Equilibrium
The look on Lucius' face when Hermione revealed the core of her wand, was one of incredulity and amazement, with a dash of admiration?
No, that was too strong of a word, maybe closer to something reminiscent of begrudging esteem?
Hermione keenly observed that his expression has lost some of its condescending quality when he surveyed her as if he was seeing properly for the first time. She grew uncomfortable under his stare, but then, as swiftly as it eclipsed his countenance, the strange look was gone.
"Mr Malfoy, would you care to explain to me the significance of my wand core here?" Hermione tapped her foot against the floor, her hand on her hip, demanding clarification.
Lucius looked hesitant, as if not certain how much to actually disclose to her, without risking exposure of how astounded he felt at the turn of events.
"You really must know, don't you?" he sneered. "Well, it's simple. My family has always been rather attached to certain items and symbols that went together with our system of values..."
His hand brushed the tip of his silver serpent-headed cane that glistened in the light of the sun slowly dipping in the sky, taking its last glowing peeks through the panelled windows. Hermione thought that one of the emblems he must have had in mind was the green, legless creature she had noticed here and there in the Manor; the snake, which symbolised Malfoy's generational affiliation with the Slytherin House. How menacing it looked sitting on the top of the cane, with its glimmering green jewels for eyes and sharp, open fangs, ready to take a poisonous bite.
"I am referring to our heirloom wand, Miss Granger," he clarified, noticing her preoccupation with the walking stick in his hand. "It had been in my family for several generations, and it first belonged to one of my ancestors, Lucius Malfoy I, who had it hand-crafted by none other than Ollivanders. Do you venture a guess as to its core?"
"Dragon heartstring.." Hermione whispered a few moments later, a little awed at how much he was willing to share with her on such a personal subject.
"How very observant," he said, a little scornfully. "Now, my great-grandfather, Septimus Malfoy, rightly sought to cut off all the shameful links that tied him to the non-magical kind. The books you're so keen on devouring are nothing more than a testament of how much our views about blood purity and its importance had evolved over the years.
"My father believed they ought to have been destroyed to save us from future embarrassment. However I presume that Septimus Malfoy had too much of respect for his ancestors to blatantly do away with their inheritance, as debatable as some of it was. Instead, he decided to obscure them from the common eye by magically concealing them in the library, along with other questionable objects. Taking great pride in his aristocratic stature and biological supremacy, Septimus allegedly enchanted the place, so it would only unveil its secrets to the one whose wand shared the core of Malfoy heirloom wand, and whose magic was deemed worthy enough," he paused, demonstrably uneasy with the fact that this Muggle-born witch would be found among this number.
Hermione could have listened on to his tale, delivered in a mellifluous and silky baritone that brought to mind liquid mercury in its languid smoothness.
Lucius continued, "Both my father and I had knowledge of the secret bookcase, hidden somewhere in the library, but neither him nor I had ever felt the need to seek it out, as you can imagine."
Seeing now that he was finished, Hermione had several questions tumbling through her head.
"Have you been made known of the nature of these books?"
"As I have said, I was aware that they contained writings of controversial character that didn't exactly go in line with our current views. On that account, I had no inclination and no reason, really, to inquire further into the matter."
"And it never bothered you that there are things lurking in the corners of your house that are outside of your grasp?"
"Oh, I assure you that there are many more little secrets to be uncovered at the Manor. Who knows what dark mysteries my house is yet to be found to enclose?" he added darkly, with an easily-read intention to intimidate her again.
However, Hermione was not to be readily subdued. She pressed on,
"And now that the books are in the open, are you intending on reading them?"
"I might have a look or two, but other than that, there's no reason for me to waste my time reading obscure literature written from a dated point of view and with a faulty mentality."
"How do you know it's faulty? Open-mindedness is a sign of intelligence and a well-developed mind. If you claim to be in possession of both, then you have nothing to fear."
