Hermione decorated her room in little paper designs partially to alleviate any suspicion Lucius might have if he saw her bring one to the garden, partially because she realized they added a certain something that made her feel lighter.
"What are these?"
She blushed as his long fingers brushed the point of a star on the table.
"Oh, it's called origami. It's an art from Asia that involves folding paper into different shapes." She lifted the little butterfly on which she'd drawn purple and black markings. It was quite pretty by her own reckoning. "I had an interest as a child— before the Institution— so my mother took me to a few classes to learn."
He hummed thoughtfully, turning the star in his hand to inspect the lines. "And here I thought you'd be writing on the paper."
Hermione covered her shy smile. "I am, but there's no reason I can't then fold them into pretty shapes instead of letting them languish in a stack."
"That's fair," he murmured, then set the star back in its place. "Are you ready for a walk?"
Hermione slid a little origami boat from her collection and slipped on her shoes, then twined her arm through Lucius' so he could lead her into the garden.
It was a brisk late afternoon— or perhaps early evening; this time of day was always more difficult to ascribe. She enjoyed the crisp breeze which foretold an evening shower. The boat had been well-picked. It was meant to be innocuous, just showcasing one of the uses of the papers. When they stopped at a fountain, she unfolded it from its flat resting shape in her palm and set it on the water.
The pale little boat floated for a moment, stirred by the movement of the water. She giggled and pointed. "If it were sealed, it could stay up longer. It'll be too water-logged soon."
Lucius nodded thoughtfully, then drew his wand and cast a spell. He'd used the Impervius charm and it glided along the surface like the tip of a gull's wing.
Hermione gaped at the pale man for a moment, then remembered herself. "Thank you, Master Lucius."
"Of course, pet." They watched the boat for a few moments longer, then Lucius directed them deeper into the garden.
The Malfoys had one of the most impressive estates of any Pureblood family, as Hermione knew well. Among their various claims was that their garden grew more than seventeen hundred species of roses, to include magical and hybrid varieties seen nowhere else on earth. In her younger days, Hermione had taken to memorizing the different varieties, but it had soon grown confusing even for her. Well, not the memorization, but telling them all apart as she walked amid them.
They were originally planted in individual little plots depending on their classification. There was the garden of the first hybrid tea roses, such as the Peace rose, which reminded her of sunrise with its bright yellow fading into delicate pink. There were trellises for climbing roses, like the Danse du Feu and Gardener's Gold. Rambling roses, shrub roses… and then planting in those neat arrangements became difficult, as subsequent Malfoys had their own additions, so they became puzzles of patio roses beside shrub roses, or floribunda at the base of a trellis with a climbing rose.
Other flowers were woven in to accent the roses, and sometimes because they were particular favorites as well, so there was no want for variety. The night blooming flowers always made for a pleasant evening walk.
"These were planted for Draco's birth," Lucius murmured, cupping the petals of a vermillion flower. "Wildfire, they're called. I thought they were fitting, given his name."
Hermione nodded. "They're lovely. Are new roses added whenever a Malfoy is born?"
The corner of his mouth ticked up. "Usually for weddings as well. Come."
He took her to a little marble pavilion overlooking a pond. She knew this place, had read here many afternoons. Silver fish darted about in the daylight hours. Delicate white flowers perfumed the air with a sweetly spicy scent.
"Starlight Symphony. My mother chose them. She thought they were suitable, considering how long she struggled to conceive. I was, according to her, the light of her life."
A beautiful sentiment, Hermione thought, though it was sadly wasted on the monster of a man. "I've always loved it here."
He stroked a hand along her back. "I would read here when I was a boy. The pond was added after her death, you know. I thought she would have liked it."
"That's sweet." She leaned over the edge to peer at the pond, its reflection still as stone.
"Do you have a favorite rose, Hermione?"
She frowned. "I don't know. There are so many to choose from, how could I ever pick just one?"
He turned her chin to face him. "Perhaps I'll find one for you. Some lovely, hidden rose to add to my garden."
Her heart skipped a beat.
Lucius smiled and tucked her arm in his again, leading her back the way they'd come.
The next origami Hermione brought into the garden was a crane. It would be her first attempt at getting out a message, the form chosen to underscore the function. She had spelled it to open if her name was said while holding it. That was a slight risk, but she didn't think Lucius would do such a thing. It was at least somewhat preventable.
