A/N: Thank you for all the reviews so far! I've been very busy with work but always kept on writing.

Vielen Dank, my beta readers Lady Arthuria, LiterallyLiterary, and Madame Cyanure! The copyright of Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Here's the music (check the link to the playlist on my profile):

A serious debate between two nerds: Lamb - Angelina

In the lounge I : DJ Krush - Stormy Cloud (with Ken Shima)

In the lounge II: Massive Attack - Black Milk

Oh yes, I'd love reviews

"To fight and conquer in all our battles is not supreme excellence; supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting." – Sun Tzu

3 Unknown Intentions

It came to no surprise to find their seats adjoined. Either fate was searching for a way to spoil Hermione's flight or the ground staff had misinterpreted the nature of their relationship.

"So tell me, Mister Malfoy, is it curiosity, ennui, masochism or sadism that brought you to seek out my company?" Hermione asked after they were seated.

"You may choose whatever reason you find most befitting, Miss Granger, since the result remains the same. But I assure you that you shall not come to regret my company during this tedious journey."

"That sounds like a blatant promise to me."

"Oh, one which I intend to keep." The wizard shot a curious glance at her. "It is quite a coincidence to meet a specialist on antique books as I myself am a passionate collector."

"I'm listening..." She eyed him expectantly while the stewardess wafted flutes of Cuvée Dom Perignon under their noses.

"In regard to my son's…unconventional choice of education, I recently have acquired some pieces of Jean-Baptiste Colbert's collection-" he raised an eyebrow at her expectantly.

"Bibliotheca Colbertina," she gasped and he inclined his head approvingly.

"-so I might as well encourage him to read more into Colbertism. But what truly caught my interest is the outstanding bookbinding. Of course, it never matches the beauty of the sixteenth century French embellishment designs but its refreshing minimalism exhibits a new masculine strength, which is a relieving contrast to the favoured flamboyant ornamental designs."

Hermione was taken aback by his profound knowledge, yet irritated by his opinion. "Surely you aren't referring to the Roffets?" The family ran a well-known bookbinding workshop.

"Not so much Pierre, but his son Étienne."

That was as good a declaration of war as anything.

"How bold! Étienne Roffet designed outstanding pieces, which can even be found at the Hogwarts library! The style of his embellishments is the most beautiful display of graceful and playful symmetry, the perfection of lush décor without becoming tawdry. Next you're going to tell me that you love those crude fishbone-designs from the Scottish workshops of the eighteenth century."

Lucius Malfoy scoffed at her remark. "Oh, profoundly primitive in contrast to the Grolier books by Jean Picard."

"I will not deny that. He was a master of his trade." Indeed, even after so many decades, connoisseurs of the trade like bookbinders, collectors, art historians, and designers held great respect and admiration for the Grolier books.

"And as it happens, I possess some of his most bewitching pieces," he drawled, smirking as he glanced sideways at her.

"Are you mocking me?" she demanded as she turned to glower at him.

His eyes glowed insolently. "Not at all. Let me show you." He reached for his pocket and took out a palm mobile phone.

Wait, what?

Her hands darted up and covered her smile, biting back a burning laugh, which remained stuck in her throat while he was pressing the digits.

"Here."

The images showed a beautiful French reprint of Alchemy, Ancient Art and Science by Argo Pyrites bound in Moroccan leather, gilded with golden symmetrical ornaments and alchemistic symbols.

"I didn't know that he also bound books for our kind," she whispered in awe, "It's beautiful."

"It is, Miss Granger, it is. Absolutely invaluable and not for sale."

"Where did you get it?"

"It has been in our family for centuries and, as a matter of fact, it is one of my most favoured books on Alchemy. It is not the only treasure, here…"

And soon, the two were deeply engrossed in the discussion of his collection. At some point, they had retreated to the bar to avoid further disturbances to continue their heated dispute about the cultural relevance of occult books.

"I cannot believe that you would sacrifice the whole collection of early prints of C.G. Jung's private library for a signed copy of Easy Spells to Fool Muggles," Hermione said in exasperation, throwing her hands up.

"It is absolutely ridiculous and utter Muggle nonsense, not worth the paper it has been printed on! Everything of that nature is unworthy," he countered, equally huffy, with a dismissive gesture. "Profane occult Muggle literature reads like The Quibbler; although the latter has a greater right to exist in comparison to the other rubbish." His voice was loaded with passion and his usual loftiness disappeared from his face.

Much to her surprise, Hermione could sense that he was actually enjoying their disputes as much as she was and it crossed her mind that it might have been a long time since Lucius Malfoy had spoken to another expert on the subject.

