A/N: Dear readers, I'm back with another chapter.
Here's the Music Playlist
Music: The Curse & Fuel to Fire - Agnes Obel
Hatred is gained as much by good works as by evil. - Niccolo Machiavelli
16 Don't be Kind
The first thing Hermione noticed when she woke up was how fluffy her blanket was. She clasped it tightly and inhaled its fresh fragrance. It was pure heaven.
Hold on.
Her bed did not smell that way; she had not changed her sheets in weeks because of the stress!
Hermione startled up like a scaled cat and found herself surrounded by complete darkness. In panic, she searched for her wand just to find it on her bedstand, together with a piece of paper.
"Lumos!" she whispered and read the note.
You've been suffering from an overdose of invigoration draught and alcohol. There's a bottle of water on the desk and a set of fresh clothes in the wardrobe. The bathroom is by the end of the hallway.
Lucius
Faint recollections of the interrogation flooded back, accompanied by an intense thirst. She crawled out of bed and emptied the entire bottle of water. Then she noticed the stench on herself and grimaced, snatched the set of new clothes and searched for the mentioned bathroom.
Under the shower, as the water cascaded over her, the memories flooded back - The pub crawl with friends, her complaints about being single and hitting on Luna, almost setting Lucius on fire and altering Mundungus Fletcher's memories.
Hermione whimpered and pressed her forehead onto the tiles, going through various states of shame.
I'll never drink alcohol ever again.
I'll never drink alcohol ever again.
While drying herself off, she also counted how many invigoration draughts she had in the last days.
This had to stop, too.
How much time did she spend asleep? A day? And how pissed was Crookshanks for not coming home?
"Oh no, Crookshanks!" She had to go back and feed him!
Hermione jumped into the clothes Lucius had provided, and attempted to button up her trousers while walking back to her bedroom, when she stumbled over the doorsill, hit her knee on the bedstand, lost her balance and fell onto her forearms; Tears shot into her eyes and she let out a howl. It felt as if someone rammed knitting needles into her elbows.
"What on earth are you doing?" she heard Lucius asking from the hallway, sounding sleepy.
"Oh, no…" she whimpered and blushed. "I- I just stumbled… there's nothing to see, really. Just ignore me, please."
He was having none of it; Lucius scooped her up and placed her on the bed. She curled up like a cat, squeezing her eyes closed.
"Are you alright?" There was a bemused undertone in his voice, to which she embraced her knees more tightly.
No, and you bloody well know.
Instead, she said: "Yes."
"Hm… your elbows are bleeding. Let me have a look at it."
"What?" With caution, she unfolded herself and examined her elbows while evading his gaze. "Where? I can't see any blood!"
A slow smile crept over Lucius' mouth. "I lied."
"You!" Hermione wanted to curl herself back into a ball when another surge of pain shot through her shoulder, radiating into her neck. She winced and massaged the throbbing area. "That bloody neck of mine."
"It's likely originating from your arm."
"How would you know!"
"Fencing, boxing, although yours might come from the quill."
"You think so?" She gathered some courage and stole a quick glance at him. He wore a silken dressing gown, Hermione noticed, that matched the colour of his eyes.
"May I?" Lucius asked with his smooth voice in such a polite manner that it would have been rude to ignore his request. She extended her arm, unsure of where to rest her gaze until she settled on the pattern of the cushion. Delicately, he examined her arm until he discovered a tender spot on the inner side of her elbow and applied pressure. A sudden explosion of pain made her see stars; she cried out and tried to pull her arm from his grasp, but he held firm, his thumb still maintaining pressure on that sore point. "Try to relax."
"I can't!" The pain made her head throb.
"Stop resisting! Just give in to the pain and take some deep breaths."
Angry but too proud to whinge in front of him, Hermione shut her eyes and drew deep breaths until her muscles gradually relaxed and, with it, her entire right shoulder. Lucius moved his thumb upward to massage the rest of her arm, to which a wave of pleasant heat expanded up to the back of her head.
"I told you so," Lucius said and let go of her.
Hermione rolled her shoulder back. "Thank you." She was both pleased and displeased that he could ease her tension with just one firm grip, but questioned his sudden helpfulness. She expected him to issue orders with deadlines of yesterday, while demanding updates on every other hour.
