A/N: Muse's Supermassive Black Hole pairs well with this chapter.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: LETTERS, SO MANY LETTERS
Sunday broke into existence with the fiery exclamations of a million rays of sunlight. Strangely enough, it was cold and drizzly outside Hermione's flat window, yet for some reason she felt like it was a brilliant, sunny spring day. Winter hung on, losing, losing, losing. How winter seemed to hate losing, but it wouldn't be long, now, before spring would have full reign over the world for a while.
There was a sort of fuzzy, warm feeling with which Hermione had woken. Not only had the previous evening been, somehow, a total success, she and Lucius had parted ways feeling amicable and optimistic.
An owl tapped at her window, offering a letter wrapped in a leather satchel for protection from the weather.
Dear Hermione,
Thank you for last night. It was pleasant. Most of it. No, it was all pleasant, even the worst of it. I'm sorry I like fighting. Sometimes one is just born with these tendencies. Sometimes it is nice just to feel something, regardless of what sort of something that is.
I shall draw up papers today and hire a lawyer to present them at the ministry tomorrow. If all goes well with the inheritance it will be but a natural course to retrieve Draco from the hospital and bring him home, where he should be, and then perhaps Mrs. Longbottom can have a look at him. Maybe then we will finally understand everything that happened that night and… all will be resolved.
Porgy asked after you, wondering where you were, as if you were somehow now a resident of the manor. How ridiculous that would be! House elves have such strange ideas sometimes. Although, I will admit it is very quiet without you around to break any of my porcelain.
Check The Daily Prophet.
Until next, mon vous
Jacques.
She supposed it was his clandestine nature that made him sign it 'Jacques', since intercepted letters from 'Lucius' would probably raise questions. He was always so careful about things like that. Well, he would get a reply after she checked The Daily Prophet, which, having been delivered through her fireplace floo, lay curled up on the floor.
LONG LOST MALFOY FOUND IN ALSACE-LORRAINE BY HERMIONE GRANGER
It sounded like whoever wrote that jumped to a few conclusions.
Miss Hermione Granger, fresh off of a torrid love affair with a man half her age, (someone was REALLY jumping to conclusions) appeared at the Ministry's Spring Ball last night with a man by the name of Jacques Malfoi of France, who seems to have been completely rejected by the rest of the now-extinct Mafloy clan due to philosophical differences. What were those differences? Well, one only needed to watch the canoodling on the dance floor between Miss Granger (a muggleborn) and Monsieur Malfoi (a Malfoy) to know. There is certainly something very interesting going on between these two born of different stations!
"He's the nicest Malfoy I've ever met!" was what Mr. Kraus said, Secretary of Accounting for the Ministry. "Quite interesting fellow, too. I hear he has an estate on the Rhine."
"I can hardly believe they are related!" said Mrs. Ginny Potter, who had the advantage of sharing a dance with M. Malfoi. "He was so humble and gracious, it simply blew my mind. When is the next ball?"
When the illustrious Harry Potter was asked for his opinion, he merely said, "No comment." However, it is well known that Mr. H. Potter has had a long antagonistic relationship with the media, and one can safely assume it has nothing to do with his opinion of M. Malfoi, who is universally acclaimed as quite charming.
The article went on to conjecture all sorts of things about Jacques Malfoi, how he is related to the Malfoys, and how the Malfoys probably ostracized him in multiple cruel ways. It also conjectured alarmingly over the nature of his relationship with Hermione, although fortunately it stopped short of asking when wedding bells would ring.
Dear Jacques,
Success? They all love you. How easily you did it.
I still don't understand why you have so many gnome figurines in your house.
Au revoir, mon vous aussi,
Hermione.
She sent the owl off with the parchment in the leather bag. The next owl came without as much protection and the parchment was kind of damaged.
Hermione,
What in the world were you doing with him last night? I thought you were just helping him solve some problems, not canoodling with him on dance floors! Have you been possessed? Are you crazy? You do realize who this is you are doing this with, don't you?
Signed,
ALARMED HARRY.
Oh, boy. Yes, she supposed that probably didn't look good, but she couldn't properly ponder her time with Lucius on the dance floor without chills running involuntarily down her back.
Dearest Harry,
While I would like to tell you he is reformed or that he is actually quite nice, I can't say that to be the case. He is actually quite nice some of the time, if that matters, which it really doesn't, because the other part of the time he's just terrible.
