Sixth Year, Part 8, 1997
Hermione felt as if she was floating on a cloud when she returned to Hogwarts. Lucius had not come right out and said that he loved her in their time together over Yule break, but he'd said he was happy with her, that she brought a happiness into his life he'd never had with his own wife. He'd sufficiently assauaged her guilt over sleeping with a married man. She'd not had a chance to bring up the idea of him actively spying for the Order with him during her stay in Scotland, as he'd instead filled the following morning with practical lessons involving occulemency and darker magic.
The Gryffindor in her preferred forthright and open conversation, and she wanted to just ask him outright if he'd take a more active role in helping her bring down the Dark Lord. She realised though as Lucius corrected her wand position that morning for a painful dark curse that perhaps this was his method of helping. It was subtle and cunning and so very Slytherin: he was training her to train Harry for what was to come. She would push him for more though - he was too valuable a resource given his reported position in the Dark Lord's inner circle - but the education and assistance he'd been providing her all this time were definitive proof of his true loyalty as far as she was concerned.
Once back at school, she had to content herself with a regular book delivery from him and sporadic messages via her bracelet. It was difficult to converse through the bracelet, but they managed well enough for her to ascertain that he was alive and well. On very infrequent nights, he used the bracelet to send her messages that made her blush and left her needy with desire. She missed him terribly but tried to focus as much as she could both on her schoolwork and on preparing Harry for what was to come.
Harry, for his part, was about to drive her barmy. He still refused to admit that using the Half-Blood Prince's potions book was a bad idea. He'd also been tasked by Dumbledore with retrieving a memory Professor Slughorn, something about a young Tom Riddle, and she found herself frustrated by Harry's lack of focus on the matter. She did not understand why Dumbledore was unable to retrieve the memory himself and found herself increasingly frustrated with their headmaster and his unwillingness to share information with Harry.
Dumbledore had not asked for a private meeting with her since that night after the incident in the Ministry, but a few times she'd been in his presence and felt a subtle probing at her mind. She'd done her best to subtly shield her mind as Lucius had taught her and redirect Dumbledore by focusing on schoolwork, usually problems from her arithmancy class. He seemed to retreat quickly from her mind when she did that. She felt reasonably confident he was unaware of her involvement with Lucius.
She was unable to see her lover again until March, when he was available during a Hogsmeade weekend. She feigned illness again, and as she had in the fall, she waited for her friends to leave before she left the castle's wards and portkeyed to the lodge. Lucius was upon her the moment she landed, tearing at her clothes before pushing her backward onto a worn leather sofa. It was reminiscent of their coupling in the alley in Hogsmeade. He whispered filthy words in her ear as his hands tugged at her hair, her nipples, and his teeth left their marks on her neck and shoulder. It was hard and fast and rough and made her cry out at the heady mix of pleasure and pain and intense sensation.
Afterward she was sweaty and breathless and parts of her were damp and stuck uncomfortably to the leather, but she still held him in her arms, grateful to be with him. Eventually they separated and clothes were righted, which ended up being rather pointless because they spent more time that day undressed than dressed.
In between bouts of sex, she pushed him to talk, as something was obviously bothering him and had been bothering him from the moment she portkeyed into their private oasis.
"You cannot begin to understand what it is like, what it means to serve Him," he said, staring up at the canopy over the bed.
"Will you tell me?" she asked.
When they spoke in the Department of Mysteries and then in the Shrieking Shack last year, she brought up the first war and the imperius curse that had been used against him, but she'd not pushed him to talk about his current role as a Death Eater. She knew he was unhappy, but truth be told, she'd been content to cocoon herself away with Lucius and make the most of her time with him. She'd been telling herself since New Year's though that she needed to ask him the difficult questions and think beyond just her private relationship with him. There was an entire side to him that she'd only glimpsed that night in the Department of Mysteries, and she was determined to know it.
Lucius was quiet for a moment before he finally spoke.
"I was a boy the first time I met the Dark Lord. He was charming, charismatic. My mother thought Him incredibly handsome. He drew people in, while simultaneously intimidating them. I was convinced from an early age that He would be Minister for Magic before I finished school. After all, He had the backing of my father and the fathers of my friends, and He was the Heir of Salazar Slytherin himself. He charmed witches and drew wizards into His fold. He seemed unstoppable."