"Who said that I was afraid?" The man scoffed at such a thought, the more that the witch might have actually been right. "Rather, I am a busy man and I have to be selective with my time. Still, if you really think it beneficial that I read them, you might as well leave them here," he said, pointing with his cane to the table.
"I will do so, only when I am done reading them." Hermione was unrelenting, and she flashed him a mischievous smile.
She was throwing down a gauntlet but, to her surprise, Lucius did not pick it up. She was almost disappointed; she began to enjoy their verbal swordplay.
"Well then, have your way. This primaeval literature does not hold any merit to me, nor the Wizardkind as a whole, except that it has been in our family's possession for several hundred years. I also doubt that it would add anything of value to your little project," he said ostentatiously, apparently thinking himself very gracious in his concession.
Hermione pursed her lips at his dismissive attitude toward her undertaking, which both she and Kingsley considered of paramount consequence. Even so, when she spoke, her tone was amiable. She had learned to employ her wit and charm to obtain what she wanted, albeit she would not go as far as to stoop to flattery.
"Wonderful. Can I take them home with me? I'll have them back on Thursday." She chanced, unsure if her curiosity would let her rest until her next visit, though she was fairly sure of the negative answer.
She was quite right.
"Miss Granger, your query surprises me. Surely, we have already established that no book in this library can be taken outside its four walls, haven't we? Are you so itching to get your hands on these that you cannot wait a couple of days? Or perhaps, you harbour suspicions about finding them here again after you leave?" He mocked her doubts.
This was her particular concern. Naturally, Hermione mistrusted the cunning Slytherin; he hadn't proved to be exactly trustworthy over the time she had known him.
He must have rightly read her qualms, for a shadow of a smirk graced his lips. He said, "Unnecessary so, I give you my parole d'honneur that the books are safe with me. You shall find them right where you have left them."
Hermione wasn't convinced but what else could she do? He was right, the books belonged to him. She was capable of resorting to her wand to claim them for herself, but that would fare badly for her plans as regarding the further use of his library (it was an entirely different matter if she could indeed accomplish that end, for Malfoy was a highly proficient duelist).
Placing the book she had been holding on the teapoy, the woman voiced another question pressing on her mind, "Mr Malfoy, I have another question, it's about your wand. You asked me about mine. What wood is it made of?"
"Elm, Miss Granger. It was made of elm," he added with a sigh, his face falling. Hermione did not think she had ever seen him as dejected, except in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, the battle that lost him his wife, Narcissa. She remembered walking up to the bench where Lucius had sat, together with Draco, and the look of utter despondency encompassing his features, before it disappeared behind the cool mask of impassivity.
"What happened to it?" she asked softly. Conscious of how much her own wand mattered to her, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for his loss.
"It got destroyed in a duel between the Dark Lord and Potter, on the night where your friend left his family house," he disclosed, looking somewhere beyond her shoulder into the dimming world outside. It had begun raining, the water was rolling down the windows painting the view with grey, adding to the pensive mood that had settled in the library.
Hermione realised that it had grown dark in the library, its antique furniture was now veiled in opaque shadows.
"How…?" Hermione's voice has unknowingly taken on a hushed quality, more fitting to the sensitive subject matter.
"He borrowed it, to counter the twin core effect that had previously prevented him from finishing off Potter in that graveyard. You know about the surge of magical power manifested in the golden flame that enveloped the wands, both Potter's and mine, in the Dark Lord's hands?"
Hermione nodded. It had left both her and Harry perplexed for a long time, before they found the reason behind the curious phenomenon.
"This rare act of magic caused my wand to shatter along its length," he said flatly, darkness obscuring any emotion that might have shown on his face.
"I am sorry. Have you..?
"Got another? Yes, soon after the Battle I acquired a new one. Well as it serves me, not a day goes by that I don't miss my old wand."
