Chapter 10 - Look, Part 1

January 18th 2004, Malfoy Manor

The Library

"Oh, I know your sort," Obaidur McQuoid muttered to the venomous green book that had attacked Hermione several days earlier. He stood in the path of the red dust it spat and laughed gruffly. "Go on then, ye wee bugger, do your worst."

Hermione wondered if he was entirely sane, until he turned to her and said curtly, "Decoy."

"Decoy?"

"It's harmless. All fur coat and no knickers. But it's making us look the other way from something else. That's its job," he said, adding with a kind of grudging appreciation, "and it's doing a bloody good one."

A part of Hermione's mind was diverted by the phrase All fur coat and no knickers — if she had even understood it correctly, as Auror McQuoid had a very pronounced Scottish accent, and unless she listened very closely she could only be sure she'd understood one word out of three! Another part was rather embarrassed and frustrated that she hadn't worked this out for herself.

"Well, it took me in," she said, dispiritedly recalling her frantic attempts to Tergere the dust from her clothes and skin.

"Ach, dinna fash lass. I told you, that's it's job." He walked towards the book and pulled it off the shelf. "All right," he said. "Let's have a look at you." He turned and smiled at Hermione, then said with some relish, "Time to get down to mine."

Half an hour passed while he worked steadily with a combination of his sturdy fourteen-inch wand and a variety of tools, Muggle and magical.

"Ach, Abraxas Malfoy . . . you were a devious old fuck . . ." he said, wrestling simultaneously with a physical lock and a spell.

"How do you know it was Abraxas?" Hermione asked, intrigued. "I mean, couldn't Lucius Malfoy have performed these protection spells or, for that matter, some ancestor or other?"

"If you'd met Abraxas, you wouldn't be asking," he said, finally breaking through one of the locks, with a sharp bang and a clatter. He turned to face Hermione and rested for a moment. "His magic was all iron will and malicious intent; you could smell it a mile away. And I can smell it in these spells." He put down his wand and tools and and wiped his hands on his robes. "Any chance of a cup of tea?" he said. "I need to have a wee think about what to do next."

"Well . . . yes, I suppose so. I expect I could call the house-elf, but . . ." Hermione was a little reluctant, as she had never actually summoned Tilly, and didn't really feel it was her place to do so. But she was actually rather grateful for the opportunity to sit down and talk with him. His geniality and his apparent respect for her were rather reassuring, especially after everything that had happened with Harry. She was also curious as to what other information he might have about the Malfoys and their library and, based on his last remark, aspects of magic she didn't yet understand. "Tilly!" she called out, probably unnecessarily loudly, wondering what would happen.

Almost before the name had left her lips, there was an ear-splitting Crack! outside the library door. Tilly seemed to be trying to out-do herself.

"Ach, wheesht!" McQuoid said, and smiled and shook his head. "Noisy wee beastie."

Wee beastie! Honestly, the propensity of even those wizards staunchly on the side of the light to devalue house-elves never failed to appall Hermione. As they walked down the spiral staircase to the lower floor, she said, "Tilly is a free elf, you know," trying her best to sound informative rather than disapproving but, really, it had to be said.

They reached the door and Hermione opened it.

"All right, Tilly?" McQuoid said, quite unperturbed by Hermione's rebuke and completely friendly towards the elf.

"Tilly is very well, Mr McQuoid," the elf replied happily, as Hermione looked between them bemused. Oh, but of course! They must be acquainted, since McQuoid was Lucius Malfoy's 'Case Auror.' "How can Tilly help, Hermione Granger?"

"Can we, perhaps, have some tea, Tilly? If it's not too much trouble?" Hermione said tentatively, but the elf just nodded and smiled broadly, apparently delighted to be asked to do something.

"Darjeeling for ma'am and," Tilly wrinkled her nose, "Scottish Breakfast, leave the tea bag in the mug for Mr McQuoid."

The Auror rubbed his hands together. "That's the stuff," he said in anticipation, and Tilly disapparated.

"You convinced Lucius Malfoy to buy tea bags and mugs?" Hermione said, amused and impressed.

He shook his head. "I get along well enough with the beastie," he said, and Hermione winced slightly, but by now realised he had no actual ill-will towards the elf. "She got them in for me. Can't stand that fussy stuff she serves." He paused and studied her. "Have you seen much of the lad?" he asked.

Not understanding, Hermione wracked her brain for what he might mean. "Draco?" she finally came up with. "No. I mean I've only been here for eight days. But Ministry files and, well, just gossip really, all say he cut off communication with Mr Malfoy absolutely."