"So, it's just about the origin?"

"Precisely. Muggles that venture to write about our magic? Preposterous!"

"You sincerely neglect any connection between Muggle mysticism and our kind? Do you even read what you collect?" she voiced almost accusingly.

"I certainly do, Miss Granger, but the question is why you think it is of any relevance. What exactly did you find?"

"Admittedly, nothing essential in those books, but the references are there nonetheless." The witch calmed her voice as if sharing a secret. "For the origin one has to dig deep into the world of the Apocrypha, if you know what I'm talking about."

"You opened the lid to a bottomless pit, a dimension which holds great secrets – great, but dangerous, Miss Granger. And it conforms to my belief that you share more with…Tom Riddle, than you are willing to admit," he said placidly, his eyebrows raised ever so slightly, as though waiting for her to accept his blatant provocation.

"You – you dare to compare me to that vile…monster! Nothing defines who we are more than what we choose to do," she hissed, going completely red from both, having let his words instigate her yet again, and because she was unable to contain her anger.

"And what do you think paves the ground for our intrinsic choices?"

Hermione's nostrils flared. To her, not having the upper hand in a dispute was as rare as a dragon egg in Hogwarts but Lucius Malfoy was a formidable opponent.

"You have a disgusting habit of always wanting to be right," she commented coolly, to which his smirk grew.

"Miss Granger, I could say the same of you. Furthermore, I am always right," came his smooth reply with a superior tilt of his chin.

"Bah! I will prove you wrong, Mister Malfoy."

The wizard raised his chin higher. "My, my, how bold you are. Is that a challenge?"

"Yes," she said passionately and her opponent's pupils dilated.

He assessed her with a condescending glare. "Prepare to lose as I play to win," the wizard voiced calmly and downed his fourth or fifth double Scotch.

Hermione was just building up her retort, when the crew announced that the airport and highways would be closed due to the appalling weather conditions.

"Perfect," she muttered. Now she was stuck in New York with a former enemy and was not allowed to Apparate for the sake of her disguise. Her client would not be pleased at all and René would probably run like a frantic chicken in his office as soon he heard the news.

The arrival procedure would have been very chaotic if it had not been for their expensive tickets and while they were ushered to the next lounge, Hermione briefly wondered how Lucius Malfoy got hold of a passport. While she had the rare privilege of being a Muggle-born witch, pure-bloods like him certainly did not hold Muggle birth certificates.

The witch was just turning around when she saw a ground staff member approaching the wizard who was sitting like some Roman senator granting audiences.

"M-Mister Malfoy, do you have any preferences concerning your accommodations?"

Hermione did not give the wizard the chance to insult the poor lad who was simply trying to do his job and butted in confidently, naming the hotel, while Lucius Malfoy turned his head to glare at her. "Please check if there are any suites available and give the hotel manager my name, Hermione Granger." The employee nodded gladly and went off.

"You won't regret that. The hotel is divided into a part for Muggles and a part for our kind with rooms that are most certainly to your liking. The staff works with utmost discretion," she added smugly, satisfied to have carpeted him in such a way without directly insulting him.

"You are certainly pushing your boundaries," he noted with a voice so sharp and patronising it made her feel like eleven again.

"The lines are blurred somewhat in this world," she countered.

"Not with me."

"Of course."

With a sudden motion, he rose to his full height and walked towards the reception, turning the expressions of the ground staff into submissive fear. Hermione could not help but roll her eyes and followed him, completely focused on her quest of saving the Muggles from the pure-blood's wrath. Too late did she notice the person turning around the corner, speaking vigorously on his mobile phone while holding a cup of coffee in his hand, oblivious of his surroundings.

Hermione gasped in surprise as she bumped into him and the man – it was the actor from before – jumped, his cup slipping from his fingers, spilling the entire content down her blouse.

Tears shot up her eyes from the wet and painfully hot sensation on her skin. "Oh, Good Lord!" she screeched and looked down her blouse. "No!"

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" The man apologized sincerely, his face contorted in shock. "Let me – please, let me dry that up…" He used a napkin and dabbed it over her blouse, fairly clumsy in his attempt.

"No, let me." She snatched the napkin from him.

"I'm so sorry. I – Just let me get some more..." The man darted off.

Annoyed, Hermione muttered to herself "Oh, for heaven's sake! That blouse was a gift from Ginny! She's going to kill me."

"Are you a witch or not?" she heard a quiet cold voice from behind.

Angry, she turned to him and hissed, trying to keep her voice as low as possible "I can hardly take out my wand and cast a cleansing spell in front of everyone."