Hermione had only known Voldemort as Harry had described him after the Tri-Wizard Tournament: ghostly pale, hairless, noseless, red eyes, as if He was truly half snake, half man. It was hard to picture a handsome wizard who drew people to Him with His persona.
"He was powerful too, so powerful. You were impressed before, with my wandless magic. The Dark Lord is capable of so much more. I was drawn to His power. We all were," he said softly.
"But you didn't want to join Him? To be a Death Eater?" she questioned.
He hesitated for a moment before speaking.
"You must understand that I grew up knowing that He was an associate of my father's, hearing about how He would change the world, how He would usher in a glorious new age where we did not have to fear the muggle world."
She scoffed. Unless Voldemort had planned to take over the muggle world - which seemed unlikely given that the muggle world had nuclear weapons and technological horrors wizards could not even fathom - she was unsure how He'd planned to go about creating this brave new world. It was hard to explain that though to someone who avoided all things muggle.
"You doubt Him, I know, but if you had seen Him in his prime, you would understand why so many fell under his thrall," Lucius said.
"He recruited me, of course, because of who I was, who my father was. I was still a student. By the time I was married to Narcissa, I was one of His associates, a rising young star in the Ministry. The tasks I was given involved collecting information and using it achieve political gain. It appealed to my sense of ambition and cunning. Slytherins are not above a bit of dirty politics," he admitted.
"When did you realise He was violent?" she prompted.
"Not until it was too late. He was pleased enough with me, with my work, and He wanted more. He always wanted more. I knew there was an inner circle of close supporters and was initially thrilled to be welcomed into it. It was proof of my importance, you see. Malfoys have long aspired to be the power behind the throne. I was thrilled until…" his voice trailed off then, and he looked away.
"Until?" she prompted in a hushed whisper. She wanted to know. She really did. It was important to her that she truly know and understand Lucius, all of him.
"Until a sobbing muggle woman was thrown at my feet," he said flatly.
Hermione clutched the soft wool blanket over her breasts and tried to push down the bile she felt rising in her throat.
"I was, well, what I was expected to do to this muggle does not bear repeating in polite company," he said quietly. "It was made clear to me that to not comply was to risk my family. I cared little for Narcissa, but she was pregnant with my son, and I loved my parents dearly."
"You killed the muggle woman?" she whispered.
"I had no choice. I believed, at the time, that such a horrific means of entree into His inner circle was meant to bind His followers to Him. If I killed for Him and then tried to leave, to turncoat, my crime had been witnessed by many, any of whom could leave a pensieve memory with the Aurors."
He paused for a moment, and Hermione was unsure of what to do or say.
The man she loved had just confessed to murder.
She'd known, perhaps somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind, that this was a possibility. He was a marked Death Eater, willing or not, and he'd surely been expected to do terrible things. She'd tried for months to mentally excuse away the crimes he'd likely been forced to commit. Maybe he'd been able to get away with just disrupting the peace, sowing the seeds of rebellion and chaos. Maybe he'd been able to get away with a spot of brief torture, leaving death and destruction to others.
She'd known though. Deep down, she'd known. Voldemort's Death Eaters were not just a political group. There was violence. Of course there was violence. Too many had been killed in the first war, in Voldemort's rise to power, for her to excuse it all away. He'd seen terrible things. He'd been forced to DO terrible things.
She could picture Lucius in his early 20s, his entire adult life ahead of him, forced into a marriage he did not want, with a child on the way. As abhorrent as the idea of murder was, could she condemn him for that one act? If she'd been in his position, if she'd been faced with the option to kill or be killed, she thought perhaps she would be willing to sacrifice her own life… but someone else's? If it was kill or watch her parents be killed? Kill or watch Lucius or Harry be killed?
Once upon a time, when she was innocent and magic was just for fairy tales, she would have argued on the side of righteousness, argued that murder was never justifiable, that she'd rather die than take a life. She was no longer certain. The lines between black and white had blurred into shades of grey even before she'd handed that prophecy to Lucius. She'd cursed others, disfigured Marietta Edgecombe, and left Dolores Umbridge to the centaurs, not caring if the horrid woman made it out of the forest alive. Was it really that much of a stretch to go from that to understanding why her lover had killed someone?
