CHAPTER FIVE: HERMIONE'S FLAT
There was a moment of relaxation as Lucius and Hermione poofed into existence in the middle of her flat; it was the feeling of being no longer watched, of being no longer anxious about being recognized, and of not knowing to what being recognized might lead. They both visibly relaxed, if subtly, about the shoulders and in the relieving themselves of hoods. Shortly after that moment, however, Hermione tensed again, as her flat wasn't the cleanest place in the world. She liked to read books, not dust end tables. She didn't know this morning when she left that Lucius "Pureblood Snob-Face" Malfoy was going to be staying in her home.
"So," said Lucius, glancing around at the diminutive place.
"Welcome to my home. Please ignore the many small imperfections that fill me with shame," said Hermione with a sigh.
"You really like books, don't you?" he asked, studying a particularly well-balanced stack on the coffee table.
"I do," she said, with a wry smile. "Anyway, you're probably hungry. I know I'm famished."
She quickly abandoned Lucius in the living room, escaping to the kitchen. It was more than she wanted to deal with, this person in her house, sifting through her books, noticing her things. As she pulled out the eggs and a frying pan (for breakfast was about all that was going to be produced from her scant larder tonight), it was weirdly personal and at the same time felt otherworldly, as he was the enemy for so long all those years ago, and for him it hadn't been all those years ago. For him, he had just barely defected from the dark side over to the light in the last battle. He had just barely been present when she and Ron were captured in Malfoy Manor, and he had just stood by while his sister-in-law had Crucio'd her. He had just spent time in Azkaban for invading the Ministry, he'd just fought against Harry and her and Neville and everyone else in the Ministry to save the Prophecy. He'd just, only a few years past for him, treated her like a worm, unworthy of the sole of his boot. She wondered why he was so civil now. She wondered why she was being so civil to him. Maybe he wondered that, too. Maybe he'd had a lot of time to think in Azkaban. Time to think hard.
She heard nothing from him all the while she was cooking, and that gave her time to actually make some kind of table setting and create something somewhat reasonable for their supper. Why she bothered and didn't just throw the eggs at him, she didn't know, but she finished and went to see what he was doing.
He was sitting peaceably on the couch, reading one of her books. She leaned against the doorframe and sighed, which caused him to look up.
"I hope you don't mind breakfast for dinner," she said.
"I don't," he replied.
His compliance made her feel weird.
At breakfast-dinner, she decided to try delicate questioning.
"Mr. Malfoy," she ventured.
"Yes?"
"May I ask what you were doing at the time you time-traveled?" she asked, hoping that didn't seem callous.
"I was erecting wards on the Manor," he said, not seeming to mind her question at all. "There had been an increase in Death Eater attacks on the protections surrounding the Manor, and an increase in creativity in those attacks. I was trying to do the best I could to reduce the risk of invasion by putting up wards that covered the most possible attack types."
"Clearly a person cannot possibly place wards that can account for any sort of attack that could happen," he went on. "The ones that wanted us dead, and I'm not even sure if it was just one group of people or more than one that did, used several methods to try to break through, one being sending Muggles in, so the wards would detect no magic."
"Is that why you had the ward up that affected me?" asked Hermione.
"Yes," he said. "It causes extreme discomfort and eventual agony for anyone who is born of total Muggle blood."
"It's effective, I suppose," said Hermione, still disliking it.
"But easily thwarted, it seems," he said to her.
"And that's why you asked me how I got around it," said Hermione. "Because you've been working on perfecting your wards for some time, now. Well, in the past. But for you, some time, now."
Hermione sighed and said, "It's so weird that you've just skipped seventeen years."
"Yes, I suppose it is… that," he replied uncertainly. "Among other things. Like tragic."
Hermione felt embarrassed. Why was she so bad at this?
"Ask me something else," offered Lucius. "I can see questions filling your mind, ready to kill you at any moment."
"Yes, but I'm trying to be delicate about it," said Hermione.
"It's alright, go on," he said. "I'm ready for them, now."
"Why are you so civil?" she asked suspiciously.
"Well cut to the chase, Miss Granger," he replied with something of a laugh. "But I might ask you the same thing."
Lucius Malfoy proceeded to spread jam on toast in a very docile manner.
"Because you need me," she said, leaving him subtly startled. "And I can't abandon someone, anyone who is relying on me for help."
"I see," he stated impartially.
