A/N: Vielen Dank Carissime for Beta-reading! Thank you for your reviews; They're a great motivation! Oh, and Harry Potter belongs to JKR.
Here's the music (check my profile for the playlist-link):
At the bar: Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho by Grant Green
In the park: Never Say No & Demimonde Main Title (Penny Dreadful Soundtrack)
Read & Review, s'il vous plaît. Merci beaucoup :-)
PS: This chapter is for Eclipse000, who is such a kind and frequent reviewer, and has a good taste in music :-)
"The greatest deception men suffer is from their own opinions." - Leonardo da Vinci
5 Unhealthy Blends
Judging from the way he leaned back into the car seat, Lucius Malfoy was looking more relaxed than she had ever seen. Moreover, he even seemed to be more at ease than her, with his eyes closed and his usual expression of superiority smoothened out, as if he was still debauching in the divine music of before. It was a sight so alien, she had nearly mistaken him for another person.
"Do you still consider me an enemy?" he asked Hermione out of the blue.
"It's a question I find hard to answer. But would I go to a concert with an enemy?" Hermione admitted honestly and more to herself than to him.
"I feel tempted to say no."
"Oh," she said drily, "Spoken like a true politician."
"The exertion of cautiousness is a conduct most preferable in such situations. But how goes the Muggle saying? Keep your friends close but your enemies closer?" Lucius Malfoy responded, his voice carrying a hint of sarcasm.
She was almost impressed. "Considering your colourful past, it must be rather hard to draw the line between friend and foe."
"The line was always clear. I had just switched sides."
"Indisputably and thoroughly, if it includes diving into the Muggle world," Hermione scoffed.
"I would call it a self-imposed exposure to the detested unknown," he corrected her.
"And going to a concert with me?"
"Mere amusement."
Hermione clenched her jaw. Really, after all what had happened, that arrogant git still considered her as too insignificant to be taken seriously?
"Well, I'm tempted to say it's the other way round," the witch said remotely spiky.
"Hm…" his mouth twitched, "that's an interesting observation."
The car came to a halt and as soon they were in the lobby, Hermione voiced bossily "Mister Malfoy, don't play me for a fool and imply that you expose yourself to this world regularly. You blend in about as well as a purple wolf amidst a flock of sheep."
The wizard and pulled off his leather gloves and drawled "You assume me unable to act on my own behalf to explore what this world offers and claim that I stand out like – er – a purple wolf?"
"Just look at you. Your mere presence in this world is already a violation of the International Statute of Secrecy," Hermione taunted and scrutinized him from head to toe. His hair glistened with drops of molten snow, as did his black coat he just unclasped, revealing a splendid, dark, and high-collared wizard-suit underneath, which accentuated all his physical assets – not that he had something to conceal in the first place.
Oh, stop it! A sobering slap was what she needed.
"Miss Granger, it is my firm believe that my ability to blend in is not diminished by my looks – au contraire," Lucius Malfoy added unperturbedly and smoothed his hair while his glance was following two pretty women passing by who were ogling him blatantly before they disappeared into the crowded hotel bar. He turned back to Hermione and raised an eyebrow to emphasise his point.
What a peacock, Hermione thought, put her hands on her hips and huffed. "Only because some hussies stripped you bare with their eyes, doesn't mean you blend in. You may think of yourself as being adaptive but as I see it, you're still the supremacist who intimidates everyone around you with your demeanour. Just like in the lounge."
"So, so," the wizard sneered indignantly and flared his nostrils, giving her his trademark glare. "You feel intimidated by my mere presence. Is that why you accompanied me? To prove yourself otherwise?"
"How dare you," she growled, her eyes narrowed to slits.
With a smug smirk on his face, as though he had hit the mark, Lucius Malfoy helped her out of the coat, invading her comfort zone in the attempt. Hermione allowed him to since protesting would just have proven his point.
"You've lost, by the way. So, what wager do you have to offer?" the wizard said.
