-way point. They bring their wares and wait for us to come to them. The Ministry wouldn't let them set up shop in Diagon Alley, they're awful close minded about them. No idea why; they're not that dangerous as long as you treat them with respect."
Hermione normally would have lashed out at such a careless, thoughtless statement. She always tried to keep an open mind but unfortunately, when it came to Fairies, there was a reason they were viewed with such trepidation by even the most powerful witches and wizards. Since it was Hagrid, she held her tongue. It was not an easy task.
Hagrid headed deeper into the 'tent' and she followed at his heels. She noticed that since the fabric of the place was rippling and snapping, that must mean there was a breeze outside. The thought that they weren't hanging in a void was extremely comforting.
She tried to convince him to turn back. But whether it was because her hand was still pressed against her nose and mouth, or because he just didn't want to hear it, Hagrid didn't give any sign that he had heard her.
They were not alone. The workers (if they could be called workers, for they each glided to and fro in no real hurry) were of otherworldly beauty. One particularly stunning woman, with hair like mercury and great soulful sapphire eyes came towards them, bearing great folds of cloth in her hands.
"Alright, Sunbeam?"
Hermione was shocked to hear Hagrid call this beautiful woman by such a sweet nickname, but the Veela did not flinch. Hermione reasoned that that might really be her name.
"Something new for your paramour, Hagrid?"
"No, this is fer Hermione!" Hagrid said cheerfully, gesturing toward the witch in question.
The Veela named Sunbeam raised an eyebrow but said nothing, and started winding her cloth around Hermione's eyes and mouth. The heady sensation immediately eased and Hermione stopped holding her breath. She did not do the same thing for Hagrid, though, and he didn't ask. Hermione reasoned that his Giant heritage must serve as protection enough for him.
The Veela explained, "To protect you. The air here is… intoxicating, for ordinary folk." Before Hermione could say that she was far from ordinary, Sunbeam led them on through the tent.
The cloth around her eyes didn't obscure her vision in the slightest. Here and there she caught sight of other humans, recognisable because of the bindings around their faces. They did not seem at all on edge. Perhaps they were regulars.
Sunbeam took them to a private booth and left them there, job obviously done. Hagrid stood outside. He was so tall that Hermione could see the top of his great bushy head over the curtain.
She wasn't left alone for long. A winged woman let herself into the booth- she could only be a Fairy.
Hermione stared. It was impossible not to. She was about Hermione's height. Her wings were translucent and as thin as tissue paper. The slightest gust of wind could have torn them to shreds. Her face was beautiful, and totally inhuman.
She was strangely vacant and hardly acknowledged her presence at all, which Hermione thought was very rude since she'd barged in. In fact, the Fairy wouldn't say a word until Hermione said that she wanted a dress. At this point, the Fairy began to ask her questions.
Hermione explained, as clearly she could, exactly what she needed from this dress. She had to look gorgeous, obviously, but she wanted it to be at least a little bit modern. She was a young woman. She didn't want to look like she was wearing a curtain. It was hard to put into words, particularly because looking at the Fairy for too long made it very difficult to speak clearly.
Luckily, the Fairy became sharper, more cognizant, with every word. Finally she nodded and a neatly folded bundle of pink fabric appeared in her arms. She stood with arms outstretched until Hermione took it from her.
The Fairy was still standing there.
"Would you- would you mind giving me a moment?" Hermione asked pointedly, and finally the Fairy floated out of the room.
Within minutes Hermione found herself cloaked in robes of carnation pink. The fabric went down to her toes and sat heavily on her shoulders, and it was delicately embroidered around the hems with silver stars, but there all resemblance to traditional wizarding robes ended. The material was sheer, almost diaphanous, and a silver band cinched it tightly around the waist. It flared out at her hips. The sleeves were long, far longer than was really practical. If she had to fight in it, she would probably lose her wand altogether in their gossamer folds.
Studying her reflection in the mirror, she couldn't really tell if she looked absolutely ridiculous, or like a goddess out of myth. As far as she understood it, that meant that this was high fashion.
She walked out to show Hagrid and the Fae woman how it looked. Hagrid was gobsmacked. He spluttered, he beamed, and finally he bragged over her like a proud father.
