CHAPTER FOURTEEN: MIND LIBRARY
Getting into Draco's room was easy enough. Getting Draco to cooperate was the thing Hermione dreaded the most. In his current state, he was as unpredictable as a five year old child. Maybe even younger. She wasn't an expert on children, obviously. The thing was, he was unpredictable.
"Should we just try to apparate with him using a portkey?" she asked Lucius as they observed his sleeping form.
"Don't you think there are wards on this building against that?" he replied.
They stood, both beneath the invisibility cloak and Hermione felt more like a ghost than ever before. Speaking of ghosts, Frappy was nowhere to be found, and Hermione had a feeling that ghost could potentially cause a lot of problems.
"Alright, fine," she said, heaving a short, bolstering puff of air and pulling off the invisibility cloak. "Let's do this."
Lucius took out his altered pensieve and moved towards Draco's bedside while Hermione cast an illusion spell on the window of the door. Now, anyone who looked in would see everything as it should be, not Hermione and Lucius messing around with one of the patients as they shouldn't be.
There was a click and a whirr as Lucius activated the pensieve on Draco's bedside table. It glowed softly, and then Lucius took Narcissa's wand, affixed it in the side of the pensieve, and then pointed the tip of the wand towards Draco's temple. A thin, white thread of magic began to flow from Draco to the pensieve, and he stirred, mumbling incoherently, but didn't wake. Lucius gave Hermione a wary glance, and then leaned over the pensieve.
"How is that supposed to work?" asked Hermione.
"Theoretically," he said, peering into the magical mechanism, "I should be able to search through his memories, sort of like searching through files in a cabinet."
He leaned further over the thing, and seemed to be looking for something.
"Is it working?" asked Hermione after a moment.
Lucius didn't reply and instead stared with great intensity into the surface as a pale blue mist rose, ghost-like from its depths. She couldn't resist moving closer to peer over Lucius' shoulder, and as she leaned, the pensieve fully activated and they both fell in. A sickening vertigo gripped her until she landed with miraculous solidity, finding herself and Lucius nearby in what looked to be Draco's memory of yesterday's lunchtime.
"He really is always with that ghost, isn't he," remarked Lucius, gazing at Frappy hovering near Draco and the remains of some sandwiches. They were in the main room where Hermione and Lucius had met with him before. Hermione watched another Lucius arrive to take Draco's tray.
"Wait, that's you," said Hermione.
"Yes, it is," replied Lucius, grimly.
"Thank you, father," said Draco, smiling.
"Of course, Draco," said the other Lucius with a chuckle, taking the tray, and exiting the scene.
"That can't be you," said Hermione.
"No, it can't," said the real Lucius, still watching, his expression tight.
"Go backward," said Hermione.
"Mn," agreed Lucius, and he must have done something she couldn't see on the outside of the pensieve, because the memory flipped back, like pages in an album. The scene was in the same room, and there Hermione saw herself with Lucius beside her, talking to Draco.
"Ah, that's when we saw Draco!" said Hermione. "And… you look like yourself, not Luna."
"Yes, don't I," said Lucius. He seemed to have no patience for observing this scene play out again.
*flip*
There were days after days of the same sort of scene: Draco mildly dwelling in the insane asylum, and being approached by Lucius. Always his reaction was the same.
"I've missed you, Father!" cried Draco.
Lucius was strung tighter and tighter as the memories wore on in their repetition.
*flip*
Earlier, there were more memories of what she assumed must be psychiatrists attempting to work with Draco to help him obtain some lucidity. Very often the psychiatrists, in Draco's memories, assumed the body of Lucius Malfoy.
*flip*
Earlier yet, there were attempts by Ministry employees to obtain official record of the events witnessed by Draco, and always Lucius was there, present in some form or other. One such scene included several aurors, what looked to be a wizard psychiatrist, and Draco in an office. Behind a large desk sat another Lucius, steepling his fingers. By the age of Draco, it looked as though it was shortly after the "incident".
"It appears Draco has no memory of what happened, or has, perhaps, blacked it out of his consciousness," the psychiatrist was saying.
"Draco, do you remember anything?" one of the aurors asked him.
"Father, tell them," Draco said to the Lucius behind the desk.
"I'm not your father," said desk-Lucius.
"Yes, you are," implored Draco.
Desk-Lucius sighed impatiently.
"He seems to be suffering from a great deal of psychosis," said the psychiatrist. "And refuses to talk about his mother."
"Do not speak of her!" screamed Draco, crouching to the ground in a sudden movement. "Father, tell them!"
Desk-Lucius trembled subtly as the psychiatrist knelt beside Draco and began speaking softly to the younger Malfoy.
