The Writer's Block
(Lucius)
By Lady Dragonrose
The large lofty drawing room of the ancient manor had served a very old line of purebloods for centuries. The pleasant, deep green silk that covered the walls had faded slightly, but still held their elegance and spoke of many memories. The furnishing in the room was equally majestic and had they been represented by living people, the room would have found itself accommodating more refined individuals than perhaps the entire wizarding world would have ever seen.
That was not to say that the real occupants of the house were any less graceful. If their furniture and house was anything to go by, they were real connoisseurs of style. There was no forced atmosphere of greatness within these walls; tradition and pride radiated from the antique room and hinted of the pureblood magnitude that had always walked the floors of the self-righteous chamber.
But right now, the room was witnessing more shock than all the multiple years put together as the unfamiliar sound of profanities pierced the otherwise pleasing and languid atmosphere.
The only breathing soul in the room was using his fortunate circumstance of being alive (which the furniture envied no end) to growl words of intense frustration while simultaneously wringing his hands and pacing feverishly across the wooden floor boards.
"Damn!" the man snarled, slamming his hand down on a nearby writing table as he passed. It had to be one of the milder comments he had made so far on the situation. A handsome eagle feather quill that had been resting in the ink bottle, fell out at the jolting judder of the table and splattered a few droplets of dark ink across the empty parchment that was sitting across the surface of the desk.
"Shit!" the man hissed as he hurried over to the desk and tried to straighten everything up again. He gazed down at the ink spots that stained the stark expanse of the parchment with deep dislike. It was as if fate itself was mocking him by throwing in all nuisances and calamities at the one time when he could really do without, and providence's infuriating derisive timing was deliberately trying to rub his nerves raw.
"Stupid piece of…" he had started saying in a venomous voice, but paused as he had been about to insert the inevitable swear word. Did he really want to debase himself by spitting vulgar oaths and curses at a piece of parchment? He really was losing his self-control if he couldn't resist from lowering himself to the standards of the ultimate coward, choosing to swear at objects that were apparently too lifeless to make a decent retort.
He breathed deeply to try and calm the irritated rage bubbling inside him and slowly sat himself down in the chair that was paired with the table. He stared at the blank parchment before him, the measurement of one foot looking like a frighteningly long stretch of yellow vastness that he was going to have to fill. He really was lost for words and his logic seemed only too willing to cooperate with his brain, which had gone on strike.
The ink spots that were like blemishes on the dreaded parchment, stared up at him scornfully, as if to say that even his lifeless quill could make attempts at writing (although the marks didn't resemble words in the slightest) while he hadn't even managed to pen down one word on the writing surface in the three miserable hours he had spent trying to organise his thoughts.
"Imbecilic piece of hippogriff shit!" the failing writer snarled, having given up all attempts to maintain dignity as he felt snubbed by the disdainful ink. He passed his hands through his long blond hair, massaging his scalp as he leaned back in his chair. He really wasn't having a good day, and considering it was the day that he was born back in…oh, Merlin, he didn't want to try and calculate, life was being intolerably unfair.
"Right… Calm down," he told himself out loud, as if uttering the words was actually going to make him comply. It was ridiculous that he was losing his self-control just because he was a little vexed, and he didn't know what was wrong with him.
"Bloody parchment! Who invented writing?" he grumbled as he snatched the prostrate quill in a lapse of elegance and violently made himself ready to write something. Dipping the quill into the ink bottle gave him a definite sense of purpose, and he felt himself regain an ounce of his usual calm composure as the nib immersed itself into the friendly black liquid once more.
He pulled the quill back and held it an inch above the top of parchment, imagining himself to be sitting in an impressive poise, looking quite the intellect. He gave himself a small smile before it turned into a frown as he realised that his mind wasn't willing to surrender any decent words yet. Perhaps thinking out loud might trigger the intricate cogs of the supposedly clever wizard he was meant to be to start working again.
"Dear minister? To whom it may concern? To a foolish reader? No, no…" he said with a shake of his head. He desperately needed something to inspire him to make a start, because he knew what he wanted to put in words and he knew what he wished to put across to any readers, but he just didn't have a clue how to begin.