"We can't continue like this," Lucius stated.
She pressed her lips together and thought: 'You don't say, Sherlock.' But she was not ready to engage in that conversation before getting herself together first.
As if he read her thoughts, Lucius said: "But I think we shouldn't address this issue with an empty stomach."
Hermione nodded, albeit with growing suspicion. She followed him to the ground floor, passing through a panelled door that opened up into a spacious kitchen hall. Lucius asked her to take a seat at a quaint wooden kitchen table. "There's some fresh borscht ready…"
Starved yet intrigued, Hermione observed Lucius reheating a gracious portion of soup in a French copper pan on the gas stove and preparing the fresh dill and sour cream with practised movements.
"I didn't expect you to know how to cook."
Lucius paused for a moment, before resuming chopping the dill.
"One rarely contemplates the value of food, but one thing I had learned during my stay at Azkaban is that food is dignity."
Hermione's curiosity surpassed any discomfort caused by the sudden closeness between them as Lucius continued to open up about his experience in Azkaban.
"The guards engaged in a cruel game, providing us with just enough sustenance to survive, but ensuring we stayed famished. They fed us at different times, sometimes mere minutes apart, other times spanning days, to obliterate any sense of time. The food was consistently repulsive as well. However, it wasn't the complete absence of food that tormented us, it was its limited availability and unfair distribution. Food transformed into a commodity, a weapon of control, another instrument to break a prisoner, another vulnerability Dementors could exploit."
As she watched him pour hot soup into their bowls, the darkness from outside and the lamp above the stove made the shadows in the kitchen intensify and dance on the surfaces.
"Which is why we devised a game of our own, a means to preserve our sanity by recounting the most exquisite dishes we had ever savoured: detailing their preparation, presentation on the plate, and above all, the taste. Dementors detested it when we found solace in these recollections but for us it was what kept us human and it had a lasting effect on me. After the breakout, I resolved to refrain from eating anything below standard, even if it meant going without food altogether."
Lucius turned and served her the soup with toppings of sour cream and dill. "This dish is one Dolohov described, a family recipe passed down from his great-grandmother, and which I now taught my cook. It's the best choice to eat after a… revelry."
He sat down opposite of her. For a fleeting moment, he looked absent as he stared at his dish while she arranged her thoughts.
No matter what hardships he endured in Azkaban, he still deserved every minute of his suffering for his actions, and many would agree with her. Yet, in this moment, she hated herself more than him, as she realised she pitied him. It was ludicrous. Perhaps this was his intention all along - to manipulate her into finding what she despised less despicable and stirring guilt in her contempt for him. Lucius Malfoy was not renowned for kindness and care. No, she would not apologise for wanting to burn him and she would not allow herself to pity him.
"Go on, try!" Lucius said.
Hermione mixed the sour cream into the soup and tried a spoonful. "Oh, goodness!" she gasped, astonished. It had everything in it that her body craved: The broth was a perfect balance of salty, sweet and sour, while the licorice-like flavour of the dill complemented the savoury meat.
"All sourced from my estate," Lucius said with a hint of pride.
"It's absolutely delicious," Hermione acknowledged and sensed her energy returning.
As she finished, she watched the sun come up through the arched window. "At least it's a nice Sunday. I think I might even finish the research paper, but I'd have to go now and feed my cat first…"
"It's Monday."
Her spoon fell into the bowl. "WHAT?"
"You've slept for two days."
A wave of stress and panic came over her. "Oh God, what's the time? I have to go to WORK but the deadline for the paper is TODAY! No, no, no…"
"Calm down, Hermione. You're still suffering from your overdose. I suggest you call in sick for a day or two."
"But I can't!" What an outrageous thing to even consider.
"Of course you can. No-one's going to award you a medal for going to work sick."
There was some truth in that, she had to admit. "But what about the paper? I want to finish it! Otherwise it was all for nothing…"
"Well… how far are you?"
"I'm almost done, but I need, ahem… someone to review it." Despite her predicament, she could not bring herself to ask him for help.
"I could do that." Lucius' expression was not unkind, which was alarming, but she had no objections since it solved her problem.
"Alright." She planted both her hands on the counter and stood up. "I'll pick up my stuff from home and come right back."