The Fairy showed no such signs of enrapture. She only looked her up and down, and Hermione found that, now she could tear her eyes away from her wings and her face, the Fairy's eyes were the exact shade of an autumn sunrise.
The Fairy asked her, "You are Madame Olympe's friend, I think?"
At Hagrid's silent encouragement, Hermione said that she was, and the Fairy cocked her head to one side. After a few moments she nodded, as if an unseen person had said something. Hermione was reminded, in an uncomfortable way, of Luna Lovegood. She had the distinct impression that she might be talking to someone who was not altogether there.
"It is, of course, a signature work." The beautiful woman said in that thin, dreamy way. "I spun it from the final ray of a sunrise only a few days ago."
As far as she knew, Fairies were not capable of telling outright lies, so Hermione supposed that this fantastical statement must be the truth.
Hermione prepared herself for the worst. "How much is it?"
The assistant gave a tinkling laugh. "Oh, payment is such a small thing. Why you humans are so concerned with it, I will never understand."
"I would like to know now, thank you." Hermione said very firmly.
The Fairy caressed her dress as a mother might caress her sleeping child and said, "We require only the seven happiest dreams you dream from now until this time next year. We shall provide instructions on how to catch them. And, of course, the traditional gift; a litre of forest dew." The Fairy gave Hermione a peculiar, piercing look and finished, "And a song, I think, to be sung at the time and place of our choosing."
Oh, is that all? Hermione thought wryly. But the dress was truly awe-inspiring, and so she said, "I'll take-"
"No, you won't." Hagrid interrupted. "Ye didn't think I'd forget yer birthday, did ye?" Hermione flushed; she had almost forgotten herself, but it was only a few days away. Before she could answer, the Half-Giant said to the Fairy, "I'll take yer price, Fairy, if ye'll accept. My singing voice isn't as pretty as Hermione's, I reckon, but I know good songs."
The Fairy turned her luminous eyes up to Hagrid and considered him. She neither moved nor blinked. Hermione shuddered at the thought of being so held under that gaze. The Half-Giant did not back down, and finally she said, "It would be our honour."
An hour or so later, Hermione staggered up to her rooms. The stairs were harder to navigate than she remembered and who would have thought turning the doorknob would be so difficult? Her fingers scrambled for purchase, and failed. She leaned against the door with a sigh.
She was drunk, there was no denying it. Drunk on fairy air. She would never have allowed Hagrid to make a bargain with one of the fae folk while sober. She would have to go to him in the morning, after she had slept it off, and make him relate the words of the bargain he'd struck for her sake word by word.
If only she had known where they were going, she would have put a stop to it altogether. Hagrid, being half-giant, probably didn't understand how dangerous the fae could be, nor how much being in their realm affected regular humans.
When she finally wrangled the door to her bedroom open, she saw that a large white box was there. She opened it to find the gorgeous dress within, just as the fairy had promised. She gave a happy sigh as her eyes and fingertips traced the intricate detailing. It truly was beautiful.
She fiddled with her hair for the next half hour or so before finally deciding to leave it falling in tamed, soft waves over one shoulder. She wondered if anyone would notice the difference in her outfit's material, and if they did, what they would think of it.
Her entrance into the Head Club room seized everyone's undivided attention. This had pretty much been the effect she had been looking for.
Flint asked immediately, "Sunsilk, isn't it? Marvelous stuff. Terribly expensive, though. What did they get out of you for it?"
His encyclopedic knowledge extended to Fairy garments, apparently. It seemed like a funny thing for an Arithmancer to know, but Hermione had already noticed that Flint knew all sorts of strange things.
Hermione debated internally for a moment, then said. "It was a birthday present, actually. But the payment the Fairies asked for was all the usual sorts of things they ask for."
If everyone had been staring before, now they were rapt. Bloodhounds, scenting gossip.
"A present, was it?" Grubbly-Plank asked.
"What a remarkable gift." Lucius said. "Not to pry, but who gave you such a thing?"
She didn't feel the need to explain herself to him. "A good man." She simply said.
The Malfoy quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing more.