"Maybe… Third person point of view? No… Sounds too impersonal," he murmured thoughtfully to himself. "A beginning, a middle and an end," he told himself firmly, remembering back to his school days when essays had been a regular intrusion in his life. "A brilliant introduction will have the reader captivated. If that can be achieved, the rest of the essay is easy meat," he said, reciting the wise words of his once-professor Horace Slughorn. The man's advice had been actually quite useful, even if the bouncing house master himself had been a little irritating.
"A title. That's what I need…" the potential writer mused. "How about 'The Life and Times of Lucius Malfoy'?" he suggested to himself out loud, ignoring the fact that he was probably living up to the wild rumours about him being a schizophrenic who had insomnia and also had pyromaniac tendencies when within ten metres of Order of the Phoenix members.
"That sounds too cliché," Lucius admitted to himself. "And everyone hates a cliché."
He paused in his thoughts that weren't progressing anywhere and glanced down at the impending essay and realised that he had managed to decorate the top of the parchment with a trail of random blotches of ink that had dripped off of the end of his unmoving quill.
"Bugger," he sighed as he set his quill down. His brain still seemed to be in reverse gear and was refusing to acknowledge his inner pleas for it to start spouting grandiloquent words it was usually bursting to shout. "Come on!" he muttered impatiently as he drummed his fingers on the top of the desk and stroked his chin with his other hand. He had to admit, even if he wasn't actually coming up with anything useful, at least the intelligent pose he was holding was quite uplifting.
"Something poetic… Something stylish…" he muttered to himself, mentally rifling through all the words he had gathered during his years alive and searching for the right words that would show him to be fairly humbled, but distinctly refined.
" 'Poems on an Eloquent Subject '?" he asked the room, hoping for a response. "Or maybe even 'Forty-Five Haikus To Explain Why Lucius Malfoy Should Be Seen As Reformed And Trustworthy'?"
When the furniture gave no opinion but continued to look at him with distinct woodiness, he gave them an evil glare before picking up his downhearted tone with a spot of sarcasm. Dry humour always did him wonders.
"Back to work…" he muttered, picking up the quill again and forcing himself to write. Five minutes later, and he was staring down at a floridly written word that was making him feel a little more heartened and encouraged.
The
Well, it was a beginning, if not the end.
The End
He chuckled out loud at the irony of the title and proceeded to carefully rip off the top, still chortling to himself. Those two words summarised his current position in life quite nicely, and he had to admit, it made him bitter to think of it. So, the Dark Lord had died and he had convinced the goodies that he was actually quite a pleasant, if not misunderstood character who had decided that the pureblood cause was utter bull when it came down to it. He had abandoned his 'master' to go searching for his precious son and it had been as much of a 'happily ever after' as a bad guy was expected to get.
Now they were free, and after this little essay about his reasons and motives in life, he would be completely liberated from any qualms that still drifted in the ministry about his past conduct.
"Firstly, choosing a genre and theme," he told his lifeless audience. What should this be? A grateful, apologising essay that had him practically kowtowing in the general direction of the wonderfully ministry?
Pfff! Wonderful ministry; my arse! Malfoys never apologise and it's embarrassing enough to have to actually write something longer than five sentences for the load of morons who call themselves a ministry! My talents all wasted!
"Don't you think?" he asked the curtains, imagining the soft green velvet drapes to be nodding vigorously with him. After all, he was sure that even lifeless, unmoving bits of cloth were smart enough to know the difference between a ministry of morons and a ministry of magic.
"Angst?" he mused, thinking that he had plenty of material from first-hand experiences to work off of if he wanted to write a letter of anguish. He hadn't exactly lived the best life in the world, even if he had enough money to drown himself in. Perhaps he could spin a tale of deepest remorse and use all the depressing factors in his past to his advantage. My father was an alcoholic and an aristocratic vagrant; my mother was a depressed, semi-suicidal insomniac who had better things to do than look after her only son. Put the two together and voila! C'est Lucius Malfoy!
