CHAPTER SEVEN: Mr. Peter Gentry

"I could probably join you when you visit Mr. Gentry, were I under a well-executed disguising spell," said Lucius.

"Absolutely not!" said Hermione, her fist coming down on the dainty table upon which sat their dainty lunch. A petit-four jumped.

"Sounds like a good plan to me," said airy Luna, helping herself to the doomed petit-four. Hermione gave her a look of trial and long-suffering, which Luna took in and then replied: "Why not? A disguising spell would only be broken if someone suspects he's Mr. Malfoy. And why would Peter Gentry do that?"

Okay, fine. Luna had a point. But Hermione hated the look of triumph on Lucius' face.

"Mr. Malfoy is supposed to be dead, or… or old," added Luna as more proof, casting an amused look at Lucius' non-old face.

"I'm old anyway," said Lucius matter-of-factly, stirring his tea.

"Then we're all old," said Luna, grinning, to which Lucius agreed congenially.

What a delightful smattering of small-talk. Hermione brooded over her tiny, adorable salad. She was a storm cloud in the midst of a froth of fluffy white clouds and she wanted to explode with thunder.

"Why do you continue to insist on making this whole endeavor as perilous as possible?" asked Hermione irritably.

"What else do I have to do?" asked Lucius as he sipped his tea.

Hermione used a delicate fork to gouge a leaf of baby lettuce. What else could she set Lucius Malfoy to doing?

"You could do some research," said Hermione. "There's a lot of research to be done."

"But isn't that more or less your forte, Miss Granger?" asked Lucius.

"Yes, but there is only one of me," said Hermione.

"Are we running out of time, somehow?" asked Lucius. "Time seems relative to me now, I hope you understand. Thus, you are free to take all the time you require."

"Have you forgotten that I am a person not in your employ, who has a job, and needs to work to survive, and doesn't have the luxury of spending her life solving a bottomless pit of mysteries with the label 'Lucius Malfoy'?"

"Oh, that?" asked Lucius, seemingly unaffected by Hermione's rant. "You've no need to worry about that."

"What are you talking about?"

"You do contracted work, Miss Granger," he said. "I'll simply contract your services."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but not quickly enough.

"I hope you will be so kind to place me at the front of your queue," he said.

She tried again to speak, but he had turned to Luna.

"I'd like to hire you as well, Mrs. Longbottom, and though I don't currently have need of a ward-disabler," he said, and then pleasantly added his reason: "I just like you."

And you don't like me? Hermione nearly asked that, which would have been wildly stupid. She felt like she'd suddenly reverted to an 8-year old mentality. What about me, don't you like me too? It was so silly she badly wanted to slap herself. Of course he didn't. They hated each other. It was written in the stars. In the sands. In the… whatever else was epic.

"You seem to stabilize Miss Granger," he said, casting his eyes back towards Hermione. Luna seemed to think it all delightfully hilarious. Hermione really did hate him. How could she do anything else? Just listen to him, teaming up with Luna against her.

"Mr. Malfoy," began Hermione, without the chance to continue.

"Don't worry, Miss Granger, I am good for it," he said. "There are a multitude of vaults in this old home, and most you will never once catch wind of."

"Most of which you will never once catch wind," muttered Hermione under her breath.

"So, are we ready to continue?" asked Lucius.

"Shouldn't we just go to the Ministry?" asked Hermione in a last-ditch effort, suddenly wanting all of this burden off of her shoulders. "They're fair… -ish…. Right?"

"What if they were involved in a cover up of what really happened?" asked Luna. "What then? What would they do to Mr. Malfoy? We truly have no idea who we can trust with the knowledge of Mr. Malfoy's existence."

Hermione sighed loudly and surrendered her face into her folded arms on the table.

"And besides," said Lucius. "There's the problem of all of the old Malfoy files gone missing into your possession. We certainly don't want the Ministry looking for them presently, now do we?"

At that moment she felt a chill and realized that, through either circumstance or Lucius' own careful construction, Hermione had been trapped. Due to the files she'd filched, approaching the Ministry was no longer an option. She suddenly felt very strongly that she was being pinched in Lucius Malfoy's machinations, but when she moved to look at him, his face reflected not the smugness she expected, but a mild concern. It was at this point Hermione found that she didn't know what to think.

"Mr. Malfoy," said Hermione.