The terrible reality was that she could mentally put herself in Lucius's position, faced with a muggle woman he was expected to kill, and she could understand why he'd done it. The woman had been captured by Death Eaters or by the Dark Lord Himself, and her life was forfeit at that point. No act of righteous bravery would have saved her. Had Lucius refused, someone else would have surely cast the killing curse. By killing her, Lucius had spared his unborn son, spared his parents, spared himself. Sacrificing his own life would not have saved the muggle woman, and it would not have protected his son or his parents. She did not have to like it, but deep down, she could understand it.
"I was quick about it, and He was displeased with me for that," Lucius continued. "I have no stomach for torture or murder, but He valued me because I was a Malfoy. I naively believed that after that first night, I had proved my loyalty and would not be expected to engage in such violence again, but I was wrong. When He wanted to mark me, I tried to refuse, and, well, you know the rest. I was under the imperius curse until He disappeared that day at the Potter home."
"I read some of the stories, about the end of the war, about your testimony."
"Did you? Being under the imperious is...not pleasant, at least it was not to me. It's akin to being on a potion high but yet dimly aware of what is happening around you. Some report that it feels as if being in a trance, but when the Dark Lord cast it upon me, I had enough awareness to know that my body was beyond my control."
"And you were branded," she whispered.
He raised his arm, looking at the dark mark on the inside of his left forearm.
"Yes. I was branded," he said bitterly. "It was excruciatingly painful."
"If you'd realised before you were brought into the inner circle, if you'd known what would be expected of you, would you have been able to find some way to avoid it?" she asked.
He pondered that for a moment.
"It is...unlikely. He was an associate of my father's. My father publicly supported the Dark Lord. I was expected to be a supporter. My father's alliance with Him meant that had I tried to defect to the light, I would have been met with immediate suspicion and perhaps even arrested. Dumbledore would never have believed that a Malfoy did not want to be one of the Dark Lord's supporters."
Hermione frowned as she realised that Lucius was likely correct in that regard. Sirius Black had been a loyal follower of Albus Dumbledore's and the headmaster had still not done anything to protect him from being imprisoned for a crime he did not commit. She could not imagine Dumbledore going out of his way to help Lucius Malfoy back then.
"You must also understand, pet, that the violence and the terror were not widespread until the final year or so before He disappeared. Before that, His rise was about political gain. Power. There was a logic and a reasoning behind it. It was a movement, and there was a clear purpose to nearly everything that He and His followers did. But now…"
"Now?"
"He is...deeply unstable," Lucius admitted. "I do not know if it was the loss of His body in 1981 or if it was the means of resurrection, but His mind is damaged. It was likely damaged before all of this, but it is infinitely worse now. He rules the inner circle, His followers, by means of fear. Loyalty is forced, except perhaps from my deranged sister-in-law. It is an unwise way to rule. Rule by terror will inevitably result in rebellion and revolution. You can only push the masses so far."
She took that in and considered his words. If Lucius could see that the Dark Lord was unstable, surely those close to him could as well. Bellatrix was obviously too insane to see reason, but what of the others? Were they so caught up in prejudice that they'd happily throw their lot in with an insane demagogue? Or were more of them like Lucius - trapped by the mark on their arm?
She rolled onto her side and studied her lover. He'd thrown an arm carelessly over his face, and his eyes were closed. She knew that he did not want to be a Death Eater, that he did not want his son to face that same horror. But he'd been raised by someone who'd groomed him to be a part of this. He'd been the Dark Lord's chosen one, destined to be part of the inner circle by virture of his father's allegiance. Her heart twisted at the idea that Lucius and Harry both - the two wizards she loved the most - had both been thrust into dire situations neither had really chosen.
Still, she had trouble reconciling the man beside her with the son he'd raised.
"And when we all rebel against Him, what happens after that?" she asked.
"War, obviously. We're already at war, although not everyone is willing to accept that."
"Well yes, war, of course. But what about afterward?"