"We never agreed to place stakes," Hermione retorted curtly and turned swiftly to hide the insecurity in her eyes of which she knew was there and made a beeline for the Wizarding passageway.
She was already entering the secret code on the door as a young receptionist hushed over, explaining sheepishly that one of the other guests blocked the way with a miscarried charm. Although the ward-casters from the ministry were already on their way, he expected the passageway to be ready not until an hour or two. However, as compensation, he offered them drinks on the house from the hotel bar.
"No problem," Hermione replied sympathetically, turned to Lucius Malfoy, jerked her head towards the bar and said challengingly "A perfect opportunity to show how well you blend in, don't you agree?"
Lucius Malfoy dropped their coats into the receptionist's arms without so much as looking at him. "I don't expect them to have an acceptable assortment of whisky," he said haughtily.
"The only way to verify that hypothesis is by empirical research" she retorted, and gave the flustered receptionist an apologetic smile, asking him kindly to hang their coats in the cloakroom. The lad's face turned into a deep shade of tomato-red and he asked her for an autograph, to which he earned a most disdainful look from Lucius Malfoy in return.
The dim bar, merely lightened by sparkling chandeliers hanging down from the high ceiling, was crowded with posh looking people who seemed to take themselves far too seriously and were far too self-important to truly enjoy the live jazz music and the fantastic hors-d 'œuvres. After engaging in a short but enlightening conversation with the barman, Hermione found out that there was a semi-private party going on, which was hosted by some local socialite whose only accomplishment was to be born with a silver spoon in his mouth and whose expertise only reached as far as to the trade of being a son – Hence, an environment not entirely foreign to Lucius Malfoy who was studying a large expressionist painting besides a head-high fireplace. Despite Hermione's previous assumption, he fitted well into the scene of self-dramatising Muggle individualists, although he appeared to be the least phoney of all – and that was saying something.
While waiting for the drinks, Hermione could watch an attractive but alarmingly skinny woman approaching the Dark wizard, and deducing from her body language, hoping for more than just an exchange of words; Fluttering her eyelids, brushing his arm (of course unintentionally), tilting her head, playing with her hair. She might have scored with any other heterosexual man but irony was gracing her with its presence, taking the piss out of her for sheer amusement as the wizard watched her efforts with unconcealed contempt until he brought himself to reply. It must have been something distinct; The woman blushed to her roots and stalked away with an angry expression written on her face, whereas the wizard turned his attention back to the painting with the same manner as if he had just managed to squash a midge.
Hermione sniggered gleefully at the delicious scene, took the drinks and sidled between the clusters of people. A man blocked her way and she nearly bumped into him, forcing her to make a detour. She was already by the fireplace when someone else accidentally shoved her sideward right into the blond wizard.
"Having difficulties blending in?" Lucius Malfoy asked mockingly as he caught her by her shoulders to steady her.
Overwhelmed by the sudden proximity and his surprisingly gentle grasp, she protested a tad too vigorously and held his glass in front of him "Of course not!"
He sniffed at the liquor suspiciously and Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's a Laphroaig Triple Wood. They did not have a Bowmore Tempest but I bet it suits your taste."
Your son certainly fancies it, Hermione added in her mind and pursed her lips.
The wizard gave her a sceptical look but seemed satisfied enough and raised his glass in salutation. "To what, Miss Granger?"
Hermione took a deep breath, choking her pride and said "What about 'happy birthday', Mister Malfoy?"
There you go, Draco. You owe me one, she thought and mirrored the father's action, watching him intently.
"How noble of you," Lucius Malfoy remarked acerbic and tossed the whisky down.
Hermione bit her lips and downed her own drink, relieved at the numbing sensation on her tongue while the manifold tastes of the whisky seemed to explode on her taste buds.