"Yes?" replied Lucius.

"Did you plan this?"

"Of course not," he replied easily.

Hermione exhaled, tense. "But that's exactly what you would say if you did plan it."

"It's also exactly what I would say if I did not," said Lucius.

And that was true, and because it was true, it was frustrating her to pieces.

"Do you understand why it is difficult for me to trust you?" asked Hermione.

Lucius gently cleared his throat.

"I'm not asking you to trust me," stated Lucius.

Hermione smacked the little table between them and stood, the resulting earthquake toppling a tiny decanter of miniature limes. She stood and she loomed, in the way only she loomed when her back was against the wall, figuratively speaking, of course.

"You are doing exactly that," seethed Hermione, barely registering the way Lucius' eyes widened slightly in response. "Do not presume to patronize me by denying the very things you are doing while you are doing them right in front of my face!"

There was a moment of silence.

As Lucius recovered from his surprise, his regard shifted into scrutiny.

"Nice tea, isn't it?" asked Luna. "The house elf really outdid himself, I think."

Luna piled the miniature limes back into the tiny decanter.

Hermione was still struggling to breathe properly whilst her fist was planted in the midst of adorable scones. Interpreting Luna's words was a challenge, they being so far from the immediately previous conflict, it took time to let the mundane sink in.

Lucius smiled graciously (except his eyes reflected none of it) and said, "I suppose so."

As he stood to face Hermione, his bearing spiked with a cold, sharp calculation towards which she felt like an unbalanced nuclear fission, ready to shift and radiate, unable to control when and how and if, and then he politely excused himself.

-oOo—

The home of Mr. Peter Gentry was cute and lovely, like Hermione imagined a hobbit house would be, except without the gross hole in the ground part. The frame of the home was laden with bright early spring flowers and hanging vines of greenery, with a lawn of young gold-green of the Nothing-Gold-Can-Stay variety springing up around it, interspersed with flat stones upon which to walk. It was overall a lovely effect, but the sort with a rough twinge in the knowledge of impermanent glory, and as the sun broke from the low, dark rainclouds to brighten the scene with fragrant bloom, Hermione coveted the vines and flowers with vain, silent, secret longing.

Lucius strode beside her like a shadow-man, impermanent glory personified, and she found herself too gloomy to converse. Fortunately, he perceived it and didn't try.

Luckily for them, Mr. Gentry seemed to be a prompt door-answerer.

"May I help you?" he asked the two of them, looking them over, or sizing them up, or both.

"Mr. Peter Gentry?" asked Hermione.

"Yes."

"I am Hermione Granger-"

"Oh, yes," he said, his face shifting from dim to light. "I thought I recognized you. You're that brilliant witch from the war."

Hermione smiled. "Yes, I suppose I am," she said.

"What's it like knowing Harry Potter?" he asked.

"Oh, well, it's very nice, actually," said Hermione congenially.

Lucius cleared his throat.

"Ah, and this is my associate, Mr.—," and Hermione realized in her moue she had forgotten to ask Lucius what his fake name would be.

"Crockett," said Lucius, smiling and extending a hand to Mr. Gentry. "David Crockett," he finished, and Hermione gave him a side-eye.

"We're here to ask about your investigation of the Malfoys," said Hermione. "I'm attempting to recover some books from the manor, and I need some information to continue my work."

Hermione supposed, loosely, none of that was a lie.

"Well, come in, then," said Mr. Gentry, stepping aside.

Mr. Gentry's home was as pleasant as the outside, and he clearly was the sort of fellow to enjoy homemaking. Or at least, he had become that sort of fellow in his elder years. Hermione and Lucius sat on a fluffy green couch across the coffee table from the armchair wherein Mr. Gentry sat and fussed over the tea service.

"What did you need to know about the Malfoys?" asked Mr. Gentry, handing a teacup to Hermione.

"Well, as you know, the manor was and still is heavily warded," began Hermione.

"I've never seen a home so warded as that one," said Peter. "Nothing like it before nor since."

"Yes, and," said Hermione, choosing her words carefully. "Was there anything that struck you as odd, regarding those wards or the manor?"

"Odd," chuckled Peter. "Well, the whole mess was odd, really. I suppose as it's a long closed case there's no harm in talking about it, now."