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"In a world free from Vol-the Dark Lord, will you still raise your son to hate people like me? Do you still believe in blood purity and supremacy?" She was almost afraid to ask, and yet she felt she simply had to ask him this most difficult of questions. She knew that he was open-minded enough to sleep with her, but he'd willingly supported Voldemort up until he was expected to participate in acts of violence. He was raising a son who still called her hateful slurs.
Lucius frowned. "How can you ask that, given all of this?" he asked, gesturing between them.
She raised her eyebrows at him. "Your son - the very person you want me to protect if I can - calls me a filthy mudblood. Of course I'm asking. Draco did not decide for himself that wizards and witches like me are somehow beneath him."
He sighed. "I apologise then, on Draco's behalf. I was raised to believe that we - wizards and witches - were above muggles. We had magic and they did not. Our magic made us superior to them. I was raised knowing that we cannot reveal ourselves to muggles because in their fear, they hunted us nearly to extinction. Separation was our salvation. And then the muggleborns came.
"They had not been raised in our world, with our understanding of magic. I do not dispute your magical prowess, for you are indeed accomplished and powerful, pet, but as we've discussed before, you were dropped into our world without any real understanding of it, and are sent back to the muggle world during school breaks."
"It's not as if there's another option," she pointed out. "Leaving muggleborns in the muggle world, without any understanding of magic or control over their abilities is to condemn them. There's no way of knowing how many people over the years were locked away in asylums and mental institutions because others believed them insane. Or possessed."
"We bring children, 11 year olds, into our world and expect them and their parents to keep the secret," he said.
"And I have. I have, Lucius. I would never betray the Statute of Secrecy."
"But you are an only child, are you not? What about those with younger, muggle siblings? Imagine a child of five or six, who has witnessed his older sister's magical outbursts, who knows something is not quite right. When the letter arrives from Hogwarts, do his parents tell him the truth about what his sister is? Where she is going? Do they hide it from him every time an owl visits their home with a letter? The secrecy of our world then rests on the shoulders of a young child!"
She frowned, realising that he had a point. She had no siblings to speak of, and her parents were both only children. There was no extended family to hide her magic from. Harry's own mother had had a muggle sister, who had grown up hearing of magic and knowing of it but not being able to perform it herself or participate in the magical world. Had Petunia Dursley's disdain for all things magical started in childhood, in resentment and confusion over Lily's magical gifts?
"There has to be a better way, Lucius. A way that doesn't involve banning muggleborns or trying to kill us!"
"I do not know precisely what that way is, pet, but I am open to new ideas," he admitted, a somewhat pained expression on his face.
"You are? Meaning, you don't think I have dirty blood?"
"I am," he said with a sigh. "Would I be here with you like this if I thought you were muggle filth?"
He continued before she could respond. "Had I much sympathy for muggleborns when I was a child myself, I can assure you my father would not have permitted it to flourish, nor would it have been safe to openly espouse such a belief around the Dark Lord's inner circle. As for my son, I have raised him to cherish and hold dear our ancient traditions, to value our heritage. I will not apologise for being proud that I was born into a magical family, that I have not had to exist between two worlds as you have. Draco's mother though is, shall we say, less than tolerant. The Black family motto is 'toujours pur.'"
"Purity always," she murmured to herself.
"Indeed. She has not spoken to her sister since the day Andy was cast out of the family," he said with a sigh. "I must also concede that the Dark Lord's return has limited my ability to provide a stronger influence on my son. Despite my best efforts, Draco is learning the hard way, I fear, that the Dark Lord's path is not one we want to walk."
Lucius looked tense, and she knew the weight of the war, of his forced service to Voldemort, and his fears for his son's safety were a terrible burden he carried with him. Still, she had reason to be optimistic: he was not an intrinsically violent person, his beliefs were based more on protection than on underlying prejudice, and he was open to new ideas, perhaps even to compromise.
"I know that you're in a really difficult position right now, that you can't leave Britain, and you can't hide Draco from Him, but you can help us. You know that I won't sit back and let the Dark Lord destroy muggleborns. My life is over if He wins. I can help Harry, but even I'm limited in my options and what I can do. But you - you're in the inner circle. There has to be information you can share, things you can do-"
He cut her off with a sharp look.