"I feel so depressed," Lucius said sarcastically, totally unbothered by his past. No wonder he had become a hard-hearted adamant. He hadn't exactly had much of a childhood and according to Freud and all that Muggle drivel, that was where his problems probably escalated from.
"Angst and Malfoys? No… It's too soppy and weepy," he stated as he gazed thoughtfully ahead of him, the windows giving him a pleasing view of the immaculate front lawn coupled with sunshine. Better leave all the tear-jerkers to Potter. He's quite a hand at spinning sad tales. "I'm an orphan." "You Know Who killed my parents." "I have no family." "I've got a scar as compensation".
"And like we give a monkey's arse!" Lucius guffawed out loud in response to the sarcastic musings in his head. Harry Potter really was an unending source of amusement in the Malfoy family, especially with him and Draco, even though he had to admit that it was a little too malicious at times.
"Back to reality," he reminded himself. He had to write this stupid thesis of his utterly boring life which was basically full of nothing that spectacular. A few spots of Muggle torture now and then. Honing his blackmailing skills. Learning to look incredibly frightening. Perfecting the art of nasty smirks, snobbish drawls and deadly glares. All in all, that was him in a nutshell.
"What should I write?" he moaned in desperation, glad that no-one was present to witness his complete lack of dignity and proper pride. He looked up with bleary eyes and saw Draco strolling across the front lawn, looking quite the little philosopher with his hands in his pockets and head bowed in thought. This was it; he was going to have to forget his Earth-sized ego and ask for a little bit of help. No, make that advice. Maybe even a light opinion.
With a wave of his wand, the window had opened and he rose slightly out of his chair to call his son. He had been about to yell, but it struck him as too improper, so he settled with levitating a piece of spare parchment he had scrawled a message on and sent it hovering to Draco's side. He watched with sadistic amusement as the young Malfoy continued to walk slowly, too lost in thought to notice the slip of material floating at his side. Lucius flicked his wand a bit and made the written message sneak up behind Draco's head and start poking inside his ear to give a tickling effect.
God, I'm such a horrible father! he thought with a smirk as Draco began to start a series of dismissive swats to his ear that blossomed into annoyed punches in the air. He held in his laughter as his son finally saw the cause of his aural discomfort and proceeded to read the message before turning to glare in his direction. By that time, Lucius had made sure he was sitting back in a pose that spoke of his power and dominance in the family. That should put the little twerp off the idea of hexing me.
"You wanted me, father?" Draco asked stiffly as he wandered over to the open window and saw his father apparently extremely busy with work from the ministry.
"Yes. Seeing as you're the only inhabitant in the house who has attended school in the last decade, tell me; what would be an appropriate word to signify some sort of apology without sounding like it?" Lucius asked in his most superior manner, trying not to sound like he was desperate for help. Draco narrowed his eyes slightly as he looked at Lucius suspiciously.
"It this some kind of trick question?"
"What do you mean?" Lucius asked in careless unconcern.
"Is it going to be another one of those 'whatever answer and I'm going to hex you' questions?"
"Whatever gives you that idea?" Lucius asked with an indignant sniff, struggling to hold in his laughter. Draco gave a small shrug before muttering something Lucius didn't quite catch. Better not ask for a repeat, he thought wisely, knowing that Draco had become quite open with his comments about his father recently.
"Draco? An answer to my question? I don't have all day to waste watching you stand there like some sort of itinerant outside the window," Lucius drawled patronisingly while Draco snapped to.
"I don't know. Ask mother. I don't think school did much for me except give me a taste of obnoxious teenage life," Draco replied sullenly before walking away with hunched shoulders. Honestly, that boy is really inheriting my unfortunate mother's traits, Lucius thought with a shake of his head. He might be going round the bend and up the wall, but at least he wasn't a depressive.