Flint and Grubbly-Plank had taken the opportunity to summon up a House Elf and ask them to bring up a birthday cake for her. Hermione tried to refuse, seeing as it was eleven o'clock at night and she didn't want them to make a fuss, but they would hear nothing of it.
"When is your birthday, Hermione?"
"Oh, it was the day before yesterday, actually. September the 19th."
This statement provoked more uproar than she could have guessed. Since she had come into adulthood, she didn't invest much time or effort into her birthdays anymore. Harry had thought to send her an owl on the day of, as he was busy with the ministry and unable to come to Hogwarts, and oddly so had Luna - but overall, her birthday was a very quiet affair. All that really mattered to Hermione was that she enjoyed the day.
The others didn't seem to share her sentiments, though. Tiberius was beside himself with apologies for not knowing and neglecting to get her a present, while Grubbly-Plank scowled up a storm. She seemed to take Hermione's silence on the issue of her birthday as a personal affront.
Clearly wanting to organise something special for next year, Grubbly-Plank said, "I'll write it in my egg book so I can't forget."
Before Hermione could ask what exactly an egg book was, she heard Lucius Malfoy speak.
"How odd. My own-" Lucius said, and stopped.
Flint eyed Lucius suspiciously. "Your own what, old boy? You can't mean your birthday?" When Lucius didn't deny it, the Arithmancer's eyes lit up. "You never said a word!"
Lucius was wishing he had never spoken at all. "It is not important. I knew you would only make a fuss."
"When was it?" Grubbly-Plank said.
She was a hard woman to refuse. "The 12th of September." Lucius begrudgingly said. "And I'll not have the two of you-"
But it was too late; Flint had already taken the idea and run with it. Eyes bright, he exclaimed, "Next year we'll throw a party for the pair of you!"
Lucius and Hermione's eyes met. Incredibly, Lucius rolled his eyes, and she couldn't help but smile. Somehow, she didn't think the Slytherin would mind being the center of attention that much, when it came down to it. As for herself, she thought the whole idea was… sweet. She had grown up an only child, and Harry and Ron had been her first friends. If Flint and Grubbly-Plank wanted to throw her a party, she would let them.
Grubbly-Plank mourned that this year there wasn't enough time to organise a really good celebration, but Tiberius suggested that the Kitchen Elves could probably make her a serviceable cake in an hour or so. Hermione didn't protest too much. She got the funny feeling that they wouldn't take no for an answer.
In due time, the cake came in. It was an elaborate, elegant design that could have been prepared by any master patissier. Hermione had given into Grubbly-Plank's relentless questioning and told her that her favourite sweets were chocolate and fudge, so the cake had been made accordingly. Hermione's stomach informed her that it didn't particularly care what time of the night it was.
Grubbly-Plank passed her wand over the cake, and it divided into generous slices. "And seventy-seven more." Flint and Lucius said, as if by rote.
Hermione took a piece, mouth already watering. "Oh, years, you mean?"
"It's a Pureblood tradition." Flint said. He looked a little embarrassed. Hermione realised he was worried he had offended her.
Instead she found herself curious. "Do you say the same thing every year?"
"Of course."
"Even if the person whose birthday it is is only a baby? That seems silly. Seventy-eight isn't very old at all for a wizard or a witch."
Grubbly-Plank laughed. "I've never thought of it that way. I suppose to parents, every year is a blessing."
The way she said it made Hermione realise that she knew absolutely nothing about the Care of Magical Creatures professor.
They ate their cake and chatted together. Someone proposed that they should have a drink or two to celebrate Hermione and Lucius' birthdays, and Hermione agreed. Tiberius poured her a glass of port, which she drank and immediately regretted. Grubbly-Plank took pity on her and recommended the sherry instead. Privately, Hermione wished she could just have a cocktail instead.
After a tentative first sip, she found she liked it quite a bit. It was sweet enough to be an immediate balm to the dreadful sourness of the port, and Hermione gladly helped herself to another while Tiberius tried (with a complete lack of subtlety) to find out what sort of things she might like for a birthday present next year. When he was finished questioning her, he tried the same thing with Lucius, who refused to answer. The Malfoy diverted the conversation, he deflected, he simply pretended not to hear. He did everything other than answer Tiberius, who was getting increasingly annoyed.