It doesn't matter, though, none of it, because once we fix this none of this will have happened, anyway. And, by the way, don't jump to conclusions.
Hermione.
She sent it off after making sure it was more fully protected against the rain. Then, shortly after, another letter came!
Dear Hermione,
Well, that was a short letter. You haven't done hardly a thing to stave off my Sunday boredom. Give me some more words, I beg of you.
If it appears that I have a plethora of gnome figurines in my house, it is because my great aunt, of whom I was her favorite nephew, bequeathed them to me upon her death and she had an extraordinarily extensive collection. I was in the process of deciding what to do with them when I was transported two decades into the future, and since then I simply haven't had the time or drive to bother. You have, however, made the choice for me with a few of the figurines, and thus, I suppose, slightly lessening the overall quandary. I refuse to thank you, however, because your solutions always end in violence.
What are you doing today?
Rapidement mon vous,
Jacques.
She rolled her eyes at the Lucius who wasn't there, but maybe she also smiled. She wouldn't admit it anyway if she'd been smiling, so she instead of thinking about that, she began to write:
Dearest mon vous aussi,
Don't you have anything better to do?
Harry is alarmed. He thinks you're taking advantage of me if-you-know-what-I-mean. I assured him. So at least he won't be calling for your head on a pike. Not that he'd do that. I only know one fellow who calls for heads on pikes.
I have to admit it's kind of boring around here, too, so I wouldn't mind reading some of those books from your library today. Sadly, I didn't have the foresight to bring any home with me from the ball so they're all still there at the manor. Sad times for me. At least you can relish the idea of my discomfort, or whatever it is that brings people like you pleasure.
Avoir un jour merveilleux, mon macaron,
Hermione.
She made herself snicker with her closing statement, and, yes, it was dumb. But whatever! Hopefully that was the last she'd hear from Lucius, today. Shortly into the process of making eggs, however, another owl came.
Hermione!
What is going on between you and him? Was that all an act? That couldn't have been an act. Where did you go? Did you leave early? It looks like you might finally be getting along!
Well, you both did a good job.
Luna
They might finally be getting along? Ha! Ha-Ha! Thrice Ha!
Luna!
We certainly do NOT get along very well! Do you think me crazy? We both know who this is. Utterly impossible. Impossible, impossible.
He's sometimes really nice, though.
But how does that make up for his horribleness? It doesn't. Anyway, remember that time when you said the storm was about to break or something awfully foreboding? That turned out to be the whole thing where we had to run to avoid detection from the Ministry, right? Seems like it blew over okay.
I think we might be close to getting out of the thick of it. Come to the manor tomorrow, okay?
Hermione
She finally finished and went on to complete her omelet, and was in the midst of making a heart-shaped squirt of ketchup upon its fold when yet another owl arrived.
Mon cher de la folie,
When I asked for a few more words, I didn't ask for them from the Witch-Shrew of Windsor. What have you done with Hermione?
There is something serious we must discuss. I am not, nor will ever be, 'your macaroon'. I am sorry to break this to you so callously. I hope you can understand and eventually heal. These things can take time. Just have patience. Someday I am confident that you'll be capable of eating macaroons again without tears. You're a strong woman. You can do it.
Porgy asked after you again, I think the elf is obsessed with you. He wanted to know if you're coming for tea. Do you think Harry would object to you coming for tea? If so, then please come for tea.
Je ne suis pas un macaron,
Jacques.
The nerve of that macaroon. Hermione would not allow Lucius to stir the pot with Harry. It was possible that the second paragraph of his most recent letter made her laugh out loud, but she wasn't about to admit it or ruminate upon it. Also, because it was a boring, boring Sunday, tea with Lucius was tempting, because tea with Lucius could never be boring. She almost apparated over to the manor instantaneously. Almost. But she didn't.
À ma chère chérie, la plus aimée macaron,
I see what you're about. This is about causing Harry mild distress, because that's what people like you do; revel in causing mild distress to others. How could I possibly agree to such a nefarious plan? I would have said yes, but alas, you've made your intentions quite clear, sir.
Terrified of your malevolence,
Hermione.
Feeling very satisfied, she ate her eggs joyfully. Once she'd begun to clean up, though, another owl came.
Hermione!