He was speaking about the wand, of course, but Hermione sensed a duality in his statement. She dared not ask about how he carried on without his wife, though it felt like a natural question to pose. With all his flaws, Lucius Malfoy had been a tender and devoted husband to Narcissa and a caring, if not indulgent, father to Draco; his choices toward the end of the War had ascertained Hermione as to this truth.
Neither could think of anything else to say and they lapsed into silence.
At length, Lucius spoke again, "It is getting late. You shouldn't have stayed so long."
His words sounded harsh but were pronounced without the usual taunt; Hermione took notice of that fact.
"You're right. I should be getting home," she admitted and, without delay, reached for her bag. Hauling it up (it was exceedingly heavy), the girl adjusted her grip on the long strap and accidentally, the bag slipped out of her hand, spilling its contents on the floor: a few writing and sugar quills, a book "Know Your Kneazle: The Complete Owners Guide" (a gift for Luna who had recently got a kitten), a little bottle of concentrated Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, a pack of Toothflossing Stringmints, a VIP ticket to the next Quidditch match (another heartfelt but altogether futile attempt of Harry and Ginny to get her interested in the sport), along with an assortment of various other items of Muggle origin.
Scolding herself inwardly for her clumsiness, Hermione scurried to pick up the items that were rolling away on the polished floor in all directions, faster than old Mr Filch was known to spit out detentions.
Crouching to gather up her belongings, she saw that the tiny bottle of deep purple had come to a stop nowhere else, but at a pair of glossy black Derby shoes. Wonderful, she thought with a grunt. Lucius lifted the vial off the floor with an easy grace, as if he was merely stooping to pick up a flower.
"Two drops tame even the most bothersome barnet," he read the label, a knowing smile hovering about his mouth. "Is that really so, Miss Granger? Advertisements can be painfully misleading these days…"
A pink flush spread over her cheeks and Hermione averted her gaze, suddenly very focused on scooping up the rest of the scattered items. Swallowing her embarrassment, she mumbled under her breath, "pompous Goldilocks", smiling to herself at the epithet she had coined.
Malfoy was apparently endowed not only with luscious hair but also with a keen sense of hearing.
"I didn't exactly catch that, I'm afraid. You were saying…?"
Hermione batted her lashes at him innocently.
"Before you attempt to tame your curls, I'd suggest taming your unbridled tongue," he said, a warning edge to his voice.
"And before you attempt to lecture me on good manners, I suggest you look in the mirror. Since when making fun of a woman's appearance is considered a mark of good breeding?" she finally retorted, her words rising in pitch.
"Do cool your cauldron.. I was merely teasing you. Clearly, I am no expert on female beauty products," he said in a more conciliatory tone. We better take care of these, shall we?" he added, bending to her level and extending his hand toward a long pheasant quill.
Hermione had finally managed to deposit her possessions back in her cavernous bag, with some help from Lucius, who had demonstrated to be gentlemanly enough to aid the bushy-haired damsel in her distress.
"Why didn't you use your magic?" he asked with a ring of genuine curiosity whilst dusting off his robes and returning to his upright position, evidently not used to lowering himself to the ground level too often.
"Err...I haven't thought of it," Hermione acknowledged. "Besides, it was a few minutes' job, no need to whip one's wand out at everything. You're not used to doing even simple things the ordinary way, are you?"
"Well, I'd say for one who calls himself a wizard, putting magic to good use would be the default way," Lucius said dryly.
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Well, it's good, then, that you were able to replace your wand so speedily. Otherwise you'd be downright at loss without it," she declared, not without spite. Any sympathy that she had for him for no longer having his heirloom wand had evaporated like dew under summer sun.
"I beg to differ. Magic is not confined by matter, even as conveniently packaged as wands. They must have taught you at least that at Hogwarts. Apart from that, the majority of those menial tasks you must be referring to are performed by House-elves in every respectable Wizarding family."
Hermione suspected he had said that specifically to provoke her, knowing about her passionate devotion to their cause. She quietly simmered.
