CHAPTER FIFTEEN: LIBRARIANIAL SUBTERFUGE
Finding herself unable to not cock her head to the side, she inquired, "What is that smile on your face?" and she was forced to admit it wasn't very subtle or svelte at all, because she was literally asking the exact thing that had popped into her mind.
"What do you mean, what is it?" he asked, calmly, as if making conversation.
"I haven't seen that particular sort of smile on your face before," she replied. These were the sorts of conversations that occurred at whatever horrible time in the middle of the night it was.
"Have you ever seen it on anyone else's face before?" he asked.
She had to stop and think about that, because it was very difficult to translate the exact nuances of one person's face into the multitude of all smiles on all faces that one had observed in one's lifetime. She came up short.
"Not really," she said. "You don't smile like anyone else I know, because I always expect there's something else behind it with you besides just smiling. All of your smiles I remember from Hogwarts were the terrible sort."
"The terrible sort?" he asked, while picking up a non-attacksome book, and only inquiring to keep her going on, as he was clearly interested in the subject but didn't seem to want to act too interested.
"It seemed to me, whilst a student at Hogwarts, that if you were smiling, it meant something bad was going to happen to me or my friends, or sometime I cared about," she said, surprising herself at her candor. Had she become this comfortable with Lucius Malfoy? "That seemed to be the only sort of thing that could make you smile. If you were scowling, it meant we were winning. If you were smiling, it meant you were winning, and by default, Voldemort was winning."
Lucius seemed to almost wince, but he didn't. It was subtle, like him. He turned to look at one of the small windows, perhaps to view the diamond-and-navy sky, and he still held a book in his hands. Hermione moved to the window and wrestled with the rusty hitch until she could throw it open. The opening was small, but crisp, fresh air seeped into the round room.
"Are you trying to freeze us out?" he asked.
She smiled at him and said, "Oh, look. Dawn is upon us."
"Your smiles meant the same for me, you know," he said, rising to view the distant pink hue, barely creeping on the horizon. "Except opposite, of course. That's how wars work, Miss Granger."
"Oh, how very condescending, Mr. Malfoy," she said, though she enjoyed the scent of the coming morning.
He then looked at her for a moment, and she wondered what was on his mind, though, at this late/early hour, she refused to ask.
"You need to rest," he said, strangely concerned for her well-being.
"I suppose so," she said, feeling quite in agreement.
"I'll have Porgy prepare a room," he said.
"Here?" she asked, surprised. "You want me to stay here?"
He only hesitated a beat.
"It would be most convenient, wouldn't it?" he asked, turning away to put the book in his hand onto a shelf. "You needn't waste time going home at this hour. You're due to walk through the front gates by at least mid-morning."
"Yes, but my clothes and my things-," she began as he clapped once, completely ignored her, and called the house elf.
"Yes, sir?" asked Porgy lugubriously, eyeing the open window.
"Prepare a room for Miss Granger, please, she requires rest," he ordered. "And provide her with everything she needs in order to arrive at the front gates by ten o'clock completely refreshed."
"Ah, yes, sir," the elf said. "Porgy will prepare the blue guest room straight away, sir. She can come at her convenience."
"Thank you," replied Lucius, turning to one of the bookshelves, the elf already forgotten as it popped away. He started pulling books off of a shelf here or there.
"Miss Granger," he said.
"Yes?" she replied, drawing closer.
"Here," he said, handing her an armful of books. "Take these to your room. I think you'll enjoy them."
She was, actually, pretty flattered, and she probably really would enjoy the books he chose, but there was always room to question anything he might say. Always.
"Are you sure about that?" she asked, eyeing the books in her arms critically. "I don't necessarily enjoy everything in a book, you know."
"You'll like them," he said, taking out Narcissa's wand and lighting the room more brightly. The light pulsed into a bright ball and he let it hover before them as he latched the window shut and then made for the winding stair.