Lucius Malfoy wrinkled his nose and offered her his handkerchief as if he was making a huge sacrifice. "Here," he voiced grudgingly.

"Thank you very much for your generosity, Mister Malfoy," the witch said in a tone that meant the absolute opposite.

"Oh, does my civil behaviour offend you?" he growled back derisively.

Hermione, outraged by the cruel irony of his statement, retorted "Oh no, of course not! In comparison to the hospitality I've been given at your home you're behaving like a real gentleman."

The Dark wizard's cheeks reddened in anger. "Miss Granger," he warned her dangerously quiet.

"Mister Malfoy," she snarled back at him challengingly.

There it was, the moment where one false word or move was enough to escalate the situation into a disaster. But the moment went by as quick as it had arisen, both aware that they had to swallow their anger if they wanted to stay out of trouble.

Breathing heavily, Hermione took his handkerchief and continued dabbing her blouse. She was terribly aware of the other passengers' curious stares and went around the corner for more privacy.

Her skin was still burning, so did her face from the shame she felt for losing her countenance. Hermione barely noticed that the Dark wizard kept on glaring at her until the other man from before came back, quite breathlessly, with a handful of napkins.

"Thank you, Mister Malfoy," Hermione croaked dismissively with forced politeness.

The blond man answered, his tone sharp and edgy like a shard "Clean yourself up, properly, and meet me in ten minutes at the exit. I refuse to stay here any longer than necessary." With a curt nod he strutted away.

"Impossible!" she exhaled as soon he was out of earshot and the actor chuckled.

"I'm really, really sorry, Miss…"

"Call me Hermione," she said obligingly, "and it's my fault that I bumped into you."

"No, no, I was carelessly pissing off my agent on the phone, so –" he rummaged in the back pocket of his jeans "– this blouse looks ruddy expensive. Please, please send me the bill, Hermione."

At first she refused but as he kept on insisting, she accepted the card and waved him goodbye, one foot already in the lady's room, when the man called from behind "Ah, I almost forgot – tell your acquaintance regards to Marius from Hugh!"

Hermione frowned and turned back, giving him a puzzled look.

"Malfoy," Hugh stated slightly confused and pointed towards the exit. "To Marius Malfoy. The same grey eyes and haughty look?" he drew an invincible circle over his face.

"What?" she blurted. "You mean Draco Malfoy? His son, blond, exact copy of his father?"

Hugh furrowed his brows. "No, Marius Malfoy," he insisted, "the lawyer. Dark hair, Asian-looking version of your acquaintance? Went to Dragon with him. Proud lad. He always used to wear a black ring with the family crest on it."

Hermione's face turned into a look of astonishment before her expression took on a dreamy quality. "Yes, of course. How could I forget?" She shook his hands. "Thank you for everything." She beamed at him and retreated to the bathroom.

It was hard to concentrate on her cleansing spell with her head reeling, thinking about all the possibilities how this Malfoy was related to the blonds, and wondering how fate could take such extreme turns within an eight-hour-trip.

He might be a Squib, or his nephew, or his illegitimate son – Oh, Draco… she thought sympathetically. If he'd only knew...

Of course, it was utterly out of question that Lucius Malfoy touched a Muggle-woman but what if he produced a Squib? Or was it possible that the Malfoys had a Muggle branch line? That was quite an outrageous thought but was it not common practice within pure-blood families to expel Squibs and denying their sheer existence? This might be just the case!

I have to tell Harry – No. At second thought, it might be wiser to keep it to herself as long as she did not see that supposed Muggle-Malfoy with her own eyes. It could be a coincidence – although that was even more unlikely.

Lost in thought, Hermione was leaning against the window with her eyes closed, the glass cold on her skin. Why am I here in the same car as Lucius Malfoy, listening to him scribbling into his notebook, as if it is the most natural thing in the world?

She had last seen him over six years ago during the Malfoy-trials. He was a wreck but he sat in court like a king, denying claims of murder, never apologizing, always emphasising on his lack of choice. Hermione did not participate in the trials except as a witness but she knew that Kingsley and the Wizengamot were negotiating with Lucius Malfoy about his punishment and those of his wife and son. Harry's involvement as a key witness, stating that Lucius Malfoy did not engage in the final battle and pleaded Voldemort to call it off, tipped the scales to his favour, together with the fact that Narcissa Malfoy's lie enabled Harry to defeat Voldemort. Thus, what was once considered a sure life-sentence turned into a seven years wand-ban and witchcraft and wizardry prohibition. In exchange, Lucius Malfoy had to assist the Aurors in the hunt for the remaining Death Eaters and supporters of Voldemort who were still on the run. And Lucius Malfoy did well, that she knew from Harry and Kingsley who considered him their most valuable asset in that matter.