Hermione was secretly glad Mr. Peter Gentry wasn't in charge of any of her files, but also secretly glad he was agreeing to be loose with information for her immediate benefit. It was a juxtapositional grey-area that kind of rubbed her the wrong way, but she had a suspicion that this was the kind of grey area in which Lucius thrived.

"That would be highly appreciated," said Lucius, perhaps preemptively. Did he suspect she wouldn't be comfortable with further law-breaking? If so, he was right.

"Well," said Peter, before Hermione could let her conscience do anything else but listen. "Draco was found insane, so no one knows exactly what happened there. He wouldn't talk about it, I suppose it was just too much for the poor young man." Peter sighed. "We'd hoped he'd gain lucidity over the years, but eventually we all gave up. The Malfoys weren't exactly liked, anyway, so no one really minded if they just faded away into the background."

Lucius tensed a little beside her, but he controlled himself. Of course. He always did.

"Yeah," said Hermione vaguely, feeling a twinge of guilt because she had been one of those people who just didn't really care that much about the Malfoys. "What about the death eaters that were caught by the manor's wards? Who were they and what were they doing?"

"Oh, those," said Peter. "It's the strangest thing. The manor had them all strung up like in a web, but magic webbing mind you."

"Who were they?" insisted Lucius, cutting Peter off.

The older man looked startled and began to peer at Lucius as if trying to figure something out, so Lucius cleared his throat.

"May I use the loo?" asked Lucius.

"Of course," said Peter. "On the right in the hall."

Lucius left. Hermione supposed he was worried about Peter somehow seeing through his disguising spell and sought to remove himself from the scene as soon as possible.

"You'll have to pardon Mr. Crockett," said Hermione with an apologetic smile. "He has a weak constitution."

"Does he?" inquired Peter.

"Oh yes, he's sickly," Hermione said, heaving a sigh. "Poor fellow has been sickly and wan for most of his life."

"That's just too bad," said Peter.

"Well. He does the best he can," replied Hermione with a smile.

Hermione hoped Lucius overheard from the hall, because covertly insulting him had never been so easy.

"Anyway," said Hermione. "Go on."

Peter smiled and seemed to have forgotten anything that might have bothered him before.

"So as I was saying, the two death eaters were strung up, but Mrs. Malfoy was already as dead as Avada Kedavra could make anyone," said Peter.

"Oh my," said Hermione, suddenly glad Lucius was gone for now.

"Strangely, we never did find her wand," said Peter.

I did, thought Hermione.

"Did you take their testimonies?" she asked, fully knowing he probably did not, as she had read everything within the Ministry files in the case, and no where were the testimonies of the two death eaters recorded. Their names weren't even written down. That fact was as suspicious as anything else in the whole case.

"Well," said Peter, shifting his weight and looking awkward.

Hermione waited.

"You see, it's like this," said Peter, moving towards her confidentially. "We didn't exactly know who they were."

"Then how did you know they were death eaters?" asked Hermione.

"It was the robes," replied Peter. "You can't mistake those for anything else."

"No, I suppose not," said Hermione, thinking. "You don't suppose someone might have put death eater robes on them to throw everyone off the trail, do you?"

"Why would someone do that?" asked Peter.

"If they did, it was pretty effective, wasn't it?" asked Hermione.

"That's supposing someone did that, which I daresay, is a long shot in the dark, a very long shot," said Peter with a scoff. "How is your tea, Miss Granger?"

"Oh, fine, thanks," replied Hermione. "But regarding the supposed 'death eaters'…" began Hermione.

"A fine home you have, Mr. Gentry," said Lucius, returning with a smile and interrupting most obtusely.

"Thank you, Mr. Crockett," replied Peter, looking pleased over their attentions to his home. "I'm afraid your tea has gone cold."

"Oh, that's fine," replied Lucius. "We've an appointment to get to, unfortunately, and have to depart."

"Oh?" asked Hermione and Peter at the same time.

Lucius looked at her hard, and, being a bit late on the uptake, Hermione realized what was happening.

"Yes," said Hermione, rising and setting down her delicate tea-cuppery. "Yes. We have that thing. At the place. Yes, let's go, Mr. Crockett."

She couldn't understand why Lucius looked so pained by her response.

Outside, after bidding Mr. Peter Gentry a hasty adieu in the most polite way possible, Lucius took her arm and nearly dragged her down the street with his speed.