They took their time getting to the blue guest room, or what she suspected might be the Grand Malfoy Blue Guest Room, since Lucius made every opportunity along the way to explain to her the histories and geneaologies of each portrait, art piece, trophy, magical chalice (there were many of these), house damage (also many), and rug along the way. She supposed he was giving the house elf time to get things ready, but it was actually ridiculously fascinating, as the house had such immense and diverse familial history within its walls.
"Lucius," she meandered, after hearing about a particularly nasty wand-fight between two warring brothers which gouged a mark through the wainscoting of the Grand Malfoy Main Hallway - West Wing. "Has it ever occurred to you that the atmosphere within your house could be described as, well, heavy?"
"Heavy in what way?" asked Lucius, seemingly unconcerned, and almost as if he was humoring her by responding to her question, while he continued towards their final destination.
How to express it?
"In the midst of summer or winter, there is a point when there have been many days that were the same, and the sky has looked the same, and the temperature has been the same, and it seems as if it will never change. Things grow restless and heavy and there is a general feeling of discontent, and an itch for change," she said.
"Are you saying my house wishes to change, Miss Granger?" he asked, seeming almost amused by her metaphor.
"I certainly can't speak for your house," she said.
They went on in silence for a moment.
"But I can feel something here," she said into that silence.
"Can you?" he replied.
"Maybe," she said, less confident.
"Whatever the feeling here may or may not be," he said, "I have to admit that I have grown up within its walls and thus am wholly accustomed to it. As a result, perhaps I am immune to discerning it."
It felt very strange to have Lucius admit to possibly not knowing something as well as she did about his house. Perhaps he was getting more comfortable around her?
"My house growing up, of course, wasn't very old at all. Or heavy. It was just a regular house that felt like our own. It was small. At least, it was small compared to this!" She laughed at the absurd difference in size between her own decent but modest childhood home and this monstrosity of wizard nobility.
"I would imagine most houses would be small in comparison," he said, though it wasn't a prideful statement. Just a statement of fact. His ridiculous Malfoy wealth was nothing but cold, hard fact.
Hermione cleared her throat and just felt weird. This was not the world that, as a child, she ever assumed she would access, or that she assumed existed at all.
"Here is your room," he said, opening the door to a decently large, possibly grand, guest room which lived up to the "Blue" part of its name due to deep blue curtains framing a poster bed which looked to be walnut, and the same sort of curtains covered a shrouded window. The rest of the furniture, probably whatever she might need and more than she might need, was the same dark wood as the bed, and through a side door she could see white tiles and part of a washbasin. It looked comfortable, which, of course, filled her with an immense level of guilt.
"Ah, really, Lucius," she said. "This is too much. Couldn't I just crash on a couch or something?"
Lucius snorted and turned to leave.
"What?" she asked.
He didn't answer, but he glanced approvingly over the room once.
"The elf did a fine job, didn't he?" he asked.
She was caught off-guard by the change of subject, but had to agree that, yes, on such short notice, the elf certainly did do a fine job.
"So enjoy it," he said simply.
"Fine," she replied. "I will."
"Good," he said, and then made for the hall. Once through the threshold, he stopped and added, "I can have Porgy ward your door, if you wish."
Hermione blinked.
"I'm sure you're capable of doing it yourself, but there are so many wards on the manor proper you probably would rather not mix magics, as that can get volatile and unpredictable," he said, as if this was a normal conversation.
"Do you expect, um, some kind of attack in the early morning?" she asked.
"No, I just assumed, considering the number of wards you erected on your door the night at your flat," he replied.
Oh, that. She recalled the physical as well as magical locks she lumped all over her door the night Lucius stayed in her flat, as well as the vague expression of offense he took at the level to which she didn't trust him then, and then she realized what he was doing now. He was subtly gauging how much she trusted him, now, compared to back then, and that made her suddenly wonder why he wanted to know. It was possible he was so offended by it back then that he either wanted an apology or assurance that he'd come to earn her trust to a degree. And had he? Had he earned her trust? As she thought about it, he had, somehow, in some way or ways, gained it. Through all of their inquiries and investigations and adventures, somewhere along the way, she had forgotten to be afraid of him. But how to reply? Evasive seemed easiest.