"Good. My study will do. Just bring with you whatever you need."
Half an hour later, and after a quick call with her boss René (who showed great understanding and wished her a speedy recovery), she met Lucius again outside, talking with someone who looked like his caretaker.
"There you are," Lucius said after dismissing the man who tipped his hat before driving off with his beaten Land Rover.
"This is Crookshanks," Hermione pointed at the cat carrier. "He's angry with me, but I don't want to leave him alone again." She let her half-Kneazle out of the carrier. Crookshanks jumped out and sized him up. But to her disappointment, her cat did not shy away, nor did he hiss at Lucius, despite his innate ability to detect untrustworthy people.
"There happens to be a stray lady cat in the stables that might not be the most talented at mouse-catching. Perhaps you may show her how it's done?" Lucius asked Crookshanks.
Licking one of his paws, Crookshanks contemplated his offer before he decided he was indeed destined for greater things than waiting for Hermione to come home. Striding with a tiger's grace, he made his way towards the stables.
"Traitor," she murmured, a tad offended Crookshanks did not find any fault in his suggestion.
Hermione set her research up in his study and showed Lucius the latest versions of her research paper, which she organised in neat stacks on his desk. "This is the latest one," she pointed at a stack of parchment, "and that's the version from before. I'm not sure about the structure here and here. Perhaps just read it first. I don't want to influence you…"
Lucius leaned into his office chair and started reading. About an eternity later, he looked up and said: "Well, it's not bad…"
The notion of failure churned her stomach.
"The structure is excellent," he continued, "but the last segment isn't clear enough and there are some paragraphs which might be hard to comprehend."
Relieved that he did not voice any substantial critique, Hermione threw her hand up. "I knew it! Here, that's an earlier version…"
For the next few hours, they were both combing through each page, dissecting, revising, and challenging almost every sentence. Lucius was rigorous; he crossed out every word he deemed unnecessary and restructured entire paragraphs for more clarity. The only thing she could criticise was his scrawl; his corrections looked like a doctor's note; interesting to look at, hard to read. It annoyed her, since she had proof of his nice handwriting laying on the bedstand upstairs.
By noon, Hermione had to take a brief break because she felt dizzy. She reclined on the chesterfield sofa and watched him completing the abstract. Strands of hair fell down his handsome face. He had rolled up his sleeves, exposing his muscular forearms and the fading Dark Mark. If only he were a different man, she thought, one she could touch without self-contempt, kiss without shame…
Hermione choked on an impulse to burst into tears.
"Are you feeling well?" Lucius asked without looking up.
"Yes," she replied a tad too fast.
"Well," Lucius put down his quill. "It's done."
Anxiously, she read through his version multiple times. "It's perfect. I believe that's it! That's it, Lucius."
Hermione transcribed the final version in neat handwriting, created a magical duplicate for her records and used Lucius' owl to send the manuscript to the publisher.
"God, it feels so good to send it off." She rubbed off some moist from her eyes. Watching the owl disappear on the horizon with her paper took an immense weight off her shoulders.
"I may not be well versed in this subject, but your research is outstanding. You did very well." Lucius' expression could not be guessed by any movement on his face, but the sincerity of his words shone through his cool voice.
For reasons unknown to her, a tear escaped from the corner of her eye, rolling down her cheek. She tried to fathom why his kind words upset her so much.
Despite witnessing her distress, Lucius continued, "I've placed undue pressure upon you and threw unwarranted claims at you… for this, I offer my sincere apology. However, I wished that you'd have approached me to discuss your concerns or asked for assistance."
Hermione's shoulders trembled as waves of fear coursed through her body. She swallowed hard and lashed back: "I tried! I… I didn't want to appear incompetent or be called a disappointment, like you did."
His jaw muscles tensed. "That was tactless of me and insincere. I don't think of you that way."
"Don't!" Hermione cried with emerging panic in her voice. "Don't be so kind to me!"
A vein pulsated on his temple and his grey eyes turned golden as he glared at her. "I cannot erase my past. What's done is done."
It came clear now that their argument reached a point where both could not deny what it was truly about. And now they cornered themselves with no option for either of them to back out. Hermione searched for an escape, but there was none, except one path that lead straight through the smouldering hatred she harboured for him and his fellow Death Eaters. If she had to take that path, so be it. And from deep within her heart, she released the hatred she had caged up for years.