"And also," she said, more confidentially, as if there was anyone else who could overhear, "It's kind of fascinating, and tragic, yes, but fascinating, Mr. Malfoy, as you've changed so much since I first knew you, or have you? I don't even know what to think. Was the Mr. Malfoy I met at first the real you? Is there a real you?"
"You're very blunt, aren't you?" he replied.
"You asked," said Hermione, straightening and spearing a piece of egg. "So I gave you answers."
"I am civil because that is what I do," he said, and then he took a bite of toast, because that was his full answer.
"You weren't civil when you attacked us at the Ministry," said Hermione.
"You weren't the right people toward which to be civil at the time," replied Lucius.
Hermione's jaw gaped.
"Mr. Malfoy!" she said, perhaps a bit loudly.
"Yes?" he asked, as if everything he said was always perfectly reasonable.
"How do you judge who is the right person toward which to be civil at any given time?" she asked.
"One does the best one can," he said before admitting, "But on occasion one judges poorly." She had to agree, though it seemed like an infinite understatement.
"You're doing the dishes," she told him, and she got up and left him to clean up.
-oOo-
In truth, despite a number of wards and a pretty decent physical lock on her bedroom door, Hermione slept terribly. Sleeping peaceably just wasn't something she could do all the while knowing Lucius Malfoy was on the other side of the door, sleeping or reading or dwelling or whatever almost within arms' length. Reasonably, she knew he wasn't out to destroy her. Factually, she knew he needed her and could have no ulterior motives at this time… for how could he? He had no allies, no friends, not even any family. He didn't even have a cause, except the cause of what remained of his family: his mad son, driven mad by a mystery no one had ever bothered to solve.
Hermione sighed and scratched her signature on the end of the note she would soon be owling to Luna:
Dear Luna,
This is the worst. Hardly a blink of sleep. Wasn't this your idea? You owe me. Anyway, we got some Polyjuice Potion, so meet us at the Manor this morning at ten. I have to run by the Ministry beforehand, for the Mighty Lord of the Manor requires a house elf. I hate lying. Whatever. See you at ten.
Hermione
Just then there was a knock at her bedroom door which she could only assume came from the Mighty Lord of the Manor himself.
"What?" she called, not caring for eloquence.
"Miss Granger, a word," said He, muffled (maybe comically) by the door.
"Yes," she said, rising with note and wand in hand.
She de-warded and unlocked and when the door was open and Lucius Malfoy stood on the other side of it, there was something in his face that rewarded her with the knowledge that he had heard the extensive de-warding and unlocking and found it vaguely offensive. She smiled and made somewhat of an attempt to not smirk.
"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy," was her lugubrious greeting.
"Mn," he replied, brusque. "Does the Ministry keep old files on hand?"
"Of course," said Hermione.
"Would you say the Ministry has all of the old files on the misfortunes at Malfoy Manor seventeen years ago?" he continued.
"It's likely," said Hermione, realizing to what point Lucius was coming.
"Shall we go through them?" he asked her, as if that would be totally simple to walk into the Ministry and look through old files which were most likely totally off-limits.
"Well, I don't think you should be in the Ministry at all," said Hermione.
"Of course not," he replied, "Get them today and bring them to the Manor."
"I can't just walk into the Ministry and take files willy-nilly!"
Lucius made an exasperated noise.
"Not legally, no," said Lucius, leaving it at that.
"Are you trying to get me fired, Mr. Malfoy?"
"Don't you do contract work, anyway?" he asked.
Why was he so quick at figuring things out, and why did that bother her so much? She tried very hard to keep her face from twisting into mangled consternation.
"Besides," he said. "No one would miss nor suspect the absence of those files."
Deep breath.
"Would they?" he asked her.
"Mr. Malfoy," replied Hermione.
"No one needs those files but us," he said.
"Mr. Malfoy," said Hermione.
"Miss Granger, I need those files, as do you," he said. "For evidence."
She groaned loudly. There was something strange about Lucius that Hermione never suspected would be the case: he had this way of presenting, either physically or verbally or intellectually or even sensitively, quandaries that were wildly frightening but vividly intriguing at the same time. It was a nearly unbearable stretching that made her brain want to fold over on itself and scream… yet she simply could not look away.
"I'll think about it," she said tightly, turning to find her owl.
"Thank you," said Lucius from behind her, as she had turned away. Then the subject shifted. "You keep a decently curated selection of books," said his voice.
"I suppose that would be normal for a person of my contracted profession," she said, attaching the note to her owl and perhaps almost throwing it out the window.
