A/N: I am back after the short break from writing, though, not really, as I started another Lumione in the meanwhile ;)
I experienced a massive block while working on this this chapter but hopefully it turned out okay.
Also, please check out the new fanfic cover to this story. I recently discovered Lumione art and spent some time making those, too. Such fun!
As it's been a while, you might consider re-reading the previous chapter before diving into this :)
I hope you enjoy!
An Attempt at Dissection
It was an early Wednesday morning and Kingsley Shacklebolt was sitting in his office. In fact, he had been sitting there since dusk the previous day. It was his eleventh hour of uninterrupted, continuous work and even a focused and assiduous wizard like the present Minister of Magic was, he was beginning to feel the results of prolonged strenuous exertion as exhaustion caught up with him.
He was aware it was a temporary situation; it so happened that several urgent matters were brought to his attention at once, most in connection with the reforms he has been bringing about ever since he stepped up to his new role. The tide of trials that ensued at the conclusion of the Second Wizarding War, illegal trade, they all required his direct involvement.
Glancing at the clock (it was nearly eight), he drew back from his enormous desk, which had already been magically extended twice to provide more space for the pressing paperwork. Once dealt with, the files and documents were moved to monstrous folders, stored in the Ministry Archives on the second floor. Hermione was recently put in charge of rearranging the Archive contents, after it had been left in a very disorganised state at the end of the term of an Imperiused and puppet Minister, Pius Thicknesse.
Kingsley inhaled deeply, leaned back in his chair, and interlocked his fingers in a common gesture, resting them on his stomach. He was deep in thought; so much remained to be accomplished: new, fairer laws to be enacted, old preferential policies to be done away with. Taking his office, he hadn't suspected how deep the corruption roots reached, and how time-consuming and arduous the process of severing them would be, one heavy, well-directed blow at the time.
A staccato of impatient knocks brought him out of his musings.
"Enter,"
Immediately, the door swung open and in it stood a very distressed witch. Her curly hair was hastily drawn into a bun, her blouse sloppily tucked into her skirt, her cheeks flushed. Just from her stance he could infer that something had upset her. She was pacing back and forth, her arms flapping anxiously at her sides. Whatever had happened must have been of significance - he had rarely seen his mentee in a similar state of agitation.
He leaned forward, "Hermione, what is the matter?" His voice carried a concerned, fatherly tone.
She turned to him, her eyes bristling with inner tension but she did not say a word. The Minister repeated his question, this time putting authority into his voice, as he grew in concern.
The woman exhaled deeply. "I left my wand at Malfoy's," came her tired reply, her own voice trembling.
"Had he done something to you?" Spotting one of the middle buttons of her blouse undone, and taking in her general state of disarray, a dreadful suspicion came over him. He stood up from behind the desk and walked over to the witch.
"No…NO!" Hermione denied vehemently wincing at the insinuation. "We met yesterday and I must have left it in his library because I couldn't find it this morning."
"Hermione, listen. I can imagine how upsetting a thought it must be, but there is no need to panic. You'll recover it soon. Should there arise any difficulties, inform me at once."
"That's why I came to you. Could I possibly," she hesitated, evidently not used to asking for such favours, "take the morning off? I would go straight to the Manor and.."
Kingsley interrupted her politely, placing an assuring hand on her arm, drawing his face into a serious, almost grave expression.
"I'm afraid I can't give you a green light right now. We're in the middle of this case," he pushed a bulky folder lying on the desk in her direction, "and I have to say, I was hoping you'd support me with your insight as I need to make some important decisions before noon. Please know that I consider your input invaluable."
Seeing her disappointed look, he added, "Please don't bear me a grudge. When we're done, you can Disapparate at once to retrieve your property, possibly as soon as the lunch break. But I cannot let you off before that. May we call it a deal?"
Hermione passively murmured in agreement.
"Very well. No, tell me please, how well do you know Mr Nott?"
"Tiberius Nott? I don't believe I have ever met the man. Wasn't he one of Voldemort's inner circle?"
"Yes, but I am asking not about Tiberius but his son - Theodore. You were in the same year at Hogwarts, is that right?"
"Yes, well, as you can imagine, with him being a devout Slytherin, we barely ever exchanged words unless several "freaking Mudblood"s counts," Hermione let out a little bitter laugh, "but he was once a good friend of Draco's so perhaps he could help you with that assessment."