"Oh, Merlin…" Lucius groaned in despair, having made sure the window was closed once more and charmed to be tinted so that Draco couldn't see his father sprawled over the desk and clutching his hair in despondency. Draco was right; he should write to Narcissa and ask for her aid, but something in his memory of a pureblood's etiquette told him that writing to the ex-wife and demanding some kind of intellectual help wasn't exactly orthodox. He might be able to get away with it, considering the fact that he and Narcissa had parted ways on completely amicable terms and were still respective acquaintances, but somehow, he knew that the frigid woman wouldn't welcome his feigned flatteries and secret demand for assistance. Besides, it was completely degrading to know that he, Lucius Malfoy, was having to rely on someone else to write this dissertation for him.
"Time to swallow the pride," he told himself with a sigh as he stood up. Grabbing his cloak and cane, he made for the door, knowing that he was on a self-appointed quest for the right word.
Diagon Alley was a happy place at three o' clock in the afternoon and the summer sun really was painting a picturesque scene. Smiling shoppers were practically skipping along the cobbled street as the wizarding world felt only joy and triumph at the new, bright world that had been created since the death of Voldemort. Children were happily devouring ice creams while they laughed innocently, glad to be out of school and frolicking around in their long summer holidays. Even the adults looked fairly cheerful, given their usual zombie-faces scrunched in smiles.
But as the tall, well-built man swathed in formidable black robes swept up the street, the smiles faltered and dark clouds passed over the people's faces.
Lucius Malfoy was in town and life was going to suddenly veer off course and land in a guttered ditch.
Lucius, himself, had to admit that he was looking admirably dangerous today. Clutching his serpent-headed cane in his gloved hand, he could feel the fearful looks that were being thrown his way and smirked to himself. Oh, how he loved this power!
His pathway cleared a mile ahead of him as people avoided his withering gaze and even stepped into random shops they would have never entered, just to keep away from the ex-Death Eater and scary pureblood. Lucius gave them all an imperious smirk as he passed, knowing that he was going to have to look a little friendly if he didn't want to be carted off to Azkaban.
Passing a small café, he felt the ogling eyes of three giggling girls on him and he gave them all a small, alluring smirk that had them hiding their blushing faces in their hands. At least he was still good-looking, if nothing else. He might have to add that to his long list of wonderful attributes in his essay. He sauntered over to the familiar shop where he had engaged in less pleasant activities such as a fist-fight with one Arthur Weasley. It had been quite a horrendous moment to have books crashing down on him while the red-haired nuisance launched himself at him. With a wand, Lucius would have had him floored in seconds, but he hadn't done too badly with sheer manpower. Potential boxing skills, he told himself and made a mental note.
Flourish and Blotts looked the same as ever and it was surprisingly calming to see so many shelves of books that extended the chance of him finding what he was looking for. Upon entering the building, the shop assistants had given him trembling looks before they gave wavering smiles that threatened to become tearful bawls. Lucius gave them a small nod to acknowledge them before heading off to peruse the aisles.
He had been wandering along the Dark Arts section (old habits died hard) when he spotted a pretty, young woman flicking through a book. Intrigued to find someone like her reading books of nasty genre, he thought he'd take a chance. After all, life was all about taking chances, wasn't it? And why not get two birds with one stone? He liked to think about having this bird, and he'd be able to get his writing started and finished as well.
"Excuse me, miss," he said softly so as not to alarm her. The girl looked up with a start as he approached, but the fearful look disappeared when he gave her a charming smile. "You look like a clever young lady."
Strike! That compliment had the effect he had been looking for. The bright blue eyes were clouding over in something totally inappropriate for such a young female and a dreamy expression had slipped onto her face. Brilliant.
"I was wondering if you could possibly think of a good word or two to help me?" he asked in his most pleasant voice. Gods! I'm such a user!
"What kind of words, Mr Malfoy?" the girl answered coyly, batting her long lashes at Lucius while licking her lips slightly.
Damn! She knows who I am! This question is supposed to remain anonymous! Well, that's Plan B out the window.
"Ah… Perhaps something in the region of…minor Transfiguration? I am currently researching something…" he said, inwardly cringing as he imagined himself poring over ancient manuscripts with spectacles perched haphazardly on nose and hair frazzled from feverish research. It really was an image he didn't want to think about.