"Oh, well," she said, as if it mattered not, "If you want, that's fine."
He seemed confused by her reply and she tried not to find that funny.
"Yes, well," he replied. "Yes. Good night."
"Morning."
"I knew that."
He left like a shadow. A slightly confused, and maybe a little sullen, shadow.
-oOo—
Something was nagging at her. She wanted to ignore it and stay in warm oblivion, yet it persisted. How very, very annoying it was! Couldn't whatever it was see that she just wanted to be left alone forever? But yet it wouldn't go away, and it dragged her, slowly, towards cognizance.
"Miss Granger."
Oh, that was her name.
"Miss Granger," said the voice, continuous and ever-prodding.
"What?" she mumbled, wholly resisting the idea of opening her eyes ever again.
"Miss Granger, it's time," said the voice, which was the voice of an elf. The house elf. The one she got for Lucius Malfoy. But what was it doing in her flat? Why would it be in her- oh, wait. She opened her eyes suddenly, the realization she'd slept in Malfoy Manor dawning on her like a cold bucket of water dumped on her head. It just felt a little too familiar, or something like that.
Maybe it was that she couldn't seem to wrap her arms around the idea of being comfortable enough with the manor to so blissfully sleep in it. There was a vague sense of guilt she got from the realization, like she shouldn't ever, ever feel comfortable here, because this was a terrible place wherein lived terrible people that she should never, no never, forgive. It would take some introspection to analyze why she was programmed that particular way, but she was pretty sure it had something to do with Bellatrix Lestrange and a fair number of crucios tossed in Hermione's general vicinity.
She shuddered at the recollection, but there was comfort to be taken in the fact that Bellatrix Lestrange was dead, most likely, seeing as how everyone saw her dead at the end of the war, and she found herself wondering how Lucius felt about that, and about the behavior of his sister-in-law in general. Strangely enough, after so much time spent with Mr. Malfoy, Hermione almost felt as if she could predict how Lucius might feel about Bellatrix: messy (surely he hated that), unpredictable (that probably often made him uncomfortable), passionate about her work (he probably used that to his advantage), and invariably loyal to Voldemort (he probably appreciated the simplicity).
All in all, it was likely that while Bellatrix wasn't his first choice of allies, she had her uses. Because Lucius used everyone. Even Hermione. Especially Hermione. She suddenly felt annoyed.
"Ah, Miss Granger, you're awake," said Porgy, having already cast open the drapes and let in an ungodly amount of brightness into the room. What time was it, sunlight-o-clock? "Your things are there, and you've just enough time to freshen up and go out the underground way in order to walk through the gates at a very respectable ten o'clock."
"Gnh," she replied, sitting up and looking around for 'her things'. There they were, laid out for her on a nearby chair, and she had no idea how Porgy got ahold of them. Also, she had to wonder about how the house elf went about choosing what from her wardrobe to provide. There was a high-waisted grey pencil skirt, a pale blue button-front blouse, and a pair of dark heels. Not what she would normally wear, unless she was meeting with someone important. She became suspicious of Lucius Malfoy's meddling. At least the heels were sensible. She threw the covers off and made for the loo.
"Breakfast will be waiting for you when you arrive through the gates," said Porgy, and the elf went scarce.
They must have all assumed she would remember the back way out of the manor, and she did, but still. Not everyone would remember how to get out through the labyrinth and the back door. Passing near the lower levels of Malfoy Manor alone wasn't something she wanted to do again anytime soon. There was something creepy about the deepest levels of an old house; it was like crawling through the vacuous entrails of a vast creature, maybe a whale, and this was the place from whence the house's life sprung, and the sensations of life in a house was always unsettling. Still she supposed her Gryffindor bravery won out (of course it did), because she made it through without jumping or outwardly admitting to her cowardice in any way. She could at least pretend she wasn't scared of a house.
Outside of the stone door that marked the distant outward back and secret entrance/exit, the world crouched at the verge of spring. The sky was grey and heavy with water, lingering mist haunted the almost-green hills, and the air was thick and heavy with the war of warm and cold. It wasn't the finest of days to be trekking the boggy land in (sensible) heels, but she made it work while making future plans to carry even more sensible shoes with her at future times whilst making this sort of clandestine exit. She didn't have to walk far, anyway, because she merely apparated from there to the front gate.