Lucius watched with interest as Hermione Granger made her way hurriedly through the long gravel path and the front yard, her face set resolutely in front of her, with an easily inferred goal of reaching the Manor as fast as her clothes, undoubtedly soaking wet and heavy would allow. The skies were painted in streaks of dreary grey - it had been raining heavily since early morning, the floodgates of heaven releasing a downpour, holding nothing back. Even from the window of his study on the second floor he could see how the sodden drapes of her skirt clung to her legs, hampering their movement and forcing her to toddle, her sense of balance disturbed. At least this was a sight of Granger he could endure, even tolerate, he noted with amusement.
He wished he could peer into her head now to witness firsthand the ire and dread she must have been experiencing at the nasty revelation of her grievously misplaced wand. He had been looking forward to her coming more than he was ever willing to admit, from the moment he discovered the wand on the floor of his library the evening before. A sudden thought peeked into his mind, like a guest arriving uninvited. What's become of him, letting himself derive some perverse pleasure from engaging in verbal brawls with the Muggleborn brat? He refused to think of her as a fully-grown witch, even though he had noticed the way her clothes clung to her body, revealing a shapely feminine form.
He needed entertainment and something to help pass the time which stretched like molasses but lacked its sweetness. Though he would not acknowledge it, her visits, as sincerely as part of him loathed them, were also the brighter points of his otherwise monochrome stretch of days, even if their tint was that of mutual resentment and animosity.
He shrugged off the thought and, turning back to the window, saw the woman disappear from his sight as she had finally reached the front door.
A short while later, Mippy informed him that Miss Granger was waiting for him in the hall and…demanded to speak with him immediately. Mippy almost stuttered, blinking at him nervously while delivering the message. While he had been expecting the girl's intrusion, he found her actions audacious; nevertheless, he instructed the distressed elf to lead the guest to the parlour, where he also proceeded without delay.
Barely had he Apparated inside the room, Granger stormed in, this time clearly too flustered to bother about maintaining faux pleasantries, her low heels clicking against the marble tiles. In the doorway behind her stood Mippy with her protuberant eyes fluttered open wide with surprise and alarm.
"Where's my wand?" the witch spat out. He surveyed her with a languid gaze, from her hair, thrown into a frizzled dripping disorder to the soggy clothes plastered to her front, the patches of her skin visible underneath the thin fabric. Lucius averted his sight. She presented a pitiful sight but he was not inclined to let it deter him from making her ever more miserable.
"Tut, tut, Miss Granger. You are a mess. I'd strongly suggest casting a drying charm before things take a turn for the worse."
"Thank you for your care," she retorted, huffing a short breath. "As you very well know, I don't carry my wand with me presently."
"Forgive me, you have wrongly suspected me of expressing concern about you catching a cold, no, I was referring to the floor. It had just been washed and polished by Mippy here, and as much as you think I don't value my servants' hard work, I assure you, I do."
Hermione looked at him with disbelief and her cheeks turned slightly pink. He knew he was getting under her skin.
Lucius continued before the girl spoke again, "As for your wand, I've been expecting you. To tell the truth, I'm surprised you've waited so long. If it were my wand in the hands of another, a former Death-Eater at that, I would have fetched it much earlier," he mocked.
Her expression left no doubt as to how much she wished to hex him at that moment. Her brows were pulled tight together over brown eyes shot through with bolts of gold; she was a tigress ready to pounce.
"If I could.." she trailed off, exasperated.
"Without a wand? That would be rather difficult, don't you think?" he scorned, apparently guessing at her thoughts. "You need to work on your countenance, Miss Granger, your every emotion is written there."
."You..you're unbelievable!" She exclaimed at last.
" Now, if these clipped utterances are the only intelligible comments you're capable of making, I pity Shacklebolt."
Hermione took a series of short inhales, apparently trying to appear more collected. Apparently she had resolved not to let herself get easily provoked.
"I only realised it was missing this morning. And I couldn't leave my work in the middle of the day to tend to personal matters. Besides, I don't need to excuse myself before you. Now, if you could hand over my wand, I need to be back in London before the lunch break's over."
"Ah, yes. Tardiness must be frowned upon by the Minister. Let me not keep you longer, then."
Lucius would have liked to torment her a little longer but he felt it would suffice for now. Besides, to aggravate her further was a hazardous business - he suspected she could be quite unpredictable should her temper flare up.
Hermione extended her hand eagerly to pick up her wand from his, and, as she did so, her soft fingers briefly brushed over his open palm, as in the faintest of caress. Instinctively, he removed his hand and let it hang by his side, clenching and unclenching the fist.
Hermione did not seem to have noticed the gesture. Lucius observed a relieved look on her face as she recovered her wand, but it was short-lived.
"You touched it!"