"What are you doing?" asked Hermione, and maybe it was sort of a demand.

"I took this," said Lucius, producing what appeared to be a journal marked 1998 from his cloak.

"You did what?!"

Lucius stuffed the journal back into his cloak. "I took 2005 as well, so he might not immediately realize the correlation."

"Lucius Abraxas Malfoy!" she whisper-yelled as loudly as she dared.

"You remembered my middle name," observed Lucius.

She grabbed his arm and yanked him to a halt.

"How many laws are you going to break before this is through?" asked Hermione, her patience and outrage brushing at some outlying limit. "How many unlawful things are you going to attach to me before it is enough?"

"What is enough?" he asked her brusquely. "What is enough to bring my wife back from the dead and to return to my son twenty years of sanity?"

"I see how it is, then," she replied. "Your actions aren't those of a controlled, rational man, after all. You're just repressed and going mad, driven out of your mind by the things that happened back then and you don't care who you drag down with you. That's how people like you work anyway, isn't it? Using anyone you can toward your own ends. I wish you'd just get it out of your system like the rest of us! It isn't so bad, you know, being human."

"For Merlin's sake, woman, it's just a diary," he hissed at her.

"You're getting sloppy," she spat, shaking him off and turning away.

The street was nice, actually, and so was the weather. Hermione could pretend as she walked away that she didn't know Lucius Malfoy at all. Who is Lucius Malfoy? Who knows! It felt rather nice to enjoy a fragment of feigned ignorance. The feigned ignorance was to be brief, however, as a now-familiar hand grasped her wrist and stopped her progress.

"Miss Granger," he said, his voice reflecting something different than she was used to from him. It was vaguely vulnerable, perhaps in a controlled way, perhaps genuinely. She didn't know anymore with him, if she ever had, and she refused to turn around.

"You're right," he admitted behind her, confidentially. "I'm getting sloppy."

Was it just another Slytherin act to get her to go along with whatever reckless thing he was going to come up with next? His hand squeezed her wrist.

"I'm repressed, but I must be," he sighed.

A wave of guilt tried to sweep over her, but she threw it back.

"I have to be," he said, as if he were arguing with himself, not her. "There isn't time for anything else."

"You said time is relative to you, now," she argued back, but with a voice gentler than she wanted.

Another squeeze.

"It isn't so much," he said.

She turned to look at him. How was a person to know when Lucius Malfoy was manipulating her? How was a person to know when he was lying, or when the helplessness on his face was real and genuine? She sighed and brushed a piece of nonexistent lint from his shoulder.

"When we are done with the journals, I can take them back to Mr. Gentry, pleading ignorance that my companion, Mr. David Crockett, was actually a strange American with a journal fetish, masquerading as a rare book expert, and has since been apprehended and banished back to the States," she said.

Something of a smile crossed Lucius' features.

"He'll believe you, too, because you're Hermione Granger," he said.

"Does that make me trustworthy?"

"Strangely so," he replied.

"I guess you're lucky to have me, then," she said.

"Am I?" he asked, ever evasive.

-oOo—

"Hermione! Mr. Malfoy! It was the house that did it! The house did it!"

They'd barely walked in the front door of Malfoy Manor when Luna's voice came calling to them from the distant end of the great hall. Hermione and Lucius, of the same mind for once, ran into the dining room to see what Luna had found.

Luna sat with charcoal-marked parchments and a book on the floor against a wall of the dining room, her blond hair and pale dress light on a canvas of ancient shadow. She looked delighted.

"It was the house!" she exclaimed.

Hermione briefly wondered if the house would object to being talked about so blatantly.

"What did the house do?" asked Hermione.

"It time-travelled Mr. Malfoy!" said Luna, happiness over the discovery clear on her face.

"How do you know?" asked Hermione.

"Well," said Luna, grabbing her papers and holding them up. "I followed the wards, it's an intricate web, but you know. It just took some time. As I followed them back I had to detect the sigils, which, again, took time. But then I discovered the source of the spell, and it was definitely, clearly, absolutely, Malfoy Manor Magic."

"Wow," said Hermione, impressed. She looked at Lucius who had been quiet, and he was looking up into the vast, cavernous ceiling of the Grand Malfoy Dining Hall.

"Why?" he pleaded with the empty space, his voice sounding strangely broken.

Heavy silence was the reply.

-oOo-