"Erm… I don't know much about Transfiguration… I'm only in sixth-year…" the girl said nervously, disappointed to find out that the luscious man standing before her was after something only someone like Professor Granger would know about. Lucius almost choked when she announced the last bit. He had been about to get with a sixteen-year-old? That was just wrong. He was going to remove himself from this embarrassing scene as swiftly as possible, and knowing him, he could move pretty quick.
"There's no need to worry," he told her with another heart-wrenching smile. "Thank you for your time." And with that, he was in another aisle, trying not to hyperventilate at the thought of his mistake. That teaches me to stop playing Casanova, he told himself, knowing when morals were supposed to be learnt, even though he had been a fervent practitioner of immoral conduct for forty-five years. He turned to look around the books in the vicinity, when he caught sight of a strangely familiar mane of bushy hair and a sadistic smile tugged at his lips. Just what I need to make my day, he thought with an evil smirk. Trust the know-it-all of the Golden Trio to be spending her spare time in a bookshop. Lucius slowly approached her, and walked so softly that she didn't hear him. She couldn't see him either since she had her back to him, but Lucius felt like a real predator as he made ready to pounce.
"Having a nice read?" he murmured in her ear, expecting the usual alarmed shrieks and passing out that most victims of his prowling would have rightfully chosen to carry out. This girl's reaction, therefore, was completely unexpected.
"Bugger off, Draco," said a weary voice and Hermione Granger continued to read, not bothering to turn around to face him. After he had recovered from his initial shock, Lucius cleared his throat slightly and decided to strike.
"As flattering as it is to be thought young enough to pass off as my son, I would like to point out that I am a separate entity altogether, Miss Granger," Lucius said, glad to see that Hermione was turning slowly with a look of horror on her face. This was what he had expected.
"L-Lucius Malfoy?" she asked shakily, her large brown eyes looking up at him with fear glimmering in them. Lucius had to admit that she was looking quite…grown up. That was the best way to put it. Despite her blatant fright, he thought she had become quite agreeable to look upon and womanhood suited her well…
"Miss Granger," he replied, hiding his appreciative looks with disdainful sneers. He was well-practised at hiding his thoughts and emotions. "I am glad to see you in good health."
"Back away, Malfoy, or I am going to curse you into oblivion," Hermione suddenly hissed, snapping back to her senses. Lucius gave her an amused look as he glanced down at her raised wand.
"Not feeling too friendly today, are we?" he said without a single falter in his smooth voice while Hermione was beginning to look incensed.
"Leave me alone, you horrid man! I don't need your insults to add to injury! Draco already took care of that!"
Lucius could see that Hermione wasn't very happy as her eyes were beginning to look a little watery. He made another mental note to reprimand Draco on his behaviour in society, especially to ladies, as his current manner was not becoming at all.
"Yes, I do know about the mess with you and Weasley. Relationships are fickle things," Lucius remarked while Hermione looked up at him, startled.
"How did you know? Are you a legilimens?" she asked frantically, a note of hysteria in her voice, causing Lucius to secretly smile.
"No; I just happen to have a big-mouthed son," he told her frankly. "One does not need to invade others' privacy so rudely when the information is given quite willingly by a third party."
"Oh, cripes!" Hermione yelped, causing Lucius to raise an eyebrow at her. "I am going to murder Draco when I next see him!"
"Don't you need my permission? And maybe even a blessing?" Lucius asked sternly, but the joke was lost on Hermione as she silently wrung her hands and looked like she'd been told Christmas wasn't coming this year. With a sigh, Lucius knew he had to intervene if he didn't want to witness a neurotic breakdown by one Miss Hermione Granger. It wouldn't look very good when the Aurors arrived if they found him standing over a screaming Hermione.
"Miss Granger." No response.
"Miss Granger!" No response.
"Miss Hermione Granger!"
Hermione slowly looked up at Lucius, sniffling slightly while there were faint tear tracks running down her cheeks. Lucius gave an impatient roll of his eyes as he offered her a pristine handkerchief embroidered with his initials. Damn pureblood decorum! He had been saving that handkerchief for someone who might pocket it lovingly to place at a shrine dedicated to him, but his manners forced him to act, abiding by Pureblood Etiquette Act 57: Damsels in Distress.
