Chapter 3

The Malfoys

When she arrived at the Quidditch shed, Malfoy was already there, hiding halfway behind a bush as he watched the Ravenclaw Quidditch players in the air at practice.

"Inside!" he hissed. "Don't let anyone see!"

She let him shove her into the shed, and he cast a locking and imperturbable charm on the door. He exhaled and turned to face her. His hair was a bit mussed from the bush, and Hermione stepped toward him to pull a leaf out of it. He watched her hand as it reached up to his head, and she showed him the leaf as if in explanation. They stood staring at each other for a long moment, each unsure of how to proceed. The last time they'd been in this shed felt like a fever dream. Had she really made an Unbreakable Vow to keep his secrets? Had he really admitted that he was planning to kill Dumbledore?

"Zabini wants to take the Dark Mark," said Malfoy suddenly.

"Oh," said Hermione, furrowing her brow. "He hadn't before?"

Malfoy shook his head.

"His mother tried to stay neutral in the first war," he explained. "Or, as neutral as you can be. She's certainly no opponent of the Dark Lord. Pureblood supremacist just as much as my family is."

Hermione's face screwed up in distaste.

"Maybe even moreso," said Malfoy. "My family's got some half-bloods in our history. Not the Zabinis. Not a drop of non-Wizarding blood in his veins."

"So has he taken it?"

"What?"

"The Dark Mark? Does he have a Dark Mark?" she asked.

"Oh," he said, and he began pacing the room. "No. His mother won't let him. He keeps cajoling me about it. Asking me how I convinced my parents to let me take the Mark."

Malfoy let out a dejected laugh.

"As if there was any convincing involved," he said. "I was told I'd take the Mark."

"By whom?"

"My father. My aunt," he said.

Malfoy stopped pacing and turned to look at her. He took a deep breath and let it out in a big huff. Hermione was gazing at him with curiosity. She found him more… human than she'd expected. For years, Malfoy had been something of a caricature of a person. A boy who sneered at her in Potions, called her names, bragged about his father's money. It was like he'd been a one-dimensional villain in the play of her life. Now, she'd suddenly been forced to realize he was a young man just like any other: he was the main character in his own play, and he had the very same struggles, worries, and sorrows that anyone else had. He took another deep breath and noticed that she was watching him, so she looked away.

"What's it like? Having them as family?" asked Hermione.

"What do you mean?"

"What's it like to have Lucius Malfoy as a father?" she asked.

He let out a signature Malfoy scoff.

"Disappointing," he said, his jaw clenched tightly.

"How so?"

"My father groomed me into being one thing: the heir to the Malfoy fortune. Everything he's done since I was a small child was with that purpose in mind. I was taught to behave properly, all the right etiquette at society parties. We donated money and pranced around charity events and Ministry fundraisers. I was taught to only associate with others who could serve to increase our wealth and status. He made sure I only had friends who were the right sort of wizard," explained Malfoy.

Hermione raised an eyebrow but didn't interrupt.

"He even sat me down before my first day at Hogwarts to have a little chat with me about Potter," said Malfoy, barely disguising his disgust. "He told me that Potter would be a great asset to the family, if I could befriend him. Needless to say, that didn't work out."

"Clearly not," said Hermione, and she couldn't help the ghost of a smirk that danced on her face.

Malfoy caught sight of her half-grin and rolled his eyes. Then, his gaze dropped to the ground.

"But he never prepared me to be a Death Eater," said Malfoy seriously. "I don't think he really ever expected the Dark Lord to return. He's spent most of the last fifteen years trying to convince the wizarding world that he wasn't actually involved, that he wasn't a Death Eater. That he was under the influence of the Imperius curse. He was exonerated in 1981 and washed his hands of the whole ordeal. So, the only thing about being a Death Eater that I've ever learned was the Pureblood supremacy."

At this, Hermione made a face.

"Do you really believe in it?" she asked.

His brows knitted together, and he cocked his head to one side as though he'd never actually considered the question before.

"I think so?" he said, and she set her mouth in a disapproving scowl. "To be honest, I've never really thought about it."

"Seriously?" asked Hermione in disbelief.

"Have you ever thought about whether Dumbledore's on the right side of things?" he asked.

"Of course not," she spat.

He inclined his head at her as though to say, 'there you have it.' She folded her arms in front of her, conceding the point, and nodded for him to go on.

"And now, here we are. I've spent my entire life being told to be careful who I associate with, not to do anything that could sully the Malfoy name, and yet, my father's right back among the Dark Lord's supporters. The very thing that nearly took down our family in 1981. And I've joined the cause, and I have no idea what I'm doing," he said, and at this, he sank down against the wall.

"You say you've joined the cause like it's some righteous protest movement," said Hermione angrily. "Have you not considered what Voldemort's rule would do to people like me?"

"I've considered it," he said, not meeting her gaze.

"And you just don't care," she said. "You don't care about what happens to us."

"I don't think I have the option to care, Granger," he said. "You asked me what it's like to have them for a family. My father is aggressive and cold and haughty and abusive. My aunt is wildly unhinged. My mother…"

He trailed off for a moment, fiddling with the closure on a box of Bludgers.

"I think my mother wishes things were different," said Malfoy. "But what can she do about it? Her husband and her sister are two of the highest-ranking Death Eaters in the organization."

"Is she a Death Eater?"

"No," he said, shaking his head brusquely. "She's never taken the Mark."

"Could she help you, Malfoy?" asked Hermione. "Surely your mother doesn't want-"

"Yes, she surely doesn't want," he spat. "But what she wants, what I want is rarely part of the equation."

"I just mean that you don't have to-"

"Ugh!" said Malfoy, and he suddenly stood up. "Is this what it's always like with you Gryffindors? Is Gryffindor Tower just one constant heart-to-heart? Must be exhausting."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh.

"Do Slytherins not talk to each other?" she asked, standing from the floor as well.

"No."

"You're messing with me," she said, gazing at him slyly.

"I'm not!" said Malfoy. "Really. We don't talk. Ever. Not like this."

"No wonder you were so desperate for someone to talk to," she said.

"Yea," said Malfoy dejectedly.

They stood in the Quidditch shed for a moment, the revelations of the day hanging in the air between them.

"Ravenclaw will be done practicing soon," he said. "We'd better go."

He walked to the door and reached out for the knob.

"Same time next week?" he asked.

Hermione nodded.