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Chapter 7: A Place to Know:

Lucius Malfoy often found his mind wandering these days. It wasn't that he was in his dotage, far from it. It was rather because he faced a fait accompli, so he was pleased with himself. He had long wanted Hermione Granger for his own, and now he had her, and he could barely think of anything else.

The journey from 'wanting' to 'having' was a long and tedious one. It was peppered with years of hate, then acceptance, and now gradually, it was becoming laced with something akin to love. Lucius fought the urge to walk around with a constant smile on his face, thinking of all the delightful ways he enjoyed her company now. Occasionally, erotic images would rear up in his mind and he would lose the battle to keep his thoughts to himself and he would be force to sit and stare and smile at her like a lovesick fool.

Such as today.

Hermione was reading in the garden, under a tree. She had on a heavy coat, a pair of those ridiculous men's dungarees, a heavy cable-knit jumper, and a hat over her head. Lucius was watching her from the window of the sitting room off the breakfast room, and all he could do was imagine peeling off each layer of her ridiculous clothing, exposing her pert breasts with their rosy nipples, sucking on the tips until she cried out in agony…Holding her luscious body next to his, burying himself between her knees.

Gads…he was as randy as a schoolboy.

There were times she caught him staring at her and she blushed. She would smile, or walk by him and touch his cheek or shoulder. That only made him want her more.

Yesterday, when he was 'Hermione watching', she looked up from her letter writing, stood up, hugged his shoulders and then gave him a trusting, warm smile, without a single word passing between them. Such acts as these forced his protectiveness to the very boundaries of his soul. It forced him to imagine what it would be like if his world converted back to what it was before she came home, and he shuddered to think.

At night they would come together, sometimes quietly, sometimes like a thunderous cry, her body under his, naked in the moonlight, hands and lips, cool sweat and sweet kisses. Nighttime passion served to burn his flame brighter at times like this…times during the day when he would watch her and have to admit, at least to himself, that he loved her and he couldn't live without her.

This morning at the breakfast table she told him that she was meeting Ronald Weasley today. She said she wrote to him and he agreed to talk with her. She finally needed some answers from him, answers only he could supply. Lucius thought it was a mistake and told her so. Actually, his exact words were, "I forbid it."

She stared hard at him, and then said, "I don't care what you forbid. I'm going to see him." Then she picked up her book and went outside and that was where she was now.

He opened the door to go to her. He walked under the barren oak tree where she sat and he knew he should break the spell by talking to her, but he merely continued to stare. She looked up and smiled again. Just as Helen of Troy was noted to be so beautiful that 'her face could launch a thousand ships' – Hermione's smile could launch a thousand ships.

How could he tell her all the things he wanted to say?

How could he tell her that she had reformed the former Death Eater? He smiled ruefully, if only to himself. He knew he still held the belief that purebloods were better than those of inferior birth. That was absolute. True, there were exceptions, such as this woman. Still, he was a changed man. Once bitter and cold and unfeeling, left that way with the deaths of his wife and son, he now knew how to love again, because he loved this woman. He would offer her the protection that she needed and sought, and he would help her find the answers she needed as well, even if that meant she might someday leave him.

Of course, he would have to try very hard to convince her never to do so. "Are you still meeting with the youngest Weasley son today, at your old house?" he asked her. He tried to act nonchalant. He leaned against the tree and pulled a small, black twig off of a low-lying branch.

She looked up. "Yes. Don't worry, Harry will be there."

"I've decided that you may meet him here, instead," Lucius said steadily.

She stood up, faced him, closed her book and said, "I already suggested that to him. He won't meet me here. He said he wouldn't cross your threshold if someone pointed a wand at him."

"Humph," Lucius snorted. He realized that by acting churlish, he was probably upsetting her, which wasn't his intent. "Am I permitted to accompany you then?"

"Can you assure me that you'll stay out of sight? Harry promised me, will you?" She looked up at him, expectantly.

Could he? Ronald Weasley was the last man to ever see his son alive. He wanted to know what the man knew. He merely nodded. Hermione threw her book on the ground and then took a step closer. Without request, Lucius placed his arms around her body. She tucked her head in his chest. It was their unspoken way. He could sense how unsettled she was, and rightly so. This man she was to meet had never visited her while she was being held in jail, he had never fully explained everything that he knew, and even more, he was never made to explain.

When Lucius looked down at her, she was biting her bottom lip. He reached for her lip with his thumb, rubbed it back and forth, and then leaned forward to place his lips upon hers. After a brief kiss he said, "Ah, perfection."

"You're partial," she labored.

"Too true," he agreed. "I'll stay hidden, out of sight, but I need to be with you. I need to hear first hand what the man knows."

Hermione nodded.

Later that day, in the early afternoon, Hermione sat in the dining room of the house she had shared with Draco, and she was waiting patiently for Ron to arrive. Harry and Lucius were in the kitchen. Hermione had performed a spell on the wall, making it almost transparent, so they would be able to see what went on in the other room. She also placed an 'eavesdropping' charm on the room, so they could hear. Harry sat on a stool, settling down, to wait.