"Thankfully, the new laws have guaranteed them fair and just working conditions and protection from exploitation they were often subjected to in the past," said the witch, visibly pleased with the fruit of her efforts in regard to elfish welfare.
Lucius puffed, apparently knowing perfectly well which Acts she was alluding to.
Gathering from the disgruntled frown and tensing of his jaw, he was less than content about the repercussions of the newly-imposed laws on his household. It serves him right, Poor Dobby would have probably still been alive if the Malfoys had treated him with half the kindness and decency he deserved, Hermione thought. She remembered the wise words Sirius once spoke to her, Ron and Harry.
"The way you a man treats his inferiors speaks a great deal about his character, Mr Malfoy," she said seriously, looking him straight in the eye.
"Save your platitudes for your friends, Mrs Granger. I assure you that being, what, twice your age, I have heard my share. Though I'd be careful, tirades coming from Miss Goody Two Shoes such as yourself do not tend to be well received,"
"Is that all you have to say about me? If you're trying to offend me, you must be more creative with your slights. I have already heard that one."
"Of course you have," Lucius said through thinly pressed lips, voice seeping with contempt.
"This conversation is going nowhere so I see no point in prolonging it. Thank you for your assistance." She lifted her bag once more, this time decidedly more firmly.
"My pleasure," replied Lucius, in a manner that indicated quite the opposite.
The woman's hand was pressing down on the brass handle when she turned once more, the amber eyes meeting grey.
"Oh, and Mr Malfoy, I've nearly forgotten. Mr Shacklebolt asked me to remind you that you might be expecting a visit from the Auror Department someday next week. Because of all the reorganisation due to new Auror training, they haven't been able to specify the time and day so the Minister suggests you refrain from travels and outings until the visit has taken place. It wouldn't do, you understand, if they arrived and found you "on the go"," she added in a fake conspiratorial whisper.
The way his eyes narrowed nastily, and his nose wrinkled as if hit by a highly unpleasant smell, allowed her to infer that he didn't exactly rejoice at the piece of information she had sold him. Just as she had expected.
Actually, Kingsley had mentioned it to her in passing, probably as a way of mental note making, that he needed to schedule another Auror probation appointment in the Manor, and inform Malfoy by mail. But then, she wouldn't be able to witness the almost caricatural mien of displeasure that distorted his annoyingly handsome features.
Instead, she offered that she could do it herself during her next visit. "No, there's absolutely no trouble… I can deliver the information to Mr Malfoy directly… Yes, it'll be more efficient than sending an owl."
Kingsley was pleased, having relegated another task to his assistant from his lengthy list of duties, and Hermione was equally pleased, albeit for different reasons.
Lucius didn't see her out this time, nevertheless she could feel his smouldering gaze follow her as she disappeared behind the library door.
Retracing her steps back through the cheerless hallway, she noticed that there was now low light emitting from the sconces situated on the walls. Good, she needn't take her wand out. "Lumos" was a fantastic spell but it required one to produce a wand and she thought that the Muggle invention of automatic light sensors had its advantages.
Once outside, the faint glimmer of the moon revealed a contended curve of her mouth. Finally, Hermione felt the balance hung level between them.
Lucius was sure the witch had not simply forgotten the news about the Auror appointment. She had been waiting for the right moment to drop her little stink bomb. Of course she wanted to have the last word, that insufferable harridan.
And, how did she know about it in the first place? He didn't fancy her knowing the details of his probation period. During the trial, Draco was unanimously acquitted by Wizengamot and went on his merry way. Well, not exactly merry, since he'd just lost his mother, but nonetheless, he was trying to make something of himself. Turning his back on everything that ever mattered to us, Lucius thought bitterly. Actually, there had been more that transpired between the father and his son in that intense aftermath of the War, that had strained their relationship almost to the point of no repair, but he didn't want to think about it now.