She should have made it a double – for both of them, the witch concluded at the sight of his cheeks glowing a healthy shade of pink. It was simply absurd to see the former right hand of Voldemort actually blushing from something as innocent as a congratulation. If she had known beforehand that it was that easy to confound Dark wizards, she would have sent Voldemort a bloody five foot high birthday cake with a naked witch on Marilyn Monroe Polyjuice jumping out of it, serenading him Happy Birthday.
Suddenly, a woman squeezed herself through the crowd and pushed the witch onto the Dark wizard's frame as she brushed against Hermione from behind.
"Oh, heavens!" the witch exclaimed, trying to remain casual while she became disturbingly aware of her hand pressing against Lucius Malfoy's firm chest in a defensive manner. "Did those people never learn to apologize or excu–?"
He seized her glass and moved her most gracefully in dancing position. Nonplussed by the sensations of his tingling touch and his terribly alluring scent, the only thing her head managed in that instant was to look up – just to find him peering down at her most challengingly.
"Play nicely," Lucius Malfoy insisted with his silky voice and forced her with assertive steps to move along. "Or are you too intimidated?"
"You wish," Hermione rasped defiantly. In truth, she wanted nothing more than to free herself but the blend of his stunning physical presence and her urge not to show any weakness, held her in place.
That twisted, pretentious bastard definitely intended to humiliate her by rubbing his alleged superiority in. But Merlin, that man can dance, Hermione had to admit grudgingly, while he was taking the lead with natural ease and grace. Lucius Malfoy dictated stance, pace, steps, movements, and directions and her body reacted to each of his physical commands flawlessly and fluidly without objection. She did not consider herself a particularly good dancer, but he made her look like she was.
"You are disturbingly compliant. Is the alcohol already going to your head?" Lucius Malfoy said in a mixture of mockery and content.
"How could I possibly deny a dance to a man on his birthday? It would be cruel," she said in a low, almost sensual voice. And as if Lucius Malfoy sensed how his proximity affected her, he started to draw tiny circles behind her back with his thumb, to which Hermione's looked up again – shocked and bewildered.
"I see, your slander is getting more refined," he drawled and whirled her around.
"I learn by example," Hermione retorted as soon as their hands resumed their grip on each other's shoulders. Their hips brushed against each other for a fraction of a second before he abruptly changed direction – too suddenly for her legs, she realised. But once more, it seemed that Lucius Malfoy knew exactly what was going on and added pressure on the right places to keep their limbs in sync.
Lucius Malfoy's grip grew firmer as their gaze connected again. His captivating eyes glowed in the dim light with savage intensity, almost as if they were turning golden – well, they definitely turned Hermione's insides into liquid fire and that was a circumstance she would not have admitted even under torture. But it was not merely his physicality that affected her; it was his aura and the vigour he emanated. No wonder Voldemort chose him as his right hand; he was an overwhelmingly confident, charismatic, and masculine figure – a natural born leader.
"What kind of upbringing produces wizards like you? It could not possibly be considered normal," it slipped out from her.
"Nothing a Malfoy could not bear, Miss Granger, but geared to groom sons and heirs strong enough not to be crushed under the weight of responsibilities tied to the name."
If your Galleons are too heavy, feel free to donate them to S.P.E.W, Hermione almost wanted to say but settled for something less snappy. "Well, at least it taught you how to dance properly."
Lucius Malfoy chuckled, well aware of her deliberate understatement, and countered, "Whereas yours merely sharpened your tongue instead of your manners…"
"Oh, war was a lopsided teacher," said Hermione casually and squeezed his shoulder to emphasise her subtle side blow. In response, the Dark wizard drew her closer to him, seemingly determined to show her who was in charge and who was dominating.
"And yet, despite being on the winning side, despite being considered a war-heroine, I find you here," Lucius Malfoy growled maliciously.
"So are you," the witch rasped, "But you don't belong here."
He swung her around, increasing the pace to the rhythm of the new song, his taut thighs now brushing against hers with every step, sending frissons of heat to the very centre of her physical being.