Lucius was behind the younger man, pacing back and forth anxiously. "Hermione is very good with these types of spells," Lucius said, pointing toward the 'transparent' wall before them.

"Yes, she would have made a good Auror," Harry said in return.

"Better than you," Lucius said off-handedly.

Harry swiveled in his stool and stared hard at the older man. "What do you mean by that?"

"Only that you, as an Auror, shouldn't have let your partiality shroud your judgment, but it did. You picked one friend, Weasley, over another, Granger, and it cost Hermione a year of her life in jail. Even now, you seem to be protecting someone, so she can never really be free, can she?"

Harry growled, turned back to the wall, and said, "You know nothing."

"I know you don't seem eager to catch my son's killer. My son was never one of your favorite people, and you probably hated that your best friend was going to marry him. You were probably happy that he died," Lucius drawled.

Harry jumped off the stool and stood before the older man, wand drawn. "Before you say another word, Malfoy, let me make something perfectly clear. True, I didn't care for your son, but Hermione did. They weren't truly in love, but they had a deep, undying friendship and affection, and I accepted it, because it was important to Hermione.

"Second, Malfoy, I didn't pick Ron over Hermione. Ron doesn't even recall everything that happened. Even under Vertitserum, he can't seem to recall all the events of that night, whether it was because he was cursed, or it was too traumatic, I don't know. I never wanted to push it, because I already lost one friend to this mess, Hermione, and I didn't want to lose another.

"I only agreed to this because I hoped Hermione might reach Ron where others haven't. Also, I believe there are others involved in this, and though I've tried very hard to prove it, I haven't been able to, and I hope Ron will have the answers to those questions, too. Don't underestimate what I will or will not do for my friends, Malfoy! It would be a mistake on your part."

"Harry? Lucius?" Hermione stood in the doorway of the kitchen, the door opened only wide enough for her to stand partially in the doorway. Both men turned to her. "Will you both shut up? The doorbell just rang. I think he's here, and I don't want him to know you're in there hiding." She closed the door.

Harry sat back on the stool. Lucius leaned against the kitchen island; arms folded, he stared at the back of the younger man's head. Good. He had angered Potter. Anger, righteous, passionate anger, was a good thing. It made men do things that they normally wouldn't do. It would serve them well today. It might fuel the fire they needed to draw things out of Weasley if Hermione failed to do so today.

Hermione went to the front door and opened it.

"Hello, Ron," she said with a soft voice.

"Hermione? Are you alone in there?" he asked.

"Harry's here," she answered. She thought it best not to mention that Lucius was also there. "I'm not to be alone. Apparently there are people who want to kill me, or some such rubbish." She grinned.

He slipped inside and closed the door behind him. He locked it and then with his wand he said another locking spell. "Do you have your wand?" he asked.

She thought that was a strange question, but she answered. "Yes, of course I do. Why?"

"I wanted to make sure. Listen, I don't know what I can tell you. I know you want to ask me questions about that night, but I can't really remember much."

She took his hand and led him into the dining room. She pulled out a chair, pointed at it, and then sat in one next to it. He sat down slowly. "I haven't asked you to talk to me about any of this yet, Ronald, so I really think you rather owe it to me. You didn't come visit me once while I was in jail, you know."

He looked angry for a moment, but it passed by quickly. He said, "I'm happy you weren't sent to Azkaban."

"Someone was sent there recently though, as me," she replied. "Do you know who?"

He shook his head no. "Only Harry and the Minister of Magic know that. I don't know why it's such a big secret. I mean, if they have enough proof to free you, they should tell everyone, and also, how can they cart someone innocent off to jail like that? I mean, they must have the true guilty party, right?"

She shrugged. "We'll work through that later. May I ask you to tell me about that day first? Please? Tell me about the day Draco died."


Flashback:

"I can't believe she's getting to married to the git," Ron said to Harry. They were dressing in the same room at the large, magical inn where Hermione and Draco were to wed later that day.

"Let's not keep discussing it," Harry said, resigned.

"But she can't marry him, Harry!" Ron shouted. "She's not in love with him, you know. She feels sorry for him. She loves him no more or less than she does any of her friends. The thought of her being tied to that wanker for the rest of her life, just because she feels sorry for him, makes me sick." Ron tried to tie his tie again, failed, pulled it from his neck and threw it on the ground.

"They're still getting those threatening letters," Harry revealed. He stooped down to pick up Ron's tie, and handed it to him. "She doesn't even want us to know about it. Malfoy mentioned it to me. I think he wants to marry her to protect her. Remember when he found that 'fake Hermione' and he thought someone had killed her? He told me that he couldn't live with himself if someone killed her because of him."

"We'll protect her!" Ron shouted. "We don't need him to do it! Besides, she wouldn't be in danger if it wasn't for him!" Ron threw the tie across the room again.

Harry gave him a funny look. "Why do you say that?"

"Well…I mean, isn't that what the notes and letters from that Messenger say? Doesn't that guy think that they shouldn't be together because he's a pureblood elitist and she's a humble Muggle-born?"