And then there was Draco who still held his father in high regard and practically worshipped him. Hermione did not understand why, considering that it was Lucius Malfoy's fault how Draco had turned out and how they had ended up. The worst thing was that Draco insisted that his father stopped being a loyal subject to Voldemort years before, although he could not even support his claim by any evidence. Needless to say that this subject always turned into a row between Hermione and Draco who usually sorted out their differences on the level of squabbles and bets.

So, was Hermione sitting in this car together with the Dark wizard because she wanted answers to satisfy her curiosity? Or was it something else? A need to hear out his reasons for acting the way he did? Why? Did she sincerely believe that there was an ounce of goodness in him only because he truly seemed to care for his family? That he was somehow redeemable? But what did she expect from him? That he would apologize or justify his actions? No, Hermione was not so naïve as to believe that. It had been six years, and she gained enough distance from her past to keep this whole matter in perspective.

Hermione stole a glance at the Dark wizard who was scratching his neck absentmindedly, switching from notebook to mobile phone and back before resuming making notes.

"May I ask you a personal question, Mister Malfoy?" she asked him thoughtfully.

For a flash of a moment he looked as if he had been caught at doing something illicit before his expression turned into his usual cool mask of indifference. He must have thought her asleep.

"You may not but I assume it won't keep you from asking," he answered brusquely.

Right he was and she took a deep breath. "Why did you want to talk to me back at the airport? Why are we even riding in the same car?"

Lucius Malfoy tucked a strand of his long blond hair behind his ear. The drifting orange streetlights exposed a serious expression on his face.

"Those two questions," he emphasised, "I could also direct to you…But since you have asked first…" he added before she could protest and closed his notebook.

"Six years, Miss Granger," Lucius Malfoy voiced quietly after a while of contemplation. "Within the first six years of my son's life he had learned walking and flying. His first words were 'Daddy', 'mine', and 'no'. He showed his magical capabilities at four, read his first book – The Tales of Beedle the Bard – when he was five, learned how to lace his shoes at the same age, and that Daddy's laboratory was strictly forbidden to enter at any time. Now he is twenty-two. His back and front are covered with up to one inch broad scars dittany essence could not heal. He still carries the Dark Mark on his left forearm. Two of his fingers on his right hand –" Lucius Malfoy pointed at his own middle and ring finger "– are paralyzed and cannot be restored. He suffers from migraine attacks ever since the punishment he received after your escape from the manor and he developed a resistance against Calming, Sleep, and Peace Draughts. But he is alive. He is alive and in the past six years, he became as explorative and inquisitive like the little boy he once was. Draco is alive because of you. You and Harry Potter."

He locked her gaze and the piercing grey of his eyes flashed in the rhythm of the streetlights sweeping over his pale face. "Is it such an abstruse concept wanting to know the witch who saved my son's life when I could not?"

The silence stretched endlessly. The sharpness of his answer hit Hermione like a lightning. It was the closest thing to a thank-you she would ever receive from him. It was also the closest thing to a concession. And this threw her off balance.

A knot in her throat as big as a pebble made it hard for Hermione to swallow and she bit her lips, trying hard to keep the tears from spilling.

"Of course" the wizard said, resuming his usual haughty manner, "I can only speak for myself but I do entertain some suspicions about your reasons of engaging with me. However, it is up to you to divulge them to me."

Not expecting an answer, Lucius Malfoy opened his notebook once more and continued with his notes, the steady scratching of his pen accompanying the young witch into an exhausted slumber.

Hermione kept quiet when the wizard woke her up after they had arrived at the hotel. Neither did she say anything when he helped her out of the car and escorted her to her room. But before he left, she had murmured something to the man who was standing on the threshold with his back to her, his suspiciously smug smile remaining hidden from her.

Colbertism = A 17th century economical doctrine (or rather a set of applied measures) by Jean-Baptiste Colbert. The wealth and economy of a country should serve the state (and not mere individuals). Among many other things, Colbertism improved the French tax system and fiscal administration, and increased the export of domestic products with the intention not to lose their French gold to foreign countries by importing goods

Jean-Baptiste Colbert = French Minister of Finance under King Louis XIV. "The art of taxation consists in so plucking the goose as to obtain the largest amount of feathers with the least possible amount of hissing." Apart from saving King Louis' arse, he was a patron to many scientists and maintained a famous library

C.G. Jung's Early prints = The psychologist was a passionate collector of occult books on magic, alchemy, and kabbalah