The black gate hung forbidding in some leftover fog tendrils, but she knew better and passed straight though after a heavy dose of Lucius Malfoy blood applied to her wrist. The derelict grace of the misty front grounds had all become familiar, and not as sad, and kind of beautiful. A crow, perched on the empty rim of an overgrown fountain, disturbed the silence with his flight as she neared. It was very silent. What was the world waiting for?
She found Luna studying the dining room, as usual.
"Well, hello, Luna," she said. "Any trouble from the Ministry?"
"There was a wizard on my porch this morning," she said. "But Neville told him nothing was out of the ordinary."
"Did it work?"
"For now?" replied Luna, not sounding confident. "But tell me if you managed to see Draco!"
"We did," she said, also not sounding confident, but then she proceeded to bring Luna up to speed on Draco's predicament and what she and Lucius found in his mind, and that his memories were being blocked from anything before the night Narcissa was murdered.
"That's terrible! It's just terrible!" cried Luna, ever empathetic.
"Yes, it is I suppose," replied Hermione, feeling as if her empathy was lacking, and sort of hating herself for it. "Luna… the block in Draco's mind… the way it works sort of reminds me of a house ward."
"A house ward… on a man?" asked Luna, seeming both surprised and intrigued by the idea. "How? Why?"
"Well, I suppose it could work, couldn't it?" asked Hermione. "A person and a house, either is like a vessel, isn't it?"
"Huh," replied Luna, thinking.
"But say it is that sort of magic, why would someone use a house ward on a person? What could be the advantage of such a course?" asked Hermione.
Luna considered that, and then said, "Or it could have been a mistake."
Hermione pointed at Luna and said, "Or that."
Porgy came in with a plate of croissants and fruit.
"Breakfast is served," said the elf, once again lugubrious. The plate was deposited on a nearby stand and the house elf made to leave.
"Ah, Porgy?" asked Hermione. "Where is Mr. Malfoy?"
"The master is indisposed," said Porgy.
"He's still sleeping?" asked Hermione incredulously.
"The master requires his rest," said Porgy. How did Lucius manage to train house elves to be so subservient so quickly? Innate talent, she suspected.
"I've been up for an hour! Go get the master and tell him we require his expertise… now," she said.
"He asked not to be disturbed," said Porgy.
"He doesn't have that luxury," replied Hermione.
"The master suspected Miss Granger might be… resistant," said Porgy.
"Go get the master some strong coffee," said Hermione.
Porgy started to look like an elf stuck between a rock and a hard place.
"Ah," ventured Luna, ever the pacifist, "maybe we can just give him a few hours."
Hermione grumbled at Luna, but then turned back to Porgy.
"Fine," she relented. "Go get me some strong coffee."
To that, Porgy thankfully popped away.
"Do you know what would be great?" asked Luna.
"If Lucius got his lazy arse out of bed?" asked Hermione, picking one of Luna's books up off of a side table and opening it.
"No," said Luna, grinning. "No. If I could examine Draco."
"Yes," said Hermione, blinking. "If I'd only brought you instead, last night."
"You needed Mr. Malfoy there," said Luna.
Hermione sighed.
"I wish we could just get Draco out of St. Mungo's and bring him here," said Hermione. "It'd make things so much easier."
"Oh, and that wouldn't elicit any suspicion," said Luna, smiling.
"None at all," grumbled Hermione, flipping thoughtlessly through the pages of the book in her hands. She flipped and flipped, and slowly an idea began to form in her mind. It might have been a crazy idea, a very crazy idea, but it might also have been a brilliant idea.
"Luna," meandered Hermione, not even sure she wanted to voice such an idea, but going on with it anyway. "What if Luciu- Mr. Malfoy were to impersonate a distant Malfoy relative? Nobody knows or would even begin to suspect that he's actually Lucius Malfoy, because the real Lucius Malfoy is supposed to be twenty years older than the one we have!"