"Well, of course I touched it, how else could I take it off the floor where you had left it lying so carelessly." He said, raising an eyebrow at her for stating the obvious.
"I don't mean that! I mean you performed a spell with it!"
How did she know that? Lucius was positively amazed at her knowledge. He had indeed tried out a few spells to see how her wand would respond to him and the results were more than satisfactory. Was the girl merely suspecting, based on the shared core information she had?
"Mr Malfoy," she focused her eyes on him, "My wand is of great value to me, as I'm sure yours was to you, so I decided to take extra precautions and placed a charm on my wand, similar to the Trace the Ministry puts on an underage witch or wizard. In this way I know if anyone has cast any spells with it. Unauthorised." she emphasised the last word.
His iridescent eyes widened with surprise. In all his forty-six years he had never encountered a spell that afforded one such knowledge. He trailed his eyes appraisingly over her attire again, her lilac blouse and pleated skirt that reached down her calves, now restored to their original, dry condition.
She did not dress like a proper witch, in fact, to Lucius, she looked ridiculously Muggle-like and awfully commonplace, but again, in a very short time span, he was confronted with her evident magical abilities. Even now, she had cast the drying spell so smoothly, it had escaped his attention. In fact, he did not think he had actually heard her murmur anything as they were conversing; was she capable of using wandless magic?
She had already proved to be much more than he could have ever anticipated from a Muggleborn. This conclusion left a sour taste in his mouth, which made him even more irritable than usual.
"Care to illuminate me as to the particular spell you used?" he asked in a tone that suggested far less curiosity than he actually felt but the glimmer of his piqued interest could be seen in the quirk of his brow and his posture as he leaned towards her.
"Oh, you couldn't possibly have heard of it anyway." Now it was her eyes that gleamed with mischievous glee.
"And why is that? Does it belong to some special category of spells, reserved for Muggle-borns to which the rest of us are not privy?" He asked sarcastically.
Her eyes flicked up to meet his as she considered her reply.
"You wouldn't have heard of it because, you see, it's a spell of my own creation."
Once more, an expression of incredulity passed over his face as he regarded her again.
"You mean to say you came up with it yourself?" he echoed.
"That's precisely what I said, Mr Malfoy," Hermione confirmed, her smile now solidified.
This was entirely unexpected. Lucius had been looking forward to her coming, convinced he would be met by a pale, perturbed and pleading figure asking back for her wand, which he would graciously return, not sparing her the appropriate jibes and digs.
Being caught off guard was not a position Lucius ever felt comfortable in; he was used to being the master of the situation, and yet, the more time he spent with Miss Granger, the more he felt the control escape him, slipping out of his firm grasp.
Hermione observed his discomfiture, clearly enjoying herself.
"Oh, I could teach you the spell, if you'd like. After all, magical knowledge should be shared freely," she offered in a polite tone but Lucius deciphered a quiet sense of victory.
"That won't be necessary, thank you." He declined her offer in his iciest voice.
"You don't like this, do you? You feel uncomfortable with the idea that you could learn anything valuable from a Muggleborn witch?" she said bluntly.
"It's rather a matter of utility. I personally have never felt the need for such a spell, and neither have others, otherwise, it would have been created a long time ago. A wizard never parts with his wand."
"Just as you have never parted with yours," said Hermione scornfully.
Lucius shot her a resentful look.
"It was not a matter of choice and I don't appreciate you making light of the personal information I disclosed. Yet again you prove to be a typical Muggleborn, lacking subtlety and elemental good manners."
"Oh, please, because you are an epitome of courtesy and hospitality. Ever since I stepped into your house you've done nothing but taunt, mock and humiliate me continuously. One would have thought that after the War you'd become less extreme and definitely less vocal about your unjustifiable prejudices against my kind."
"We already had this conversation. You'd prefer I feigned new affections for Muggles and Muggleborns and averred that our kinds are no different?"
"I am not asking you to pretend, though you'd suffer no harm in curbing your antipathy, at least out in the open. What surprises me is that you're still holding onto the stagnant convictions which bely better reason. There's no shame in admitting you've been wrong about this - changing one's mind can be a sign of strength, not weakness."
"Miss Granger, it is your point of view that my convictions require amendments. You're mistaken to think that it is fear which keeps me from subscribing to your views. I have simply yet to encounter ample evidence that would make me reconsider."
"What would change your mind? How can you deny the fact that Muggleborns are as capable of producing as outstanding magic as Purebloods are?" said Hermione, exasperation and anger audible in her voice.
