"Put on some shoes," Lucius ordered when he entered the room that evening.
It was earlier than usual; Hermione hadn't yet eaten dinner. A shiver of excitement lanced down her spine and she nodded, then opened the closet to grab a pair of leather-soled slippers. They were the singular pair she was allowed. When she turned back, Lucius was smirking at her eagerness. He held out a hand and wrapped her smaller one in it, then led them from the room. They passed through the hidden hall, but instead of opening into the manor proper, the door at the end opened into the garden.
The sun wasn't completely gone, so dusky twilight blanketed the rose-lined pathway. Lucius laced her hand through his arm and guided her deeper into the garden. Woven in sparingly so its sweetly heavy scent didn't overpower all, catchflies opened to the night. The pale little flowers were small, but fragrant, and she'd grown to love their perfume. It made the gardens a delight in the evenings as well as the days.
Hermione surveyed the familiar grounds as they traipsed through in silence. She thought on what she could do to distract Lucius, or how to get a message to Draco and the others. Now that she was outside, there were more options. She glanced around, taking inventory.
There were statuary of dangerous beasts throughout the grounds, beautiful beings that could kill with their breath or a single swipe from sharp claws or—
Lucius stopped them in front of a fountain alight with fairies. It was of a school of sharp-toothed fish. He directed her to sit on a stone bench. He summoned a white rose from the thickening night and wove it into her curls. "Lovely." Pastel light played over the hard surfaces of his face, limning him in pale pink and icy blue and cool white. He was like some strange modern portrait, beautiful and full of contrasts, but he stared down at her with dark eyes that ate at her soul.
How different they were, she and Lucius Malfoy. Older and younger, male and female, pureblood and muggleborn, soft and hard. Even their coloring was opposing. Whereas Hermione was gold and brown and bronze, all warm curls and skin that favored sunshine, Lucius was silver and white and snow.
"Are you enjoying the gardens, Hermione?" he asked, brushing gentle fingers across her jaw.
She nodded and stared past him at the multicolored water from the Piscean fountain.
Lucius hummed. "The fresh air is good for you. Perhaps I'll bring you earlier next time. I'm sure you miss the sun."
Her eyes snapped to him, lips parting, and breath desperate at the offer.
"Oh, you like that idea." He chuckled and leaned close. "I told you I'll reward good behavior. And you've been very good, Hermione. Continue being my good pet, and you'll have anything your heart desires." Lucius pinched her chin between thumb and forefinger and pressed his lips to hers in a petal-soft kiss.
Not freedom , she thought. He wouldn't give her that. She'd have to fight for it.
"Up, darling," he ordered after they had rested a while. "It's time to get you back to your room."
The words struck at her heart, but she did as bid; she couldn't risk upsetting him when he was just starting to ease his hold.
He didn't force her that night, much to her surprise. Instead, once she'd eaten and bathed, he laid with her in bed, and they slept.
Their garden sojourns became a regular occurrence, though they were mostly relegated to the evenings. Lucius was ever-gentle with her at each meeting. He practically doted on her, and she wondered if this was out of loneliness, or whether this was always a part of him, just never extended toward her. (Not entirely true; in her childhood, sometimes she'd see glimpses of this in dealing with her and Draco.) It didn't matter, she'd remind herself when she slipped into thoughts of errant affection. It was all against her will, forced upon her.
And she'd finally settled on a plan.
It required her to begin speaking, something she didn't want to do. If she spoke, she would have to say things that encouraged him— or at least wouldn't push him away.
"Master Lucius." Her voice was hardly a whisper from disuse. She laid with her head in his lap; they had already taken their walk for the evening.
He gazed at her with brows raised. "Yes, pet?"
Hermione wetted her lips. She had to go slowly, delicately, or he'd begin to suspect too quickly. "I— would like fruit tomorrow morning, please."
"Fruit?" He combed a hand through the hair fanned across him. "Any particular fruit?"
"I'm fond of pears," she admitted.
His smile was slight, but affectionate. "Then you shall have pears and more."
That first request resulted in pears every morning since, always accompanied by at least one other fruit. She had plums and berries and apples of three different varieties. She'd increased the amount she said every time, though kept words to a minimum, and requests sparse.
"You can ask anything of me, pet," he told her as they walked through the garden a few evenings later. "Within reason."
"You take good care of me," she murmured.
Lucius hummed in pleasure and squeezed her hand. "Yes, but if I wish to spoil you, then I shall. Tell me something you want."
Hermione thought on it for a moment, on what she could request that might help her and not arouse suspicion. It was too early to ask for her wand, she knew. "Might I have a quill and parchment? Or perhaps a journal? I miss being able to write down my thoughts."
"Of course, my dear. Why, I should have provided that sooner. I didn't realize you were lacking." It was not quite an apology.
She gave a wan smile. "It wasn't important. I'm fine, truly."
He halted them on the pale stone path and cupped her cheeks. "Nonsense, darling. Your mind is sharp. We need to keep it in practice." His thumb stroked along her cheekbone. "You'll have what you desire."