"Nor do you," he drawled confidently as ever, "In fact, I think you don't even like it here although you try hard. And I wonder…what keeps you from our world?"
"I'm not going to discuss that matter with you," she said, her voice quivering lightly from fear, anger, and – was it arousal? God, she was disgusted with herself.
"Oh, I've figured out enough," Lucius Malfoy sneered while firmly upholding the proximity he had set. "You took on some kind of fieldwork post because you were simply fed up with the hypocrisy and persistent corruption reigning the ministry. Despite your excellent skills, impeccable reputation, and social ties, you didn't achieve nearly as much as you wanted to and all of your efforts and the energy you had invested was for nought; The Wizengamot won't pass reforms unless it serves their own interests, discriminating laws have yet to be revoked, and promotions are determined by favouritism rather than skill. It doesn't matter how good you are and how hard you work because the people in charge don't forget you're Muggle-born; They won't accept you and it angers you. You're frustrated. You're licking the wounds on your pride – do not avert your eyes!" he hissed as she tried, "I want to see if I was right."
All blood drained from her face. Do not admit defeat! It ran through Hermione's head and tightened her grasp on him, anger and who knew what else seething underneath her skin. The devil read her like an open book.
"Ah, I am," Lucius Malfoy said triumphantly.
"It seems you spent an awful lot of thoughts on me," Hermione sneered back in a weak attempt to save her face.
"No, not in particular."
You bastard! Hermione wanted to scream at him.
"Mister Malfoy, if you're such an observant man, how come you ended up making so many wrong choices?" she retorted icily, "Ah, let me answer for you – cowardice."
Lucius Malfoy grabbed her roughly by the nape, yet still not ceasing the lead, but Hermione refused to show any sign of fear and kept on moving in unison with him. She swore herself not to concede defeat, no matter how oppressive he was, or that he was nearly driving her over the edge by dancing in such a shamelessly erotic manner. No, she refused to be subject to his manipulations. She was a bloody war-veteran. She had her wand within reach and she was the one in charge, not him.
"You are one lucky Muggle-born girl…that I'm sentenced and wandless…" Lucius Malfoy voiced dangerously calm while his cold grey eyes bore into hers violently as his tight grasp hindered her from moving her head.
"Your intimidations don't impress me," Hermione hissed back. It was an outright lie but to emphasise her point, she pressed fully against him, her temple connecting with his cheek. Every draw of breath squeezed her breasts up against his chest but Lucius Malfoy kept on wielding their bodies in perfect rhythm to the music. Their fluid movements rubbed cloth and flesh against one another, enticing all her senses, and dazing Hermione to such an extent that her world shrunk to the confines of the hyper realistic sensations on her body. Every muscle of his she felt on hers, and the longer they danced, the more she became acquainted with his physics up to the point of being able to render the anatomy of his whole body. Yes, every inch of his impressive but daunting body, which he wielded like a seasoned warrior his weapon; accomplished, with flawless elegance but calculated audacity.
Her heart throbbed fiercely – he must have felt it too – but she continued nevertheless, her voice something between a purr and a hiss. "Don't underestimate me, Mister Malfoy, and stop calling me a girl. I broke into Lestrange's vault and tricked that dragon down there; Bloody hell, we even escaped on the back of it. I've held that dirty beetle Rita Skeeter hostage in a jar for those nasty articles she had written about Harry and me. I've founded Dumbledore's Army and battled you in the Department of Mysteries, keeping you from taking the prophecy. I've escaped your grasp twice and used a time-turner to save Buckbeak and Sirius Black from their fate – yes, Harry and me," she added as the Dark wizard clenched his jaw. "I've helped freeing our world from the iron grasp of your former Lord. The one you, Mister Malfoy, knelt before."
Hermione brushed a lose strand of his silky hair aside and said with the softest voice she could manage, "Tell me, do your knees still hurt?"