Well, I'm not so sure the storm has passed. It doesn't feel like it, anyway. But you never cared for the eye, did you! Also, I think you like Lucius. How strange! Why do you like him so much?
See you tomorrow!
Luna
Hermione just stared at the letter in disbelief. Where did Luna get an idea like that? She tossed the letter aside and went into her sitting room, and gazed over a few piles of books, feeling very ennui about them all. She really did wish she had those books at the manor, they were so very interesting and would be so very nice to have with her right now. Another owl came.
Mon cher folie,
Tea was so very boring. I surmise that this is all part of your plan to inflict torture upon me. I am quite literally dying of boredom and you stubbornly refuse to leave your flat. I feel it important to inform you that I now loathe you with the burning passion of a thousand suns.
Goodbye forever,
Jacques.
-o-o-o-
Darling Jacques,
Will you be flinging yourself off of a cliff or throwing yourself in front of a train? Your denouement seemed so very permanent. I might be slightly worried, but only slightly. Do not get your hopes up. I am mostly only interested in knowing the details of how you plan to end it all. (You do tend to be creative about dramatics)
H.
-o-o-o-
My dearest Hermione,
In my last, final act of defiance, I shall never reveal to you the way in which I will end my miserable, tragic, and possibly agonizingly beautiful life.
Also: I ordered Porgy to make dinner for two.
J.
-o-o-o-
Darling Jacques,
How interesting, are you expecting company for dinner?
H.
-o-o-o-
H.,
You.
J.
-o-o-o-
J.,
Me what?
H.
-o-o-o-
H.,
If you don't come over right now, I will find nefarious ways to make you TRULY slightly uncomfortable.
J.
-o-o-o-
Nefarious J.,
You'll not get anywhere with threats.
Benevolent H.
-o-o-o-
Demanding H.,
Please.
Annoyed J.
-o-o-o-
Darling J.,
I thought you'd never ask.
Delighted H.
-o-o-o-
Maybe she primped a little before heading over, maybe.
A knock upon his front door. Lucius himself pulled it open and, taking her by the wrist, pulled her inside. It was all rather possessive-seeming and then he brought her wrist to his lips and kissed the inside of it with a sharp impatience that made her forget everything else.
"What took you so long?" he sighed against her wrist.
"I don't know," she sighed back, falling helplessly into his embrace.
This was not the way conjoint investigators were supposed to behave! She said as much, well, whispered as much, into his neck.
"No, it isn't," said he, his hands moving across her back in a very non-professional manner. "But I blame you for taking so long before you deigned to come!"
"Blame me?"
"Yes, if you'd just come for tea I'd have been able to control myself, but you stubbornly refused and thus built up this unbearable anticipation," he said. "How manipulative you are!"
"Indeed, I'm a right siren, I am," she sighed, mocking herself inwardly and outwardly, but not really caring because she was where she wanted to be. She hadn't even known this was where she wanted to be until she was here. Maybe she'd known unconsciously.
"At least we can both agree that everything is your fault," he said.
She pulled back a little and gave him a droll side-eye.
"I acquired a lawyer," he said, ignoring her side-eye completely.
"How efficacious you are," she replied, pretending she wasn't still in his arms. "But everything is not my fault."
"Yes it is."
"No it isn't."
"I suppose you are entitled to your opinion," he said, releasing her. "Now that all that is out of the way, shall we get down to business?"
"All what is out of the way?" she laughed. "And what business?"
"Oh you know, the affection," he said. "And then you say something annoying and it becomes unpleasant, and then we can really get some work done."
She laughed again.
"You've got this down to a science, have you?" she asked him.
He smiled at her and beckoned her to the library.
"Hurry, it's only a matter of time before the affection builds up again," he said. "And we've lots to do beforehand."
It was all so bizarre that she couldn't help but to utterly comply, as they spent the next few hours on a couch in the library discussing (sometimes with animated excitement) the ins and outs of current Ministry and/or Wizarding World politics and how best to use the tools they possessed to affect and coerce both into shapes that would be to their best advantage (and in Hermione's case, to the advantage of the greater good). Dinner was fine, and Lucius was compliant enough towards Hermione's proclivity towards the benefits of the greater good, as long as it didn't directly conflict with his plans. They got along wildly well. It turned out to be, weirdly enough, one of the most enjoyable nights of her life.
"You know, you'd make a decent Minister of Magic," he told her at one point.