"I hope you're not referring to your own abilities." he answered, shooting her a malicious look. She continued to surprise him but he would not hand it to her just yet. "It is not a matter of learning a few tricks and accumulating book knowledge, as much as I value continuous learning and broadening one's horizons. You may be high in your own esteem but in many ways you're a typical book-learned witch."
"And yet you're surprised to learn I am competent enough to devise my own spells for personal use. Mr Malfoy, with all the evidence around you, and I am not speaking of my own accomplishments, what prevents you from reconsidering your beliefs? Please, I genuinely wish to understand your perspective. Do you think magical ability is hereditary like floppy ears on a rabbit? Surely you don't believe all that rubbish about "ancient, untainted magical blood" passed down the generations or Muggles stealing magic from Wizards?
She was right, he didn't, not anymore. And naturally, the argument of Muggles allegedly obtaining magic from Purebloods by theft or force had always struck him as preposterous, though there were those in his vicinity who wholeheartedly heeded this dated notion.
He pondered her question, which sounded sincere.
While he regarded Muggles and Muggleborns as inherently inferior, he rarely paused to give it a second thought. It couldn't be denied that the latter possessed some magic, but their skills could hardly be compared with the natural aptitude for powerful spellwork that Pureblood witches and wizards inherited from their parents, strengthened by generations of uninterrupted flow of magical blood. How could he, with noble ancestry, impeccable lineage and years of magical history and accomplishments be classed together with the likes of her, who had probably only learnt of her identity as witch at the age of ten or eleven? The very idea was unthinkable.
It occurred to him that he'd never even voluntarily been in the company of other than those he considered his equals for longer than needed. He acknowledged Muggleborns and Half-bloods' presence in the Wizarding World, reluctantly mingled with them at the Ministry and various social functions but rarely had the circumstances forced him to make a deeper acquaintance. He simply did not deem them to be worthy of his time or attention, so strong was his conviction of their mediocrity and insignificance.
Hermione Granger, a Muggleborn was the first with the potential to fracture the foundations he once thought unshakeable.
Hermione's curiosity was authentic. She had long yearned to fathom out Lucius Malfoy and the reasoning that made him the wizard he was, with his lifelong dedication to uphold the Pureblood ideals. Now she thought it a good opportunity to get to the crux of the matter. She only hoped he would answer her truthfully, without his usual condescending manner.
"My prejudice against Muggles and Muggleborns is well justified…" he began at last.
"So you admit you're prejudiced?"
"That's one way of putting it, or let's just say I'd rather keep my distance. The Wizarding history is fraught with persecutions and atrocities committed by Muggles. They inflicted enough harm on my kind to warrant our strongest antipathy…"
"Your kind?" Hermione had rarely wanted something as much as to have Lucius Malfoy acknowledge her as a witch that she was. It was a hidden, vague, long-simmering longing that she carried deep within, but which resurfaced every now and then, much to her chagrin.
She could not put her finger on it but ever since their first encounter in Flourish & Blotts, a part of her had been unconsciously seeking his validation and approval as if she needed the Malfoy rubber stamp to cement her identity as a legitimate witch. Even more so, she craved his esteem and respect.
"Miss Granger, would you like me to finish or do you love the sound of your own voice so much you cannot refrain yourself from interrupting?" He fixed her with a sharp look that signalled anything but respect. As a rule, people appeared more attractive with a smile but somehow Lucius wore his irritation with equal glamour.
Hermione sighed. It was probably this uncomfortable thought that caused her to answer compliantly, "Please, carry on."
"As I was saying, our kind was," she took notice of his change of pronoun, "relentlessly persecuted, hunted down like monsters unfit to live, and executed in most horrendous ways. For benign and placid, agreeable creatures as the Ministry likes to present them, their past actions paint quite a different picture, don't you think? Primarily their preferred procedure of burning at the stake bears testimony to their savagery."
Hermione did not immediately answer. She was of course well aware of the tumultuous relations between Wizards and Muggles, their mutual hostility, and the past ridden with violence and deaths on both sides of the conflict. Hadn't this chapter of the Wizarding history cause not small of a stir among her classmates, even when Professor Binns unfolded it before them in his habitual, monotone voice? The girl recalled how in days following these classes discussions raged, driving a greater wedge between Muggleborns and other students at Hogwarts, even within her usually accepting Gryffindor House.
As for herself, she had learned to come to terms with these facts, knowing they pointed to the broadly defined human proclivity for hatred and destruction of what they cannot understand and extend control over. Her own ancestors had been on the opposing sides.
"I don't deny the unjustifiable crimes committed against the Wizardkind by the easily manipulated, incited and unenlightened crowd. You see, ignorance spawns hate, and hate gives birth to violence. Sadly, it's part of human nature and you know well that it goes both ways. Weren't our recent wars rooted in the same logic?"