The evening continued on in the same tone for a while. But when Tiberius finally gave up and started waspishly complaining to Grubbly-Plank about 'the obtuseness of certain friends of ours', Lucius Malfoy turned his attention to Hermione.
Addressing her directly for the first time since he'd asked about the dress, he said, "Well, this is rather pleasant, isn't it."
Hermione agreed that it was. As far as birthdays went, this was one of her nicer ones, and it wasn't even technically her birthday. Birthdays with Ron's family had always been a big event, and they had all gone out of their way to make her feel special. Unfortunately, there were just too many of them. A more exclusive gathering like this one was much better.
Maybe it was the sherry talking, but Hermione realised that this was the sort of place that might be perfect for an actual conversation; and one she had been wanting to have with Lucius ever since she'd heard that they were going to be working together. Before that, even. She was inquisitive by nature. She had always wanted to know why.
But she didn't want to have this conversation in private. The idea made her feel uncomfortable.
"Ah. We've come to it then. By all means, Professor Granger. Ask away."
"And you'll be totally honest with me?"
She got the impression that Lucius was about to make a joking remark in reply, but when he saw her serious expression, he held back.
"Professor Granger, I have no reason to lie to you."
She gave him a flatly disbelieving look. He was amused.
"Professor Granger, really. You cannot ask a man to have a conversation with you, then tell him you won't believe a word he says- oh, very well. Do you believe that I value my life, Professor Granger?"
Above all else. "Yes I do, actually."
"Then believe that I will not allow this conversation to go unspoken for the next five years. Unspoken things, I have learned, have a tendency to fester. You are a first class Charms witch. I have no intention of being strangled to death by a scarf or flattened by a bookshelf, or some such."
How typical that the only reason he wanted to talk was to save his own skin. Hermione was torn between making the defensive comment that she would never use her magic to kill him and the other, slightly less mature point that if she wanted to kill him, she was sure there were a hundred more efficient (and impressive) ways of doing so.
Ignorant of what she was thinking, Lucius gave her an encouraging look. "Please, by all means. Tiberius and Wilhemina have my complete trust. I can say nothing in front of them that I would regret saying."
You asked for it. "Were you a spy for the Order of the Phoenix?"
This must not have been what he was expecting, because she was treated to the delightful sight of Lucius Malfoy nearly choking on his drink.
When he recovered himself, he asked, "Whyever would you think that? No, never."
She hadn't thought so. "Were you really under the Imperius curse when you were Marked?"
The surprise faded from his grey eyes. "Ah, I see what you are getting at. No, I was never under the Imperius curse, Professor Granger."
So that was a lie too. She had never doubted it, but she had wanted to be sure. She wanted to know that she hadn't judged him unfairly.
Feeling strangely disappointed, she said, "So you did it of your own free will. You served Voldemort because you wanted to."
"You are mistaken, Professor Granger. Our choices were taken from us the day that Bellatrix opened the Manor to the Dark Lord."
"No, they weren't. Everyone has a choice. You chose not to resist."
Unlike me, she left unsaid. She had resisted the Cruciatus Curse. Because it had been important, because people's lives had hung in the balance.
She had barely been an adult, but she had done the right thing. If he wanted to talk about this, fine, but she didn't think he would enjoy the conversation. She wanted to know how he could live with himself. How he could justify being so selfish when so many others had been willing to put their lives on the line?
"Professor Granger, there you are mistaken. By the time the Dark Lord returned, I knew his promises and visions for what they were. I wanted no part of the world he promised. Whatever you may think, I did resist him. I remember the first time very clearly. Would you like me to tell you about it? It is not for the faint of heart, I am afraid."
She nodded, not put off. Was this it? Was he about to tell her the redeeming act that must have convinced McGonagall to let him teach at Hogwarts? He hadn't been a spy, maybe, but there were other ways to serve the Order. Perhaps he had given shelter or money to someone fleeing Voldemort. Maybe he could have…
"Well, you should understand, Professor Granger, that the Dark Lord could be a gracious man. I imagine that must seem very strange to you. But it is true. There were times when he seemed as charismatic, as lucid, as he was in the days of my youth. He seemed… forgiving. Or so I deluded myself into thinking. He did not say a word of my failure in the Ministry. And I suppose weeks of this normal behaviour must have gone by, and it led me to the very stupid conclusion that I could ask the Dark Lord how long he would be honouring us with his company for."