Harry merely stared at him. "I know that's what some of them have said. Some are totally unmitigated attacks on just her, though. Some blame her for bringing him down." Picking up Ron's tie once more, he handed it to him, and ended with, "Get yourself together. This marriage is going to happen, and if we don't want to lose Hermione forever, you had better accept it, and Malfoy."

Harry walked out of the room.

Ron threw the tie in the rubbish bin and stormed down the hall to find Draco Malfoy.


"Okay," Hermione said, holding Ron's hand. "You and Harry argued about my getting married to Draco. Then you went off to find him. What were you going to say to him once you did find him?"

Ron shrugged slightly with one shoulder, drew his hand away from her, and said, "I don't want to talk anymore."

"But, Ron, you haven't really told me anything yet," she beseeched. "Tell me, did you know more about the letters from the Messenger than you let Harry know? Did you ever know who they were from, or who might have been behind them? Did you have any theories about them that you didn't express?"

He stood up so suddenly that he knocked his chair over backwards. "Why are you asking me about that?"

She stood as well. "I want to know, that's why. I have a few theories. Do you want to know them?"

"NO!"

"Ron?" she stated plainly.

"I won't say anymore," he pleaded. "I won't!"

"Ron, please, tell me what you know. The letters started much earlier than we first suspected. I recently found out that Draco started getting them while we were still in school. He got them even the year you and Harry and I were searching for Horcruxes. They were left in his books, and a few were even written in his books," she explained.

He leaned against the sideboard, folded his arms in front of him and said, "Well, there you go! Someone from Slytherin house is behind it! That makes sense, too! They wouldn't like it that you would date the prince of the purebloods!"

"I didn't date him then," she reminded him. "I didn't even like him. Also, it didn't necessarily have to be a pureblood. It just had to be someone who had access to Slytherin's dungeons. And I think its two people. I think it started out as one person, then blossomed to two, or perhaps it started as one with just the help of the second, and then the second person started sending the messages, too."

"You're, well, you're a nutter! That's crazy talk…Two people!" Ron walked away from her, his back toward the long set of windows on the opposite wall.

"Fine, Ron, we'll discuss that later. Tell me what happened after you went to see Draco on our wedding day."


"Come in," Draco said. He was sitting at a dressing table, reading another nasty note from the Messenger when there came a knock at the door to the room where he was dressing. Couldn't the stupid bastard leave things alone even on his wedding day? When would it all stop? He had to protect Hermione, somehow. She had been the only bright light in his dark, fading life. If something happened to her because he failed to put a stop to this nonsense, he would never forgive himself.

He folded the parchment when he heard the person who was knocking on the door open the door and enter. He looked up. It was Hermione.

Draco smiled up at her. She pointed her wand at him and as she uttered the death curse at him, Ron Weasley stood idle behind her, but in shock, in the open doorway. He watched as Draco crumbled to the ground. Hermione turned and stared right into Ron's eyes. Ron was molded to the spot for a moment. He honestly couldn't move. He couldn't think. He couldn't function.

He saw Hermione reach down and take something out of Draco's hand and then she ran away. Ron knew Draco was dead. He ran yelling from the room. He ran for help. He just ran.

When he returned moments later, with Harry Potter and some of his brothers behind him, Hermione was back, cradling a dead Draco Malfoy in her arms, and she was crying.


Hermione felt a prickling sensation on the back of her neck. She pictured Draco as she saw him on the ground that day. Ron spoke so dispassionately about what he saw, but in her mind, it was all happening again. She saw it as if it was being played on a small reel of tape, and it wouldn't stop.

She sat down and clutched the table's edge. She asked, "Okay, you said I took something from Draco's hand?"

"Yeah, a piece of parchment," Ron reiterated.

"Did you mention this to Harry or the Aurors at the time, or since?" she asked.

"I don't know, probably, maybe. Possibly I just recalled that part," he said honestly. He sat beside her. Neither of them knew it was a note from the Messenger that 'Hermione' had stolen.

"Do you recall what I had on when you saw me kill Draco?" she asked.

"What?" he asked surprised. "Your wedding dress, I suppose. That's what you had on when we came back in the room. I recall, because your veil had slipped slightly while you were holding Draco, and even though you were so distraught, and disheveled, I thought you looked beautiful, but so sad."

"And I had my dress and veil on when I killed Draco?" she repeated.

Ron was quiet for a very long time, then acknowledgment seemed to light up in his eyes, before he answered. "No. I know for a fact that you didn't have a veil on when you killed Malfoy, and your hair – your hair was different. I know that now because your hair was up, and parts of it had come down with the veil when you were holding Malfoy's body, but when you killed Malfoy your hair was long."

Hermione reached for his hand. "How long did it take you to go from the room, after I killed Draco, to get Harry and the others?"

"I don't know. No more than a minute or two, if that long," he admitted.

"How could I have put my hair up, and a veil on, and managed to hold the dead body of my future husband, all in that short amount of time, Ron?" she questioned.

In the kitchen, Harry looked back at Lucius and Lucius asked Harry, "That's a very good question, isn't it?"