"Those who live by the sword must be ready to die by it, too, Miss Granger," was his straight-faced reply.
"Such thinking in individuals like you proves how long a way we have to go to overcome old prejudices and our penchant for bloodshed and revenge. Do you mean to justify these events?"
Seeing her surprised expression, he closed the distance between them with two steps, and turned his face a little aside, so that she only saw the silken curtain of his luminescent hair right next to her cheek. She felt his warm breath above her ear when he answered her, in a low, well-measured voice that sent a shiver down her back, "Would it shock you if I did?"
"It would," she whispered and stared back at him, struggling to comprehend what he had just implied. His attitude had been far from repentant but she thought he ought to have felt at least some remorse over his past choices.
His eyes darkened and she sensed he was playing with her fear. Again, the overpowering combination of his closeness and his warm, woody, spicy scent inundated her senses and rendered her dizzy and breathless…and very uncomfortable.
With some effort, she regained her composure and drew away from him, measuring her safety with each inch of the regained distance. Her fear came from the acknowledgement of her own bizarre bodily response as much as from the thought of what he could still do to her if he had really retained all his pre-war sentiments.
Momentarily, the man stood straight back up and his dark expression shifted back to that of a neutral example of urbane civility.
Hermione blinked in disbelief at his shape-shifting abilities.
"Oh, but don't read more into my words than I intended. I simply agreed with your sentiments about revenge being a natural instinct," said Lucius, his eyes not leaving hers.
"So you regret siding with him…in both wars?"
"What I do or don't regret is none of your concern. You should curtail your pesky and tiresome attempts to comprehend my motives so you can put me in one of your boxes," he huffed with a pinch of annoyance.
"You couldn't be put in any of the boxes at hand." the woman admitted frankly.
"And why is that so?"
"Because you're one of the most enigmatic men I know, full of contradictions."
"I could say the same about you."
"Well, then we've both met our match," she said with a shadow of a smile.
"Indeed, we have," he concluded, and a flicker of familiarity danced in his gaze.
For a while a silence hung between them, weighty with things unspoken as they continued to quietly appraise each other.
Hermione was unsure of what she was experiencing. What she had said was true - never had she met a wizard like him. His superior intellect and undeniable wit pulled her in, his questioning, sardonic gaze caused her to stop in her tracks. And, most shameful of all, his physical proximity evoked a strong reaction in her, akin to both apprehension and hazy anticipation.
She was fidgeting with her wand, looking away from him. Finally his voice broke through her thoughts.
"We all carry darkness within us." He simply stated, his irises following the nervous movements of her fingers.
"Yes, but we can choose not to bow to it."
"Humans have capacity for right and wrong, good and evil, and frequently we do both. Have you never let the other get the better of you?" he questioned, turning to look at her once more.
"I never said I was exempt from it." Her focus was still on the wand.
"There's no need to be so modest about it. I am familiar with some of your…more dubious actions that point to a rather vindictive nature. Speaking of, I hear Umbridge takes regular visits to St Mungo's for Shock Spell treatment.." said Lucius and a knowing smirk rose in the corners of his mouth.
How did he know? And, perhaps more importantly, what else did he know? Such knowledge on his part put her in a vulnerable position.
Pushing her chin up slightly, Hermione replied, "My actions were dictated by strict necessity, with Harry in direct danger."
"Is that so? Can the same be said about Miss Edgecombe's face? Draco had told me all about the incident. People say her matrimonial prospects have decreased significantly since that unfortunate accident left her face covered in permanent scars, which even most proficient Healers have been unable to remove."
The girl's ego was pleasantly stroked. She had no idea her jinx had been that effective, though she also felt sympathy for Marietta, along with a twinge of guilt. She tried to suppress it.
"I am sincerely sorry that she suffered this misfortune at my hands. Its severity was not intended."
"I see you've mastered the art of wriggling one's way out of an inconvenient situation." Lucius' voice was deriding but she deduced an appreciative note.
Hermione blushed under his words. She knew some of her actions could be seen as morally grey, but she always felt she was giving in to them for the right reasons.
"I don't wish to discuss this subject further but if you must know, all I did was done for the common good," she retorted back.
"For the Greater Good. Ah, there's that phrase again. You must have borrowed it from Dumbledore?"
She stared at him, unable to answer.
Lucius smiled, satisfied with her reaction.
"It seems we're more alike than you would like to think, Miss Granger."
A/N:
And, what do you think? :)
Thank you so much for reading Xx