To her, that seemed like nothing. An act of defiance so tiny that it really wasn't worth mentioning.
To her surprise, Grubbly-Plank shook her head sadly and said, "Lucius, you stupid boy."
Lucius took no offence to this. In fact, he smiled ruefully. "Ah, but you see, Narcissa and I had a plan, Wilhemina. Once he was gone, if I could persuade him to take Bellatrix with him, I could revoke Bellatrix's blood-rights to the Manor and in doing so, seal our house against him. It depended, of course, entirely on your victory against the Dark Lord," and here he nodded his head graciously at Hermione, "-but Draco gave us every assurance that the three of you would manage it. We would only have to wait the war out."
Professor Flint did not like where this was going any more than Grubbly-Plank. He spoke up, his face wan. "I say, Lucius, is there any need for this?"
"Perhaps you are right, Tiberius. After all, Professor Granger has been subjected to the Cruciatus before. She can imagine full well the price my family paid for my defiance, the day I dared ask Lord Voldemort to get out of my house."
Professor Flint went white as a sheet, and went and sat down in a chair in the corner. Professor Grubbly-Plank heaved herself up out of her spot by the fire and went to him.
Lucius went on deliberately, "The question, Professor Granger, isn't whether what I did was wrong. By every moral principle it certainly was. The question is, could you have held to the same standards you judge me by, if you were in my position? Could you have resisted the Dark Lord, if he tortured your family before your very eyes?"
Professor Grubbly-Plank had started talking to Professor Flint, though Hermione could not hear what she was saying.
"But, you see, Professor Granger, I am not an academic. I find it useless to ask questions to which we will never know the answers." Lucius continued. "You would never allow yourself to be caught in such a situation. No, you wiped your parent's memories, didn't you? Better that than to allow them to come to harm." His eyes softened. "I have always admired you for that."
Admired her? Him? And then she realised, and her hands bunched up in the fabric of her dress. "How did you know I wiped my parents memories?"
Lucius gave a bark of laughter. The sound was strangely hollow. "I knew it! It was them, wasn't it?"
Hermione was too shocked to say a word, but her face must have given it away.
Lucius seemed to be enjoying himself. "I cannot pretend my motives were entirely selfless, though truth be told, the idea of seeing another living thing suffer even the slightest pain had long since lost any appeal to me. No, the fact was that I had only seen your parents once, years ago, and I could not really be sure it was them. That Memory Charm of yours-! Pure genius. I thought it better to leave them where they were than to risk being wrong. The Dark Lord hated to be disappointed."
She reeled. A part of her had always suspected that Voldemort must have at least threatened the Malfoys. She remembered the way Voldemort had embraced Draco when Harry had died. The way Draco had sort of hung there, like a fly that had been caught in a web for so long it no longer had the energy to struggle. And Lucius and Narcissa… they hadn't looked well either. Lucius in particular had looked almost more dead than alive. Hermione had never been sure, but she had suspected.
But this, this was something she never could have imagined. Lucius Malfoy had spared her parents' lives. Through inaction, through cowardice, perhaps, but still. Because he had been too frightened to give them up, her parents were alive.
How, and when had it happened? Surely before they had left England. But there had only been a few days between the memory wipe and the day she'd organised for her parents to 'decide' to leave the country. It was hard to believe. But how else could he have known?
More because she wanted to buy herself time to think than anything, Hermione kept talking. "You could have fought him. Surely he wasn't surrounded by other Death Eaters all the time. Everyone needs to sleep, don't they? You could have gotten him alone, the three of you, and tried. You couldn't have killed him, obviously, he had the Horcruxes, but couldn't you have trapped him, disarmed him, maybe, three on one?"
Lucius actually threw back his head and laughed at her. "Ah, forgive me, Professor Granger. I don't think you realise quite the nature of Bellatrix' relationship with the Dark Lord. He never slept alone while he stayed at my Manor, and Bellatrix was a better fighter than all the rest of us put together. We could never have overcome even one of them, let alone both."