"Why books?" he asked, causing her to turn to him for clarification. "Why not politics or some kind of humanitarian work, or auror training?"
"What are you going on about, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked.
He glanced at her, then folded his hands together thoughtfully.
"If I were to have considered what I would have expected you to do with your life, Miss Granger, it likely would not have been bookkeeping."
"Would it not?" she replied, baffled that Lucius would have ever considered what she would do with her life, besides being a useless mudblood.
"You were once very passionate about house elf rights, weren't you?" he said, and then added: "Unbearably so."
"Unbearably for you, perhaps," she said, knowing it was pretty unbearable for most people, actually, but she wasn't about to admit it.
"And having the highest marks in your class," he said. "That isn't an easy thing to accomplish."
She stared at him, wondering at what he was driving.
"You also had the unusual benefit of a large amount of fame," he said. "You probably could have done anything you wanted."
Silence reigned.
"So," he ventured. "Bookkeeping."
"I am the foremost expert in my field," she seethed.
"Of course you would be," he replied.
"What more could I ask for?" she asked. "For what more could I ask?" she asked again, correcting her own grammar like an idiot.
Lucius only watched her, and she felt what he was thinking and she didn't like it. She didn't like his overt manipulation of her, either. Even more, she didn't like that he was making her doubt herself and her choices when she knew her life wasn't perfect.
"What do you want?" she asked him bluntly.
"Those files," said he.
"Oh, stoppit!" she replied, throwing her hands up.
He smiled. How incorrigible!
"That isn't what I meant," she said. "It was a mostly rhetorical question!"
"But that is what I want," he said.
She gave him a sharp look, one which made him lift his chin slightly in order to counter with imperialism.
"I'm going to the Ministry," she said to him, and to dash the hopeful look in his eyes she clarified: "To get a house elf."
Putting on her jacket she said, "You can keep yourself occupied with my books while I'm gone."
He opened his mouth to say something, so she continued to speak before he could.
"Be ready at ten o'clock sharp to go meet Luna," she said. "Good bye, Mr. Malfoy. If you eat all of my eggs, kindly clean up after yourself."
He had given up trying to get a word in and settled into a mutely irritated expression, so she gave him a smile and, feeling momentarily satisfied, teleported away.
-=oOo=-
The Ministry bustled as it always did, and though it had always been an extremely comfortable place for Hermione, today she felt almost suffocated by it. She was feeling stifled due to the way Lucius was meddling with her paradigms, and it made her decidedly uncomfortable. One does not just break the laws when the laws no longer suit one's purposes! One does not just do whatever one wants when one deems it the proper time to do whatever one wants! Unfortunately for her, the fact that all of Lucius' suggestions were valid if they were to be successful in solving this mystery did not elude her, as well as the fact that she'd done much worse while fighting for the Good Side at Hogwarts. Lucius knew that. What he didn't know is that she had spent the past almost-twenty-years living in a very docile, law-abiding manner and was very accustomed to it, thank-you-very-much. It was as if he came from a different era, one that was much wilder and lawless, and he hadn't yet grown accustomed to the peace and comfort of a very serene 2015.
Yet, there was something thrilling and very throw-back about the whole affair, and even the very presence of Lucius Malfoy transported her into another time, for good or ill, when things were much more exciting to say the least, and the choices she made really mattered. Her choices once mattered in a way that affected the whole wizarding world! Now her decisions were things like whether to have chamomile or lavender tea at night, and no one cared about that. She had to resist the urge to kick over a trash bin as she passed by.
"I need to check out a registered house elf for the current project," said Hermione to the familiar clerk for the department in which she most often worked. Bookkeeping and Libraries Department goaded her from a sign above her head. She ignored the sign pointedly.
"There is no funding allocated for house elf allowance," stated the clerk, who was chewing gum. Irritating.
"Regardless of approved funding, I need one," replied Hermione. The clerk looked up at her, then looked over the project report.
"'Ancient and exotic book recovery from Malfoy Manor'," read the clerk. "What do you need a house elf for?"
Hermione felt her left eye twitch.
"For what do you need a house elf," Hermione corrected.
The clerk gave her a flat look and asked, "Are you for real?"
It was clearly a rhetorical question, and at that moment she'd had enough and leaned her fists on the clerk's desk and may or may not have loomed over the other woman.
"Look," said Hermione, looking down to review the clerk's nametag. "Jendy. I need a house elf for this project. I don't care if there is funding, I just need a house elf, and your job is to get me a registered house elf. If you can't do your job, then I am quite capable of finding someone else who can."