"Oh, don't be ridiculous," she replied, rejecting the idea forthright.
"You'd have to, you know, stabilize a bit first," he said. "You're a little unstable."
"Ha!" she told him. "Do tell me how to stabilize myself, Lucius."
"Marriage does that to a person. You need marriage."
"What is your thing with marriage?" she said, giving him a peer.
"What's your thing with not-marriage?" he replied.
"I don't have a not-marriage thing!"
"But you're not married," he said, thankfully not mentioning her age conjointly, but she was sure he was implying it.
"It never worked out with anyone," she said.
"I can see why, actually," he said.
"Oh, really!"
"No, no, you in particular wouldn't make a good match with just anyone," he said.
"Oh, really?"
"You're too clever, for one thing."
She didn't know how to reply.
"There's too much going on in your mind, all the time, there's hardly a man alive who could keep up with it."
She laughed a little, vaguely.
"And you'd be bored witless by anyone who couldn't."
"There's some truth in that," she said, considering some of her past relationships.
"And then there's your attractiveness," he said. "Usually a woman of your intelligence is homely."
She snerked.
"But you're not," he said.
This conversation was seeping across the line into the embarrassing as she felt her cheeks grow annoyingly warm.
"So there's a quandary," he said to her.
"What is the quandary?" she asked him.
"How can we possibly find someone good enough for you?"
She felt extremely uncomfortable at that moment, and decided deflection was in order.
"You're slathering me in compliments," she said. "So what is it you want?"
He laughed.
"To conspire with you again," he replied.
"That can probably be arranged," she said, but she felt a tinge of pain knowing that it couldn't be forever. And that she would soon forget this night, one of the most enjoyable nights of her life, because it will have never happened.
"Don't think about that," he said.
"Ugh," she said putting a hand over her eyes, "You read my face! Why are you so good at reading my face?"
He pulled her hand away from her face and replied gently, "It isn't hard."
"If it isn't hard," she said. "Then read it, now."
And she let her face say to him all of the things she never wanted to say out loud, never, ever, and how she didn't want him to leave despite the selfishness of the want, and how she hated him and loved him and hated the things he did and loved the time she spent with him and how all of it had pulled her into a sort of double-polar black hole constant eruption state, where she lay in an eternal point of light at the event horizon moving neither forward or back and it was stretching her beyond bearing.
His gaze moved across her face and he absorbed her emotion, absorbing it like a black hole sucking down light, but the strange thing about it was that the inky blackness wasn't a terrifying nothing like she'd previously assumed. It wasn't nothing! She could feel it, it felt like something, something, something was on the other side. She wanted that something, she wanted to be closer to that something, to know that something, she wanted to have it, she wanted to possess it, to control it, to wield it like a flame of exploding light-matter-galaxy-center agony. She could see it now, with all the fine-grain star-flare dilation of a contracting pupil. Together, she and he would create and destroy universes.
His lips parted and he caught his breath, and she wanted to kiss or kill him so badly she nearly radiated out of her own skin. He turned out of the line of fire before she could erupt.
As he stood she noticed his hands were trembling.
This is bad.
Or is it good?
It's bad. But good. But bad! But oh, so good.
Oh, the eternal quandary.
"Shall you be returning home tonight or shall I have Porgy make up the guest room for you?" he asked, politely, pulling a book from shelves here and there.
She wasn't of a mind to decide, because she wasn't as capable as he was of completely and totally changing tack like that in an instant. She just stared at him like he was insane.
"I have some things I need to see to before retiring, so I'm afraid this is the end. For today," he said, finishing choosing a stack of four books. He brought them to her, and deposited them on her lap.
She finally found the presence to stand, his books in her arms.
"I thought you'd like those," he said, and then he asked, "You'll be fine, won't you?"
"Yes," she answered, and then, after a moment: "Okay." It was bland, so very bland.
And she turned around and walked out.
It was the weirdest exit she'd ever experienced, but perhaps it was better than the alternative, not that she knew quite what the alternative was, but she had an inkling she didn't want the maelstrom of the alternative, not yet, anyway.
Winter's hate-drizzle threatened the books the instant she stepped outside and she covered them inside her coat, looking by all appearances like a woman pregnant with cubes. A gust of wind blew mist in her face and while she found herself irritated by it, she noticed the gust was warm.
-oOo—