"No tears, Miss Granger. We can't have the flood coming again so soon. It's already happened once and I don't feel like swimming today, despite the pleasant weather." Good. He'd brought the conversation back to something as safe and reliable as the weather. Merlin bless England and the English impulse to discuss the weather!
"Th-thank you," Hermione managed to hiccough as she took the proffered hankie and wiped away her tears. She was feeling completely stressed out with the devastating events in her and Ron's love life. She was so upset by their break-up, that she wasn't even feeling that bothered by the fact that she was accepting tokens of sympathy from her former enemy. Life just didn't seem to be able to get any worse.
"Now, Miss Granger," Lucius said once he was sure he wasn't about to drown in a flood of tears. "Perhaps we can come to an agreement."
"Wh-What kind of agreement?" Hermione asked, voice still wobbly from suppressed emotions.
"I'll allow you to hex my son for his appalling behaviour towards you in this distressing period of your life," Lucius noted that Hermione stopped sniffling and gave him a suspicious look at his considerate words, "if you help me with something I'm sure you excel at."
"Me?"
"Yes, you," Lucius confirmed, seeing the uncertainty in her eyes. She was really looking quite delectable in the modest, but short enough skirt and light summer blouse. Her slightly flushed face wasn't a bad thing either.
"Why me?"
"Because you're supposed to be clever."
"I didn't know Malfoys suffered from short-term memory," she said while Lucius looked offended.
"I beg your pardon?"
Hermione gave him a curious look and decided to elaborate her point by actions, seeing as her verbal remarks didn't seem to be illuminating anything to the blond wizard. Turning away from Lucius whose eyebrows had shot up so high at the voiced observation that they were almost disappearing into his hair, Hermione produced quill, ink and parchment with a reflex that could have made her a Seeker, in a game of book Quidditch where players chased books of great value. Lucius watched in shocked fascination as she scribbled something on the parchment and tore it off to hold up to him without a single word.
Hermione G (Muggleborn) + Lucius M (pureblood) Apocalypse
Lucius had to laugh, and Hermione seemed to think he truly had gone mad, but he didn't care. At the moment, it was all too funny to restrain.
"And they were saying I wouldn't shut up about blood differences!" he guffawed.
"Well, don't you think it's a bit weird?" Hermione asked in surprise.
"Your interesting equation or the fact that I've buried my prejudices?" he asked, still with a smile lingering.
"Your prejudices, of course! Aren't you supposed to be trying to kill me or something by now?"
"I'm an ex-murderer," Lucius said airily while Hermione just blanched. "But fear not, my prejudices are safely locked up in a chest like the one belonging to that batty Auror Moody, and has been thrown into the deepest part of the ocean," Lucius replied with a real smile. "So, getting back to the point for the millionth time; you still need to answer my question. Will you help me?"
"Erm… What do you need help with?" she asked, confused by his words. Lucius smirked, thinking about the endless innuendos that were forming at his mind at the last words.
"Think, Miss Granger. They say you are blessed with the gift of intelligence, even if Potter and Weasley are not. What do you do well? Hmm?" Lucius asked, voice low as he came towards her slightly and looked down at her with lowered eyelids. He could see that Hermione was blushing and was breathing rapidly. He smirked even more when she bit her lower lip in anxiousness and found himself inwardly laughing. She was looking very worried at what Lucius might be hinting at.
"What's your talent, Miss Granger?" he asked huskily, breathing the words into her ear as he leaned down and gently pressed his body against hers.
"Gah! I don't know, Mr Malfoy!" she squeaked while her hands tried to push him away, but Lucius was undoubtedly stronger than her and had no trouble in pressing her to the bookshelves behind her.
"Think, Miss Granger," he whispered seductively into her hair. She smelt so good. If he were a vampire (another notable rumour that had been circulating viciously in all circles of wizarding society), he might have devoured her on the spot. As it was, being a man, he simply enjoyed their closeness and the way he had complete power over her.