"Sir," said one of the aurors to desk-Lucius. "I don't think anything will come of this."
"Won't it?" asked desk-Lucius, then to the psychiatrist: "Is he utterly insane? Will he be able to testify?"
"Father, I don't need to, you'll do it!" cried Draco. Desk-Lucius tensed.
"I do not foresee it," said the psychiatrist, regret in his voice.
"Father, tell them!" insisted Draco.
This seemed to snap something in desk-Lucius, for he shot to his feet and yelled:
"I am not your father!"
The other aurors and the psychiatrist seemed shocked by desk-Lucius' outburst and silence filled the room as Draco began to weep.
After a long moment, the psychiatrist ventured: "I-I will take Draco back to the hospital now, with your leave. He's been through enough for today."
"Yes," said desk-Lucius. "Yes, fine. Take him."
Desk-Lucius turned away.
"Good-bye, Mr. Shacklebolt."
Desk-Lucius only grunted in reply and turned back to the other two aurors as Draco was led out by the arm. As the memory faded, Hermione realized she'd been so gripped by its unfolding she hadn't even noticed the real Lucius standing beside her, or how he might be reacting to the memory. She snuck a glance and saw an immense sorrow on his face of which she immediately regretted catching a glimpse, for it seemed inordinately private. She turned away in silence, allowing him time with his misery.
After a minute or perhaps two, he spoke quietly.
"Why would Shacklebolt directly question Draco's ability to testify regarding Narcissa's murder?"
She turned to him, feeling hope through investigation, through the use of intellect and evidence, and looking for it in his face.
"That isn't his job," he said softly, regarding her intently, perhaps wanting her to agree or weigh in or help him feel like he wasn't crazy for wondering.
"No, that should have been the concern of the wizegamot," she replied. "And only the wizegamot."
"Why did Draco's behavior set him off like that?" He looked a little shattered, but at least he was doing something productive by questioning with some rationality what had happened.
"It was a messy time," Hermione replied with a slight shrug. "Wasn't it?"
Lucius broke from her gaze and cast his eyes aside.
"Not that that explains any of this," added Hermione quickly.
He looked back at her as if he needed her. As if she was his only hope in finding these answers. As if he couldn't do it alone because his knowledge wouldn't be enough, he needed her to make it real, because she was real and he was not. At least, he wasn't supposed to be real; he was supposed to be dead and his hands were as tied as a dead man's hands. To be needed in such a way was so compelling that Hermione had to temper herself not to thrill in it, nor to let herself grow accustomed to it.
If she had to become his hands, if she had to become real where he was not, if she had to become his strength and protector, she would do so, because no one deserved what his family had received, regardless of what they did in the past. So she approached him, willing him to take courage, and said, "Let's go back further."
He replied with a nod.
*flip*
The memories flipped back, to a night dark and chaotic, with lights and blood and aurors and Malfoy Manor, two men in death eater robes tangled in house magic, and a crumpled form on the floor, covered in a white sheet.
Draco knelt on the floor, already mad.
"Is this your wand?" asked Lucius in auror's robes.
"Father, is it you?" asked Draco, and the auror-Lucius stepped back, looking horrified.
"Can you go back, Lucius?" asked Hermione, touching the real Lucius' arm gently. He broke from his sober regard of the proceedings, and then nodded silently.
*flip*
White.
*flip*
A brief flash of color, then white again.
*flip*
A jerking moment, then white.
*flip*
The same, and the same again.
"No," said Lucius, and he tried flipping back more and more. "I need to know this!"
Hermione gently touched Lucius' shoulder.
"Where is it? Where are his memories?" asked Lucius, flipping.
"Wait," she said, his voice of reason. He trembled under her hand, but he obeyed her. "They're there. They've been blocked."
Lucius covered his face with his hands. It seemed to have been too much for him to observe Draco's life of madness since the accident, and he lingered, stiff and still, his face in his hands and his breathing labored. Hermione didn't know what to do. He was on the cusp of shattering into a million pieces and it was in front of her, in this place that wasn't a place, the empty white blocked memories of Draco Malfoy.
"Oh, gods," exhaled Lucius, shaking, struggling with himself. "Oh, gods," he whispered.
He appeared to use every strength he possessed to bring it all together again, to draw himself back in and to calm the roiling storm that threatened him and his desperate, wavering control. She dared not touch him for fear that it would somehow send him over the edge, and for fear that he would blame her for sending him over the edge.
So she waited patiently.
To the credit of his depth of willpower, he managed it, slowly, and she allowed him the time to regain his regular shellac, and, as a gift to him, pretended nothing at all was out of the ordinary. She wondered if it was her imagination that he treated her with a touch more respect and admiration afterwards.