"That's a bit of a crazy idea," said Luna, confirming Hermione's suspicions but also said in such a way that inferred Luna was actually thinking about it as being possibly, kind of, sort of valid, maybe.
"He could pose as a distant Malfoy relative from France," said Hermione, in full brainstorming mode. "Do you think he knows French?"
"Of course he does," said Luna.
"Right. What was I thinking," said Hermione. "And if he were to change a few things about his appearance, perhaps wear a different color or something… cut his hair, maybe?"
"You think you can get him to cut his hair?" asked Luna, with a laugh.
Hermione laughed, too.
"That would be quite an accomplishment," she said. "But of course he could grow it out again at his leisure, right? Or instantly with his wand."
She waved a hand as if Lucius' vanity mattered not.
"It would make him less distinguishable as himself, more than any other change," said Hermione. "But the biggest thing about this, if we could pull it off, is that he would be able to claim the Malfoy inheritance, the Manor, and take Draco under his care."
"If it works, that would probably be worth cutting his hair," said Luna.
"Probably," said Hermione with a smirk.
"But would it work? Or would it just ruin everything?" asked Luna.
"Hard to say," said Hermione. "We could test him out at an event."
Luna laughed. "Oh, your wording! 'Test him out'! Poor Mr. Malfoy."
Hermione knew not what Luna meant, for all Hermione was trying to do was solve problems.
At that moment Porgy arrived.
"There are two wizards here to see you, Miss Granger," said Porgy.
Hermione blinked.
"Ah, Ministry business again," said Luna with a sigh, gathering up some books.
Hermione smoothed down her skirt and, after being handed a handful of books from Luna (she didn't even know what books they were), she followed Porgy down the hallway to the Grand Malfoy Foyer, where two wizards were waiting. They were somewhat familiar, being a couple of men working for the Ministry that she'd seen around the building. Not too high up, and that was a good thing.
"Hello," greeted Hermione, coming down the Grand Malfoy Foyer Staircase in a less graceful way than the staircase deserved. She lugged the books over to a side table and plopped them down. She had to hand it to Luna's foresight, hauling those books around was a good prop for appearing like she was doing what she was supposed to be doing here at the manor. "With what can I help you?"
"Good morning, Miss Granger," said the taller of the two, a dark man with an average face. "My name's Grant, and this is Hodges. We're terribly sorry, but we've been sent over to make a report on your progress with your current book project here at the manor."
"Oh?" asked Hermione, behaving as innocently as she was capable, under the circumstances.
"You know how it is with paperwork," said Grant.
"That's funny," said Hermione. "Must be a new policy, as I can't recall such a thing before."
"Probably," said Grant, shrugging and using a self-depreciating smile.
"Do you mind if we ask who is working on the project?" asked the man named Hodges, a shorter man, reminiscent of a badger.
"Mrs. Longbottom and myself," she replied.
"No one else?" asked Hodges.
"Well, we do have a house elf helping us out with the mundanities," said Hermione.
"Yes, of course, but has anyone else been here?" asked Hodges, who was clearly probing for something.
"No, why?" asked Hermione.
"Well," said Hodges.
Grant cleared his throat. "Ah," he said, "Miss Granger, it's the strangest thing."
"Is it?" asked Hermione.
"Yes," he said, leaning over, as if someone besides her, himself, and Hodges would overhear, "The Ministry has detected a faint trace of … well, I know it sounds crazy, but Lucius Malfoy."
"Detected how?" asked Hermione.
This time Hodges cleared his throat, but Grant gave him a look.
"Miss Granger," said Grant, "the Ministry is showing unusual interest in this case due to some strange anomalies, and they've put a tracking ward on the front gate."
"Grant!" protested Hodges. Clearly Grant wasn't supposed to be telling her these things.
"Oh come now," said Grant. "It's Hermione By-Merlin Granger." She wondered why people tended to add that to her name when stating her veracity. Grant turned back to Hermione and asked, "You wouldn't happen to know anything about why we might notice a faint trace of Lucius Malfoy passing through the front gate with you, would you?"