McQuoid let out a slight laugh, and his eyes twinkled, with something almost haunting in them. "Not Draco," he said. "Lucius. To an old fart like me, he's still a lad. At least, I remember when he was."

Strangely, there seemed to be a nuance of affection in McQuoid's voice. How odd, if it were true, for an Auror to feel anything but hatred and censure towards a Death Eater. Or perhaps she was just projecting her own ambivalent feelings onto the man. Whatever the reality, it was disconcerting and, to avoid talking about it (or thinking about it), Hermione attempted to change the subject. "You can smell magic?" she asked.

"Well, aye and no. It's not smelling with the nose, but it's still smelling. Ye ken?"

Crack! Tilly appeared again outside the library with the tea things, which she passed through the door to Hermione's waiting hands before disapparating just as raucously.

Hermione and McQuoid sat down at the long table Hermione had made her base, and occupied themselves for a a minute or two with their.

Without even removing the teabag, McQuoid took a loud slurp of tea then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You'd be safe enough letting her in here," he said, eyeing Hermione. "She'll no do you any harm."

Hermione was astonished. Once again, this was not the line ot thinking she had been expecting from an Auror. But what he said next, before she could reply, astonished her more.

"Lucius'll no do you any harm either," he said. "Not any more."

Hermione's mouth actually fell open. Eventually, she recovered herself enough to try to speak, but all that came out was a series of syllables that never turned into fully formed thoughts until, finally, she managed, "I agreed with the Minister to take strict measures to keep Mr Malfoy out of the library. Once I knew Tilly was here, I included her in the precautions." Then her emotions and curiosity took over again. "What do you mean, he won't do me any harm, any more?"

McQuoid shrugged. "You know as well I I do, lassie," he said. "Your man's been," he sucked in his lips as he searched for the right word, "neutered, since he got back from his first stint in Azkaban." He downed the rest of his tea, wiped his hands on his scarred dragon hide apron and stood up purposefully. "Let's have another go at the books, shall we?"

Hermione was confounded and intrigued. As she joined McQuoid and they walked back up the spiral staircase together, she said, "I'm surprised you don't consider Malfoy a serious threat. Minister Shacklebolt had extensive charms put around the library to prevent him entering, as you know; and Harry seemed to think I'd . . ." Caused the imminent downfall off the wizarding world, was on the sarcastic and wounded tip of her tongue, ". . . made a dangerous error by communicating with him at all. As an Auror —"

"As an Auror," McQuoid broke in, "It pays to know what's dangerous and what isnae. Dinna fash yesel about Lucius. He hasne got a wand, he couldn't put two sensible words together last time I saw him, and he looks weak enough that a strong gust of wind would blow him over." He paused, then added soberly, "What his old bastard of a father and Voldemort didn't manage to break, Lucius broke for himself . . . with a little help from the government."

"You like him," Hermione said wonderingly, and she actually felt a little less stupid about her sympathy for Lucius Malfoy, in the face of the grizzled old Auror's compassion.

McQuoid fished around in his apron for his wand and a tool. "I wouldna say that," he said, shaking his head. "My family's pure-blooded . . . different kind, of course. No big houses and fancy money. But we never got the idea to carry on like the Malfoys and their cronies did. Lucius Malfoy did things not easily forgotten or forgiven, and there's no certainty what he'd be doing now if his side hadna lost the war. But . . ." he considered. "I've seen a lot in my time in magical law enforcement, and you're not going to get very far if you can't see the grey areas in things."

"That's not how Harry feels," Hermione couldn't help saying, partly to challenge McQuoid, partly just to let out her own feelings.

"Och aye?" McQuoid said noncommittally. "Well, it's understandable. The lad's spent his whole life fighting evil, so he sees things black and white like. He has to, dinna ye think, to keep himself sane?"

She had to admit that was exactly what she had thought, and why she had never troubled Harry with her problems, despite a longing to let him in more.

"And all due respect to Potter for saving the world and all that," McQuoid continued. "But speaking as an Auror who's seen a thing or two . . . between you and me, hen," he winked at her conspiratorially, "he's still a bit wet behind the ears."

Hermione laughed, a little guiltily, but then said quietly, "But then, so am I. That's just one of the reasons why I'm making such a mess of this."

"Och, you're not making a mess, lass," he said. "You're learning as you go.' He looked at her kindly and again with some respect. "From where I stand, you're learning quickly. After all," he grinned, "you had the good sense to get me in here ahead of schedule."

