Written for Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
House: Thunderbird
Class/Task Number: Cultural Studies. 4. [Living Standard] Someone getting used to living at a standard above or below them.
Bonus Prompts:
[dialogue] "I'm supposed to use what?"
[song] Pour un flirt - Michel Delpech
Word Count: 1349/4500
Wish on a Shooting Star
Lucius Malfoy suddenly wishes he can get more time with Hermione. A shooting star answers his wish.
Lucius Malfoy had definitely seen better days.
Once upon a time, he'd been feared and respected as an upstanding citizen of the wizarding world. Now look at him!
Forced on his hands and knees to scrub the floor of his own house because his house-elves had been freed by that Granger chit and the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
He grimaced as the soap bubbles popped too close to his eyes. He continued to furiously scrub the floor with the wet rag.
A knock on the door startled him out of his dark thoughts. He forgot his house-elves weren't around to escort the visitors inside, and waited for them to come in. When the knock sounded again, he remembered his situation and shot to his feet.
He scowled as he opened the door and found the bane of his existence, Hermione Granger, stood on his front porch.
"Good afternoon, Mr Malfoy, I'm here to check if you're faring well these days," she said pompously as she pushed past him and walked into the house like she owned it.
"I don't remember inviting you in, Miss Granger," he drawled under his breath as he watched her prance into his living room — the same living room he'd been scrubbing.
He paled and quickly rushed into the living room to stop her from seeing his handiwork. He slipped on the wet floor and crashed onto the ground with a loud thud.
"Oh, Merlin's beard! Mr Malfoy! Are you okay?" Hermione cried, as she rushed over to help him up.
He scowled as he tried to bat away her hands, but she refused to relent.
She dragged him up by his elbows, and he slipped on the wet floor again.
This time, he stumbled into her and they fell to the ground in a heap of tangled limbs.
"Ouch!" Hermione cried out as she clutched onto her side. Lucius Malfoy was definitely on the bony side, she thought irritatedly.
"Oh, get up, witch, it's not a big deal," Lucius muttered, despite the embarrassed bloom in his cheeks.
They carefully stood up and Hermione felt a wet spot on the back of her skirt. She quickly waved her wand over her skirt and dried it.
"Have you seen enough?" Lucius scowled down at her, as he attempted to intimidate her but failed.
"No, I need to inspect your house. If you're not doing well on your own, I need to inform my superiors and they'll find a way to help you out," Hermione stated as she turned to look around the room.
"Like your precious Minister's going to help me out," Lucius muttered under his breath as he hobbled over to his armchair.
When the war had ended, the Golden Trio — as they had been dubbed by the public — had actively boycotted the use of Dementors to guard the prisoners. The Order had seen the effects of the Dark creatures up close — in both Sirius and Bellatrix. With the Order backing them up, the trio had managed to get the Ministry to side with them.
Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, was one of the Order members. He agreed to find a way to house the prisoners in a more humane way. Thus, the punishment of living like a Muggle for the rest of your sentence was invented.
Lucius Malfoy had been sentenced to five years of living like a Muggle. His wand had been confiscated, his magic bound by a simple silver bracelet that couldn't be removed by anyone until the time period was over. He didn't know if a Dementor's kiss was more painful or not, but he didn't want to try that out either.
His wife, Narcissa, had separated from him long ago. And as she hadn't been a Death Eater and she'd even helped save Harry from Voldemort, she had walked away scot-free, to Lucius' disdain.
He would never admit it, not even to himself, but the highlight of his week was when Hermione Granger dropped in for a visit unannounced. He didn't want her to see how pathetic his life had become, but he did like her company.
She always had some theory or the other she liked to discuss with him as she inspected his house for him. He'd never understood why she came to see him every week — it wasn't exactly her job to look after him, after all. Even though he actively demanded she leave his house, he didn't really mean it.
As she inspected his bedroom to see if he'd smuggled in anything magical, a pang of sadness coursed through him.
All of a sudden, he realized how lonely he was, how much he wanted her to stay for longer than she always did. But it wasn't in his nature to come clean about his feelings.
He desperately wished for a miracle — he desperately wished for her to stay with him.
Somewhere up in the starry heavens, a shooting star flew by. It was very rare that a shooting star granted someone's wish.
In the wizarding world, there was a legend. According to the legend, a shooting star would only grant the wish of someone whose wish was heartfelt and sincere.
Lucius Malfoy didn't seem the type, but his wish for her at that moment was definitely heartfelt and sincere.
A loud thunderclap sounded right outside the house. In a matter of seconds, a whirlwind surrounded Lucius' little cottage.
Hermione glanced out the window and gasped. "Woah! Merlin, that is a huge storm!" She exclaimed as she beckoned Lucius over.
Lucius' heart trembled with secret delight when her next words were:
"I'll have to intrude on you a little longer, Mr Malfoy. I can't Apparate through the storm."
Lucius huffed and muttered, "Fine. Stay here for the time being."
To his astonishment, Hermione giggled and asked, "Would you believe me if I said I actually like spending time with you? You're an intelligent man and you're always interested in trying to prove me wrong."
"What?" Lucius croaked out, disbelief etched on his face. He couldn't believe what she'd just said.
"Yes, everyone else I talk to always ends up nodding to whatever I say — but not you. You always try to prove my theories wrong," she said happily as she walked downstairs towards the kitchen.
Lucius forgot the mess he'd made in there as he followed her in.
"What happened here? Why is the orange juice spilled on the flour bag?" Hermione gaped at the destroyed kitchen.
"I was trying to make breakfast," he admitted, annoyed.
"And why is the pancake batter so hard?" Hermione asked as she poked at the heavy lump stuck in the kitchen drain.
"The recipe said to mix it well!" He protested harshly.
"Yeah, but did you use the measuring cup to add in the flour?" Hermione inquired.
"I'm supposed to use what?"
"The measuring cups. You must have them, right?" Hermione asked.
"No…"
"Oh, that's why the dough is so thick and dry! You must have added more than a cup of flour and less than a cup of milk!" She exclaimed as she extracted the lump from the drain and threw it into the dustbin.
Lucius didn't answer. He watched her bustle around his kitchen as she explained the basics of making pancakes. He watched her search his cabinets for more ingredients so she could teach him how to make pancakes the right way.
And somewhere deep down inside him, his cold heart melted and tripled in size.
A sudden caveman-like feeling rushed through his body as he watched her happily work in his kitchen.
He wished to wrap her in his embrace. He wished to cuddle her tight against him and listen to her talk. He wished to make sweet, sweet love to her. He wished to spend the nights with her between her sheets.
But most of all, he wished to kiss her.
As the storm raged outside the little cottage, Lucius swore to himself that before she left his house, he would make her his.
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