Oh, that was just disgusting. Voldemort and Bellatrix, lovers? It was a sickening thought. Hermione couldn't imagine either of them feeling such a human emotion as love. It was far easier to think of them as monsters incapable of anything other than hate. "You could have ran away, though. Taken Narcissa and Draco, and left."
Lucius looked at her in puzzlement. "Run away? From him?"
More confident, she said, "We did it. Ron, and Harry, and me."
"We would have been caught." Lucius said bluntly. "Don't think I did not consider it. You cannot fathom what it is to be so close to him, to be his hostage. You are remarkable. Brilliant. Forgive us, Professor Granger, for not having your gifts, that make so many things possible for you."
"They aren't gifts." Hermione said in a low, furious voice. "I worked very hard for everything I can do. I wasn't raised knowing everything about magic, like you were."
He raised an eyebrow. "Well then, what would you have had me do, Professor Granger? Should I have watched as my family was killed? Morality is very important to you, and rightly so. As a husband and a man, what importance do you place on my moral duty to my family?"
"Your family isn't more important than the entire Wizarding World, no matter what you might think."
She regretted saying it straightaway. Not because it wasn't true. It was. She regretted saying it because of how naive and idealistic it made her sound. People didn't work that way. People prioritised those who were close to them over those they hardly knew. It was the way of the world.
For the sake of being fair, she tried very hard to imagine what she would have done in his position. What would she have done if the Memory Charm had failed, and she hadn't been able to protect her parents? She tried to imagine what she would say, if the immortal Lord Voldemort had come into her house and held her parents hostage against her.
She didn't know. She really didn't. She liked to think that she could have done the right thing, but she would never know. Not for certain. He was right. For all she knew, in his place, she could have chosen the people she cared about over the greater good.
With this realisation, Hermione's anger and her resentment dissipated just the tiniest bit, and perhaps Lucius sensed that, because he said very quietly, "I assure you, Professor Granger, that you cannot conceive of how much I regret joining the Dark Lord. It was the worst mistake of my life." He leaned forward in his chair, and Hermione had a sense that a curtain was drawing up around them, that although Flint and Grubbly-Plank were only feet away, and all the portraits were watching them in open fascination, they were completely alone. "And let me tell you one thing further, I am sorry for what was done to you in my house."
It was the most shocking thing he could have said. The open, frank admission of regret and guilt. It shouldn't have meant as much as it did. They were only words. But Bellatrix was dead, and Voldemort was dead, and Narcissa had well and truly absolved herself. An apology from Lucius Malfoy was the closest thing she would get to what she really wanted.
Hermione felt her insides bubbling. She wanted to cry. She wanted to leave the room and shout to herself as the memories began to overwhelm her.
Professor Flint seized the opportunity to get up from his chair, and unknowingly broke the spell.
"Now, that's quite enough of that!" Professor Flint exclaimed. "I won't hear any more of this."
The intimacy vanished and so did her high, nervous energy, and Lucius turned to Flint and said, "My apologies, Tiberius. I know how it pains you to hear we vaunted, learned Professors speak on important matters. Would you prefer it if Professor Granger and I were at one another's throats in a few month's time, as long as we spoke pleasantries to one another's faces?"
The Ravenclaw Head stood very straight and tall.
"I'll have you know, it is a matter of firm tradition that politics are not to be discussed in the Head's Room! And to actually discuss the Cruciatus Curse in the presence of ladies-!" He waved an indignant hand at Professor Grubbly-Plank, who was not showing the slightest signs of distress, and then at the portraits on the walls. Hermione noted, dryly, that she obviously was not considered a lady. "I expected better of you, Lucius."
But for all of his bluster, Hermione could see that the Ravenclaw Head was really upset. His manner, usually so elegant and put-together, was harried, and she thought that if he heard another harsh word, he would burst into tears.
"I'm sorry, Professor Flint. It means a lot to me to be so welcome amongst the staff. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable. But Professor Malfoy might have had a point," Across the room, Lucius looked bemused at this, "Maybe it's better that we've aired it out now."
Tiberius didn't reply. He was looking between them nervously.