Hermione realized the clerk had stopped chewing her gum at about the same time as the looming began. Straightening, Hermione smiled at the clerk.
"I need to check out a registered house elf for the current project," repeated Hermione.
"You may pick up your elf at gate 2A in fifteen minutes," said the clerk agreeably.
"Thank you," replied Hermione.
Hermione suddenly felt really good as she walked down the hallway towards gate 2A. Docile librarian though she might be, Hermione Granger still had it, whatever "it" was. Plus, she had Lucius Malfoy, and nobody knew! The very secret made her insides involuntarily twitter with glee while her consciousness berated her insides for feeling glee and thinking of Lucius Malfoy as an object to be had and possessed and kept away from others. But he was her secret. And Hermione Granger positively delighted in secrets. It was truly by all counts and measures an absolutely delicious secret, and Hermione had, for far too long, been deprived of secrets. She had suffered utter secret starvation, and with this one she now felt herself feasting upon it like a cornucopia of the clandestine. Oh, yes, she was hiding Lucius Malfoy from the world, and they would never suspect it! She stopped herself from giggling right before it came out. Close call.
On the way to gate 2A, Hermione noticed the sign labeled "Recordkeeping and Archives" and felt herself slowing to a halt. For a long moment she waged a bitter war between feasting upon the clandestine and her resistance against doing what Lucius wanted.
"Miss Granger?" asked a young man's voice from nearby.
Hermione blinked and looked to see a young secretary holding a number of files and regarding her curiously.
"Do you need help with something?" he asked.
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" she asked him.
"No," he said, abashed. "I simply know who you are."
Lucius' recall of her fame echoed through her mind and she cursed him all the while being forced logically to admit he was right. He was right, she was usually recognized, and she had dodged the spotlight so much it had escaped her notice in recent years. But her fame was there, and it was a tool to be used, so why not use it to her advantage once in a while? Besides, it wasn't even to her advantage; she would be using it to help others. Well, one other. Maybe more others, if all the Malfoys were given justice. It was obviously a totally altruistic cause.
"I do believe I need your help, Mr…" she ventured.
"Bennet," he replied.
"Mr. Bennet," she said.
"Of course, Miss Granger," he replied.
She smiled warmly at him and he blushed.
This was going to be very, very easy.
-oOo—
Hermione flung the files down on Lucius' lap the instant she apparated into her flat, then turned to discard her jacket. It was a warm day, warmer than she'd expected.
"What's this?" asked Lucius as she moved away.
"You know very well what that is," she spat as she made for the kitchen, feeling irritated as all-get-out. She heard him laugh from the sitting room and it made her roll her eyes.
"And my house elf?" he called, setting her teeth on edge.
"He's already gone to the Manor," she called back, "Now shut up and read your lousy files!"
A book went sailing through the open doorway, hit a cabinet, and flopped on the floor.
"Hey! I like that book!" she yelled, shoving the kettle on the stove, finding a desperate need for soothing tea.
"Recompense for rudeness," called Lucius.
"We're leaving in twenty minutes," she said, picking up the injured book and casting a doleful glance towards where Lucius was sitting on the sofa, already engrossed in his ill-gotten files.
"You need to read these," he said, shuffling through the papers.
She just stood and watched until he looked up at her.
"You need to read these," he said to her. She was caught by his expression and voice and found herself momentarily unable to respond. The way he said it, and the way he was looking at her were just like Harry when he used to bring her into his conspiracies. It was just like when Harry used to drag her into things she knew she wasn't supposed to be doing, and she could never resist it, and, yes, she loved it. And it was just like Harry because when Harry plotted he needed her brains and intellect, and he respected her ability to reason and her cleverness, and when she saw all of this reflected in Lucius' face she almost dropped the book she was holding. Oh, Merlin, how lost I am becoming.
Lucius' expression grew vaguely baffled.
"Miss Granger?" he asked, most likely assuming she'd been struck by some plebeian ague.
"Yes, Mr. Malfoy," she said, snapping out of it and striding to sit by his side.
He appeared slightly startled by her sudden proximity, which gave her an inner sense of delight.
"Um, so," he said, a multitude of papers in hand.
She took a file from his hands and opened it succinctly, for this was her forte. She was in her element. She did need to read these files, for she was, and should always be, the brains behind any well-executed plan, especially the clandestine ones.