"Reading!" Hermione squealed as she felt something gently press against her lower stomach, and knowing that Malfoy didn't seem to the type to carry dynamite sticks in his front pocket, she blushed furiously. "Writing! Anything to do with books!"
"Bingo!" Lucius said, releasing her immediately and stepping away. "I wish I could say something rewarding like 'you have won a million Galleons', but I'm simply not that generous," he said with a feigned sigh, making himself sound like some sort of saint who was confessing his weakness. "But since we got once thing straight, I think we can move on to point two," he said briskly while Hermione still looked flushed from their little physical moment.
"Point two?" she repeated faintly, looking like she was about to collapse. Lucius sighed as he waved his wand in her direction, causing her to flinch much to his amusement, and transfigured a book into a chair for her to sit on. Another pureblood reflex of his.
"As I was saying," he continued when Hermione was firmly seated on the luxurious piece of mahogany furniture, "I need your help in intellectual matters. Finding a word or two, to be precise."
"I'm not a dictionary!" she retorted with a scowl.
"Oh? That's what I thought I had been talking to for the last fifteen minutes. You do look awfully like a stack of parchment glued together and seeing as we're in magical bookshop, I guessed that talking dictionaries weren't that out of the ordinary," he remarked in mock sincerity. His smiled faded when he noticed Hermione looking tearful again, and with another long, especially loud sigh, he pulled out another handkerchief and handed it to her. He argued that it was completely shameful and humiliating for a person to have to use the same handkerchief twice in a matter of ten minutes. Especially if the first one was still wet.
"This is so embarrassing," Hermione admitted as she accept the second piece of expensive cloth and dabbed at her eyes. "I don't usually cry this much."
"Well, while you're recovering, I shall outline what is involved in helping me," he told her, seeing that she didn't look too worse for wear anymore. "I am trying to write something that summarises my life and declares my past deeds as a big mistake."
"How about 'ex-Death Eater whose been up to no good for the past twenty years has a sudden change of heart and decides to take up the jobs of professional handkerchief hander-outer and female harasser'?" Hermione offered sarcastically while Lucius gave an indignant sniff.
"I will thank you for your gratitude," he said haughtily as he took back his silk hankies and gave her a piercing look. "As for being a harasser; it was merely to test your mind under pressure."
"What? That's ridiculous!" Hermione exclaimed. "If I wanted to have my mind tested under pressure, I would have asked Ron to tell me the news all over again! Depending on how well I would react under pressure, he might be nothing but a pile of ash!"
"I must go and tell Weasley to announce his scandals to you again," Lucius muttered seriously while Hermione just stared at him, astounded. This sarcastic individual couldn't be the same as the one who had tried to kill everyone he walked into with rather terrifying eagerness. He just was being too nice.
"Um… Right…" she said, feeling too confused to say anything else. "You were saying about point two?"
"Apologies. I digressed. Coming back to the second point…"
Hermione simply watched the man turn into a professor as he began a small lecture on what was to be done but his words didn't seem to pierce her brain's perimeter. Had he always had such a nice backside? She could see it whenever he turned to gesture to some books. Oh, no. He was looking at her expectantly. She was glad he wasn't an established legilimens. The thought that had just crossed her mind involving Lucius closer than ever and robes having magically vanished was really quite inappropriate.
"What say you, Miss Granger?"
"I accept," she said without having a clue what she had just accepted. However, she reasoned that if agreement meant working in close proximity with Lucius and hexing Draco, she was willing to give it a try.
"Excellent!" Lucius exclaimed as he made to leave. "I'll send you a formal invite as I don't think it would look to good if I were to throw you over my shoulder and drag you off kicking and screaming back to my Manor."
"Don't you?" Hermione replied in a coy voice she never knew existed in her. Lucius stopped in his movements to stare.
"Are you feeling alright, Miss Granger?" he asked with mild concern. As much as he was flattered at thinking she might want him, he had other ideas.