"I will not risk Draco's life, not even for this."
"I would never ask that of you," she said sincerely. "I know how much your son means to you. But think about it Lucius - if the Dark Lord is gone, you're free. I know you said that you think you'll be condemned to Azkaban, but if you help Harry, if he and I can tell the Aurors, tell everyone that you helped us defeat the Dark Lord from the inside, they can't convict you. You're already doing so much for me with the books and the training, and I am grateful - believe me, I am grateful - and I can use that to teach Harry what I know so that he's better prepared. But it's not the same thing as intelligence about what the Death Eaters are doing, what He's planning."
He stood abruptly and reached for his clothes, his expression the cold, blank mask she remembered from her childhood.
"It is late. You need to get back to Hogwarts before your absence is noted."
"Lucius?" She was perplexed by the about face he'd just done.
"Get dressed." His tone of voice left no room for argument.
She sat up in bed and slid awkwardly from the blankets as she fumbled with her clothing, distressed by the sudden change in his demeanor. Had she overstepped the boundaries of their relationship? He'd been so open and honest with her in these last two visits, telling her about Andromeda and Narcissa, about his son and about how he came to be a Death Eater. She really thought she'd made serious inroads with him. More than that, she genuinely thought he'd be more receptive to her overture.
She dressed in silence and checked her unruly hair to make sure she did not look like she'd spent the day being shagged within an inch of her life before meeting him in that front room where she always landed via portkey. He was staring at the window, back ramrod straight. The crackle of burning logs in the fireplace was the only sound in the room.
She withdrew her wand and waited, uncertain whether she should attempt to speak with him before she left. She really did not want to leave him on such a sour note.
"Lucius?" It came out as almost a whisper.
He did not turn around, but she detected the slightest drop in tension in his posture.
"I cannot give you what you want," he said in a quiet voice.
'Oh god, no. No, no, no' she thought desperately. 'This can't be it. Please don't end this now.'
She tried to swallow the lump in her throat as she silently promised herself she would not cry in front of him.
"What you ask - it is treason to even think it. I can't. If the Dark Lord discovered such treachery...Draco - I am the only one protecting my son." His words came out disjointed, and she found herself oddly relieved that he was speaking about his inability to serve as a spy and not about a desire to end their secret relationship.
"I didn't mean to upset you," she said in an equally quiet voice.
He turned around then, finally looking at her. "Nor I you. You took me by surprise with your request. It is...well, given what we are…" he gestured between them to indicate their involvement as his voice trailed off.
She stared at him in silence, waiting for him to continue.
"It was not an unreasonable request. My automatic assumption was to reject it outright for the risk it carries," he finished.
"I would never ask you to risk your son's life."
"You paint a beautiful picture of what could be if young Potter wins, but I've seen what happens to those who would betray Him. I am no use to my son dead, especially not if he is forced to witness my torture and death."
She visibly cringed at the horrific mental picture he painted and at what he'd surely been forced to see and do, and she wrapped her arms around herself in a gesture of self-comfort.
"I know what you want, and it is simply not an option. Not now," he said with finality.
Not now. She mulled those words over in her head. Not now. He did not say never. Just not now.
"I can accept not now. But I won't give up on you, Lucius Malfoy."
He came closer to her then, and she relaxed as he kissed her forehead and smoothed her hair back from her face before pulling her into an embrace.
"I am counting on it."
~oOo~
Hermione is finally confronting Lucius's past and what that means for his present and future. What did you think of her rationale?
This week I went in and wrote the ending for this chapter, but when I started editing a finished chapter in 7th year, I realised that I'd repeated a scene in this chapter that I'd already written as happening later on. Thus the perils of writing out of order. That scene works better later on, and while the ending of this chapter was a bit ominous and a little disappointing for Hermione, it also felt realistic to me. I couldn't see Lucius just leaping to be a spy when Draco's life was possibly on the line. He doesn't really have a lot of reason to trust Dumbledore, Moody, or some of the others, and they wouldn't have a lot of incentive to trust him either.
Thank you all for continuing to read and share your thoughts with me. The last few chapters have been a bit Lucius-heavy, but up next you'll get to see a lot more of the action at Hogwarts and some Draco/Hermione interaction!