Both panted heavily, the air practically humming from tension. She knew instantly that she had whipped him hard – Too hard. They have gone too far Hermione realised, and as if he had reached the same conclusion, the heat of their bodies merged into one angry fire. Then, just as the sensation started to turn into actual real physical pain, he released her from his grasp and stormed out.
The face of a coward, she thought, staring at the back of his head and raised her chin triumphantly. But he would not escape that easily. Fate gave her this opportunity and she planned to seize it.
With renewed strength and inflamed self-assurance, Hermione followed him outside in the direction of the private park attached to the hotel.
She dismissed the cold, which gnawed on her bones like acid and tried to shield her eyes from the snow as she voiced accusingly behind him "What is a man like you doing in this world after you had tried so hard to eradicate everything of that nature from the Wizarding world?"
The wizard turned and glared at her with such animosity, she almost felt his anger intruding her mind. "Don't stick your insolent nose in matters which do not concern you. I don't need to justify myself!" he bellowed, while holding his side as if he was suffering from muscle pain.
"What?" she retorted angrily, ignoring his strange posture and the shudders that were running down her spine from his frightening voice. "Is this what you truly think? Not to your family, not to the people, who suffered? Me, who was held captive in your own home? I deserve answe–"
"Watch your tongue, Mudblood!" the wizard cut her off. "I will have none of it!"
"You bloody will!" The venomous bubble of broiling anger in her finally burst. "And never call me Mudblood again! You made life living hell for us! You tortured people! People died at your orders! You almost sacrificed your only son for you own gain, for fuck's sake! You had watched Bellatrix torturing me, and you did nothing although you knew it was wrong! Don't deny it, I saw the fear and disgust in your eyes. And now you act as if nothing hap-"
Lucius Malfoy's hands darted out with unbelievable speed, clasping her jaw, hurting her as his fingers sank deep into her skin. "You!" Lucius Malfoy spat, "How dare you! You don't have any idea what I was going through! What I'm still go-" a fierce growl escaped his mouth, his face contorted with pain and his usually steel-grey eyes suddenly clouded with raging, golden glowing whirls.
"Let go off me!" She screamed shrilly, trying to push off his hands but they were blazing hot, the touch setting off ferocious, sparking magical surges that bolted through her entire body down to her toes. It felt terribly wrong, chaotic and abrasive.
"Oh no!" Hermione gasped as she realised that the growing tension surrounding them was nothing less but pure and raw magical energy emanating from him. The witch never stood a chance as the void between them disappeared, a powerful force yanking her down into the depths of Lucius Malfoy's mind, swallowing her entire being.
'How can you live with yourself, Lucius?' she heard the hollow voice of Lord Voldemort deriding Lucius while he was screaming and wailing in a prison cell, clasping his head. He desperately wanted to cry but he felt so drained and empty – A loud crack of splintering wood ripped the memory apart – 'Thousand years gone' Lord Voldemort hissed and tossed the remnants of a long wand at Lucius' feet. The sight of it pressed all the air out of his lungs. He felt so ashamed, so vulnerable, lost, and humiliated. Suddenly, Lucius was being slapped. 'Was it worth it?' cried Narcissa accusingly, her tear-streamed face full of hate. Hermione knew Lucius wanted to yell 'No!' but the words never came. Instead, she could sense the smell of wet grass and a green bolt shred the memory apart, hitting Cedric Diggory right into his chest. His dead face turned into that of a vigorous old man with short grey hair and adamant grey eyes; He was sitting in a high-backed chair in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor and bellowed 'You should never have joined them, you utter fool!' He threw his glass on the wall behind Lucius. 'Be lucky he's gone!' And the sound of her own cry echoed through the hallway, overlapping with Lucius' memory of Draco in his arms, the smell of ash and blood in his hair overwhelming her senses. 'Alive, alive' Lucius' tears were finally running freely –