Grubbly-Plank finally spoke up, "Oh, Tiberius, isn't it better for them to talk about it? Would you rather they glare at one another for years on end?"
"Maybe so, Wilhemina, but I still think it in very bad taste. The past is the past, I say! Let it lie. The future is what I'm interested in."
The Hufflepuff Head said jovially, "We should toast to it. To future and friendships."
This made Hermione feel very guilty. She thought that the others might not really want to celebrate her being here at all.
Sending a reassuring smile at Tiberius, who still did not look quite himself, she suggested, "Out with the old, and in with the new?"
"Quite right, Professor." Lucius said. He raised his glass, and they all toasted her. Their easy companionship and friendliness made her feel awful. She'd needed to talk about it, and she was glad that they had. Still, the last thing she wanted to do was upset Professor Flint.
Since she was the one who had derailed the evening, she felt obligated to put things back on track. Inoffensive small talk was not her forte. Struggling for something nice to say, Hermione turned to Professor Flint and said, "I've read your theories on Speculative Astrological Contravences. Do you really think there might be exceptions to the proven associations between astral bodies and their earthly counterparts?"
Flint lit up like a Christmas tree. From his corner, she distinctly heard Lucius murmur, "Mercy."
In a booming voice, the Arithmancer replied, "Proven? I dispute that they are proven. That entire school of thought was conceived of in the Dark Ages."
Quietly, Lucius offered, "When it was conceived was irrelevant, if it still stands the test of reason and magic."
Professor Flint scoffed. "Forgive me, old boy, but theoretical magic is not your strong suit. The aspect of my work Professor Granger is questioning is the effect of knowledge and will on the laws we assume to be true. Who knows what might be done if we ignored what we have been taught and go our own way?"
Lucius frowned and pursed his lips at his patronising manner. Grubbly-Plank laughed heartily at Tiberius and only stopped long enough to tell him off. What sort of teacher made light of teaching?
To this Tiberius replied, "One whose greatest wish is to be seen as an incompetent fool by his students, in the fullness of time."
It was an interesting thought, but one Hermione wasn't quite sure she agreed with. Not completely. If Tiberius honestly wanted to be made obsolete, she thought that was very admirable of him. But Hermione privately liked being the best. She didn't want future generations to downplay her achievements. Perhaps I ought to work on that.
As for his theories, the practical applications were endless. "And you think it could work? Even so far as practical magic is concerned?"
"Indeed, my dear girl, under the right conditions I dare say it might be so!" And Tiberius' woes were forgotten, and Hermione felt much the same. Tiberius and Hermione went down the rabbit hole of theoretical magic; not arguing, exactly, but verbally fencing for the sake of pleasure and expansion of knowledge.
Lucius and Grubbly-Plank made their own conversation. Hermione listened in every now and again, out of interest. They both had things in their lives they could talk about endlessly. For Lucius Malfoy it was his family, in particular his grand-son, Scorpius. For Grubbly-Plank, it was a particularly clever Salamander Broodmother, who had been giving her trouble for several years now. Thus paired off, the rest of the night flew by.
When they finally left the Head Club room, Tiberius and Hermione would happily have kept talking, if only Hermione could have stopped yawning long enough to get the words out. Lucius and Grubbly-Plank made polite goodbyes, which Hermione answered with a quick smile and distracted wave.
All things considered, she still thought tonight had been less explosive and dramatic than her birthdays with the Weasleys had been. She found herself preferring the authenticity of the night compared to the fanfare she had become accustomed to.
She believed that communication could cross almost any boundary. Better to risk an argument, than to smile and smooth over issues that, as Lucius had said, would only fester and become worse over time.
She had learned that the hard way, with Ron.
Later, as she brushed her hair in the mirror, she mused to herself that friendships were strange things. Some grew out of adversity or sheer dumb luck, like with Ron and Harry. Some were born out of common interests and intellectual pursuits. Others were the result of simple kindness, such as what Grubbly-Plank had shown her.
Only time would tell which ones would hold, and which would fail.
Let me know your thoughts! Chapter 4 should be coming in a week's time as per usual, but some of the chapters in the near future need quite a fair bit of work so there might be some delays there.
Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and see you next time!