"Hermione," he said, his inflection of her name warm and invoking a thousand colors. "What shall we do?"
"We've done all we can do here, Lucius," she replied gently, and then added with emphasis: "For now."
-oOo—
Sneaking back out of St. Mungo's had been easy enough, and they left the keys with the potted plant for safekeeping. It was probable that St. Mungo's psychiatric ward didn't have many intruders, because resistance to their intrusion had been negligible. Upon their return to Malfoy Manor, however, Lucius trusted nothing and no one, assuming the manor would be, at the very least, warded, and more probably, watched.
"We will go in through the back entrance," said Lucius gravely, pulling out a portkey she'd never seen before. This man was positively lousy with portkeys.
They teleported somewhere she hadn't been before, but after a few moments she realized she'd gazed at this place a number of times out of the windows of the manor, rising green off into the distance past the main manor grounds. In the side of the hill was a stone door which gave easily at Lucius' touch, and within was utter darkness.
"Luminos!" said Lucius, his wand lighting a passageway most likely meant for exactly this sort of clandestine entrance or escape. They walked until they came to a small basement-sort-of room, with some less-than-perfect pieces of furniture, and then Lucius called the house elf.
Porgy appeared in a poof.
"Sir, you've returned," said Porgy, as if that was unexpected or perhaps inadvisable.
"Is anyone watching the place?" asked Lucius.
"There was, but they left hours ago," said the elf.
"They're probably just acting on a hunch, then," said Hermione with a sigh of relief.
"Perhaps," said Lucius. "Have they erected any wards on the property?"
"Yes sir," said Porgy. "They'll know if anyone enters or leaves the front gate."
"Basic," said Hermione, and she almost laughed with delight over how little the Ministry or-whoever knew. "Easily thwarted, Lucius, this is fantastic news!"
Lucius only gave her a grim smile. "You and Luna will need to enter and leave at the appropriate, normal, expected times through that gate. And you need something to show for all of the 'work' you're supposedly doing here."
He exhaled and put his hands on his hips as if thinking. After a moment, he glanced at Hermione and then said, as if relenting something, "Come along, to the library."
"Yes?" asked Hermione, feeling a bit excited despite lack of sleep. Was Lucius about to show her his best books? Was this maybe the best thing that had happened to her all year?
"Yes, of course," he replied as if she was being slow. "And Porgy, prepare something for us to eat, please."
Along the way to the library, through the halls and rooms, Lucius lit every candle and lamp, bringing a glow and life with every step he took, swallowing the darkness and declaring his place as the Lord of this Manor. Hermione had not yet observed Lucius take charge of his house like this, and she decided it was a good look for him. Definitely. Or maybe she was just excited about the impending library books.
The repast prepared by Porgy was eloquent, if food could be eloquent. He was a well-trained elf, despite being new to the premises, and Hermione had to pinch herself to recall he was actually being paid so that she didn't feel outrage over his treatment. It was a knee-jerk reaction, really, for her to feel outrage over elves' treatment, despite the fact that elves had been treated normally enough for over a decade, now. Often they didn't even refer to themselves in third person, anymore. It was a docile, docile new world and here she was eating pate with a relic of the old world. Lucius seemed to be adjusting decently, however. She hadn't seen him Avada Kedavra a single person yet since he arrived. She had begun to suspect he was a man who could quickly and efficiently adjust and adapt to new circumstances to suit his best interest. Like that was some sort of talent. Quick-adaptation. A chameleon, or, better yet, a shape-shifter who could take the form of a housecat or a ferocious dragon, depending upon if it suited him that day. This quicksilver nature always kept her on edge.
"Yes?" inquired Lucius, after a bite of honeydew.
Hermione realized she'd been studying him while embroiled in her thoughts.
"Ahem," she recovered, poorly. "So how do you like 2015?" Then she quickly shoved a croissant in her mouth so he couldn't ask her any questions.
"Well," he said, considering, but also regarding her behavior, and probably judging, "Everything seems calmer, and safer. Whatever trouble it is we're stirring up is probably the most anyone's caused in ages. The Ministry is sloppy and slow, probably due to inactivity and lack of threats. Also, you seem considerably more neurotic."
She "mmph"-ed a protest through her croissant, and a faint shadow of amusement flitted across him.
"But then again, I didn't know you back then, really, now, did I?" he smiled indulgently, as if that's what she was going to say, which it was, but anyway: "Regardless," he waved a hand as if it mattered not. "I haven't had enough chance to observe what is really happening around the wizarding world, alas, to make a decent response to your question. I can only make assumptions."