In regard to the trial, Lucius, whilst cleared of charges, had received a five-year long probation sentence. The list of conditions was not exactly long, just cumbersome: he was not permitted to travel abroad, every trip outside of the 50-mile radius from his house had to be put forward for authorisation. It meant that even if he desired to pop in to Diagon Alley, he had to fill out a form for Aurorial stamp of approval. And then, there were those periodic appointments that he had to endure.
On top of it all, Kingsley was of the opinion that they had been tolerant at the Ministry, ("overly lenient, Mr Malfoy''), and that Lucius should be thankful that the Wizengamot did not demand financial restitution for his wrongdoing (for which thankful he was). Generally speaking, to a man who was used to doing as he pleased, the new limitations were most disagreeable, prickling his Malfoy pride irritantly.
Still chewing on these thoughts, Lucius took several steps toward the bookcase where the deplorable literature had lain hidden for years. The brass lanterns lit up, greeting him with a warm glow, illuminating the immediate darkness around. He thought he was acquainted with the majority of the books in his library but now he scanned the unfamiliar titles with renewed interest.
It's difficult to say what sort of thoughts went through his mind as he did so. A decent Legilimens and even more skilled Occlumens, Lucius was accustomed to stashing his innermost musings, tucking them up and away, even from his own consciousness. Thus, he had learned to keep the gnawing thoughts comfortably at bay. This has been his coping mechanism, if he had not done it, he would have drowned in the bitter waters of sorrow and suppressed guilt.
A wave of exhaustion rolled over his body. His head twinged and he let his hand drop from the shelf and raise to his forehead, rubbing at his temple in an attempt to stave off an impending headache. Why did she have to ask about his wand? This simple question opened the floodgates of memories of the events surrounding the War, memories that swept through his mind in torrents of flashing, vivid images.
He had been candid with Granger, when he expressed how much his heirloom wand had meant to him. The statement rolled off his tongue faster than he could have stopped it, in an unpremeditated act of vulnerability. Unbeknownst to himself, Lucius was looking for a connection with another human being, the stifled feelings and smothered emotions willing to pierce beyond the impassive surface. When reminiscing about the wand, his mind had drifted unawares to the dear picture of his wife. Her tall and graceful figure, dignified posture, refined movements, and the long hair of fair blonde that framed her elegant face.
In the course of the earlier conversation, he had momentarily closed his eyes to savour that sweet vision, only to find, when he opened them again, the Granger girl before him, in place of where the image of Narcissa had floated. The two were poles apart, both in their exterior as in their attitude, manner and demeanour. And yet, Lucius could not deny that the young woman standing in his library had a certain appeal that he was only beginning to reluctantly perceive. He could not quite pinpoint whether it flowed from her indisputable intelligence, youthful energy and passion, or the quiet but firm confidence in her own convictions.
All the same, next time he'd be more cautious; he did not need her freckled nose poking into his life. And yet, the sympathetic gleam in her eye upon his revelation told him that she pitied him, similar to the one he saw back in the Great Hall of Hogwarts four years ago. He had noticed the golden warmth in her questioning glance, a pleasant kind of warmth that spread over her face, softening her features. Different from the way she usually looked at him: with a mix of confusion, defiance and exasperation that showed in her knitted eyebrows and compressed lips. She really was an open book, he could read her moods pretty easily, and he has recently taken to amusing himself by making her pout and sulk at his comments.
Lucius brushed those thoughts aside; he did not need her sympathy, nor anyone else's. But especially hers, the impudent witch with her priggish morality. He frowned at her unconcerned expression when he had pointed that out, calling her "Miss Goody Two Shoes". His jab was meant to sting and yet, she looked largely unbothered by it, even bored. What gave her the right? He rather thought the pose of nonchalant indifference was reserved solely for him.