At least, it had opened when she'd held it and said her name.
The flight spell was a little trickier. While she'd tried to imbue it with all the lightness and ability to soar, the final spell of action would depend on her.
And on Lucius.
If he saw, she'd have to act as though she'd been toying around with spells to further play with the paper shapes, like he'd done with her boat, and then hope that he both bought the story and didn't try to do anything further with the paper.
"I was thinking yours should be a dark rose," Lucius mused as they walked that evening.
"Hm?" She blinked away her confusion, trying to process his words.
"There are some lovely black roses, newer varieties in particular. Of course, not even black roses are actually that dark— except for a magical variety I know of."
"Oh. What are they like then?" she asked curiously. Why would someone call a rose black if it wasn't actually black?
He led them toward the pavilion again. "A deep, velvety red. Quite fitting for my secret little Gryffindor, don't you think?"
The affection and derision both pricked at her like thorns, but she merely nodded.
Lucius made a motion, and a rose came soaring into his hand. This must have been the magical one he had spoken of. Its petals were so dark she wouldn't be able to distinguish them were it later in the evening.
"It's named The Blackest Rose." He passed it to her, so she could run her lips against the silk of its petals. "It was planted when I married Narcissa, an ode to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black."
That halted her enjoyment of the soft flower. It felt like a betrayal, to be walking arm-in-arm with the woman's husband, albeit a prisoner of his whims. To touch something that was planted for Narcissa when Lucius slept in her bed most nights…
Her eyes heated and her vision shimmered, throat constricted around the sob that wished to burst from her chest.
"Hermione?" The man turned and tipped her face, and the forming tears slipped down her cheeks. "Why are you crying?"
Her lips parted, but she couldn't speak. The hand clenching the rose brought it to her chest; briars pricked into the tender meat of her palm.
"Ah. She doesn't blame you, if that helps. In fact, she has sent me several scathing letters insisting I release you from your captivity, and that she's sure I'm using my 'wiles' on you, poor little innocent that you are."
The words broke through just enough that a pitiful whimper wormed through her lips.
Lucius tutted. "I sometimes forget how young you are." He wrapped his arms around her, and Hermione allowed herself to take solace in his enveloping warmth, because there wasn't much else that she could do.
It was enough to ground her; after a moment, she remembered her mission and fumbled the little crane into her hand.
With everything in her she commanded it to fly, gave it the direction of the main gates, hoping that it would slip through the wards surrounding the manor and into freedom. She breathed into the silent order, and her other hand tightened on the rose stem until she could feel sticky blood pooling around the thorns and slipping down her wrist. That, too, she used to fuel her magic.
And then the little wings straightened, and the crane took flight behind Lucius Malfoy's back.
Her breath hitched in her throat, but Lucius assumed it was from her tears, and continued stroking her back and making soothing sounds. "Tsk. You've hurt yourself." He peeled her fingers open and withdrew the rose to cast episky on the pinpricks. "You need to be more careful, silly girl."
"I'm sorry, Master Lucius," she said breathlessly, still in awe of the magic she'd performed. Her heart was lighter, and her head swam with the rush of her own power through her veins.
The man sighed, shook his head, and led her along. "It will grow easier, in time. And I'm sure Narcissa will return home eventually. Much as she's upset with me, she cannot stand most of her family. With her will come Draco."
Hermione nodded along, though she wasn't sure Lucius' word on this could be trusted. This wasn't some trifling little argument between spouses, but a fundamental difference of humanity. Still, she'd let him think what he liked.
"What's that?" Harry frowned as the badger entered the house from his daily search.
Draco held a piece of paper folded to look like a long-necked crane. "I don't know," the pale boy replied. "I found it outside the manor wards and thought it might be from Hermione."
Vellum wings fluttered and he opened his palm as the little bird unfurled. On it, written in Hermione's neat script, was a poem, one line besmirched by a spot of dried, rust red blood.
Ron and Harry huddled over it to read together, then they all looked at one another in turn.
"D'you reckon it'll be enough?" the redhead asked.
"There's only one way to find out." Emerald eyes bored into silver until the Hufflepuff nodded.
Draco cast a few spells and called out for the only elf that would still answer his summons.
Finally.