"Thank you, Master Lucius."
He brushed his lips across hers. "Of course, my dear." And then they continued on their walk.
In the morning, there were rolls of parchment, two journals bound in leather, a handful of quills, and several bottles of ink on the side table.
The ink came in scarlet, purple, black, silver, and emerald. Trust Lucius Malfoy to go overboard with a small request.
No matter. Now Hermione had a way to write notes, if only she could scheme a way to have them delivered. She wondered if she dared ask for her journal, the one she shared with Tom. A word there, and he would know her situation. She could report about their walks, and then perhaps—
But that risked Lucius reading the journal, seeing her words, which were written like notes to her teacher. If he ran a spell diagnostic, he might realize it was a conduit to the other man. That would undo all her hard work.
No, it was too risky. It was best she waited until he tired of hiding her away and trusted Hermione to walk the manor on her own.
A mistress' suite
Closed away
A magical bird
Only the garden
The setting sun
And his tapping cane
For company
This was how she decided to write her notes. Lucius would hopefully believe that they were only poems meant to help her pass the time. Hermione interspersed them between arithmantic equations and runes practice and all sorts of other things.
Noon, alone in the room
He comes closer to evening
And I know that soon
I'll be walking in the garden
Amid the starlit bloom
They would know she rarely strolled in the garden during the daylight hours. Lucius was most likely engaged in business dealings or politics then. Like any mistress (and how Hermione chafed at that title), she was kept to the evenings.
She experimented with origami, folding the little poems into stars and birds, which were the only shapes she could remember from the class she'd insisted on taking as a small child of four. Though as she worked on those, the pattern of a boat and a butterfly fluttered forth from memory. If she had her wand, she could enchant the shapes. The butterfly and the crane in particular might be innocuous enough to pass through the wards of the grounds.
Perhaps it was time to work on her wandless magic.
Tom had taught her much about magical theory of the years, especially during his private lessons. Magic, he had reminded her, did not require a wand. Indeed, there were sects of magical folk in different parts of the world who used no focus at all. Magic was merely directed, refined, magnified by the tools wizarding folk utilized. It came from the caster.
And while the principles of spellcasting were wand movement, incantation, concentration, and intention, he'd also reminded her that these components— all but one— were unnecessary. Stripped down, the only principle required was intention in its purest form.
Intention , as a noun, referred to an aim, a plan, the intended consequence of an action. It was also the action itself. It was synonymous with goal, resolve, determination, significance , and concept . Indeed, it was a many layered word in and of itself.
Intent implied design, purposefulness. That direction was the first component to spell-building. One had to know what the intended spell was meant to do before constructing any other element. Everything else hinged upon the intention. An incantation was chosen to underscore the goal; oculus reparo , which she'd used for Harry countless times, was literally 'I repair [the] eye', and expecto patronum was "I am awaiting [a] protector."
Wand movements were similarly built to match the cadence of the incantation and the general 'feel' of the spell. The diagrams she'd seen of the Killing Curse showed how the strange zig-zag pattern of its motions followed the rhythm of the incantation.
That left concentration, which was really just practical in any given subject. If one didn't concentrate on what one was doing, one might cause a disaster like those Seamus Finnegan was infamous for.
Thus, Hermione began to build her spells.
One little magic she had even without her wand was in runes. She could use those to invoke certain properties, and they would hopefully give strength to her silent, empty-handed incantations.
The only worry there was hiding them from Lucius.
Hermione decided to implant the runes in the poems themselves. After all, raido was 'R'. She could further illuminate meaning or give intention via word placement, as well.
Journey. Perhaps in 'garden.'
It would work better at the beginning of a line, stick out less.
Roam the gardens
Yes, that would do.
Raido was the most important rune, given what she wanted the poem to do. Any other runes would need to add to its strength while imbuing their own elements on the object.
She wanted the crane to fly outside the boundaries of the manor. Ideally, she would have it reach one of her boys— Draco, Harry, Ron. Perhaps even Tom. There was no way to ensure that it was one of them who found it, not without much more complex spellwork than she was currently able to do, wandless as she was. Thus, she would need to make many, and hope that one of them eventually stumbled on her creations.
Hope. Wunjo for hope. That would be her second rune. It was so much what she needed, that one rune. It meant 'joy,' but it was layered in the emotions she felt for her intended recipients: kinship, hope, harmony, and comfort.
Those were her boys; Harry, Ron, and especially Draco, were her hope and her comfort.
Notes:
We are entering the wind down to the end of this arc. Have hope.
It's Wednesday again, yay! Not much to report; I've worked on a lot of different things for the past week, from this to my original work. I've also been working on digital art. I'm considering putting out a Visual novel game. I'm writing out the routes and designing characters at this point.
I've considered doing art for this work, as well, but digital art is new to me. Maybe I'll commission one some time. I'd love art of Lucius and Hermione in the garden. Do you think people can be paid in chapters?
Anyway, hope everyone is well. See you next week.