And the audacity she had to flaunt the new legislation right in front of him. Due to the Malfoys' post-war situation, and less than desirable treatment, all the house elves except Mippy had left, no longer legally bound to their masters thanks to the House-Elf Emancipation Act. Ever since the end of war, the significance of the family name of Malfoy wavered dramatically and took a nosedive, as did the reputation of its bearers. The name that once inspired awe and respect among the Wizardkind was now the subject of whispers and gossip. Having to say goodbye to the elves who had served in his house for years was the proverbial final straw that sealed and mocked their social decline and fall of status.
Mippy had been Narcissa's personal elf, who was determined to remain in the Manor, loyal to her mistress even past the veil of death. With the majority of his servants gone, making sure his household ran smoothly required significant reorganisation, though again, Lucius was now the sole occupant of the grand mansion, excluding Mippy and the odd guest he entertained.
He winced at the recent incident involving the elf. He had been walking down the corridor on the second floor of the Manor, when he heard plaintive sobbing and sniffling coming from his late wife's boudoir. He hadn't been in her room since her passing, having scrupulously avoided it, along with the recollections of her person he knew it would usher once he entered therein. But as the sobs grew to a high-pitched cry, he could no longer ignore the sound.
He had walked in on Mippy, slumped on the floor, surrounded by a pile of Narcissa's belongings. The elf's brown, tear-brimmed eyes stared back at him with uttermost misery, as one large, beady teardrop escaped her eye, dropping onto the clothes spread on her lap, which she was continuously folding and refolding, in some sort of a mournful ritual.
Something in Lucius broke at the sight. He was ill-equipped to cope with the pain pressing down on him. The bitter-sweet memories were still raw, the echoes of their years together still freshly stamped on his mind, the wounds of grief had been barely closing up. It would take time before they healed, and now he felt they were being scratched at again.
The wizard pushed the book he had just picked up back into its place on the back row on the shelf, with more force than accounted for. He was not in the suitable frame of mind to be reading today, especially the books that represented everything that he used to despise.
He directed his steps to the stylish antique armchair (Narcissa had selected a set of these, he had always admired her sense of style that combined comfort and sophisticated elegance). How sorely the Manor missed her feminine touch!
With a sigh, Lucius dropped heavily into the padded seat. His eyes brushed over the manuscript Granger had left on the teapoy. He leaned slightly forward to read the title but his vision was obscured by the darkness in the room, unpenetrated by the flickering light of the lamps hanging from the bookcases. He raised his hand and this time the candles fixed on the wall holders shone brightly.
Returning his gaze to the book, in his periphery he spied a long thin shape next to the claw feet of the table. Intrigued, he Accio-ed the object in sight, and moments later he was stroking a light-coloured baton. It felt smooth under his fingers, though he could make out the intricate vine design. A smile curved his lips.
Hermione Granger will be most alarmed to find her wand missing when she returns home tonight. In his mind's eye, Lucius could see her white face, aghast with horror and shock as she rummages through the depths of her bag and turns over its contents, in vain. Naturally, a sensible witch she was, she would retrace her steps mentally and realise that she must have left it in the Manor, which, in a way, would only cause her panic to intensify.
Lucius was curious how soon he would see her spirited little person back in the Manor, banging on the double front door, demanding her property back. Based on what he knew about her, he made an educated guess she'd be there the very next day. And when she'd come, she would have to play by his rules.
His eyes fell back on the wand resting in his hands. He was not well-versed in Wandlore but he knew the fundamental facts, particularly those that surrounded his own former wand. He knew that, as a rule, dragon heartstrings produced powerful wands, capable of the most flamboyant spells.
He also knew that these wands tended to learn more quickly than other types. While they could change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bonded strongly with the current owner, which manifested in the unmistakable feeling of unitedness that Lucius recalled fondly.
The dragon heartstring wand was one of the easiest to turn to the Dark Arts, though it would not incline that way of its own accord. It was also most prone of the three cores (unicorn hair and phoenix feather being the other two) to accidents, being somewhat temperamental. Much like Granger, he thought to himself, unmindful of the fact that it could well speak the same of him, as a former dragon wand owner.