"Yes, actually I would," said Hermione, pulling out the flask of Lucius' blood. "This is why."
"Blood?" asked Grant.
"Is that his blood?" asked Hodges. "How can it be?"
"I don't know," said Hermione. "It was here, in the potion dungeon. I didn't even know whose it was."
"Why are you carrying it with you?" asked Grant, maybe disturbed.
Hermione glanced around and said, "A particularly nasty ward would kill me without it." She smiled at Grant and said, "You know how it is."
Grant probably didn't know how it was, but he agreed readily. Maybe he was a Hermione By-Merlin Granger fan?
"Thank goodness Luna discovered how to solve the problem in time," she said with a smile. "So there you go. Problem solved."
"That's good to know," said Hodges. "We were concerned the ghost of Lucius Malfoy might be haunting the place. You haven't seen him, have you?"
"Strangely enough, I haven't seen a single ghost," said Hermione, becoming wildly adept at telling the truth without telling the truth. "You'd think this old house would have at least one, wouldn't you?"
"Indeed that is strange," said Grant, looking around. "The house elf has done well at cleaning it up, hasn't it?"
Hermione smiled. "It's definitely made it a much more pleasant place to work. And did you know house elves are very good at navigating wards?"
"We have just a few inquiries into your work so we can fill out these papers," said Hodges, pulling out a scroll and a quill, "So if you don't mind showing us your workspace?"
She didn't so much, assuming Lucius would still be scarce and indisposed in his rooms, and so she showed them the library (minus the extra special room in the gable), and Luna in the dining room under the premise that she was studying the magical residues there, which she was, but Hermione left out the part about why she was studying the dining room's magical residues.
"I've never been in a house with so many wards on it, you know?" said Luna with her general affable and dreamy smile.
"Is that so?" asked Hodges.
"Definitely," said Hermione. "I've personally almost died twice."
"Oh my," said Grant, glancing around nervously.
"It's been very illuminating," said Hermione with a smile.
"There's that old Gryffindor bravery at work," said Hodges, his tone jolly.
"I suppose," said Hermione, feeling awkward. She didn't feel very Gryffindorian right now. She felt downright Slytherinian.
"Well, thank you ladies," said Grant as Hodges rolled the parchment back up and tied it with a bow.
"I'll walk you out," Hermione said as congenially as she could muster.
The Grand Malfoy Entranceway was a double door with ornate, somewhat macabre, carvings etched into the finest wood. She held the door open for Grant and Hodges so they could go back out into the damp, cool world, but Grant hesitated on the threshold.
"Miss Granger, will you be at the spring ball?" he asked her. Oh, that. The Ministry's Spring Ball, held yearly at, well, the spring equinox. Pagan holidays and what. It went with the territory. She smiled, and hoped her smile didn't look fake.
"Oh, that's coming up, isn't it?" she said. "To be honest I hadn't given it a second thought, I've been so embroiled in work."
"You should give it a thought," he said, smiling at her.
She blinked, maybe a little side-blinded, and said, "Okay."
"Good morning, then," he said pleasantly, leaving the threshold and stepping onto the wet, unraveled paving stones of the Malfoy front-yard.
Hermione watched them leave, going over and over in her mind the events of their visit to discern whether she'd made any mistakes or if there was anything that happened that would indicate disaster. Disaster was always a step away, these days. At last, she turned away and exhaled as she shut the massive front door and leaned against its sturdy wood. A quiet groan escaped her and she pulled out the vial of Malfoy blood. It was warm, having been close in her pocket all morning.
It was then that she gave a thought to the Ministry's spring ball, as per Grant's suggestion.
What if that were the event wherewith to test Lucius Malfoy's distant French cousin?
For a brief moment it occurred to her that she might be getting ahead of herself, seeing as how she hadn't even asked Lucius about this entire scheme yet, but then the excitable, adventuresome, Gryffindorian side of her said something like: "Naaah."
She ran up the stairs to find wherever it was Lucius was sleeping with the full intent to ruin his sleep for something far more interesting.