"I – I think you're quite attractive, Mr Malfoy," she stated, blushing furiously again while Lucius did a double-take. Hermione Granger was calling him attractive?
"Er – As obsequious as that is, Miss Granger, I do believe that decorum demands myself to leave what others have claimed." Lucius explained while Hermione looked astonished as he mentioned her being claimed.
"Others?"
"Indeed," he confirmed. When he realised that she was in shell-shock, he thought that since he was an utter sadist, he should drop another bomb and watch the effects on his victim. "Namely, my son. He has been brooding rather a lot recently, and has taken to speaking of you more than I care to mention."
"Draco? He likes me?" Hermione asked, voicing the question as if she had never heard of a Draco liking anything besides himself.
"I'm rather certain about it. You don't come through forty-five years and not recognise that lovelorn look in someone else's eye," Lucius replied, knowing that he had seen that look in many an eye as he had always been quite desirable.
"Draco…" Hermione repeated in shock.
"Yes, Draco. Therefore, I propose that when you hex him, you leave his male organs intact, seeing as how he seems to think he's going to engage you in many unspeakable acts," Lucius said while Hermione's jaw dropped open.
"WHAT?"
"He'll probably propose within the month," Lucius announced airily while Hermione looked as if she might faint again. "I wouldn't be surprised since it is tradition to marry before you have – ahem – any carnal activities as per se."
"You must be joking!" Hermione gasped, clutching the wall of books for support while Lucius gave her another entertained look.
"I'm not known for my unending sense of humour, although you'll find Draco can be quite good with jokes once you get to know him," Lucius said kindly.
"But – but I didn't tell Draco that I even like him!"
"Well, I suppose he picked it up from men's intuition," Lucius replied with a shrug.
"Oh my god…" Hermione murmured, sitting back in her chair and looking positively dumbstruck.
"Here if you need me," Lucius replied with a wicked grin. He loved stitching up nasty pairings. It gave him…inspiration? His essay! That would be another forte to add to the list. Bringer of love and harmony.
"Help me, Mr Malfoy…" Hermione murmured with a dazed look. "I don't even know Draco… I thought he hated me because of his taunts…"
"Take heart, my dear; it's just his way of courting, even if it is a tad unrefined," Lucius said, patting her on the shoulder. He was surprised when Hermione grabbed hold of his hand and squeezed it. He remained frozen to the spot as she slowly looked up at him, a mischievous smile forming.
"Seeing as I can choose how I perceive others' behaviour towards me, I think I'll give Draco's attention a pass," she said, a dangerous gleam in her eye. Lucius wondered what was on her mind as the smile was beginning to scare him. "And seeing how I do believe it's the fourth of July…" she said, rising from her seat so that they were standing close, bodies just touching through their clothes and still joined at the hands.
"Happy birthday, Lucius," she whispered as she went on tip toe and suddenly pressed her lips gently against his. Lucius tensed up in shock; was Hermione Granger kissing him?
He decided it had to be when he felt her tongue wander into his mouth and came to life under her prompting behaviour. He wrapped his arms around her and leaned them against the wall as they kissed and kissed and kissed…
Maybe this birthday wasn't so bad.
Forty-five and still pulling witches twenty-six years younger than him? Not bad at all…
And in one glorious moment of her hands groping his most treasured bodily attributes, golden inspiration struck and he knew how to start that damned essay of his!
Birthdays are the most beautiful days in human existence. It is the day when one is reminded of the miracle of life that brought them into being. It is therefore only acceptable that I write this on the anniversary of my birth, seeing how I am about to recall my life so far…
Two birds with one stone indeed… His wife Hermione seemed to think the same as they often reminisced about that day five years ago when the spark between them had been lit. He didn't regret a thing as he wrote another letter to the minister about the laws on house-elf rights while his inspiration leaned over his shoulder and nibbled at his ear. When he leapt up quite suddenly and abandoned his writing to pursue activities elsewhere, it was not from a writer's block; that was for sure. If muses were as beautiful as inspirational, he wasn't going to hang about and write to the ministry of morons when there were other harmonies to be played.
Sing heavenly muse!