"Fuck you, Lucius! Fuck you, you fucking bigoted piece of shit. I'll never forget those abhorrent crimes you've committed. I fucking hate you! I hate YOU!" Her voice had gone hoarse, her whole body shook like a leaf, and Lucius' cool mask had fallen off and exposed a grimace of pure, feral rage. He pushed her back just with his intimidating presence until she stood pressed against the wall. One wrong word was all it took to repeat what had happened in New York. But this time, she would not stop it.
Lucius knew and when he spoke, he measured his words, and his calm voice stood in stark contrast to the rage reflected in his face. "I've been punished for my crimes again and again. First the Dark Lord, then government, followed by an unknown entity, and finally, my ex-wife. Yet, you refuse to see any value in these retributions, refuse my efforts of penance, and won't accept any possibility of my redemption. I don't expect you to forgive me, but denying me the chance to be civil to you is… vicious."
'That's not true!' she wanted to shout back, but the words stuck in her throat. She tried to push him away, but he would not relent, and when she felt his scars underneath his shirt, she lost her will. "How can I trust you if you don't show any remorse for what you've done?!"
"Do you truly believe that I don't regret my choice to have become a Death Eater? After everything you saw in my mind when you invaded it? I regret it every time I think of my son. It consumes me."
Hermione choked off a sob at the realisation that he refused to engage in their fight the way she wanted to. "Then why don't you apologise?"
"Because its changes nothing," he said with great bitterness. "Do you think that an apology from me would find acceptance? Such a gesture serves only one purpose: to humiliate me and my family, and I refuse to expose Draco to any further disgrace. My son cannot… must not break under that pressure. What matters only are my future deeds, not mere words, Hermione. Why do you think I selected you? On a whim? Out of boredom? No, I chose you deliberately. You are my chance, Draco's chance, truth be told, just as I am yours."
His words pierced through the shield she had built around her heart. How dare he to be so fucking human. "It's so much easier to hate you…for us to stay enemies." She rubbed the palms of her hands with force against his chest and wished for his scars and prison tattoos to disappear. "I don't want to- I simply can't feel sorry for you."
With unexpected gentleness, Lucius cupped her cheek and wiped away her tears. "And I refuse to let you. But you won't find solace in hatred, Hermione. I tried, but there was nothing. Only darkness."
She stared at her fingers that tried to dig into his chest in a last attempt to hurt him. But when his hands clasped hers with the softest touch and pressed them against his beating heart, she realised how she was only hurting herself.
"Hermione…" As his gaze delved into hers, the golden colour in Lucius' eyes slowly dissipated. "I implore you not to let the hatred you harbour taint your soul."
In his plea, Hermione found truth; She wanted to free herself from that deadly weight she carried in her heart, but how could she when none of them wanted to redeem themselves except Draco?
"Do you seek atonement at all, Lucius? Be honest, I can't go on like this if I don't know."
"Would you believe me if I told you I do?"
His eyes glistened like the icy surface of a frozen lake, through which she recognised his despair. The room was silent for a moment. Then she tore her gaze from him in guilt. "No."
"Do you understand now that my words hold no value in these matters?"
"Yes."
Now she comprehended what he liked to tell her. She had trapped herself in a vicious circle of merciless arguments, none of which permitted Lucius true redemption. It was unjust. Moreover, Lucius afforded her a glimpse of the man behind his haughty demeanour and what she saw defied her expectations. It sparked a subtle shift in her feelings toward him; His refusal to give up filled her with hope.
"I'll give you a chance to proof yourself," she said.
Lucius nudged her chin up. "And for that, you have my deepest respect."
With newfound determination, Hermione clasped the collar of his shirt and pulled him so close she could count his eyelashes. "But you have to earn my trust so we can overcome this together."
For an endless breath he said nothing, but when he did, it was decisive. "That I shall do."
A/N II: Phew! This chapter was quite a challenge due to the subject of forgiveness and atonement. I gave it my best and discussed these subjects with a former criminal in hope to achieve some depth and sincerity. I know it's just fanfiction but it was important to me. I hope you liked it.