He turned back to the bookshelves and worked steadily for another half an hour, while Hermione carefully watched every move. And as she watched him, her intellect occupied by tracking and trying to understand the charms laid by the Malfoys, and McQuoid's spells to break them, another part of her brain played with half-formed speculations, until a new question arose.

"You said you knew Abraxas Malfoy," she said. "There are quite a few books downstairs left behind by Céleste de Châtillon . . . Céleste Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's mother. Did you know her too?"

Without turning around, he shook his head. "Not really," he said. "She was a funny one. Bonny, mind you, but she kept herself to herself. Her family, now," he continued working as he spoke, "they were really old pure-bloods. Platinum to the Malfoys' ten carat gold. But they were all a funny bunch. Her older brother, they said, went off and lived like a Muggle during the Muggle second world war; fought with something called the French Resistance, people said."

"Antoine . . .?" murmured Hermione mostly to herself.

"That's the fella," McQuoid said, but if he was going to follow it up with anything, it was abruptly stopped by a loud bang, a sulphurous cloud of black smoke, and then the clanging of metal as at least ten locks broke apart and fell onto the floor. "Gotcha!" he said, then turned around and smiled triumphantly at Hermione, his face slightly smudged with black. "Charms are all neutralised," he said. "Physical locks are broken."

Hermione cautiously moved closer to the most malevolent looking books, noticing that the titles were no longer scrambled. "You're very good," she said, distracted as she tried to read the titles at the same time. She realised that she was rather childishly hoping that the almanac would suddenly reveal itself spontaneously, although common sense told her that this was not actually going to happen.

Apparently reading her mind, McQuoid said, "You're still going to have your work cut out for you." He sniffed, then added. "You might ask Lucius to help you."

Hermione felt her eyes widen. "No!" she said adamantly, to squash down the fact that, on the periphery of her thoughts, she was actually entertaining the idea. "No," she repeated. "The Minister specifically said Malfoy wasn't to be let in here."

"Hmm," McQuoid said. "'Cause I never met an Auror who was so comfortable with risk as Kingsley, nor one so calm and level headed. If you ask me, he was just trying to make you feel more comfortable."

"No . . . " Hermione said again, but with less certainty, as she reminded herself again of all her recent conversations with Kingsley. The Auror who accompanies you will place strong wards on the room so Lucius, or anyone else, cannot enter unless you expressly allow it. Then Take risks! Have feelings! If it goes wrong, be accountable, make another decision and take action! "I suppose I have a wand, and he does not," she said to herself, then said to McQuoid, "But why would he help me? Even if I wanted him to?"

McQuoid shrugged. "People always said that Lucius was devoted to Voldemort. I say he was just devoted to getting what he wanted out of any situation he found himself in. Of course, in the end, it didn't get him anywhere. But it was bred into him, and it was how he survived, and it's in his blood now— looking out for number one." He started to put away his equipment. "Well, his ambitions have come to nothing. Whatever it is you're looking for hasna done him any good so far, now has it? And I'm willing to bet he'd do whatever it takes to get you out of his house as quick as possible." He picked up his bag and held out his wand. "You know where I am if you need me," he said, then bellowed, "Tilly!" and began walk back down the stairs to the lower floor, followed by Hermione. Right away the elf appeared outside the library, and Hermione opened the door. "Where's Malfoy?" McQuoid asked Tilly.

"Mr Malfoy is outside walking in the grounds," Tilly said.

McQuoid raised an eyebrow. "Bit bloody cold, isn't it?" he said, then sighed. "Ach, well, then . . ." and disapparated with a sound like an almost-silent whoosh, interrupted only by the slight clinking of his tools in their dragon hide bag.

Hermione sank down into the nearest chair and began to think. She had put off inviting Lucius Malfoy to have tea with her as she had planned, telling herself that the work with McQuoid was took priority. But really, the more she tried to work out the logistics of it, the more utterly ridiculous the scenario of drinking tea with him while he was outside the library and she was inside had seemed. Now, after talking to McQuoid, perhaps she could change the invitation to something more sensible and, well, more inviting. She kept her focus firmly off any of her other swirling concerns and movitives, and on the fact that she and Lucius Malfoy could well mutually benefit from the completion of this search.

If they could find a way to work together, the sooner he could get back to his library and his privacy, and the sooner she could get back to what she now saw as her blessedly uncomplicated role at the Ministry, perhaps even with a success under her belt.