"Although, if I were an ambitious man," he said, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table between them. "I daresay the atmosphere seems to be right for turning much to my advantage."
He gave her a glance, perhaps to gauge her response.
"Well, you don't have to glower at me," he said, laughing quietly.
She didn't realize she'd been glowering.
"Well, what do you mean, what would you turn to your advantage?" she asked.
To this he shrugged vaguely.
"Oh, come on, Lucius," she said, giving him a look.
"How can I even say?" he asked. "One takes opportunities as they come, but one doesn't always know what those opportunities will be. If you're dead set on something specific in life, chances are you're going to end up disappointed. Living well is an exercise of concepts, not specifics."
"Oh what do you know about living well," she said, brushing an errant croissant crumb off of the tablecloth.
"Some," he said mildly, growing quiet until she felt like she had to fill up the space.
She rested her elbows on the table, let out a sigh, and then, regarding Lucius, she said, "You always seemed to have all the answers. Mind you, the wrong, most terrible sort of answers, but it felt like nothing could stop you… until Azkaban, that is."
"Mn," he said. "I prefer not to think about Azkaban."
"Understandable," she said. "But even since you've come here to unfamiliar circumstances you rarely seem uneasy."
"Control," he replied.
"And despite the fact that I know you're taking everything in and I know you have observations, a multitude of them, you rarely speak your mind," she said.
"I keep as much as I can close to the chest," he said.
"For options," she said. "You want options."
"And freedom," he said.
"And opportunity," she said.
"You understand me so well," he replied, appearing amused, and perhaps, maybe, somewhat pleased.
Hermione drew a breath and stood, moving to look over the books on a nearby shelf.
"Oh, no, those are boring," he said, standing as well and tossing his napkin on the table. "Come on."
He beckoned to her and the moved through the library to a back wall. She side-eyed him.
"Do you have a secret door?" she asked.
"Is that even a question you're asking?" he asked, pulling out three books and flipping a switch in the space behind them. There was a very typical-of-secret-door sound of stone grinding against stone, and the door collapsed inward, shifting to the side and out of the way.
"Luminos!"
Once the sconces were lit, a narrow winding stair was revealed to fill the passageway which led upward and out of sight.
"This must be the inside of one of those turrets!" said Hermione.
"Go on, then, those stairs aren't going to climb themselves," he said.
She scurried in and up because how delightful. At the top was a small room, circular as the turret's shape, with small windows set on either side and with shelves interspersed throughout. The shelves held her most favorite thing in the world: books that appeared to be both super-rare and extra-magical.
She drew in a breath and when she let it out, she might have whimpered. Then she pounced.
"Unicorns of the Mediterranean… 98 Tricks to Cursing…" she pulled them out one after another, breathless, and then gasped: "The Essential History of Caring for Dragons! Lucius, how can this be? How did you get all of these?"
Lucius had finally caught up with her and sat down in a comfortable-looking chair.
"I thought you knew I was a collector," he replied, and then watching her, added: "Be careful with some of those. They can be trapped. Or angry."
"Ah, ha-hah. Yes," she said, dropping a suddenly-voracious book, perhaps equal to her own voraciousness. It growled on the floor. "How shall I handle this one?" she asked.
"There's a poker over there," he said with a little smile, pointing to an old iron poker leaning against the stones of the wall. "You only have to assert your dominance and it will heel," he said, as if that was the easiest thing in the world.
She might have been giving him a look as if he were crazy as she went for the poker, but she did it anyway, hefting the ancient piece of iron in her hand like a sword, or perhaps an extra-heavy wand. He nodded to her encouragingly, which she found entirely unnecessary, for she was capable of bringing irritable books under control just fine on her own. Maybe.
The book snarled. She poked at it with the poker, and it tried to bite the poker, and so she poked at it and sparred with a book for the better part of two (possibly hilarious) minutes until she'd pinned it down, poker-tip-to-cover-center, and it couldn't open at all, only whimper-growl. It reminded her of something back at Hogwarts, and so she pulled out her wand and cried, "Petrificus Totalus!"
The book went still and she grabbed it, binding it physically with one of the rope-like curtain tie-backs, then tossed it on the faded rug at Lucius' feet.
"There," she said. "Subdued."
It was then that she observed Lucius, whose lips were curled into an amused, yet wholly intrigued, smile.
-oOo-
A/N: Thanks for reading! Do these people ever sleep? No, it seems, they do not. If only I possessed their amazing not-sleeping powers. If only. Also, I want a house elf please.
This chapter would probably have been at least 1000 words longer but I ran out of time! I wanted to put it out by tonight, and welp, time waits for no man and/or fanfiction writer! I'll just put the rest of the library bits in the next chapter. Enjoy!