He twirled the wand between his long fingers and wondered, what if…? A strong desire came over him to take a proper hold of the wand, to see how it would feel in his hand. Complying with the strange impulse, his fingertips closed on the carved handle. At once, a rush of tingling energy engulfed his palm, and travelled further up his arm in ever expanding ripples, until his whole body was submerged in the strange sensation.
His heartbeat increased, and blood charged through his system, resulting in a warm surge in the pit of his stomach, adrenaline kicking in. Breathing deeply to match the intensity of his heart rate, Lucius finally loosened his hold and, his hand trembling a little, he put the wand aside on the table, atop the manuscript still lying there. Trying to make sense of the curious familiarity and connection he experienced, he said to himself, I need a drink.
Moving to his study on the second floor, he strode to the mahogany cabinet in the corner of the room, where he stored his spirits. He extracted a suitable glass, uncorked a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky with a loud pop, and poured himself a generous measure. His breath fogged the crystal as he tilted it to his lips. When the amber liquid hit his palate and ignited his throat, Lucius found himself recovering clarity and calm.
His thoughts circled back to the feeling of the wand in his hands. He had held other dragon wands other than his own before, but the present experience was unparalleled. He marvelled at the reaction it elicited from his body. Not like his old wand, of course, but nonetheless hers of dragonstring and vine wood almost felt like it could have belonged to him. He shook his head at this incredible insight, too astounded to react in anger that he should have anything in common with the Muggleborn witch.
The events of the day have left him a lot to ponder. Curiously, after the initial fatigue induced by his problematic guest and the nuisance that she was, he found himself oddly energised, at least mentally. Despite what he had told her about how preoccupied he was, it was boredom, not the travel restrictions placed upon him, that bothered Lucius the most. He had been a fairly active man in the not-so-distant past, effectively managing the responsibilities of family life, business and estate, along with the very demanding position of the Death Eater that eventually overshadowed the others, turning out to be immensely costly in the end.
Taking another swig from his glass, his thoughts again took an unwanted turn. Lucius made a concentrated effort not to allow himself to go down the painful memory lane. Instead, the wizard redirected his mind to a more irksome, but less perilous path.
Two words swam around his mind until they fell on his tongue, with an unpleasant plop - Hermione Granger. He knew he had a good reason to tolerate her presence in his house and his library, and only part of it had to do with Kingsley's pressing request.
Still, that bright-eyed and bushy-tailed brat was beginning to occupy too big of a fraction of his mind for his liking. It's not that he saw anything particularly enticing in her wild mane of curls, little, impertinent face and common, brown eyes, which flashed with golden sparks whenever she spoke animatedly about the matters she deeply cared about, or vigorously defended her own views. Those same eyes also darkened with annoyance when he clearly rubbed her the wrong way with his snarky remarks. Or, the right way, he thought smugly. As a matter of fact, she was becoming challenging when he ruffled her feathers, and he liked challenges. Particularly, when these presented themselves as feisty young Gryffindors whose annoyingly idealistic outlook and painfully naive vision of repairing the world just begged to be stripped of delusion.
Lucius refilled his glass and reclined deeper in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, his arm resting on one of the armrests. He sighed contentedly.
They might have reached equilibrium, but the discovery of Granger's wand in his library has tilted the scales ever so slightly to his advantage.
A/N: Presenting to you chapter 18 that's over 5k words long doing a celebratory jig. It was both fun and challenge to write! The editing was less fun.. Having spent a long time scrupulously rewriting, reordering and rephrasing certain parts, I am still not perfectly happy with it in its entirety but I guess it's an inevitable pain of writing- liking what you created but also picking at it mercilessly.
Important note: Recently, I found myself reading and writing fanfic increasingly late into the night, and both occupying a good deal of my day, too.. . So I decided to take some time off (maybe a few weeks) to focus on other things that need my attention now. That's why I endeavoured to make this chapter long and (hopefully) satisfying :)
Thank you so much for reading! xx