Hermione was pushed out of Lucius' mind, her chest exploding from pain in the attempt and she started screaming in agony, feeling her own mind cracking open like a walnut. Bellatrix Crutiated her over and over, yelling 'lying, filthy Mudblood!' with her ear-shattering voice, breaking the scene into pieces. Hermione was altering her parents' memories. She tried hard to keep the tears from spilling but it was in vain; Hermione cried for her parents, her lost childhood, her home, her future – Voldemort's voice filled her head – 'Harry Potter is dead,' he shouted triumphantly while Hagrid carried Harry's body to the entrance of Hogwarts. The feeling of complete defeat washed over Hermione. It was over. Death was imminent and inevitable. Embrace it, said her inner voice, and die a true Gryffindor. Suddenly she was standing in front of Dobby's grave, sand trickling down between her fingers as she looked down. 'Here Lies Dobby, A Free Elf'. Yes, he was free, she thought proudly, Dobby was free. The salty smell of the sea filled her lungs – Hermione pierced a Basilisk fang into a golden cup but the hollow voice kept on whispering maliciously 'You'll never be part of us. Never, Mudblood. Go back where you came from.' – 'No!' She yelled defiantly. 'This is my home!' – Her body was shuddering as she found herself in the dungeons of Hogwarts. Draco was on his knees, hunched, weeping piteously and heartbreakingly. 'I'm sorry' Draco cried, his voice raw and brittle, 'I'm sorry' –
"NO!" She screamed hysterically and forced Lucius Malfoy with all her willpower out of her mind.
Shaken at what had just happened, they both glared at each other appallingly, his hands still on her, hers clutching his collar, until suddenly, Lucius Malfoy's body started trembling violently. "No, NO!" he growled and let go of her, falling to his knees into the melting snow. What was happening with him?
"Stop it!" Hermione cried, pointing her wand at him.
"I can't!" he rasped.
Hermione drew her wand. "Finite Incantatem!" she yelled and red sparks hit the wizard but the power was too great a force; he started roaring in agony, his hands reaching out for her. Fiery light emanated from his body and snowflakes started to whirl around him.
"Silentio!" Hermione screamed, horrified by the dolorous wails of the wizard and grabbed his arm. "Protego!"
Instantly, the spell tried to push him away but she held on to him, hoping to suppress the raging magic within his body but it just made matters worse; Lucius Malfoy looked as if he was coming apart.
"Make it stop!" Hermione pleaded but it was lost on him. Suddenly, it dawned upon her that the use of magic fuelled the raging power in the wizard. His body was collecting and bundling energy, she noticed in sheer horror as she watched the light growing brighter and brighter, trying to find its way out of the wizard's body – no matter how.
Acting on pure instinct, Hermione gathered all her strength, took a big swing and slapped him vigorously across his face.
Once more she pointed her wand at him, her hand pulsing painfully, the absorption spell ready on her tongue, expecting the worst.
But slowly and steadily, the tension in the air subsided and the glow in him began to fade. Hermione stooped down, shook the poor figure and yelled "Malfoy! Lucius Malfoy!"
His eyes changed back to its natural colour but before she could help him up, the unmistakably loud cracking sound of people Apparating, pervaded the park.
"Cease instantly and lower your wands!" Aurors and Hit Wizards swarmed around, pointing their wands at Hermione and Lucius Malfoy who was still on his knees.
"By the law of New Amsterdam you're hereby being arrested for infringing the International Statute of Secrecy! I said LOWER YOUR WAND, WITCH! NOW!
A/N II: I decided to name the Wizarding part of New York 'New Amsterdam'. Although the International Statute of Secrecy has been introduced after the invasion of the English in Dutch territory (about 30 years), I think the local Wizarding society gave a fig about Muggle quarrels and refused to call their new homeland New York and stuck to its original name. A wizard might have said: "I don't give a kak about some English Muggle with a ridiculous crown on his head. Duke, they call him? Serieus? If I put a crown on my toad's head, will they bow too? Opzouten, Dreuzel! I'm a Dutch wizard and bow to no-one."